Ericka sat quietly at her friend's wake, eyes fixed on the coffin where Jasmin's body lay. Even now, she couldn't fully grasp the reality that her closest friend had met such a terrible fate.
She had thought Jasmin would be safe—yet she wasn't. Ericka understood the connection between the events, but Jasmin had never shared the full truth about the warehouse they discovered.
Jasmin, why? Why aren't you showing yourself to me? She wondered, desperate to see even a glimpse of her in a dream. Are you protecting me, Jasmin? Don't protect me—tell me what you know, her thoughts cried.
But no matter what she did, she couldn't see her friend's soul. Regret weighed heavily on her—regret for not walking Jasmin home, regret for the delay that day. Her fist trembled with the overwhelming urge to blame herself. They had been together. If only she'd insisted Jasmin sleep over at her place, her friend might still be alive.
Jasmin… Her eyes welled with tears again.
The wailing of Jasmin's mother filled the room. Jasmin was the only child of the Cuerdo family. Her father had not returned yet—he was investigating the tragedy himself and was expected to arrive the next day for Jasmin's final resting.
"Della! Della!" the mother cried out in agony.
It tore Ericka apart. If she felt devastated by Jasmin's death, the pain her mother must be experiencing was tenfold. When Aunt Faye screamed Jasmin's name, it stabbed Ericka's heart over and over again.
Wiping her tears, she stepped forward, watching as Faye clung to the coffin, trying to pull it open. The family tried to restrain her. That's when Ericka saw something—a woman in white standing near Jasmin's mother.
She turned sharply, stunned.
Jasmin!
She sobbed as she recognized her friend's face—blood dripping from a wound at her temple, her body riddled with bullet wounds. The reports had said it all: Jasmin's body was riddled with bullets, and her skull was shattered.
Ericka cried harder at the sight. When she first heard about the shooting, she had begged to go to the scene, to the morgue, to see her friend—but her parents stopped her. They were trying to protect her from seeing the horrifying aftermath.
But now, standing here, Ericka realized the form she was seeing was her friend's soul—injured, broken, and not at peace. She could hear Jasmin's cries in the wind, faint but real, meant only for her.
Mom… I can't accept this… Help me. That silent plea tore at her heart.
Then, as suddenly as she appeared, Jasmin vanished.
Ericka knew she needed to speak to her soul. She had to uncover what really happened—why Jasmin had been taken, what secret she held, and why she stayed silent.
A small hand took hers. She turned to see a boy—around seven years old—staring up at her.
"Greg."
Ericka turned again and saw Thalia.
"Ericka," Thalia said softly, handing her a tissue. Ericka hadn't realized she was still crying.
"Sorry about Greg," Thalia added apologetically.
Ericka shook her head, and Greg let go of her hand. Her eyes drifted back to Aunt Faye, who continued sobbing as relatives tried to comfort her. It seemed as though her tears would never run dry.
"Greg, don't do that again. Don't just disappear like that," Thalia scolded gently.
Greg said nothing. He was still watching Ericka.
"Stay here, okay? Don't move from that spot," Thalia told him before heading over to Jasmin's coffin to pray.
"Sis, can you see that woman over there?" Greg suddenly asked.
Ericka stared at him.
"I saw her when we entered. She was crying, pacing near the gate outside. Sometimes, she'd stop and just stand there," he said, pointing toward the door.
That was where Jasmin had been shot.
She listened carefully. "W—What did she look like?" she asked.
"She wore a uniform… Her skull was shattered, bleeding a lot. She had bullet wounds all over. It was awful. She had a beautiful life, and she couldn't accept how it ended."
Greg's voice was soft, sad—too sad for someone so young.
"W—What do you mean?" Ericka asked.
"She needs help, Sis. I saw how she died. I saw her life before she passed away."
Ericka's hair stood on end. She stared at the child, sensing something unexplainable. Somehow, she believed he had a gift—an ability that few would understand. Just like hers.
"Believe me, Sis. She can't find peace. She won't see the light unless she accepts what happened and seeks justice with all her heart. She doesn't want to become a lost soul."
Lost souls. Ericka had encountered them before—souls that drifted endlessly, not knowing why they were still here, hopeless and lost in their pain.
She clenched her fists. She wouldn't let Jasmin become one of them. She would do everything—everything—to bring peace to her friend.
She noticed another small figure behind Greg.
"Greg, who's that child spirit with you?" she asked.
He smiled brightly. "Don't worry. He's not a wandering spirit. He's my cousin."
Cousin?
Thalia had told her before that a family had been murdered in their house.