As I opened the door to the young woman's apartment, I noticed a familiar smell and aura – neither was a good thing. I had just driven her here to this strange neighborhood. It was kind of shocking to me that I had never been to this part of town in all the 30 years since I moved here. It was actually a long drive from town, and the area gave off vibes of a spectral hamlet. The foyer was musty and cold. The farther we walked inside the young woman's home, the worse the smell became and the colder the temperature felt. As I said, the place seemed familiar – I immediately thought that it was all worse than my house. That's when it hit me, the familiarity was because of the otherworldly smells and senses found at my own house, especially when HER would appear. I helped the young woman to the couch, which was situated toward the back of what I would guess was the living room. She started fighting me a lot more than she did along the walkway from my vehicle to her apartment's front door. She was like the proverbial "bird in a cage" trying really hard in all her rage to escape the woes of the tempest and rains. It took all I had to calm her down. I almost offered to take her home with me, but deep down, I knew that would be a stupid thing to do. She finally sat down on the couch, but she kept saying she did not want to be there; finally, she screamed that she "could not stay there." Her tone sent chills down my spine. I told her that I would not leave her alone, then I proceeded to grab my cell. I was going to call the young man who had initiated the ride-share for her. My phone was not in the back pocket of my jeans where I usually place it upon leaving the car. I was miffed that I had left it behind. I told the young woman that I had to return to the vehicle to get my cell phone to call the young man. The young woman jumped up off the couch and said, "please don't leave me alone." I agreed to let her walk back to my car with me and that we would stay there until I got through to the young man. I asked the young woman for her name and the young man's name. She quietly told me her name was Bridget. She did not share the young man's name with me. I asked her again for his name – to my surprise, she said "I don't even know him; I don't even think he's human." I kind of laughed it off because I didn't need more horror stories in my life that included the ethereal realm, and I just figured that Bridget was being smart-alecky. I thought that she was probably pissed at the young man and did not want to lend a name to his unsavory demeanor. Wrong. It turns out that she really did not know his name. She was going to explain to me why she did not believe he was human, but I cut off that attempt of an explanation dead in its tracks. I told Bridget that I was just going to call him Jason. I don't know why I chose that name. It was either because of the Jason from my favorite soap opera because I really admire his character (the role not the quality) or because of the Jason who is venerated as a saint in the Catholic tradition. Or, maybe because just a few months ago, I had read about Jason during the Hellenizing period when the name Jason was used by many as an analogon of Jesus. I found the research interesting, and it must have fascinated me to the point where I decided, at the flip of a coin, per se, to name the strange, young man Jason. The minute the moniker Jason spewed from my mouth, Bridget looked at me in a strange manner, and with an indignant tone said, "how in the hell did you figure out that things name?"
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