The black Impala cut through the curtain of rain on Highway 41 in California. Its wipers swung back and forth, never quite keeping up with the downpour. Rainwater gathered into winding streams across the windows, blurring the trees outside. The dense patter swallowed AC/DC's rock music until only crackling static remained. Irritated, Dean slapped the radio. The rattle of its metal casing sounded especially clear inside the car. The signal skipped a few times, then suddenly switched to a country station. The melody of "House of the Rising Sun" drifted out, the husky male voice wrapped in damp melancholy, filling the car in an instant.
"Damn signal!" Dean cursed, still tapping the radio panel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bai Haorui in the back seat, looking down as he toyed with a string of Five Emperor Coins. The coins spun rapidly between his fingertips, their brass gleam flickering in the dim car like a string of restless stars. "Can you give those lousy coins a rest? They're making me dizzy."
Bai Haorui did not look up. Couldn't take a crap, so he blamed the toilet. But the coins between his fingertips abruptly stopped. The five smoothly worn coins pressed together, taking on an exceedingly faint bluish-gray sheen. He had found the last two at an auction while passing through California. He brought them to his nose and sniffed, then pressed them against the cold window. A faint vibration reached his fingertips. "There's something wrong with this road," he said quietly. "Highways tend to gather yin energy anyway, but the yin energy here feels like it carries a deep obsession."
Sam had been looking through the case file on his lap. At those words, he immediately raised his head. "Highway 41. For the past fifteen years, couples have disappeared on this date every year. The police have investigated countless times and found no leads." He pointed at an old newspaper tucked into the file, its ink blurred. "Only two people claiming to be witnesses said they saw a farmer bleeding from his abdomen, standing among the shadows of the roadside trees."
Dean was about to reply when a stumbling figure suddenly burst into the headlights. It was a woman in a white dress, its rain-soaked skirt clinging tightly to her legs. She waved both hands desperately, shouting something that the rain drowned out. Dean's pupils contracted. He slammed on the brakes, and the shriek of tires scraping pavement tore through the rainy night. The Impala skidded nearly two meters across the slippery road before barely stopping in front of her.
"Fuck!" Dean slapped the steering wheel, his heart still pounding. "Does this woman have a death wish?"
The woman lunged toward the window, clutching the cold glass with both hands. Her face was paper-white, her lips trembling. At last, she squeezed out a complete sentence. "Help me! My husband's missing! We crashed!"
Her name was Molly McNamara, and she gave a disjointed account of what had just happened. She and her husband, David, had been driving through on their way to the beach in Santa Cruz to celebrate their third wedding anniversary. Before leaving, they had even bought matching canvas sneakers. David had laughed and said he would wear his until the soles wore through. The rain had been too heavy to see clearly. A farmer with a mangled, bloody abdomen had suddenly darted out from the roadside. Frightened, she had jerked the wheel, and the car had slammed into an oak beside the road. The moment the airbag deployed, she heard David grunt. When she woke again, the passenger seat was empty. Only the wedding ring engraved with their initials remained, lying forlornly in the gap between the seats.
Dean raised an eyebrow skeptically, his hand already moving toward the gun at his waist. Sam frowned, his gaze settling on Molly. She had been out in the rain for so long, yet strangely, her hair had not completely plastered itself to her face. A few strands even retained a slight curl. Her white dress was soaked through, but the white canvas sneakers on her feet were impossibly clean, without so much as a speck of mud.
Bai Haorui quietly brought the Five Emperor Coins toward Molly's hand. The coins came within an inch of her wrist, yet showed no reaction-no black energy indicating a vengeful spirit, no warning vibration. This was too strange. When an ordinary ghost approached the Five Emperor Coins, even a harmless one would stir a trace of yin energy. Yet Molly seemed completely ordinary, while somehow giving off an indescribable sense of wrongness.
"Take us to the crash site." Sam pushed open the door, and rain immediately soaked his jacket. "We'll help you find David."
As though grasping a lifeline, Molly turned and ran back the way she had come. Her footsteps were light, leaving not a single print along the muddy roadside. The three men followed her over the slippery earth. Rain rustled against the leaves, and icy droplets slipped down their collars, making them shiver. But when Molly pointed at an empty stretch of grass ahead and cried, "Right here!" all three froze.
