I felt a gentle hand stroking my cheek. Was it my wife, Sarah? How could it be? Sarah died just a few days ago. My heart leaped in shock, and I forced my eyes open. Going from darkness to sudden light stung my eyes. I squinted, uncomfortable, but desperate to see the person by the bed. 1. She stood bathed in what felt like an explosion of white light, her form hazy, almost a silhouette. As the stinging faded and my vision cleared, her features sharpened. Delicate eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, and that habit of pressing her lips together slightly before breaking into a smile. It really was Sarah! Was she alive, or was I dead? Is this a dream? I stared, dumbfounded, at the living, breathing person before me. Then I heard her say, "It's almost seven. Get up, Sleepyhead, Andy." Sleepyhead, Andy. Hearing that familiar nickname, tears rolled down my cheeks without me even realizing it. I scrambled up and pulled my wife into a fierce hug. Through my own sobbing, I felt her warmth seep into me, heard her slightly exasperated voice asking what was wrong, right beside my ear. After a long moment, I managed to calm down. Right now, I couldn't tell if Sarah dying in that plane crash was real, or just a terrible nightmare I’d had. I told her about it. She listened, laughing softly, then gently wiped the tears from my face— "You dream about what you worry about, huh? 'Fess up, did you take out a big life insurance policy on me?" Hearing that, I laughed and pulled her close again, overwhelmed by the happiness of having her back, of loss reversed. I breathed in her familiar scent, sighing, "I was so scared of losing you..." Sarah patted my back comfortingly. "It was just a nightmare. You're awake now, it's okay." She gently pulled away. "Come on, get up, or you'll be late." I grabbed my phone and checked the date again: December 5th, 2022, 7:03 AM. I vaguely remembered sitting by Sarah’s headstone, seeing the engraved letters. Sarah Miller (November 15, 1993 – December 5, 2022) A wave of confusion washed over me. ...Was it really just a nightmare? I swung my legs out of bed and followed Sarah, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, then touch her hand. She turned and hugged me, resting her chin on my chest— "Andy, I would never, ever leave you like that. It was just a dream." "When you wake up, the pain from the dream fades away. Can you even clearly remember how it felt now?" I tried hard to recall the feelings from the dream. Seeing the news about the missing plane, watching her casket... no, the container with her ashes being prepared for interment, sitting on the damp, cold ground staring at her grave marker. All that crushing grief… it was starting to feel distant, fuzzy. I slowly shook my head. Seeing me shake my head, Sarah slipped out of my arms and headed towards the kitchen. "Then hurry up and get ready! Breakfast is almost done. I made pancakes." She stood at the kitchen doorway and gave me a playful wink. Shaking off the lingering confusion, I asked, "Did you use hot water for the mix, or cold?" Sarah hesitated. "Cold... water? Isn't cold better for dissolving the powder?" I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid off the pan on the stove. A puff of steam cleared to reveal… well, a soupy, slightly sad-looking pancake. She looked up at me sheepishly— "Whoops, sorry! I just thought since you were working late, I’d make breakfast so you could sleep in a bit longer." Working late? Suddenly, I remembered a detail from the nightmare. In the dream, I’d also had to work late, forcing me to cancel my ticket. I couldn't go with Sarah on the plane. That flight to Boston… I remembered it was at 2 PM. I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked into the living room. Just like in the dream, there was a half-packed, open suitcase lying next to the sofa. My voice urgent, I asked, "Is it the two o'clock flight?" Sarah looked at me, puzzled, but nodded. A cold dread started spreading from the pit of my stomach. Could the plane crash, just like in my dream, actually happen? 