“Honey, there’s an emergency at the office. I’ve got to deal with a project. Can you take the car to the dealership for the tune-up later?” my husband asked.
Arnold Jefferson had just picked up a call and was immediately heading out the door.
The déjà vu hit me like a tidal wave. I realized that I had been reborn.
In my last life, I had agreed to take the car by myself. However, not long after I got home, I received a call from the dealership.
"Miss Cunnings, you missed your scheduled appointment and didn't come here. Should we cancel it and reschedule?”
I was puzzled. I was so sure I personally handed the keys at the dealership just moments ago.
The service rep on the other end sounded just as confused and asked, "Miss Cunning, you never came by today. How could you have given me your keys?”
Before I could even begin to make sense of what was happening, the police called to tell me I had killed someone.
The dealership's surveillance camera had no record of my arrival or departure, but the city traffic cameras showed a crystal-clear account of my supposed crime. It recorded my reckless speeding, how arrogant I was, the crashing and fleeing after taking lives.
In the end, I was framed as a cold-blooded killer and I died a brutal death with no justice.
I kept my head down as I processed everything silently. Arnold noticed my action, so he walked over and squatted in front of me.
“Are you mad at me? You look upset," he asked. He talked in a soft nice voice, like he was talking to a child.
As I saw the same warm appearance on his face that I had seen for ten years, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
After I married him, I handed the company over to Arnold and settled into a life of ease and comfort.
Whether it was work or our home life, he always took care of everything. I never had to worry about a thing.
So why today, of all days, did he ask me to take the car in? Why did such a bizarre, catastrophic thing happen the one time I did? Was it just a coincidence … or something more?
I swallowed my doubts and finally spoke, “I’m not mad. I just don’t feel well. Maybe I’ll reschedule the appointment for the car maintenance?”
Without missing a beat, Arnold pressed a hand to my forehead with a concerned look on his face. He asked, “You don’t look so good. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”