那天晚上，我睡得很香。十多天来，我要么忙于父亲的葬礼，要么忙于收割者的严肃职责。这是一个难得的宁静夜晚，我在梦中再次见到了我的父母——他们喜笑颜开，安慰我说我不必担心，因为他们已经升天了，一切都好。

黎明时分，我兑现了几天前中得的彩票，扣除税款后，我还剩下大约16万美元。

我刚跨过门槛，怀特就打来了电话。他说他正在考虑换车——他看中了一辆本田——并问我有什么建议。他的话激起了我的思考：我的福特车忠实地为我服务了近十年；也许它也该换了。

我几乎能感觉到口袋里的钱在焦急地动着。

我从来就不喜欢韩国车，因此我直接把它们排除在考虑范围之外。如果我选​​择购买新车，韩国品牌将不在我的选择之列。

我问怀特他考虑的是哪个品牌。他解释说，他的第一辆汽车是日产——这个品牌曾以质量闻名，尽管近年来声誉和销量都在下降。然而，尽管如此，他仍然倾向于另一个日本品牌——这次是丰田。不可否认，我一直很欣赏这个车型；然而，当它首次亮相时，我刚刚购买了我的福特，当时我的经济状况相当拮据，只能远远地欣赏它。

怀特的话又引发了我的另一个想法：我的下一辆车会是 SUV 吗？SUV 车身宽大，视野开阔，散发着庄严的气息，并承诺提供完全不同的驾驶体验。然而，经过深思熟虑，大多数 SUV 注定要行驶在城市道路上；即使在山区绕行，家用 SUV 也很少展现出越野车的真正勇气。在 20,000 美元左右的价格范围内，丰田、大众和怀特青睐的日产似乎都是值得称赞的选择。

Volkswagen’s design, however, struck me as overly homogeneous—both its exterior and interior, though free of glaring faults, lacked distinctive flair. I dismissed the Tiguan first. Though I am in my thirties, I still regard myself as youthful, and such a vehicle seemed better suited to someone in their forties.

The CR-V, by contrast, was unremarkable in every respect—neither egregiously flawed nor exceptionally impressive. I had considered it when I purchased my Ford, but despite several facelifts, the new CR-V remained stubbornly mediocre. Thus, it too was eliminated.

As for the Nissan, its aesthetics did resonate with my taste; yet perhaps because of that very familiarity, it seemed all too conventional. Moreover, I had no desire to share my ride with White. I preferred something imbued with individuality.

With these three out of contention, I turned my attention to the remaining leading contenders in the segment—two Japanese models: one from Honda, the other from Toyota. Each possessed its own merits.

I recalled an incident from years past—shortly after acquiring my Ford, one dusky evening I stopped at a gas station. Having filled my tank, I nudged the car to the roadside when, all of a sudden, a speeding bus hurtled toward my vehicle. Fortuitously, it merely brushed the side of my car; inside, I felt only a violent jolt, yet when I stepped out, the front end and the crash beam had been flung several meters away.

The accident itself was secondary to the dread it instilled in me: had I driven forward but a meter, the collision might have been far more disastrous.

An elderly gentleman, perhaps in his sixties, ambled over, patted my shoulder, and said, “Young man, count your blessings. I’ve spent my life behind the wheel, and judging by that impact, it’s a miracle you were in an American car. Had you been in anything else, you’d have been flipped—or worse.”

Though his words were tinged with hyperbole, they left a profound impression. Ever since, I have favored vehicles with robust safety ratings and substantial build. Admittedly, a heavier car does consume more fuel, but safety, in my estimation, far outweighs such concerns. I do not claim that Korean cars are intrinsically unsafe, but perhaps I have grown overly cautious, reluctant to try them.

Speaking of preferences, my admiration for Volvo has long endured. Perhaps now is the time to consider one. A search for the XC60 revealed that the latest model had undergone a striking transformation. In my youth, I had observed its earlier version—a design that now seemed outdated—but the revamped front end exuded a fresh, youthful vitality. The interior, with its harmonious blend of ebony and amber, possessed an undeniable allure that captured my fancy.

I delved into numerous reviews and specifications; the accolades were plentiful, though some lamented Volvo’s notorious habit of sudden price drops, which could leave buyers feeling slighted. Nevertheless, I resolved to test drive it at the first opportunity.

Just as I was contemplating when to visit the dealership, White called again. He had the afternoon free and wished for my company on a test drive of a Honda. Seizing the moment, I readily agreed and went to collect him.