2 I told Sarah about the dream again, insisting, over and over, that it felt like a premonition. The same late-night work, the same suitcase by the sofa, the same flight time. At first, Sarah patiently tried to reason with me. She said I had it backward. The work, the flight, the suitcase – those were all things that were real before I went to sleep. My subconscious had just woven them into a nightmare. Her logic made me waver for a second. But I was still terrified. What if…? That tiny chance it could actually come true. So I kept trying to persuade her, until Sarah finally lost her patience. She yelled, "You've been watching too many Final Destination movies! A premonition? Yeah, right, a premonition about bubblegum!" I opened my mouth to argue again, but she shot me a look, frowning impatiently. "Go to work, or deal with me. Your choice." I wanted to say more, but I stopped myself. Finally, with dignity, demonstrating sound judgment, I chose... to go to work. Sitting on the subway car, I kept thinking about what Sarah said, about the subconscious. Maybe it was just my subconscious playing tricks. But… I had this nagging feeling, a memory from the nightmare, something that happened after I fell asleep. Something from the morning of December 5th. Something I did before getting on this subway… I felt like it was crucial. But what was it? I couldn't remember. The automated voice announcing the next stop broke my train of thought. The crowd surged out like a receding tide, leaving the car emptier. I looked out at the platform sign revealed as people dispersed: Tech Center West. My stop was next. I stood up and walked towards the door, watching the ads flicker past outside the window. My mind uncontrollably drifted back to the nightmare details. In the dream, after leaving the cemetery, I’d walked forever, unable find a bus stop. The rain got heavier, the cold seeped into my bones, and I stumbled, dazed, into a subway station I’d never seen near the cemetery before. It was a weird station – silent, cold, completely empty. Trains waited on both sides, but only the one on the left had its lights on, doors wide open, as if waiting just for me. Soaked from the rain, head throbbing, I hadn't even bothered to check the station name before getting on. … My thoughts kept looping, giving me a splitting headache. Outside the window, the advertisements had vanished. The subway plunged into an unnatural, thick darkness. The car suddenly became silent, like sinking into the deep ocean. Then, in the endless darkness stretching ahead, a single beam of light appeared. And in the light… was a girl? She was dressed all in black, hair pulled back in a ponytail, facing my direction. I couldn't see her face clearly, but I felt like that blurred face under the eerie light was glaring at me, furious. The scene from my dream was happening again! Fear froze me in place. Suddenly, a fragment of memory flashed through my mind. I remembered a detail. When Sarah called me from the airport gate to say she was okay, she mentioned running into someone she knew. Who was it? Right, the daughter of her parents' neighbors, Brenda White. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. If Sarah ran into Brenda White at the gate this afternoon… then I absolutely could not let Sarah get on that plane. 3 Even though I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t focus at work. I fidgeted anxiously, barely able to sit still, until finally, lunchtime arrived. I choked down a few bites of food, then rushed out of the cafeteria, found a quiet corner, and dialed Sarah’s number. It rang for a long time before she picked up. I could faintly hear the noise of the airport terminal in the background. I quickly asked if she’d gotten her ticket okay, if the trip to the airport was fine, standard stuff. Then I got straight to the point: had she run into anyone she knew? "Someone I know? Who?" "Brenda White?" "Brenda?" Her voice sounded distant; I guessed she was looking around. After a moment, her voice came back clear. "Nope, haven't seen her. Who told you she was flying back to Boston today too?" This was different from the dream. A wave of relief washed over me; the huge weight I'd been carrying lifted. I chuckled to myself, thinking, Seriously, believing in nightmares? Maybe I have watched Final Destination too many times. I mumbled some excuse about hearing it from someone, changed the subject, chatted for a few more minutes, and then hung up. That afternoon, I threw myself into my work. Just as I finished color-correcting a video and started the rendering process, I noticed the office had descended into a low buzz of chatter. Confused, I pulled out my phone. No signal. Somehow, it had been switched to airplane mode. The last message I’d received was from Sarah. "Just asked Brenda. She is going back to Boston today, but couldn't get a plane ticket, so she's taking the train instead." I switched off airplane mode, reconnected to the Wi-Fi, and was about to reply when Mike from the next cubicle leaned over. "Andy, you seen the news? The afternoon flight to Boston… it's gone missing." I froze. I heard something shatter inside my head. "The flight... to Boston?" "Yeah, the one that left at two. Flight number was..." He scrolled on his phone for a second, then looked