Miriam had always known things she shouldn’t. Not in the logical, pieced-together way that detectives or therapists did. No, she felt them as if she were omniscient: other people’s pain, their fears, their desires, as if they were her own. It was a miserable way to live. She avoided crowds, never watched the news, and knew that even eye contact with a stranger could unravel their entire story in her head.
            And now, on this empty road, with her car out of gas and the night pressing in, she felt him before she saw him.
            He was coming.            
            A man, steeped in rage, a killer, was coming for her. She already knew what he planned to do.
            A figure stepped from the darkness of the woods, the glint of a knife at his side.
            “Don’t scream,” he muttered.
            Miriam didn’t. Instead, she studied him. Ernie. That was his name. She felt it like a brand on her soul.
            Ernie was used to his victim’s fear. It fueled him, gave him control. But this woman, she wasn’t afraid.
            She looked at him, really looked at him. His chest tightened. It was not supposed to go like this.
            “Ernie,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
            He froze. “What the hell did you just say?”
            “I said I’m sorry for what your life has been like.”
            “How do you know about my life? And how do you know my name?” His grip on the knife tightened.
            “I know what they did to you. How your father beat you until you stopped crying. That your mother left you alone in that filthy apartment when you were six. For the way no one came for you.”
            For the first time Ernie’s rage warred with something else. Confusion.
            “How do you know that?” he screamed.
            Miriam stepped closer, ignoring the blade. “Because I feel it. I feel you, Ernie. I know you don’t want to do this. Not really. You just don’t know how to stop.”
            He exhaled shakily. “Shut up. I won’t listen to this nonsense. You’re going to die tonight!”
           “You’ve been trying to kill the pain for years, haven’t you? But it never dies. It just comes back in a different form. You can kill me, and you’ll still wake up tomorrow with the same hollow feeling.”
            His breathing was ragged now. “Shut. Up.”
            She reached out, gently placing her hand over his. The one holding the knife.
            “I can help you,” she whispered.
            For the first time in years, Ernie felt something other than anger. He felt small. Exposed. A child. His hands trembled.
            “I don’t know how to stop,” he said, his voice cracking.
           Miriam nodded. “I know.”
            Then she moved.
            Fast. Precise.
She grabbed the knife. She drove it into his ribs.
            His eyes went wide, a breath catching in his throat. He staggered, hands grasping at the handle buried deep in his side. Blood poured out of the unforgiving hole.
            Miriam caught him as he began to fall.
            He gurgled, blood bubbling at his lips. “You…?”
            Tears welled in her eyes, but her voice remained steady. “You were never going to stop, Ernie. You were trapped. This was the only way to set you free.”
            He stared at her. A look of understanding before a final shuddering breath. He crumpled to the ground.
            Miriam knelt beside him, checking for a pulse.
            For the first time in her life, she felt peace, Ernie’s peace.
            The distant sound of an engine rumbled in the night. Headlights crested the hill.
            Miriam stood, stepping away from Ernie’s body.
            A truck pulled over. The driver, a middle-aged man in a baseball cap, leaned out the window. “Hey! You okay?”
            Miriam turned and nodded.
            “Car trouble?” he asked.
            She smiled, “In a way.”
            The man noticed the body on the pavement. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?”
            Miriam took a deep breath. “I stopped a killer.”
            Before the man could react, she inquired. “Can I get a ride?”

Dr. Neil Weiner’s psychology books include Shattered Innocence and the Curio Shop. Non-psychology publications are Across the Borderline and The Art of Fine Whining. He has a monthly advice column in a Portland Newspaper, AskDr.Neil.