He took one last look at the scene before him and shut his eyes to say goodbye. It was like closing the last page of a book, this volume was over and he would no longer let it haunt him. He turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the desperate voices in the back of his head calling him to abandon his attempt to move on, urging him to turn around and break down into tears. He kept walking through the knee-high grass, past the weary trees and the wild flowers; he kept walking until he reached the rusty car he rented from the small store. The door swung open with a low groan, and he slid onto the old leather in silence. Shutting the door after him, he did not make another move. He simply sat and waited for the daze to clear, for the nerves to calm. The long stretch of road beckoned him, he knew there were other places to visit, other ghosts to bid farewell, but his shaking hands would not cooperate.