“I came to help,” the man leaned back and rested his head on the back of the seat.

“With what?”

“Tell me about your daughter,” he said.

Stan’s hand moved across his chest—as if his heart was actually broken—and he forced it back to the steering wheel when he realized what it was doing. His upper lip trembled as he remembered the look on Amy’s face the last time he saw her. He shook his head. 24, 27, 30.

“It was so unfair, I know. The death of a child is always senseless.” The man punched the air in front of him. “It’s not fair to her and certainly not to you. That’s why you count, right?”

Stan held his breath. You’re not real. He exhaled. “Yes,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I can help you,” the man’s voice ran through Stan’s ears and felt like soothing lotion on his nerves.

“What?” Stan shook his head again and kept counting. 33, 36, 39, 42.

“I can give you your daughter back.”

Stan tried to focus on the next stop. He pulled the bus to one side and watched two of the emo freaks move toward the door. When the door opened, rain rushed in and mist dampened Stan’s skin. The kids both glanced at him with a look that may have been fear or worry. They rushed down the stairs and ran, not slowing down until they were a block away from the bus.

“How?” he asked the man. 45, 48, 51, 54.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll handle it all. But I do need something from you.”

“Anything.” He turned and looked at the man. “I’d do anything to have her back alive.” His hands curled into fists and heat rushed to his cheeks. He pounded against the wheel one, two, three times. The bus was silent.

“Are you okay, Mr. Grier?” asked Blue-haired girl.

Pointy-nosed kid moved closer to the emergency exit in the back of the bus. Big glasses girl also looked around for a way out.

“I’m fine! Everything’s okay!” His voice shook.

The bus moved toward a steep hill, which most bus drivers avoided, but Stan usually had the concentration and skill to glide up and down smoothly. There were few houses on the hill; no one wanted real estate that could slide away with the slightest earthquake or heavy rain. Instead, community gardens filled with flowers and vegetables lined the road.

“Tell me about your daughter,” the man said again.

Stan let his mind wander to a tiny box on a shelf behind a locked door, the place in his mind where he kept all memories of Amy.  He opened the box, slowly and with care. The smell of peppermint filled his nose. The bus lurched forward causing high-pitched squeals as he started up the steep incline. Stan tried to focus on the hill. He heard her laugh—light, free, contagious.

“I’ve heard about her laugh.” The man read his mind. He lowered his voice and whispered in a tone so deep, it vibrated in Stan’s stomach. “I need something from you,” he said.

The bus moved slowly but steadily up the hill, past the greens and tomatoes, past the rose bushes and hydrangeas. The higher they went, the louder the wind howled.

 “A life for a life. I can bring Amy back healthy and strong. I can make sure she’s protected and loved every day of her life. All you have to do is sacrifice one life here,” the man said.

Stan’s hands went limp just long enough for the bus to slide back a couple feet. Stan pushed the gas pedal a little harder but instead of moving forward, a noise from the tires scratched his ears, like they were at risk of getting stuck in a mud puddle. He pulled his foot off of both pedals and let the bus dip backwards. Stan peered ahead between the raindrops. 57, 60, 63, 66, 69.

“What do you mean? I have to kill one of the kids?” he asked when the bus was back under his control.

“You give me a life, and I’ll give you a life. It’s that simple.”

Stan reached the top of the hill. It was the same hill he’d driven up and down five days a week for months. But that day, he felt like his future, his heart, waited for him at the bottom. A life for a life. Simple, right?

He stared at the pedestrians at the bottom of the hill. They crossed the crosswalk, paying him no mind. Stan tried to pretend they were tiny bugs, little meaningless creatures he could smash. He’d do anything for his Amy. He pushed the gas pedal and the bus jumped over the precipice of the hill and tumbled downward.

“Mr. Grier! Mr. Grier, what are you doing?” Pointy-nosed kid had one hand on the emergency exit, ready to leap if he was given the chance.

The children…

“Your daughter,” said the man.

Stan pushed the gas farther than he had ever pushed it. The bus flew downhill. Halfway down, Stan aimed it for one unsuspecting creature. She was a moth. Her poncho, draped over her shoulders, hung past her knees, like gray wings.