Along the highway he wandered, cursing himself for not stopping to rest when he had the chance. He had nodded off, only to be jolted awake from veering off the road and over some sharp rocks. It felt like ages since he left his Jeep, yet no vehicles had passed from either direction. Surrounded by mist, he felt uneasy, pondering when he’d find civilization.

Just then, he heard a faint sound. As it grew louder, he recognized the clip-clop of hooves, and a silhouette appeared from the fog behind him. A horse, its hide like marble, and upon its back, a woman. Clad in a lacy, black dress, she could have emerged from an old Western film. Untamed curls cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. From beneath a few windswept locks, dark eyes studied him. She was breathtaking, and he felt guilty; she looked younger than him by at least a decade, and he was already taken.

“Need help, sir?”

“Ah…yes!” he said, gathering his composure. “I got a flat tire some ways back, and I have no service out here. Can you take me to the nearest town?”

“Of course. Climb on up.”

He felt somewhat embarrassed, having to hold on to her to keep from falling off, but she didn’t seem bothered. She was softly humming a tune, which he recognized from that older song about a nameless horse. Before long, the fog receded, and he was shocked to see they were at the edge of a large and very pristine city. He’d driven that highway countess times…yet he didn’t recognize this place.

“Where are we?” he found himself asking.

“End of the road. Everyone reaches it eventually…some sooner than others.” She peered over her shoulder at him as she spoke the last few words, and his unease returned tenfold.

“What do you mean? Look, I have to get home.”

“You are home.” she replied, her voice cryptic.

“What are you talking about?? This isn’t my home. I live in L.A.” Frantically, he took out his wallet, showing her a photo of his girlfriend. “She’s waiting for me there.”

But the woman merely gave him a forlorn look and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now, Charles.”

An foreboding chill swept over him. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “How do you know my name?”

Instead of responding, she pointed into the mist behind them, and an image manifested, flashing red and blue. Scattered across the highway were the mangled remains of a familiar-looking Jeep and among the debris, a bloodied sheet, beneath from which a hand protruded, pale and lifeless, a pinky ring upon its finger that matched the one he wore on his own hand.