Chapter 2

2

"Take the remains back to the lab. We need a positive identification," Arthur ordered.

He looked as stern as ever, still wearing the expensive suit he had worn to Jenna's birthday party. He looked so dignified.

I used to dream about walking onto a stage on my eighteenth birthday, holding my father's arm.

But in my nightmares, he would always turn toward me with a distorted, terrifying face.

He would wrap his hands around my throat and scream at me.

"You're a murderer! Why are you still alive?"

I would wake up shaking, knowing he would never do anything for me. He wouldn't even acknowledge my birthday.

On the day I was born, his favorite child―my older brother―had died right in front of me.

Back then, Arthur had cradled my brother's lifeless body, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

"Why did you have to go out and buy that cake? Why wasn't it you who died?"

I was so traumatized that I couldn't even find the words to defend myself.

Was it really my fault for wanting a birthday cake? If I hadn't gone out, we never would have run into those people.

I followed my father back to the precinct. He sat at his desk, rubbing his temples in frustration.

Officer Miller walked over and asked with concern, "What's wrong? Did Nora not come home yet?"

"It's normal for teenage girls to be moody. But honestly, Arthur, yesterday was her birthday too. You should have let her celebrate instead of making it all about Jenna."

Hearing my name made my ghost-self tense up. I looked at my father, still holding onto a tiny sliver of hope.

"If she wants to throw a tantrum, let her. I hope she never comes back. She doesn't deserve a birthday, let alone a party. My son died because of her."

Arthur spat the words out with venom. He slammed his service pistol onto the desk.

No, Dad... I wasn't throwing a tantrum. I was taken.

"Don't be so hard on her. No one wanted that accident to happen. Nora is still young, and this dismemberment case is serious. There's a psycho on the loose. You should find her before something happens."

Miller sighed deeply, trying to talk some sense into him.

Arthur frowned, his impatience reaching a breaking point.

"She's full of herself. She even lied about being kidnapped just to get my attention. What could possibly happen to her?"

My heart sank. He truly believed that my final plea for help was just a desperate grab for attention.

Finally, at Miller's repeated insistence, my father decided to call me.

But I was never going to answer a phone again.

He tried twice, and when no one picked up, he sent a voice message. His voice was loud enough to rattle my soul.

"Nora Thorne, if you aren't home by tonight, don't bother coming back ever again!"

I tried to lick my dry, cracked lips. The metallic taste of blood from my final moments seemed to linger.

"Dad, I'm already dead," I whispered with a bitter smile. "I really want to go home, too."

But he couldn't hear me.

Maybe this was for the best. He had been waiting for me to die for years. Now, I finally didn't have to feel the pressure of his hatred anymore.