There was no oak knocked askew, no crumpled car, no scattered shards of glass-not even a single skid mark. The roadside grass grew in neat, even patches, raindrops clinging to its blades and glimmering in the headlights. It was impossibly still.
"Impossible!" Molly broke down, crouching on the ground and clutching her hair, her nails digging deep into her scalp. "It was right here! Our car hit that oak! David was still in the car, calling my name!"
Dean took a bag of salt from his pocket and scattered it across the ground with a flick of his hand. The white grains landed on the grass without raising a wisp of smoke. Sam took out his EMF detector. The needle on its display remained utterly motionless, its silence unnerving. Just then, an old radio beneath a roadside oak suddenly crackled. As though some force had flipped its switch, it turned itself on. The melody of "House of the Rising Sun" played again, this time mingled with a low, resentful roar:
"She's mine-"
Hearing that voice, Molly screamed and clutched her head, trembling all over, her body almost curling into a ball. "It's him! That farmer! He's in there!" She pointed at an abandoned wooden cabin concealed among the trees not far away, her voice breaking. "He keeps following me! He won't leave me alone!"
Bai Haorui walked to the "crash site" Molly had indicated and crouched, touching the soil beneath his feet. The rain had drenched the road, yet the soil in this patch of grass was cold and dry, without a trace of moisture, as though some invisible force had kept the rain from soaking in. He stood and looked at Molly, who was crouching on the ground in despair. There was a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Have you... felt like you haven't had any water in a long time? Or even... felt hungry in a long time?"
The question was like a fine needle gently piercing the thick membrane in Molly's subconscious. She froze, her hands still in her hair, and raised her head blankly, tears still brimming in her eyes. Yes, she had been running for so long, standing in the rain for so long, yet her throat was not thirsty at all. When rain struck her face, the cold sensation flashed past without leaving any wetness behind. All this time had passed since the crash, yet she had not felt even a trace of hunger. She had deliberately ignored these strange details before, burying her head in the sand like an ostrich, afraid to think too deeply. Now that Bai Haorui had pointed them out, a chill shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. She opened her mouth but could make no sound. She could only bury her face in her knees and cry harder, her shoulders shaking violently.
Dean stared at the cabin, his brow deeply furrowed, his knuckles white around his gun. He had been suspicious for a while. There was definitely something wrong with this woman. Rain did not soak her, mud held no footprints, and the crash site had vanished into thin air. This was not fucking human. But watching her sob so heartbrokenly, hearing her call David's name over and over, he could not bring himself to abandon her. Dean sighed and tightened his grip on the gun. "Come on. Let's look inside."
The cabin's wooden door had long since rotted. Large chunks had fallen from its edges, exposing the worm-eaten grain within. The instant Dean pushed it open, it gave a piercing creak. Dust swirled through the headlights' beams, irritating their throats until they could not help coughing. The cabin was empty except for a wobbly old wooden table, a few chairs with crooked legs, and some moldy hay piled in a corner, giving off a damp, musty smell. A yellowed photograph hung on the wall, its frame's glass split by a crooked crack. The man in the photograph wore a faded plaid shirt and overalls. His honest smile revealed two small pointed canines. The woman beside him held his arm, her expression gentle, a bouquet of golden sunflowers in her hands. Her smiling eyes curved like two crescent moons.
"That's the farmer!" Molly pointed at the photograph, her voice trembling, her body still shaking. "It was him! He was the one who suddenly ran out!"
Sam walked to the wooden table and pulled open a drawer with a dull scrape. Inside was a thick stack of letters tied with red string. Their edges had yellowed and become brittle; they had clearly been there for many years. He carefully untied the string, afraid of tearing the paper, and drew out the top letter. The handwriting was neat and graceful, carrying a cautious tenderness. Some of the ink had blurred, as though water had accidentally touched it while it was being written.
"My dear Martha,
I watered our apple trees today. That little sapling on the east side has grown another stretch, and its leaves are so green they make me happy just looking at them. When the apples ripen this fall, I'll take you to the beach in Santa Cruz, just like you're always talking about. I've already saved enough for two tickets. The money's hidden in the tin box under the bed. Don't sneak it away to buy that strawberry-flavored apple pie you love. Last time, you secretly ate a whole one and spent the night groaning with a stomachache, but still insisted you'd just caught a chill.
