Loved, Cherished, and Prepared for Dissection

I did not push my sister, Maya Harper, away. I let her hold me, but my eyes stayed locked on the translucent red panel floating over her head.

"Go to sleep. Everything will be fine tomorrow," she said.

Maya let me go and patted my shoulder. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, but she managed a warm smile.

"Okay. Good night, Maya."

I nodded, entered my room, and locked the door behind me.

The moment the lock clicked, my obedient expression vanished.

This family of mine was even worse than I imagined.

I walked to my desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay the expedited lab report that arrived yesterday.

Three months ago, the Harpers brought me back from the countryside.

Irene Grant and her husband, Michael Harper, had held my hands tightly. They cried as they apologized for all the years I'd suffered.

Zane Harper stood beside them, his eyes watery as he called me his brother.

Then, three days ago, I came down with a high fever.

When I woke up, Michael came into my room carrying a bowl of herbal tonic.

He sat beside my bed, gently stirring the tonic before taking my hand. His face was filled with guilt as he said, "My dear son, you've suffered far too much. I'm going to make it up to you. I had a renowned doctor prepare this preion. It's supposed to replenish your strength."

That was the first time I saw the status panel.

At that moment, I didn't say a word. I didn't knock the bowl away either.

Instead, I picked it up and complained that I hated bitter stuff. After that, I asked for some candy from the kitchen.

The second he left, I poured every drop of the tonic into an empty bottle. Then, I smeared the dregs left at the bottom of the bowl across my lips.

When he returned, I pretended to finish the last mouthful in front of him before eating the candy he handed me.

The next morning, I mailed the bottled tonic to a private laboratory in the city.

The results had finally arrived. "High concentrations of multiple potent anticoagulants".

Long-term use of the tonic would not improve one's health. On the contrary, it would destroy one's body's ability to clot.

If someone in that condition underwent a bone marrow biopsy or any major surgery, they would bleed out on the operating table.

It seemed that Michael intended to make sure I died during the operation. He wanted my death to look completely natural.

I folded the lab report and slipped it into the inside pocket of my jacket.

The next morning, Irene called me into her room. Besides her stood the Harpers' longtime legal counsel, Elise Sawyer.