"Ericka," she whispered sadly as Jasmin watched and listened to the conversation between the two women. Ericka had returned to where she belonged.
"Jasmin," one of them called gently.
"They will be in danger," she warned her companion.
"I know," Ellese replied with a sigh. "I know they'll be in danger. But I also believe that the truth will prevail."
"I want to rest—but I can't see the light. Is that what it's like? I just want peace, without dragging anyone else into this mess." She shook her head in frustration.
"We understand how you feel," Felisa said gently. "Even if we have to force ourselves to forgive—and forget everything that happened, including our deaths. We hoped… we hoped we would've moved on by now. That we wouldn't still be here, Jasmin."
"But when souls like ours thirst for justice," Ellese added in a low, melancholic voice, "even if we're tired… even if we're just waiting for the pain to fade… a soul like ours, a victim of human greed, will keep doing and doing..."
"I know there are other ways," Jasmin said quietly, disagreeing with their current path.
"What way do you know, Jasmin?" Felisa asked.
"I know you're both grieving over everything that's happened. I'm sorry. But we want to find the justice that was denied to us for so long."
"We don't want to achieve it like this—by putting our loved ones in danger."
She didn't say anything more, only forcing a small smile as Ellese and Felisa slowly faded away.
"Jasmin, I know you'll understand us someday..." a voice said as it disappeared from her sight.
Jasmin sighed deeply.
She watched the women around her—ghosts, spirits—growing in number, crying, some losing their composure. She pitied them as she glimpsed moments from their lives in the world they once belonged to.
She also saw Ruth's parents.
Ruth? No... it's Chesca. Jasmin corrected herself. She looked on with sadness and grief, as if accepting her death. But on her face was also a clear desire—for revenge, for justice.
Jasmin shook her head.
She was now one of them—a restless soul, wandering between the physical world and the spirit realm. Though unseen, she now roamed the land of the living.
Just as when she was alive, the city around her teemed with life. Young people walked home from school. The longing for a life she had lost stirred something deep in her.
She heard laughter, conversations, car horns, the sounds of busy buildings. Still walking, her spiritual body passed freely through the bustling streets.
A young boy begging on the side of the road caught her attention. She observed his daily struggle. She shook her head sadly.
Indeed, the world is full of sorrow—and masks.
Then she witnessed something darker. A young girl was being raped in a quiet, narrow, dim alley.
Jasmin desperately wanted to help. But how? How could she help in this form?
Even as someone passed by, they ignored the girl's cries. They chose to look away.
If I hadn't died, I wouldn't be seeing things like this, she thought. My parents protected me. That was a blessing—not everyone has that in this world.
She walked away, her thoughts heavy with what she'd just witnessed.
If I were alive... could I have helped her? Jasmin asked herself. Or would I have pretended not to hear, like the others? Where do I stand between those two extremes? The reflection stung.
Sadness washed over her, leading her to a place she knew well.
She saw herself, in a memory—when a man rescued her. She remembered the fear, the confusion, the desperation to survive.
Suddenly, she was back inside the warehouse.
She remembered losing consciousness. When she awoke, it was to the sound of women crying and screaming.
Her hands were tied so tightly she couldn't move. Her body trembled, drenched in sweat. She was hoarse—her voice gone—and she couldn't speak.
A guard noticed her. He covered her mouth, making it hard to breathe. Her hands stayed bound as he dragged her violently. A shadowy presence followed behind.
The terror she felt that night returned in full force.
Again, she heard the women's cries. She saw locked rooms, women trapped inside. In one room, a naked woman was being forced to have sex with an old man. Jasmin could see the fear and resistance in the woman's eyes.
In another, even more horrifying room, a woman's intestines were being removed.
Jasmin nearly fainted.
People in lab coats were dissecting a dying woman. That woman looked at Jasmin, her eyes pleading, her pain unbearable. Her blood soaked the floor.
They were removing her organs—her entrails. Her tears were the only comfort she had left.
Jasmin nearly collapsed from the sight. Then came the stench of rotting bodies.
She realized this warehouse wasn't just a prison—it was a lab. A slaughterhouse.
The decay made her gag. She had to turn away, or else she'd lose consciousness.
She had been lucky to escape that place alive. Otherwise, she too would've been thrown into one of those black trash bags—faceless, lifeless, and discarded.
The memory of mangled bodies, the inhumanity, the silence of the place—it was all so horrifying.
That warehouse was a secret, and it was meant to stay that way.
Jasmin returned to the endless darkness.
The siblings stood there, staring at her, saying nothing.