The bakery in town brought out a new apple pie yesterday. I bought a small slice, and it tasted just like yours. I worked in the fields all day, so tired I could barely straighten my back, but the thought of coming home to the light you leave on for me filled me with energy again. You're always saying you're afraid of the dark. Remember to leave the living room light on when I'm away. Don't always curl up on the couch and fall asleep holding my coat.
I miss you so much, Martha. Once I finish the work in the fields, I'll come home and keep you company.
Forever yours, Jonah.
June 18, 1990"
Sam went through the letters one by one. Every letter was filled with little details of everyday life. There were no earth-shattering vows, yet warmth shone through every line. Some described Jonah planting Martha's favorite sunflowers. Others described a scarf Martha had knitted, which Jonah could not bear to wear for fear of getting it dirty. Still others told of an argument, Jonah admitting he was wrong and buying Martha's favorite candy to cheer her up. The final letter was dated fifteen years ago today.
"My dear Martha,
I'm going into town to buy seeds today, so I might be home late. Don't wait for me to eat, and remember to lock the door. When I get back, we'll plan our route to the beach together, all right?
Forever yours, Jonah."
Sam quickly finished reading all the letters, his brow furrowing more deeply, his heart heavy as though weighed down by a stone. He raised his head, his voice leaden. "Jonah Greely. Fifteen years ago today, the day he wrote this letter, a speeding car hit and killed him on Highway 41. The driver fled." He paused and looked at the brightly smiling woman in the photograph, his tone full of regret. "From that day on, his wife, Martha, waited beside the highway every day, clutching this stack of love letters and asking everyone she met whether they'd seen the person who killed her husband. She refused to move, refused to leave this cabin, refused to pull out the apple trees in the yard. She watered them every day, just as she had when Jonah was still alive. Six months later, she died of grief. Even as she died, she was clutching this last letter so tightly that her fingers couldn't be pried open."
Bai Haorui walked up to the photograph and took a yellow sheet of talisman paper from his backpack. He cut his fingertip and swiftly drew a seal on the paper, his movements clean and decisive. Then he gently pressed it beside the photograph. The moment the paper touched the wall, it emitted a faint white glow, enveloping the yellowed photograph like a warm veil. The cabin's bone-chilling air suddenly softened, no longer oppressively cold. The low roar vanished, replaced by an exceedingly soft sigh, like wind passing through leaves, filled with endless hurt and longing.
"His obsession isn't hatred. It's love." Bai Haorui spoke quietly, yet his voice carried a power that pierced the heart as it echoed through the silent cabin. "Love for his wife, regret over the trip to the beach they never got to take, and the hurt of lying on the cold highway after being hit without receiving even an apology. Those feelings tangled together like a knot of thread that couldn't be undone, twisted into resentment by death. He isn't trying to hurt people. He just wants to find the person who hit him, to get an apology, an explanation, to make that person understand that he, too, was someone's cherished treasure, and that his death destroyed what should have been a woman's happy life."
Dean leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded, looking at the love letters in Sam's hands. He thought of John, of the overwhelming resentment he had felt after his father's death, of all the things he had never had time to say, of himself and Sam trapped in the cycle of hunting the Yellow-Eyed Demon, day after day, year after year. If he had been hit by a car and the driver had fled, when a simple call to emergency services could have saved him, without even giving him an apology, would he have become a vengeful spirit like this too? He would have waited in that place day after day for the killer to appear, too, but he certainly would not have been waiting for something as simple as an apology. Dean spoke under his breath, a barely perceptible rasp in his voice. "If it were me... heh."
Just then, Molly suddenly clutched her head and let out a pained groan. She curled up on the ground, her body shaking violently. Countless broken images flashed through her mind like a film: glaring headlights, a sharply turning steering wheel, the tremendous crash of metal, David's terrified face as the airbag deployed, and the farmer lying on the ground, blood flowing from his abdomen, his clouded eyes filled with pain as he stretched out a hand and weakly pleaded, "Help me."
"I remember..." Molly's voice was hoarse and filled with boundless remorse, every word seeming to be forced from her throat. "David and I were speeding. We were going to the beach, and we were in a hurry... We hit him... He was lying on the ground, looking at us, reaching out... David said, 'Stop. We have to help him,' but I said, 'No'... I was so scared. I stepped on the gas and drove away..."
