Billie Lancaster.

I received another disappointing news—I didn't get the job.

The night air was chilly, causing me to seek warmth by slipping my hands into the pockets of my jacket. While standing beside the road, a captivating and rhythmic melody streamed into my ears through my earbuds, providing solace as I patiently waited for the traffic light to change. Unexpectedly, I felt a jolt as someone collided with me. Annoyed, I swiftly removed one of my earbuds and glanced around, only to find no trace of the person who had bumped into me.

I adjusted my muffler, ensuring it provided adequate warmth around my neck. I scanned my surroundings, briefly diverting my gaze from the road. However, my attention swiftly returned to the traffic ahead, where a startling sight unfolded—a young man, in a frantic state, dashed onto the road, causing pandemonium among the passing cars. Anger dissipated within me, replaced by astonishment resembling saucers for eyes, as I observed the scene that unfolded before me.

It was a terrifying sight, and the bystanders along the road desperately called out to him, their pleas falling on deaf ears. Ignoring their frantic calls, he persistently attempted to navigate across the six-lane road. Suddenly, misfortune struck, and he stumbled, landing face-first on the pavement. Onlookers wore expressions of confusion and concern as they witnessed the unfolding events.

The piercing blare of a truck's horn shattered the surrounding clamor, capturing my immediate attention. The massive vehicle rapidly approached the vulnerable individual, who remained motionless on the ground. Panic ensued, and the collective voices of the bystanders crescendoed, desperately beseeching both the man and the truck driver. The roadside transformed into a scene of utter chaos, amplifying my own trepidation. The sheer terror of imagining the potential consequences if immediate aid wasn't provided to the man gripped me tightly.

In the midst of the overwhelming chaos, an instinctual force propelled my legs into motion, surpassing any conscious thought. Without a moment's hesitation, I found myself sprinting toward the formidable six-lane road, even as a truck barreled closer with each passing second. My body moved as if guided by an external power, heedless of the immense risk to my own life as I endeavored to rescue a stranger about whom I knew nothing.

In what seemed like an instant, I reached the prone figure lying on the ground. Though his face remained obscured, the anguish etched across his features was palpable. Ignoring my own exhaustion and fear, I summoned every ounce of strength within me to lift him away from the imminent danger of the oncoming truck. The combined force of adrenaline and determination enabled me to carry him to safety, just mere moments before the thunderous vehicle thundered past our location.

Gasping for breath, I collapsed onto the ground alongside the stranger after successfully crossing the road. The gravity of the situation struck me, and I struggled to comprehend the fact that I had come perilously close to losing my own life, all for the sake of a complete unknown. Honestly, it was an act I would have never considered before that moment.

A crowd quickly gathered around us, expressing concern and inquiring about our well-being. Some even applauded, hailing me as a hero for rescuing the man's life. As I lay there, I mustered the strength to turn my head and face the stranger whom I had saved. As expected, it was indeed a man, but what I witnessed next left me in shock. He was bleeding profusely from a severe wound on his stomach.

In a state of shock, I swiftly rose to my feet, hastily unwrapped the muffler from around my neck, and urgently appealed to the surrounding crowd, "Someone, please call an ambulance!"

Murmurs rippled through the onlookers, but their words went unnoticed as my sole focus rested on the injured man by my side. Determinedly, I approached him, gently removing his blood-soaked top to reveal a stab wound. Though lacking medical expertise, I possessed some rudimentary knowledge of first aid. Without hesitation, I pressed my muffler firmly against the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding until professional help arrived.

The thought of risking my own life to save a complete stranger, only to witness his demise moments later, was unbearable. No, that was not an outcome I could accept. I was resolute in my determination to prevent death from claiming him.

Minutes ticked by, and as the man's bleeding persisted, my muffler became saturated with his blood. I had no choice but to discard it on the road, replacing it with a muffler offered by a kind-hearted person from the crowd. Gratefully accepting the gesture, I continued applying pressure to the wounds using the new muffler.

Finally, the awaited sound of sirens pierced the air as the ambulance arrived. The paramedics swiftly emerged, carefully placing the injured man onto a stretcher before wheeling him into the back of the ambulance. I trailed closely behind, joining them inside as instructed. Seated on one of the back seats, I clutched my bag tightly, stained with the man's blood, and observed intently as the paramedics connected him to an automated external defibrillator

AED

.

