It was midnight when Carolyn’s phone rang, waking her up after only going to bed two hours ago. Darrell didn’t notice it. He didn’t notice much most days. He drank almost every night before going to bed. Carolyn didn’t understand how he could still drink. Ever since the crash, she hadn’t taken a sip of achohol. She didn’t want to lose another child. Darrell, on the other hand, drank even more than he did prior. He still blamed himself for killing Rachel on that horrible night fifteen years ago. They both blamed themselves.

She sat up in her bed and looked over at her phone, which was vibrating her nightstand. She sighed. The day had been so stressful she had forgot to turn her phone off before bed. She reached over and grabbed her phone. She turned on the screen and checked who was calling her. When she saw the name, she almost dropped her phone. One word was showing. One name. A name that shouldn’t have been able to call her. Rachel.

Shocked, she turned to Darrell and grabbed him. “Darrell! Wake up!”

He stirred a little, then shook his head. “What is it?”

“Come on. Get up!” She said, shaking his arm.

Darrell jerked his head up and glared at Carolyn. “What’s so important that’s happening in the middle of the night?”

Carolyn lifted her phone to his face. “Look.”

“What-” he started, then froze, staring at the screen.

She turned the phone back to her and answered, setting it to speaker mode. “Hello? Who is this?”

The line was silent for a moment. “Mom? Dad?”

It’s fitting that ghosts surround me today, their presence a chill I can’t chase even under the spray of the hot shower. Because today is the day my daughter Lexie died. Fifteen years ago, at the tender age of thirteen. It shattered mine, and my husband Braden’s world, shards of glass cutting into our hearts like daggers.

But the worst part was the guilt of knowing we killed her.

My phone rings as I’m getting dressed and Braden walks into the bedroom.

“Jenna honey, we’re gonna be late-“

His voice cuts off and the blood drains from his face when he looks at the number displayed on my screen.

“It’s Lexie's number,” he whispers in horror.

How can that be? Our baby is dead; we murdered her. Is she haunting us from her grave?

“Braden,” I sob, “I can’t stop wondering why we didn’t just give those evil monsters the money, do what they said, and get her back. But we didn’t follow their instructions not to involve the cops. And they killed her. We killed her!”

“Sweetheart, stop blaming yourself… us. We were young. We didn’t know how to handle a kidnapping for ransom situation.”

It’s true, but still painful. Sometimes I think I catch glimpses of an older version of her around town. And… a body never was… produced.

The phone buzzes again. It’s the same number and I hit accept.

“Mom is that you?” a female voice says.

“It’s Lexie. I escaped and need help. Can you come get me?”

“OMG! Your dad and I will be right there sweetheart, just tell us where you are.”