4

Caleb

Dr. George gave me the document of my admission. “I had to push for a week. The doctors will find out soon enough nothing is wrong with you. You are allowed to demand a discharge anytime you wish.” 

Lucas scoffed. “I can’t believe you are with him on this.”

"Well, what can I do?” 

“Refuse.” He said pointedly. 

I walked out of the car. “Pay no attention to him.” 

I have been to a psychiatric clinic; I can pull off some realistic acting to fool everyone to buy sometimes. 

“How are you sure she is here?” Lucas poked his head out, asking. 

“The ring I gave her.” 

“You had it tapped.” He gasped. 

“I heard her ‘illness’ is bad.” Dr. George quoted

“Sure it is. Sarah Alven is the perfect person I need after this ordeal. She’d want her husband and sister more dead than I do.” My eyes darkened, and I might have appeared sinister for a moment because Lucas muttered. “He looks so evil.” 

I chuckled and headed in with George. “Don’t do anything extreme. You still suffer from C-PTSD. I have your medications tucked safely; I don’t trust this shady clinic.” He said, "Concerned." I had flashes, the damp cold air, and barely any light cramped in a dark small cube. 

Sarah

Gently I fluttered my eyes; the blinding white lights instantly made me sick. I turned my eyes away from them and tried to scan where I was. The room was windowless, scant, with only a bed, a drip stand, and me strapped to the bed. I tried to struggle, but it was impossible for me to escape. 

The door suddenly creaked open, and I heard a voice. “Don’t try it; it is useless.” Rachel walked in with a staff, which she immediately dismissed. 

I folded my fist in rage at seeing her. 

She chuckled, “You look like you are about to tear me apart. It has been only three days.” 

I’ve been here for three days; I only recall being in and out of consciousness. “Do you think everyone will fall for your schemes?” 

“Desmond could've been smarter than that, but he also wants you gone. Your ramblings, your presence—he is sick of it. He doesn’t care; no one cares about you, Sarah. That’s your reality.” 

I blinked back my tears. “Sign your divorce papers.” She threw them to me. 

I wriggled my strapped wrist. She smirked and called for the nurse that led her in. 

“Have her unstrapped.” My right hand was released. I was thrown a pen. Without hesitating, I signed. 

“That was fast.” She smirked. 

“You can have my trash, Rachel. I don’t want him anymore.” 

A look of anger flashed on her face, but she masked it with a smile. “Sign this as well.” 

“What’s this?” I furrowed my brows. 

“Sole inheritor, hand over.” 

I bulged my eyes at her audacity.

"You planned on giving it to Liam, but he passed away, poor child.”

“You are sick, Rachel." That's why she killed him, I gasped from realization.

“I’m not the one strapped to a hospital bed.” 

“This was your plan all along?” A tear fell from my face.

“To kill you, yes. I resented you in those two years I was away. I hated you so much, Sarah, so much.” 

I glared at her, about to rip the papers, when she ordered the nurse to hold me down. I was pinned and restrapped; my yells and struggles faded quietly once I felt the needle pierce my arm. 

Rachel took my thumb, stained it, and pressed it on the document. 

She leans close to me and whispers. "Overdose, medically aided death, or a typical jump from the building—choose one.” She chuckled. 

A tear slid down my face at my own helplessness; I couldn’t do anything to save Liam, I failed to reveal her as his murderer, and I can’t save myself from being murdered either. I slowly slipped out of consciousness. 

***

With every day passing I was anxious for the day Rachel would choose to be the last day I breathed. To live with that kind of anxiety was unnerving; I constantly checked if I was poisoned or overdosed. 

A nurse walked in saying nothing; she removed the straps. “You have an hour to get some air.” 

“Was it Dr. Kate that ordered you to do so?” 

She avoided meeting my eyes; it showed she was afraid of being caught. “No, that’s even more reason you need to be back before an hour.”

I chewed on my lips and changed into the regular patient wear she gave me. I walked out and was thrown into a different world than the cage of a room I was kept in for over a week. It was refreshing to breathe in fresh air and catch a temporary glimpse of the setting sun. Such basic things are now a luxury to me. 

I can’t endure being in Rachel’s palm; if I were going to die anyways, I wouldn't mind taking it myself to go back into that suffocating ward and drown slowly over the sedatives they injected. I’m better off directing my own fate. 