up at me, his eyes wide— "Holy crap, Andy! That was the flight I couldn't get tickets for! I was just bitching about having to work late because I couldn't get on it… Man, am I lucky—" I slowly stood up, the room spinning around me. All the emotions, all the memories, rushed back at once. I remembered identifying Sarah’s… what was left of her body, the rage I felt. Watching her become nothing but a box of ashes, the utter despair. How could I have risked it? How could I have let myself hope, only to watch Sarah walk towards death again? The helplessness inside me exploded. I bolted towards the office door, pushing with all my might against the heavy glass, and then— ice-cold water slammed into me. The force knocked me back, forcing me to let go of the door handle. Standing behind the glass door was a girl. Dressed in black, ponytail. I looked at her furrowed brow, heard her cold voice muffled through the glass— "Why did you let her get on the plane again?" 4 I sat bolt upright, gasping for air. As oxygen filled my lungs and my senses slowly returned, I felt sticky, drenched in sweat. A hand was rubbing my back, a voice murmuring softly near my ear. "Sarah?!" My voice came out raspy. She answered, leaning in to hug me. Tears instantly flooded my eyes. I remembered the girl in black who’d splashed water on me just before I woke up, how she’d dragged me into that empty subway station. As the subway started moving and my consciousness faded, I heard her say: "Don't let her get on the plane again." The plane? Right! The plane that had killed Sarah twice now. I pulled away from Sarah's embrace and fumbled for my phone. The date displayed: December 5th, 2022, 7:03 AM. I was back again. On the morning of the day Sarah died. I looked at Sarah, saw the worried, sympathetic look on her face as she asked, "Bad dream?" I nodded automatically. Honestly, whether she knew the truth or not didn't matter right now. What mattered was keeping her off that plane. No matter what. Sarah waited until I seemed calmer, then went back to the kitchen to finish the pancakes. Urged by her, I went into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I tried to figure out how to stop Sarah from getting on that flight. There seemed to be two options. One: stop Sarah from going to Boston altogether. Two: get her to use a different mode of transportation. The first option was basically impossible. Sarah was going to Boston because her younger brother, Ben, who was still in high school, had beaten up one of his teachers. He’d injured the teacher so badly the man was in a coma, hadn't woken up yet. But Ben had also gotten stabbed by the teacher in the fight and was currently laid up in the hospital himself. When the police investigated who started it, Ben initially claimed the teacher had done something absolutely disgusting, and he’d only fought back to protect a girl. According to the investigation, besides the two of them, there was a middle-school-aged girl present at the scene. But when the police found the girl, she denied being there at all. And then, weirdly, as soon as Ben heard the girl denied being there, he completely changed his story too. He stopped mentioning protecting the girl. He just said he hit the guy out of a sense of justice, that his conscience was clear. Beyond that, he refused to say another word. Now, the teacher's family was suing Ben for assault and battery, maybe even aggravated assault. The teacher was still in a coma, unable to give his side. But from talking to people who knew him, the teacher seemed like a quiet, well-mannered guy, well-liked, with a great reputation. Ben was eighteen. If he didn't start telling the truth, things looked really bad for him. If he got convicted of felony assault, his life would be ruined. Ben’s parents were frantic, like ants on a hot pan. They kept calling us, begging us to come home and talk some sense into Ben, while also pressuring Ben to just tell the truth. But nothing worked. Ben just clammed up, repeating, "My conscience is clear." We were worried sick about Ben too. We’d called him several times, tried reasoning with him, but got nowhere. Sarah was so stressed she couldn't sleep at night. Meanwhile, the project I was on was nearing its deadline, and my boss wouldn't approve any time off. Sarah was teaching a senior class heading towards graduation; finding a substitute teacher to cover for her was impossible. Finally, just two days ago, she managed to arrange for someone to cover her classes and got three days off. Telling her not to go back now? Absolutely no way. So, option one was out. I started thinking about option two.
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