After driving back home, I walk into my apartment hoping and praying Abby that has disappeared. She has not. In fact, she is cooking and singing.

“Abby,” I say.

“You are back,” she responds, smiling, and then faces her pots again.

“Can we … talk?” I ask.

“Sure,” she responds, turning.

“You are not real,” I say, and she laughs in response. How I have missed that contagious and beautiful laughter, but now it sounds like a torment. “Abby!” I shout, banging my fist on the wooden table.

“George, I know,” Abby responds.

“How do you … know?” I ask.

“You raised me from the dead. You disturbed my peace. For two years, I was wandering around, not a free spirit,” she responds, filling me in.

“You have to go back,” I say.

“Now you do not want me? Damn! You are crazy,” Abby shouts, coming towards me. “Because of you, I have never known peace beyond the grave. Now you want me to leave? Like hell I will.”

Before responding, I stand up, horrified. Who knows what she could do to me? “Abby, I am sorry. I can fix this,” I plead.

“Damn you! I do not want to go back anymore. I am doing just fine here,” she says. “You wanted me back, didn’t you? Well, I am back now.”

“What will I say to people?” I ask.

“Do not give me that crap,” Abby responds. “Go back to your witchdoctor and ask him to give you something that will make people forget that I am dead, if that is possible.”

“Abby, this is abnormal,” I tell her.

“I know. You made me a freak,” she shouts in response.

“I know, and I am sorry,” I shout. I then pull out my gun and shoot her on her stomach.

Abby’s mouth goes wide open in response. She then clutches at her stomach, and her eyes are wide. She then bends over, still holding her lower abdomen, and lets out a piercing scream, throwing her head back while shaking her shoulders.

I just stand there, watching on.

“This is for the best, Abby. It will be all over soon,” I say, scanning the room for plastics or a mat that I could wrap her in, and wondering where I should take to bury her, because I possibly could not organize another funeral for her.

After a while, I walk to my bathroom, looking for a shovel and some cleaning stuff. I then quickly drag the carpet in my bedroom floor and conclude that I will wrap her in it.

Tell us: Do you think George made the right choice by killing Abby again?