Chapter 3

That evening, I put together a simple dinner of three dishes and a soup. Anne ate quietly and barely said a word.

Halfway through the meal, the parrot in the living room suddenly cried out, "Go to hell."

She put her fork down and looked at me.

"Don't take it personally. It's just a bird."

"I wasn't."

She nodded and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

After dinner, while I was clearing the table, Anne went into the living room. I could hear her talking to the parrot in a soft, gentle voice.

"Come on, Pecky. Be good. Say something nice."

The parrot refused to cooperate.

"Go on. Say something."

"So ugly," the parrot answered.

Anne laughed. "Oh, you're a crude one, aren't you?"

I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her tease the bird.

In my previous life, she had been just the same. That parrot received more gentleness from her than I ever did.

Back then, I had chalked it up to a love for animals. I had even respected her for it.

But I knew better this time.

The kindness she showed wasn't meant for the bird. It was meant for the man trapped inside it.

"Darling," I called out, crossing the room. "I am tired tonight. I think I will go to bed."

"Alright."

She didn't even glance up, just kept stroking the bars like the bird was the only thing worth her attention.

It was around 10:00 pm when Anne came in. She had already showered, and her hair was still damp.

"Joe, I need to tell you something," she said, perching on the edge of the bed. "I've got a business trip next week. I'll be gone for four or five days."

It was just like last time. She had told me it would only be four or five days, yet she had ended up being gone for an entire week.

"Okay," I said.

"Take care of Pecky for me, and don't get upset with it. It's only a bird. Whatever it says, just ignore it."

"I know."

She reached over and gently stroked my hair. "Have you been feeling down lately?"

"No."

"Good."

She switched off the light. "Get some sleep."

I didn't fall asleep.

In the darkness, I caught the faint rustle of movement from the birdcage. The parrot was stirring. I rolled onto my side, facing away from the cage, and reached beneath my pillow for the yellow charm.

I clenched it tightly in my hand.

The first hours of the night passed without incident. But sometime after midnight, I felt a chill creep over me.

It was not the cold air from the window. It was something far more unsettling. An icy sensation oozed downward from the top of my head, as though someone were slowly emptying a jug of frozen water over my scalp.

I held still, trying my best to keep my breathing slow and even.

As the chill intensified, I clenched the charm tighter in my hand. A sharp sizzle cut through the darkness, and the cold was gone in an instant.

A frantic flutter came from inside the cage. The sound of wings beating against the iron bars was especially harsh in the night.

It lasted more than ten seconds before everything fell quiet.

I slowly opened my eyes. A sliver of moonlight fell through the curtains.

The gray parrot inside the cage had retreated into the corner. Its feathers were puffed up, and its chest heaved violently with each breath.

This time, it didn't dare come out again.

I rolled over, put the charm back under my pillow, and closed my eyes.

Sleep came easily, and I didn't stir until morning.

When I came downstairs, Anne was already in the dining room. She had a cup of coffee in front of her and her phone on the table. When she saw me, she locked the screen.

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked.

"Exceptionally well," I said, pouring myself a glass of warm water. "What about you? I noticed the light in your study was on pretty late."

"I had some work to finish."

She paused briefly before adding, "By the way, Joe... Pecky doesn't seem quite right today. Do you think something scared it last night?"

"I have no idea," I replied, adding milk to my cup. "I was in the bedroom. I didn't hear anything."

"Its feathers are all puffed up."

Anne frowned. "You didn't scare it yesterday, did you?"

I looked up at her. "I scared it?"

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I'm just asking. You've been stressed lately. Sometimes, you raise your voice without realizing. Birds get scared easily."

My fingers tightened against the cup. She had been exactly the same before. Whatever went wrong, she always found a way to make it my fault.

When I fell ill, it was because I dwelled on things too much.

When I lay awake at night, it was because I was too sensitive.

And when that parrot screamed obscenities at me, it was because I had accidentally raised my voice.

"I didn't scare it," I said, meeting her eyes.

Anne watched me for a moment before nodding. "Maybe it was the thunder last night."

There hadn't been any thunder, but I didn't bother exposing the lie.

After breakfast, Anne went into the study.

Once I had finished washing the dishes and returned to the living room, the parrot flapped its wings inside the cage.

"Go to hell."

I ignored it.

"Go to hell. Go to hell. Go to hell."

It squawked "Go to hell" three times in a row, and the sound got sharper and more piercing with every repetition.

I turned and fixed my gaze on the cage.

The parrot tilted its head, studying me with those gray eyes that seemed to hold my reflection.

And behind those eyes, I saw Ian—my best friend, the man who had taken my wife and my life.

"Say it again," I said softly.

The parrot clamped its beak shut. It never said another word.