As soon as she finished speaking, a figure emerged from the shadows of the cabin. It was Jonah Greely, wearing that faded plaid shirt. The wound in his abdomen was still bleeding, staining the hem red. Blood dripped onto the floor without leaving any trace. His face was deathly pale and his lips were cracked, but there was no malice in his eyes, only endless pain and hurt. He stared fixedly at Molly, his lips trembling, ready to lunge at any moment.
Bai Haorui immediately stepped in front of Molly and raised a peachwood sword in his right hand. A faint red glow shone along its blade, traces of its soaking in glutinous rice water and cinnabar. "Stay calm!" His voice carried a soothing power. "Take a careful look at the state she's in now."
Jonah's gaze settled on Molly, on her soaked dress that did not drip, on her impossibly clean canvas sneakers, on the wedding ring clutched tightly in her hand. His eyes slowly changed, pain giving way to bewilderment, then bewilderment to understanding. He opened his mouth, and his roar became a sob, like a child who had been wronged, every word steeped in anguish. "Why... Why did you run... It hurt so much... Martha was waiting for me to come home... Why couldn't you help me..."
Molly raised her head, tears still falling, though they no longer held any warmth. They vanished without a trace the instant they struck the ground. She looked at the wound in Jonah's abdomen, at his pain-filled eyes, at his faded plaid shirt, and suddenly understood something. Struggling to her feet, she nearly fell. She steadied herself against the table, walked up to Jonah one step at a time, and bowed deeply. "I'm sorry."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, then turned and left the cabin. Bai Haorui followed them, looking back before he left. The white glow of the Spirit-Calming Talisman had grown brighter, like a tiny sun. Sam crouched beneath the apple tree in the cabin's backyard, picked up a shovel, and dug into the soil. The earth was soft and carried the fresh scent of vegetation. After only a few strokes, a piece of white bone appeared. He continued digging, his movements gentle, as though afraid of disturbing a sleeping soul. Soon, an entire skeleton was exposed, a few apple blossom petals still caught between its bones. A rusty wedding ring lay buried beside it, old and crudely made, clearly shaped by Jonah's own hands.
"These are Jonah's remains," Sam said softly. "Martha probably buried him here, close to the apple tree and close to the highway. That way, he could hear the wind blowing through the apple tree, see the cars passing on the highway, and... wait for the person he was waiting for."
Dean took a lighter from his backpack and set a pile of dry hay alight. Flames danced in the rainy night, casting a warm glow that lit the dark sky. Sam gently placed Jonah's remains in the fire. He murmured a eulogy, his voice especially clear amid the rain. "Jonah Greely, may you rest in peace. May you be reunited with Martha, and may your promise of a trip to the beach come true in another world. May you let go of your obsession and suffer no more."
The instant the flames rose, a sigh of release came from the direction of the cabin, as soft as a breath. Jonah's vengeful spirit appeared in the firelight. The wound in his abdomen had vanished. He wore a clean plaid shirt and held the stack of love letters, a gentle smile on his face. He nodded at Molly, then looked into the distance, as though seeing Martha, the woman holding sunflowers, waving to him. Then his figure gradually became transparent, like smoke scattered by the wind, dissipating little by little in the firelight. Even before he vanished, a smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth.
Molly stood beside the fire, crying harder, but her body no longer trembled. Bai Haorui walked over and held out the string of Five Emperor Coins. His voice was soft. "Try touching them."
Molly reached out a trembling hand and grasped the five coins. A cold sensation spread from her fingertips. This time, the coins emitted a faint white glow, illuminating her transparent fingers and the shallow scar on her wrist. On her first date with David, a branch had accidentally scratched her there. Distressed, David had put a bandage on it and said he would look after her for the rest of his life. She looked at her hand, at the hand that could pass through the firelight, at the hand that could pass through her own body, and finally asked the question she had never dared to ask. Her voice held both tears and release. "I... I'm a ghost too, aren't I?"
Sam and Dean nodded. Dean spoke softly, with a trace of reluctance, as though afraid of breaking the peace. "You died after you and David hit the tree. Your guilt and self-blame kept you trapped in this cycle, going through the same thing over and over. David's been waiting for you, waiting for you to let go of your obsession, waiting for you to face the truth."
"What about David?" Molly's voice was tearful, carrying a hint of hope. "Where is he?"
