4

For the next two days, I still didn't come out.

My father seemed to be in a contest with me over who could hold out longer.

He stopped cooking at home and took Melody out to eat every day, acting as if I simply didn't exist.

Then, on the third afternoon, rapid knocking sounded at the front door.

Outside stood Ms. Warren, my school's college counselor.

Her forehead was slick with sweat, and she clutched a college application packet.

"Mr. Davis, I'm Olivia Warren, the college counselor at Claire Davis's school. She's been absent for four days straight, and I can't reach her by phone.

"The early application deadline is this week, and her scholarship paperwork still needs her guardian's signature. No matter how busy she is with work, she can't throw away her future like this!"

My father blocked the doorway with a nonchalant smile.

"She can't even afford to bid on the application fee. How is she supposed to go to college?

"Ms. Warren, we have our own system in this family. Everyone earns what they get. She lost to her sister in the bidding, and now she's locked herself in a room on a hunger strike.

"She's a lost cause. Don't bother."

Ms. Warren was speechless.

She clearly couldn't fathom what it meant to "not be able to afford to bid on a college application fee."

"Claire!"

She tried to step inside.

"Are you home? It's Ms. Warren! The school can request an application-fee waiver for you. If you're in trouble, tell me!"

"What do you think you're doing? Breaking into my home!"

My father shoved her back.

"Nobody tells me how to run my house! If she wants to die in there, let her die in there!"

The door slammed shut.

The last person who might have found me had been shut out.

Melody was sitting on the couch watching TV when she suddenly covered her nose and gagged.

"Daddy, what's that smell? It's so gross!"

The smell had been spreading since the day before.

At first it was faint, but today it had become sharp and sickeningly sweet, like something decaying in an enclosed space.

My father followed the smell around the apartment and ended up staring at the storage room.

"That little monster must have dragged in a dead rat from somewhere just to disgust us!"

He grabbed a large can of air freshener and sprayed wildly into the crack around the door.

The floral scent mixed with the stench of death, making it even more nauseating.

At noon on the fifth day, someone pounded on the front door so hard the walls shook.

My father yanked it open, seething.

"Are you people ever going to—"

The words died in his throat.

Three police officers stood outside.

Behind them was the building's cleaner.

She wore two face masks, one over the other, her face chalk white.

"Officers, this is the apartment!

"I was washing the outside windows and saw black liquid seeping through the window crack on the north side. That smell... I smelled a pig carcass rot once back home. This is exactly the same!"

My father's expression shifted, but he instinctively blocked the doorway.

"Officers, she's making things up. My older daughter is just throwing a tantrum. She put some rotten meat in her room to get under our skin. I'll take care of it."

The lead officer flashed his badge and pushed past him.

"Step aside. We received a report of a possible emergency. We need to check."

The officer walked to the storage room door.

A thick, overpowering stench was pouring through the crack.

He grimaced, took half a step back, and drove his boot into the lock.

Crash.

The lock burst apart in a shower of wood splinters, and the door swung inward.

The stench of a body sealed inside for five days burst into the hall.

The cleaner doubled over and vomited on the spot.

The flashlight beam cut into the dim room and landed on the rickety cot.

The body on the cot was curled into a small, tight ball. The skin on the face had turned bluish black.

The hand burned while reaching for my grandmother's necklace had decomposed down to a few white bones, yet it still curved protectively over my chest.

The only sound in the room was the buzzing of flies.

My father had followed right behind, muttering, "Let's see how long she keeps up the act."

But when he saw the body on the cot, his raised foot froze in midair.

The officer turned around, his voice ice cold.

"Mr. Davis, confirm this: was this room occupied by your older daughter, Claire Davis?

"Based on a preliminary assessment, she's been dead for over four days."

My father's eyes widened, fraction by fraction.

His gaze locked onto the rotting hand. He swayed twice and crashed against the wall.

"No... that's not possible..."

He suddenly lunged forward, stumbling over himself.

"Claire! What kind of stunt are you pulling!"