Exit Seventeen

The only thing I've acquired through the years while working overtime is the paycheck, I earn twice a month. My wife was never really fond of that notion, in fright and lunacy, that something horrendous would inevitably happen to me when I drive back home in the deepest hours of the night. She made me consider the possibility of our daughter Lucy growing and maturing without a father. However, I have to keep the pot boiling to ensure a viable future for the three of us. At least, that was my mindset before what eventuated a couple of weeks ago. That very night, my life crumbled into countless pieces, which still eats at me every damn night.

The event occurred right before the final exams when the snow was still falling gently, covering our homes innocently and painted a mirage of tranquility. The students in my architecture class were on the brink of receiving their master's degree, though the thought of it made them noticeably anxious. A few being were so terribly perturbed that they had requested - nearly begged - for supplemental assistance concerning their course overview study sheets I'd given them the previous week. I complied readily since I treasure their success as future architects.

By the time I ended the additional remedial, it was nearing ten o'clock as the sun had delivered his goodbyes long ago. I locked my classroom before heading out to my car, shivering in the violent wind. In no more than an hour's drive, I'd be in the arms of my loving wife, a common thought that reoccurred every time I left the building. Halfway into the drive, I competed against a strong desire to close my eyes as my body saturated with exhaustion. Due to my agonizing need to rest, I determined a coffee and perhaps a late-night snack would solve this inconvenience and wake my senses. Without a second thought, I took the next exit off the highway; I'd previously seen an indication for a gas station on exit seventeen. When I pulled in, the parking lot for the convenience store seemed deserted until I heard an alarming cry which originated from behind the building. I leaped forward cautiously, halting behind an old rusted dumpster from which emanated a pungent odor. I shook off the dreadful aroma and caught sight of a woman and a man standing a few feet from where I was crouching, hidden by the dumpster.

The girl couldn't have been a day over twenty-five and appeared to once have displayed soft and delicate features. Only now, her face was deterred with running mascara and smeared lipstick across her pale cheeks. Her face was drained of color, making her voluminous golden hair seem more lively underneath the cheap flickering light bulb that dangled off the brown brick wall. The bulb was covered in a layer of cobwebs and dead flies, attracting moths. The girl was crying; her tears of misery and terror fell drop by drop on her form-fitting crimson dress. Absolute uncertainty and mistrust were revealed through her shivering hands as she lurched forward and nearly tripped in her jet-black aerial heels. She quickly repositioned herself as she met eyes with her assailant.

I held my breath when the man spoke out of pure fear as his rough and threatening voice projected throughout the lot. He wore a dark and ripped hoodie that completely masked his identity. I couldn't quite make out any essential details, for his head was out of my sight when he turned his back to me. He held a gun and reeked of treacherous intentions as he kept on yelling sharp orders to the girl, words that were slurred and sounded foreign. I could feel the atrocious thoughts that ran through his mind; they crept upon my flesh and hit me stone- cold in the heart, making me nauseous. He appeared tall and herculean next to her dainty and innocent physique. The man pushed her into the cold brick wall, and I could hear the sound of her body hitting the solid wall. He grasped her wrists and held her there as she squirmed and twisted her body away from him, but it was no use, for she was noticeably weaker than him.

I couldn't decide on what I should do, but morally speaking, I knew I had to intervene somehow. When I rose to my feet, my knees cracked, and I gasped, thickly gulping in fear as the lump seemed imprisoned in my throat. The man was trembling when he heard a bizarre noise which made his hands shake. I was standing behind the dumpster, and as I stepped forward, I met eyes with the girl in front of me. Her piercing blue eyes were identical to Lucy's, and at that very moment, I felt like I was singing my little girl to sleep for the very last time. As if the moment I walked out of Lucy's dazzling purple room, I'd be closing the door on every opportunity to kiss her forehead while wishing her pleasant dreams.

The man panicked and spontaneously pulled the trigger, propelling a bullet directly into the young woman's skull. She died instantly, her head dropped backward, and her eyes – now empty like white glass crystals – crucifying me. She fell onto the graveled ground as if Satan himself was dragging her to hell. The man fled beyond my sight of vision in a matter of seconds, leaving me alone with the girl. My mind was racing, and my heart pounded out of my chest, but regardless, I ran to her side. I grabbed her in my arms, and I felt the life slip away from her body, leaving behind nothing but a shattered soul. I could see my own reflection in the pool of blood that formed by her head, and I suddenly felt repulsed by my own image. I couldn't even give her another glare as I darted back to my car. The next thing I know, my hands are gripping the steering wheel, moist and still trembling. I drove non-stop until I was sitting on my doorstep. I stayed there for a while, enjoying the cold silence the frisky night had to offer. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to process the situation. I felt my head pounding and gave up, walking inside my home.

That night was sleepless. The never-ending vivid flashes of the lifeless corpse haunted me. I could hear her asking me, why didn't you help me? It wasn't long until my wife wondered about the dark circles that rested under my eyes which grew very noticeable within a few days. I made a promise to myself, the night of the incident, that I'd never tell a living soul about what I saw that night.

When it came time to drop our daughter off at the train station, the look in my daughter's eyes was eating away at me. Its familiarity destroyed any sense of compassion I had left. That evening, I sat down with my wife and told her everything, not sparing her of any gruesome details.

It took three weeks before I finally dared to enter my family doctor's office to discuss what that night did on my psyche. It was tough, opening up to a near-complete stranger, but I broke through my barriers and told him my darkest memories with the comfort of my wife's hand in mine. I told him everything. I don't remember there being much of an investigation; I suppose I simply wasn't part of it, considering how much of a reliable witness I was. Anyhow, it wasn't long, maybe a few days, until I was put on severe psychiatric medication. I prayed those would be enough to bring me back to reality and allow me to return to work. A few days after I had started the new medications, I was finally capable of enjoying a solid night of sleep - something I had taken for granted.

That day changed my life. I followed my daughter through every step of her journey, watching her grow up and live life the way that woman would have done if she were still here today. I can't predict the future, but I sure as hell can prepare Lucy for everything life has to offer: the good and the bad. I must admit, it took me a while to convince myself to let her go out there and face the dangers life withholds, all by herself. From then, I went every year to the cemetery to place a bouquet of crimson flowers – the color of the dress the woman wore in her final moments. That night made me treasure life and appreciate it with greatness, for it showed me how valuable and delicate human life simply is.