An older woman approached me, holding a notepad in her hands, and asked, "Do you know the man?"

I shook my head, unable to find the right words to express myself. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of what had transpired, I struggled to comprehend the fact that I had willingly risked my own life to rescue someone from an oncoming truck and desperately tried to prevent them from bleeding to death. It all felt incredibly surreal.

The woman spoke again, her voice filled with gratitude, "Thank you for administering first aid to the man. You saved his life."

I had saved a man's life. In a single night, I had faced two different challenges—the danger of a moving truck and the urgency of stopping severe bleeding. I had emerged victorious, and the weight of that realization settled upon me. I had truly saved a man's life.

I arrived home very late at night, causing my mom to be upset with me. However, once I explained everything that had happened, her anger transformed into concern.

After recounting the events of the day to my boyfriend, Devin, I laid on my bed in my pajamas. He kept reassuring me, saying things like, "Don't worry, another job will come," and emphasizing how important it was that I had saved a life.

Despite my tiredness, I struggled to fall asleep. Even after chatting with Devin for a few minutes, my mind couldn't shake off the memories of that night. The idea of saving someone's life felt surreal to me, Billie Lancaster. It was hard to believe that my day had gone from job hunting to being involved in a life-saving act.

"Billie Lancaster." I distinctly heard my name being called. Startled, I sat up on my bed, scanning the fully illuminated room for the source of the voice. Yet, I found no one in sight. I wondered if I was simply imagining things, and perhaps no one had actually called out to me. But then, I heard it again, clear as day. "Billie Lancaster."

With a sense of certainty, I rose from my bed, compelled to investigate further. The voice, undoubtedly masculine, echoed through the room. "Is anyone there?" I called out, my voice filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Silence greeted me in response, intensifying my fear. The thought of an intruder in my house sent shivers down my spine.

"Billie Lancaster."

"Yes, who is it?" I inquired, scanning every corner of my room for any signs of a presence. My gaze eventually settled on the direction of my window, prompting me to cautiously approach it. It seemed possible that the person calling my name was positioned outside, near the window.

As I peered through the window, I found no one outside—just a tree swaying in the breeze and an empty front porch. Confusion swept over me. I was certain I had heard my name being called three times. "Who's playing a prank on me?" I questioned aloud, my voice tinged with a hint of irritation.

Met with silence, I hurriedly left my room and rushed to my mom's door. Knocking rapidly, she wearily opened it, and I hurried inside her room.

"What's the matter, Billie?" she asked with a tired tone, clearly disturbed from her sleep. "It's already midnight, and you're disturbing my rest."

"Mum, I heard someone call my name," I exclaimed, hoping for some reassurance.

My mom remained silent, her emerald green eyes—similar to mine—averting away from me as she moved to sit on her bed.

"Who called your name?" my mom asked, her voice filled with drowsiness. I moved closer to her bed and sat on the edge. "You're saying someone called you?"

"Yes, mom, I'm certain of it," I insisted, but she looked at me as if I were telling a joke. "I'm not joking, Mom. I heard someone call my name twice."

"And did you respond?" she inquired.

"I only answered twice," I replied.

"Well, if the person calls your name again, bow your head and say, 'I'm here, my Lord,'" she responded sarcastically.

I stared at my mom with disbelief, finding it hard to believe she was suggesting that. I wasn't Samuel from the Bible, after all. "Seriously, Mom? Someone really did call my name," I asserted.

She shrugged. "I'm just saying, or maybe it's a sign of death calling."

Her last statement piqued my curiosity. I settled comfortably on her bed, crossed my arms over my chest, and inquired, "What... What do you mean by 'it's death calling'?"

She yawned, a sign that she was still sleepy, but she decided to explain nonetheless. "There's a legend that says if someone calls your full name three times and you respond three times, it means you'll die because it's a sign of death calling."

Okay, that seriously gave me the chills. I wasn't one to easily believe in legends, but what my mom told me that night, even though it seemed funny, stayed with me.

As I lay on my bed that night, I heard the voice call my name once more. However, this time, I chose not to respond. The legend had gotten under my skin, and it continued to bother me.