That afternoon, we sampled several models—the Honda Accord, the Tiguan, the Odyssey, and the CR-V—and, naturally, I also experienced my beloved XC60. The Tiguan performed adequately, yet its interior remained uninspired, too entrenched in conventionality for my taste. Finally, at the Volvo showroom, the XC60 revealed its true charm: its performance, braking, and overall driving experience left me thoroughly impressed—though I must admit, my prior fondness may have tinted my judgment.

In the end, while White decisively ordered his car, I found myself dazzled by so many options that I could not settle on one.

On the ride home, he teased me relentlessly about my indecision, remarking that I suffered from a severe case of “choice paralysis.”

By the time I had seen him off and returned home, it was nearly 8 o’clock.

I prepared a plate of spaghetti and had just set it upon the table when a knock sounded at the door.

“Williams? Again?” I thought, exasperated that after a hard-earned day of rest, I was once more called to duty.

“Come in—please, sit down. Whatever it is, wait until I’ve finished my meal,” I called.

Williams entered, seating himself cross-legged on the floor before me, his silence punctuating the absurdity of the scene—a man, a meal of spaghetti, and the ghostly specter of duty looming over. His unyielding gaze soon sapped my appetite, and after a few hurried bites, I took the plate back to the kitchen.

Emerging once more, I inquired, “So, which wandering soul requires aid this time?”

Williams offered an embarrassed smile. “Boss, you guessed correctly—I’m afraid I must trouble you again.”

I lit a cigarette and sank into the sofa. “Very well, speak plainly.”

“This one, however, is rather complicated.”

“Complicated how? Just say it.”

“Boss, do you recall the news from a couple of summers ago? A school tour bus careened off a Catskills highway—twenty odd students, two teachers, and a driver were lost, none surviving the tragedy.”

I remembered the headline all too well, though I had spared myself the full sorrow of the article.

“Are you saying that those souls—those lost from that fatal accident—are the ones in need of our help?”

Williams nodded gravely. “The calamity was beyond words; families were shattered overnight. Yet, the reaper’s duty was curiously incomplete that day—he collected only a few souls, those of the teachers and some children. The driver’s spirit, along with three children who were hurled from the wreckage, was overlooked. They have wandered ever since.”

The very thought unsettled me. Despite the meticulous rescue efforts, the inefficacy of the netherworld’s collection left a bitter taste.

“What on earth was that reaper doing? How can one be so remiss?”

“谁知道呢？那三个孩子在山里流浪了将近两年，直到几天前，有人把他们带到纽约，希望向你父亲寻求帮助。但得知他去世的消息后，他们陷入了绝望——直到我想起你命令他们留意陷入困境的灵魂，才把他们带到你身边。”

我确实指示了威廉姆斯、约翰和詹姆斯去召集任何需要帮助的孤魂野鬼。我点点头。“很好——把他们带进来。”

顿时，墙外飘来三个幽灵般的身影，衣衫褴褛，难以掩饰他们瘦弱的身躯，浑身脏兮兮的。

“威廉姆斯，请把这些孩子洗干净——最好给他们换新衣服。”

“老板放心，我会让约翰和詹姆斯马上去处理。”

很快，男孩们带着孩子们回来了，他们现在焕然一新——干净的脸庞，清新的服装，完全恢复了自然、充满活力的自我。两个女孩和一个男孩，看起来大约十一二岁。

当听到我答应帮助他们时，三人一起握拳，深深鞠躬：“谢谢先生。”

他们简单的感激让我热泪盈眶。“不必道谢——帮助别人是我的责任。现在，介绍一下自己吧。”

左边的女孩先开口：“先生，我叫奥利维亚，来自布鲁克林。”威廉姆斯在我耳边轻声低语，“她亲爱的母亲在那场事故后不久就去世了。”

中间的女孩优雅地行了个屈膝礼：“先生，我是艾玛，也来自布鲁克林。”接着，她又低声说了一句：“她的母亲被恐惧感压得失去了自我。”

最后，那个男孩开口了：“先生，我叫利亚姆，来自皇后区。”我低声说：“他的母亲现在卧床不起。”威廉姆斯点了点头。

“很好，勇敢的孩子们，”我宣布道，“今晚，我将帮助你们实现你们的最后一个愿望。现在，你们商量一下，决定——我们先去哪个家？”