Release me. Now. Or I ****** kill her." I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. I gave them exactly what Benny had told me and they said it's better if I stay and wait for police to get there, which I did. So I did exactly that. I said, "I'm alone now with the assailant. I can hear her coming up the stairs. I'm really scared. Could you send over an ambulance? I am locked in my house, so she may be able to get in to me now." So a nice police sergeant told her not to bother me anymore and that they were sending someone over, and then she said she's gonna break the door in with the back of a gun, and then a little old lady in white came walking in the door. She looked at me and went, "Wow, you should totally lock your door. You know how those things go." And I said, "I know it's illegal and you're a police officer, but you really don't wanna get involved in all this," to which she said, "I'm already involved. And besides, if you'd been a cop, you'd know that the suspect has already been released from the hospital. You need to release her from her house." She turned and then went, "No, wait, stay here. They're on their way." She gave her some other instructions. Then she said, "You should get this psycho off the grid as soon as possible. And so should you." To which I said, "Yeah." And she went, "It's better this way, sweetie. You know it's best to just let it be." I said, "Yeah, I know. But how about I buy you a drink?" And she said, "Maybe that wouldn't be a good idea." And I said, "I think it would." So we went into the living room, which is right when we walked in, the suspect entered and pulled a gun on me. She pointed it at me and said, "Hands in the air. Don't look at me like that. I know what you're doing." And I said, "How the hell would you know? I was just trying to make an acquaintance, but now you're all bent out of shape." She said, "You're not making an acquaintance. You're in the middle of a murder-suicide. You need to leave now, or I'm gonna shoot your partner." And I said, "Who is your partner?" And she said, "How the hell should I know? It doesn't matter. She's an asshole anyway. Just a ***** who got in the way. You want to know what she did to me? She stole all of my ****. And my mother's wedding ring that I wear all the time. I have no ****. You want to know how I got here? He sold me. Fucked me up." So I said, "What are you talking about? What about the house you've been staying in? Why is there a dead body there? What the hell happened?" And she said, "Just leave. I'll tell you when you get to my car. Please just get out of here." And I said, "Fine. I'm gone." She said, "Are you going to tell anyone about this?" And I said, "Well, not unless you want me to." She said, "I'd rather you don't." So I went out the front door, got in my car, and she followed me out with the gun to my window. She said, "Okay, bye. Hope you feel good about yourself. I will never forget what you did to me." I felt horrible, but I was glad I finally knew. I wouldn't have known, if she didn't tell me. So as she was going back in, I drove away. And as I drove away, I thought, I am so glad that this didn't happen to someone important. And then I got back to my townhouse and called my best friend to tell her what just happened, which is when she told me that her co-worker said she was just telling her she missed the co-worker's boyfriend and that he said he had been in a fight. That's when I remembered that this was his funeral and that I had to go to his funeral. And I just broke down. The point of the story is, never let anyone tell you that you can't do something. If you want to find out what you're made of, do something. It doesn't matter what. I don't care if it makes sense to anyone else. I have to go to this funeral in three hours. But I'm coming. And so is she. I have to apologize for this next part, but it is an important one: I didn't even tell the receptionist that I had to come. I pretended to be having a breakdown in the lobby while she got someone to help me up the elevator, which was why I wasn't surprised when she asked me what was wrong. When I told her what happened, she said, "There's the cemetery. I just passed it." I told her what I was doing for a living, which she didn't know. I also said, "I just have to go here. I'll call my friend and ask her to go with me." Then I got up and she said, "Follow me." She knocked on a door and opened it and a man came out. She said, "Would you like to go into the service with a friend? She has two friends, which you should be aware of," she added, which made me feel stupid. I said, "I have no other friends." And she said, "You'll be a great friend to each other." So I had to go inside and sit by myself, which I think was the first time I was alone in any situation since my father's funeral. And then after it was over, I sat and thought that I was still so ****ed out, that it was almost like it didn't happen at all. Then I realized it was her making me feel that way, and that she knew I needed a friend, and that she told the receptionist to make me go. And that I was probably never gonna see her again. And so I cried for ten minutes. And then I texted her: "I know what I should've done is ask you to go with me. I was angry. But I am not so ****ed up that I would have a stranger show up. So I wanted to thank you. And the whole time it was happening, I thought about your eyes, how they looked in mine, and how you were looking through me, and for the last five hours I thought I was gonna do it. But I thought about you on the way there, the fact that you were probably lying to me, or going with a million people you didn't even know, and I knew I couldn't do it." So she responded, "I told you I was gonna help you, no matter what." And so I wrote back, "Thanks. I really didn't think I was gonna do it." The reason I told you the full story is because I have some things to say about you. And so does she. She really helped me through this and I had you in my mind and I just had to say that, because I know it will help you understand what happened. You should thank her too. I told her how I felt about her after the funeral, and she said, "That was it? You barely even know me. And you're a great person too." And I said, "No, I'm not." And she said, "Yes you are. I am too. I never met her, but we share so many things in common. I think we're on the same path to healing and we're on it together." And I told her that it felt like I had gone to a funeral where my mom had just died. And she said, "Oh, like that. How did you feel after?" And I said, "I felt like I had been in shock and I was sitting there, and a couple people were talking, and I was listening, and then they stopped talking and then I just fell asleep." And she said, "Did you dream about anything?" I said, "I couldn't get in the car." She said, "I felt like that, but there was a woman in your house too. And she was a child, like you were a child." And I said, "Well, I had a dream about being a child again." And she said, "So did I. At least, that's what it felt like. What is your dream about?" And I said, "It was about being ten again, when I was a kid, just for a minute." And she said, "That's how my childhood felt. I feel like every experience in my life could have gone another way if my sister hadn't died when she did." And so I just started crying again. And she started to cry too. I told her I was feeling a lot, and she said she didn't have any energy, but she put her hand over mine. And I realized that I didn't know how many more times I had that dream about being ten. And I was still remembering it, because I felt like I really was ten. So we cried for about half