Chapter 2

Derek sounded skeptical, but he couldn't quite hide his smile.

Dad came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm milk. "Drink this, then get to bed early."

The three of them looked like a perfectly happy family.

There were three plates on the table and three cups.

There had never been a fourth.

I stood beside them, watching as they laughed and joked together.

"I'm right here!" I screamed with everything I had. "I'm dead! Look at me!"

And yet, no sound came out.

They couldn't hear or see me.

-

An entire day passed, and my body was still lying in that dark bedroom.

No one noticed.

The rest of the house stayed warm and lively. After Derek finished his exam, Mom cooked a huge dinner to celebrate.

Dad had a few drinks, and his face was flushed as he clapped Derek on the shoulder. "I bet you crushed it, son."

Derek grinned. "Of course I did. I take after you."

Mom piled extra pot roast onto Derek's plate. "Eat up. You're getting too skinny."

By then, the smell from my room had grown stronger and was beginning to seep through the gap beneath the door.

"What's that awful smell?"

Mom was the first to notice. She waved a hand in front of her face, her expression twisting in disgust.

"I think it's coming from Gemma's room."

Dad's expression changed.

Mom's face hardened at once.

"What is that brat doing now? Is she trying to ruin dinner on purpose?" She jumped to her feet and stormed down the hall. "Gemma, get out here! Stop pretending to be sick!"

She pounded on the door, but there was no answer.

Dad finally seemed to realize something was wrong. He walked over and tried the handle.

The door was locked.

"Gemma? Open the door."

Still nothing.

His face tightened. He stepped back and kicked the door as hard as he could.

It flew open. A wave of foul, rotting air poured into the hallway.

Dad covered his nose and cautiously stepped inside. A few seconds later, he let out a horrified shout.

Mom pushed past him impatiently. "What are you yelling about…"

Her voice died in her throat.

I hovered behind them, watching horror spread across their faces, followed almost immediately by disgust.

"Damn it," Dad cursed under his breath and stumbled back into the hallway. "This is going to be a nightmare to deal with."

Mom swayed and caught herself against the doorframe, her face drained of color. She rushed into the dining room, grabbed Derek, and pushed him toward his bedroom.

"Go to your room! Don't come out. This doesn't concern you."

Once his door was shut, she lowered her voice and turned to Dad.

"What are we going to do? Derek's test results come out tomorrow. What if this ruins everything for him?"

Dad paced across the living room, growing more agitated by the second. "What choice do we have? We get rid of the body and make sure no one outside this family ever finds out."

They didn't call the police.

Instead, Dad contacted someone through one of his less respectable connections and arranged for a black van to come after dark.

Late that night, the van pulled into a secluded corner of the parking garage beneath our building. Two men dressed in black wrapped my body in an old blanket and carried me downstairs.

I watched them shove me into the trunk as if I were nothing more than trash.

Mom stayed hidden in Derek's room the entire time.

Dad handed the men a thick envelope of cash and warned them again and again, "Make sure this disappears. I don't want anything coming back to us."

The van drove away.

I followed it beyond the city limits to an abandoned stretch of land and watched as the men tossed my body into a hole they had already dug.

Just like that, I was buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.

When it was over, I returned to my so-called home.

The lights were still on. Mom and Dad sat on the couch in silence.

After a long while, Mom finally spoke, her voice rough. "Derek doesn't know, does he?"

Dad shook his head. "I told him to lock his door. He didn't see anything."

"Good," Mom murmured. "He can't find out. We can't let this affect him."

Hovering in front of them, I finally accepted the truth.

I was dead.

And yet, to them, my death was nothing more than a mess they needed to clean up before anyone noticed.

I tried to leave signs that I was still there.

Using every bit of strength I had, I blew rose petals out of a vase and arranged them on the floor to spell a crooked version of the alphabet "G."

Then, copying something I had seen on TV, I focused as hard as I could and forced the dust on the floor into a pile, pushing it toward the corner.

I cleaned the entire house and waited for them to notice.

The next day, Mom and Dad came home with Derek.

His test scores had been released, and he had placed among the top ten students in the area. To celebrate, they picked up a huge fried chicken dinner with all the sides.

"See, Mom? I told you I could do it!"

Derek held up his new gaming console, practically glowing with excitement.

"That's my boy!" Mom beamed at him.

They walked into the living room, and Dad stepped directly on the word I had spelled out in rose petals.

"What's all this junk doing on the floor?"

He didn't even bother looking down as he walked straight over it.

Mom grabbed a broom and swept up the petals, along with the pile of dust I had pushed into the corner, then dumped everything into the trash.

"How does this house get so dirty so fast?" she muttered.

No one noticed anything was different.

No one saw what I had tried so hard to leave behind.

"Mom, why is it so cold in here?" Derek rubbed his arms and glanced around. "It almost feels like...Gemma's still here."

"What are you talking about?" Mom's expression hardened instantly. "Don't mention her. She's gone. Things are finally going to start going our way."

Derek flinched and fell silent.

As I stared at the disgust on Mom's face, the last bit of hope inside me died.

Did it hurt?

More than anything.

But beneath the pain, I also felt strangely free.

Maybe this was better. I would never have to hear their cruel words again. I would never have to suffer so that Derek could be protected.

Late that night, Derek went back to his room.

Instead of turning on his computer and playing games like he usually did, he sat at his desk, lost in thought.

Moonlight spilled through the window and washed over his face.

I drifted closer and watched as he carefully pulled a photograph from a hidden pocket in his backpack.

The picture had yellowed with age, and the corners were worn soft. It showed two children, one half a head taller than the other.