The hour slipped away.
Nothing ached any longer, nothingexcept her soul. Emily Spencer could not tell where she stood, nor what had truly happened to her.
She turned her eyes in every direction, yet ahead, above, below, behind her, there was almost nothing at all; only a thick, grey mist coiled around her.
Welcome to the endless, whispered a soft, sly voice.
And Emily rememberedshe remembered everything!
She recalled how her car had rebelled, careened onto the shoulder, flipped in midair, and the final, crushing blow that tore her life apart.
No, I cant! she screamed. I have a husband and a son at home, my mother is gravely ill. They need me! Help me! Help me get back! Ill give you anything, anything you desire!
An interesting offer the voice chuckled, a hidden grin felt by Emilys very bones. I will help you. But, you see, I am almost certain you cannot even save yourself. The price will be dreadful. Trust me, I know how cruel the afterlife can be…
Please, whoever you are, have mercy!
Very well, Im curious myself
I will split your soul into four equal parts. Three will stay with you, the fourth I will keep as collateral. You have exactly one hour. Yet something tells me you know yourself poorly
Emily burst out into the courtyard, hurrying to beat the evening rush on the M5. Her son was staying with his grandmother at the cottage, and she had to collect him.
By the car perched a ruffled, unsettling bird. A crow held a broken wing aloft, then, with great effort, leapt toward Emily.
Are you driving? a frantic neighbour called, rushing up to Emily. Give us a lift to the clinic, Ill pay£10, Ill give you anything. Hell die otherwise
Emily was pressed for time.
Call a taxi, she replied. I have no patience for wounded birds.
The crow stared into her eyes, flapped franticly at her feet, refusing to let her pass. Its hoarse caw added to her irritation.
She brushed the bird aside with her boot, slipped into the car, fired the engine, and sped away. Behind her the neighbour looked bewilderedthe crow seemed to dissolve before her eyes.
At a remote service station on the edge of the Midlands, Emily filled the tank and was about to get back in when a gaunt stray dog blocked her path. Its tail wagged apologetically, eyes pleading, urging her forward.
Go away! Emily stamped her foot.
The dog did not flee. It pressed its ears to the ground, crawled forward, and, with a careful bite, clamped its teeth on her trouser leg, pulling her back. A foul scent of damp, dirty fur filled the air; a flea perched on the dogs ear caught Emilys glance.
Leave me be! she shrieked, disgusted.
A swift kick sent the dog sprawling. She clutched a sudden pain in her side, slammed the car door, and, forgetting the poor creature, drove off.
Without easing her speed, she swiped her hands on an antibacterial wipe. Ugh, not another verminfirst the bird, now the dogeverythings contagious.
On the motorway a stream of people rushed past, each hurrying to somewhere. Emily relaxed, pressed the accelerator, though true relaxation eluded her.
In the centre of the road a kitten darted abouta tiny, dusty white ball, visible from afar. Its pleading eyes seemed to scream for rescue.
Emily shook her head, thinking she imagined it. She could not see feline gazes. She whizzed past, then checked the rearview mirror. The kitten stood on its hind legs, paws folded over its chest in a desperate gesture.
Stupid thing, youll die out here! she muttered. Why wander onto a busy highway?
Something inside the kitten whined, begging her to turn back, to take the little creature awayat least to the shoulder. But time was vanishing.
She glanced at her watchshe had left the house only fiftyeight minutes earlier. There was no time for a kitten; she had her own life to live. Yet, for a fleeting moment, she looked back.
The kitten chased after her, tiny and pitiful, trying hopelessly to match her speed. She pushed the image from her mind, focusing on her own path. She had business to attend to; there was no room for stray animals. Let someone else worry about birds, dogs, and kittens, she thought, and leave the fleainfested ones alone.
Two minutes later the car skidded off the road.
Plunging into the dense grey mist, a cruel, gleeful giggle echoed, then the same voice whispered:
Why do you humans always blame me for everything? Was I at fault? I even tried to help, gave you three perfect chancesjust a little delay.
Why didnt you take the bird to the clinic, pick up the dog, pause for a minute, grab the kitten? the voice continued, now tinged with bitterness.
It was you who tried to stop yourself, in the forms of that bird, that dog, that kittenthree fragments of your soul. Do you remember?
Emily nodded. She recalled pleading with herself, begging, trying to halt even for a moment. She had been too eager to live, unwilling to let anyone else into her precious existence. Yet those others had not tried to intrude; they wanted to save Emily, however strangely they appeared.
The voice went on:
You are not alone. Many have asked for another chance; I have always given three, though it rarely mattered. In centuries, only a handful have escaped my realm, and I am only happy when people keep living and their fates change. I return the fourth part of the soul without regret.
Emily tried to plead once more, but from the mist emerged shaggy, terrifying, clawed paws reaching for her.
Every time you pass someone in need, pause and wonder perhaps it is a fragment of your own soul trying to stop you, to warn you, to shield you from the worst. It already knows what lies ahead.
