Farewell, Dad

Police tape ringed a filthy drainage ditch on the edge of town. One by one, detectives pulled body parts out of the water and laid them out in neat rows on the bare ground.

My soul hovered above the scene, trembling at the sight.

"Whoever did this has to be a monster," a female officer sighed. "Judging by the bone age, the victim wasn't even twenty."

Right. I'd only just turned eighteen the day before.

A police car pulled up, and Dad climbed out, sweat beading on his forehead. The stench rising off the ditch made him grimace and clap a hand over his nose.

My body had been soaking in that filth for a full night. I supposed I should be grateful I was already dead by then. Otherwise, it would've been torment.

"How's the case coming?" Dad stepped closer and nudged one of the body parts with his foot, brow furrowing.

One of the officers, still hauling pieces out of the water, answered him. "Captain, we've recovered a hundred and eight pieces so far. The head's missing."

Dad sucked in a sharp breath, fists clenching. "Whoever did this is a monster. Going after a kid this young."

Dad, if you'd known that body was mine, you never would have said that. After all, you'd always wanted me dead.

I couldn't bear to keep looking at what was left of my own body. It brought back the memory of that dim basement, my eyes blindfolded, a rod cracking against me over and over until I could hear my own bones splintering.

I couldn't even tell if my killer was a man or a woman. Their voice had been disguised.

They cursed at me between blows. "Your father got my son killed! Your whole family deserves to rot!"

The pain came in waves so thick my mind went blank. I wished, more than anything, that Dad would burst in like some kind of savior, the way he always did for people in danger.

But I knew he wouldn't. He hated me too much for that.

Eventually my attacker seemed to tire, and my nerves had gone numb enough that the pain barely registered anymore. I lay there with blood smeared across my face, and they tossed a phone down in front of me.

"I dialed your father. Beg him to come save you, or you'll end up just like my son."

I grabbed at the phone like a drowning woman clutching driftwood, fumbling for it despite the raw, split-open pain in my hands. I sobbed into it, begging.

"Dad, please, save me. I've been kidnapped. If you don't come, I'm going to die."

I rushed through the words as fast as I could. If he recognized my voice, he'd hang up without a second thought. He always did.

On his end, laughter and chatter rang out. His voice, when it finally came, was thick with disgust.

"Harper, is this really the best trick you could come up with to steal some attention? Don't ruin your sister's coming-of-age party. If you really want to die, go do it somewhere else."

My heart plummeted straight through the floor. My hand froze in midair, still clutching the phone.

It was Angeline’s coming-of-age ceremony—but it was my 18th birthday too. Why couldn’t Dad spare even a single word for me?

The call was on speaker, so I sensed my attacker freeze after hearing Dad’s response. I felt them freeze for a second before they snatched the phone out of my hand and tried again. This time the call was declined outright. They tried once more, and found themselves blocked.

My attacker laughed coldly. "Are you even his real daughter? You don't even rank as high as some girl he took in off the street."

Pain bloomed through my chest in dense, crowding waves.

He hated me, yes, but he'd given every scrap of his love to Angeline Marlon, the foster daughter, all because he believed I was the one who'd gotten my brother killed.

My attacker’s words still left me stunned. They seemed to know an unsettling amount about my family. I wanted to leave Dad some kind of clue, so I tried to scratch something into the dirt with a bloodied finger. Before I could, my attacker stamped down hard on the back of my hand.

"Your whole family is rotten to the core. Even now, all you can think about is helping him crack the case? Fine. I'll make it quick."

The moment I felt something cold slide across my throat, my consciousness went dark.

As my soul left my body, I watched, with my own eyes, as they cut off my head. They were covered from head to toe, leaving no identifying features visible. Then they took an axe and chopped my body into pieces.

I screamed until my voice gave out, desperate to stop them.

At the very least, I wanted Dad to recognize my body the moment he saw it.

I wanted to know whether he would feel even the slightest pain when he learned that I was dead.