I quietly headed to the rooftop, watching the orange skies set over the horizon; it was breathtaking and reminded me how badly I missed Liam. We used to sit on the balcony as we colored, pointing excitedly. 

“Mommy sunsets." He must be very lonely without me, my poor little child. 

Resolved, I stood over the edge of the roof, my heart racing. The height was staggering. Tears gently fell down my face. “I have no choice but to do this, Liam. I’m sorry, Mommy failed you.” 

Suddenly a voice popped out of nowhere; it was a man. “I bribed that nurse a lot of money to see you.” He appeared; he was shrouded in a hoodie, his face hidden, but his voice had some familiarity to it. 

I turned a bit. “You have seen me, but I don’t wish to waste the time you purchased. I want to leave this miserable place.” 

“You are putting quite nicely; you are about to end yourself," he said bluntly. 

I heaved, finding him annoying. “Good, you know what I intend doing? Either you watch or leave me in peace.” 

He shrugged, folding his arms like he doesn’t give a fuck, and he walked closer. "Your back should face the floor so you don’t end up bedridden instead. That’s much worse than death.” 

I followed his advice; he must have done this before, or he was employed by Rachel. 

"Your hands are at an elevated angle, so the fall appears graceful and you don’t break your hands.” 

I huffed; if I’m going to die anyways, why does any of this matter? 

My ankle twisted when I wasn’t ready, and I gasped; this was it, my fall to my death. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain and my gentle ascension towards a heavenly white light. A minute passed, and it felt like I was simply floating on air. 

“Is this heaven?. 

That scent smells so good. I’ve smelled it before. Woody, mint, and spice. “Heaven smells nice too. Smells like a man.” Then it hit me; I opened my eyes, and I was nuzzling into the neck of the hoodie guy. 

I gasped, embarrassed, and noticed I was floating because I was in his arms. The skies were still orange, and I was still in the ugly patient scrubs.

I jumped out of his arms, deeply flustered and enraged. “What do you think you are doing?”

He peeled off his hoodies, and I instantly recognized him. “Brown eyes.” I slapped my mouth for speaking before my brain does.

He chuckled, running his hands through his platinum blonde hair. “Caleb Lindsworth, that’s my name.” 

He is the same person that ushered me under his umbrella during Liam’s funeral. I sent him a distrustful glance. “Were you sent by Racehl? This is our second encounter; it can’t be a coincidence.”

He offered me a seat beside him; it was a slab of molded cement. I settled beside him despite being cautious. 

“You are right, it is not a coincidence, but I wasn’t sent by your sister.” 

“How did you…?” I trailed off, and he completed. 

"Know you are here.” He gently picked my hand and traced it to my ring finger. “I was actually surprised you wore it.” He gestured to the ring, the replica of my engagement ring. 

“It’s no ordinary ring?” 

“A tracker.” He admitted casually. 

Was he a sicko? “Why do you need to track my location?” 

“Because I knew this was going to happen." He tucked into his pocket and gave me a cut of a tabloid magazine. 

It was a picture of me. Our divorce was already announced, but the follow-up heading was quite disheartening to see. 

Desmond Hariet, his crazy ex-wife, is under his care as he oversees her treatment in a psychiatric clinic. She was diagnosed with psychosis, depression, and derealization. 

I chuckled bitterly. “Crazy ex-wife? I was sent here to be killed.” I turned to him. “You don’t even know me; my family abandoned and betrayed me. Why are you here for a worthless woman? 

“You call yourself worthless; I see a deadly weapon that needs to be refined.” 

“I’m a weapon?” I almost laughed at how absurd it sounded. I could barely save myself. 

“I am no hero; I don’t go about saving people if I don’t benefit from it." 

Like I guessed, he wasn’t as simple as he’d like to present. 

“Let’s make a deal, Sarah. I’ll take you out of this hell, give you a new identity, and help you find the truth about your son’s death.” 

My eyes widened. “You believe me?” I almost stuttered. 

“I know what it's like to be lied against and called crazy.” His eyes darkened a bit.

"What's at the end of your deal?” I asked him. 

“Bring your ex-husband to meet his ruin.” 

I didn’t think twice about it; my ears loved the sound of revenge. I made Desmond who he was partly, to see him sit on that throne I made as well, and to throw me to the flames so heartlessly is something I can’t forgive.

"Deal." 

He took my hand and shook it. “Now you need to die for real.”