At the far end of the highway, a familiar figure slowly approached. He wore canvas sneakers that matched Molly's and the blue jacket she had given him. In his hand, he held a gleaming wedding ring, the very ring engraved with their initials. It was David. His steps were as light as a feather, making no sound against the ground. He walked to Molly and tenderly wiped the tears from her face. His fingers were transparent too, yet their touch held a hint of warmth, just as it had when he was alive.
"I've been waiting for you." David's voice was gentle, like a spring breeze dispersing the gloom in Molly's heart. "Waiting for you to let go, to face the truth, to say you were sorry. I walked this highway every day, watching you search for me over and over, watching you break down again and again. I wanted so badly to hold you and tell you it was all right, that we would atone together."
Molly looked at David's face, at the tenderness and acceptance in his eyes, at the familiar smile on his lips, and finally smiled, though her tears fell even harder. She threw herself into his arms, her shoulders shaking violently as she cried out all her remorse and pain. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long... I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I should have gotten out and helped him... I'm sorry..."
David shook his head and gently patted her back, treating her as tenderly as a fragile treasure. He took her hand and slipped the wedding ring back onto her ring finger. The instant it touched her finger, it gave a clear chime. "It wasn't your fault. It was our fault." David spoke quietly, but with strength. "We'll apologize together and atone together. Once we've atoned, we'll go to the beach, all right? Just like we always planned."
Their hands clasped tightly, their wedding rings touching with a clear chime. Their figures gradually became transparent, like mist illuminated by moonlight, a faint white glow rising around them. Molly looked back at the three men and gave a smile of release, filled with freedom and gratitude. "Thank you."
Then their figures vanished, disappearing into the warm firelight, into the night along Highway 41, leaving together for the trip to the beach that was fifteen years overdue.
The fire slowly died out. The soil beneath the apple tree grew still again, leaving only a pile of ashes glimmering faintly in the moonlight. The melody of "House of the Rising Sun" played once more. This time, there were no roars, no resentment, only a gentle farewell, like a lullaby.
The rain stopped. The moon emerged from the clouds and shed its clear light over Highway 41, the apple tree, and the cabin. The three men sat inside the Impala. The car was silent except for the melody flowing softly from the radio, carrying a faint melancholy and release.
Sam looked out at the apple tree, watching its leaves sway gently in the moonlight. "Sometimes ghosts are more persistent than people," he said quietly.
Dean started the car. The engine was so quiet it was almost inaudible. He glanced in the rearview mirror, looking at the empty highway, the cabin hidden among the trees, and the apple tree draped in moonlight. "Being persistent isn't a bad thing. Being trapped by your obsession is." He paused, his voice carrying a barely perceptible weariness and a trace of reflection. "Living is the harder part."
He thought of Martha, of the six months she had lived, waiting beside the highway every day through wind and sun, rain and freezing snow, clutching that stack of love letters and questioning everyone she met until her voice grew hoarse and her body gave out. Death happened in an instant. Close your eyes, and all the pain ended. But living meant enduring endless longing and pain, waiting and disappointment day after day, the bitterness of shattered hope. Living was the hardest part.
Bai Haorui leaned back in the rear seat, toying with the string of Five Emperor Coins. They had returned to their original brass color, without a trace of yin energy, gleaming softly in the moonlight. "Taoism says, 'Let go of one thought, and all is freedom,'" he said quietly. "Jonah let go of his resentment. Molly let go of her denial. They're both free now." He raised his head and looked at Dean in the driver's seat and Sam beside him, a hint of deeper meaning in his eyes. "What about you two?"
Dean did not answer. He simply pressed the accelerator. The Impala's taillights gradually disappeared toward the end of the highway, like two red stars traveling farther and farther into the night. Sam looked at Dean's profile, his tightly pressed lips, the exhaustion and resolve buried deep in his eyes. He knew Dean's obsession: protecting him, killing the Yellow-Eyed Demon, fulfilling their father's dying wish. That obsession was both Dean's shackle and his driving force.
He also knew his own obsession: unraveling the secrets within himself, finding a way to kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon, protecting Dean. They were both trapped in the cycle of fate, like Molly and David, like Jonah and Martha.
Beneath the apple tree beside the highway, the soil shifted slightly. A brand-new wedding ring lay buried in the earth, glimmering faintly in the moonlight, like a star that had fallen into the mortal world.