After Death Crime 短篇故事與小說

My father was a highly respected criminal investigator, and my mother was the head of the ER, dedicated to saving lives. However, I was a regular at the local police station. I fought, caused trouble, and earned the title of “the most hopeless kid on the block.” The first time, I publicly insulted my newly transferred cousin at school. My father dragged me straight to the police station in front of everyone and had me locked up for a full day and night. The second time, I led a gang of thugs to block my cousin’s way home in an alley. My mother was so furious, she dumped me deep in the mountains, leaving me to be bullied by a lecherous bachelor. The third time, I stole a keepsake from my cousin and tossed it down a sewer. My father put the handcuffs on me himself and sent me straight to juvenile detention. Five years later, I became a key informant in an anti-fraud operation, helping the police crack a major nationwide case. The media rushed to report the story, and journalists packed my parents’ house to interview the “hero’s family.” However, my parents just scoffed over the phone. “Her? A hero? We will only believe she is changed for the better when she is dead.” So why was it that when they saw me lying in a pool of blood after shielding a hostage, they finally cried?

Seven years ago, I was the city's youngest chief medical examiner, on the verge of solving the Scarlet Murders and bringing the killer to justice once and for all. But the night before I could expose the truth, my fiancé's first love, Isabelle Sinclair, joins forces with the real murderer and has me killed in cold blood. Using my own scalpel, Isabelle fakes all signs of a guilt-ridden suicide on my body and stages the crime scene to make it look as though I've attacked her before fleeing. She plants just enough fabricated evidence to make her story seem airtight, then waits for the police to arrive. When Sebastian Jacobson showed up, he found Isabelle covered in blood, sobbed as she claimed I've tried to kill her and destroy the evidence before escaping. The scene is meticulously arranged to support her story, right down to the blood trail leading to the exit, as if I've fled in a desperate panic. It looks like an open-and-shut case, so no one bothers to question her account or investigate further. Everyone believes Isabelle. Sebastian despises me for what he thinks I've done. He publicly denounces me as a disgrace to forensic science and the greatest shame of his life. The forensic center erases my name from its records, my own parents publish a newspaper announcement disowning me, and my alma mater revokes the honorary academic title it has awarded me. Even the mentor I've spent years admiring refuses to acknowledge that he's ever taught me. My case becomes a textbook example of professional misconduct, and my former colleagues curse my name for betraying the very principles of truth and justice I've sworn to uphold. Overnight, I go from being the brightest rising star in forensic science to a disgraced fraud in the eyes of the entire law enforcement community. Then, seven years later, an unidentified skeleton arrives in the autopsy room. As the medical examiners begin examining the remains, they uncover evidence that's been buried for seven years—evidence that could finally expose the truth behind a murder everyone thinks they understand. The skeleton is mine. And after seven years of lies, the truth about my death is finally about to come to light.

My boyfriend is a forensic artist. He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood. Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains. After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face. When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

When I was ten, I bugged my brother to come home for my birthday. He died in a plane crash that day. They never found his body. After that, my parents saw me as a total screw-up. They blamed me for his death. Every year on his memorial day, they forced me to kneel at the cemetery and repent my mistakes. I did that for eight years. I figured I'd spend my whole life paying for it. But on my 18th birthday, some creep stalked and murdered me. Right before I died, I tried calling for help. But my mom chewed me out. "I bet you're just dodging your duty to make up for James. You're full of crap. If you hadn't forced him to come back, he would have been alive. This is what you deserve." She hung up, leaving me staring at the dead screen. My last hope was dashed. She was right. Someone like me meant nothing but bad luck to those around me. I didn't deserve to exist. But then, eight years after his death, James showed up with his pregnant wife. When they heard I was gone, they fell apart.

During the pack's wilderness training, my adopted sister, Tessa, shoved me from a cliffside thick with wolfsbane. My Alpha, Fenrir, turned and left with Tessa feigning injury in his arms, leaving me for dead at the bottom of the ravine. I died instantly, but my soul lingered, watching everything with cold detachment. I watched as Tessa's tearful complaints swayed him into blaming me for my own disappearance. "Will Selene ever stop causing me trouble?" "She's weak and always looking for trouble. How could she possibly be fit to be our Luna?" He had no idea I was already dead at the bottom of that cliff choked with wolfsbane. Five whole days. The poison hit my bloodstream like liquid fire, racing through my veins with merciless speed. As my body decayed under the moonlight, my love for him faded with it. The title of Luna, the magnificent coronation I had dreamed of, everything I once cherished was now meaningless. The Selene who loved him was well and truly dead.

As my murderer's claws tear into my abdomen inch by inch, my father and brother are seated in our family's banquet hall. They're celebrating Carly's 18th birthday and coming-of-age. "You'll always be my little girl." "Happy birthday, Carly." They light 18 pink candles for her. On top of the exquisite red velvet cake is a wolf figurine that they carved for her, and there are well wishes and laughter all around. Meanwhile, I'm curled up in a sewer filled with liquid silver as I bleed to death. My phone has been crushed, and I can't get out. I can only cry for help. A few days later, my father and brother show up together at the autopsy room. My brother stands by the operating table with a scalpel. He slices open the body and sews it back up like it's nothing. My father just covers his nose as he shoots a disgusted glance at my body. He urges my brother to hurry up with the autopsy report. "The victim is a young female wolf presumed to be of pure lineage. Before her death, she was subjected to prolonged captivity and torture. Her throat is nearly severed, her cervical spine is dislocated, and her chest cavity has collapsed. She was also injected with liquid silver before death." Hearing the report, my father looks so calm that it's just like a case study of no consequence. Neither of them can recognize that the body belongs to me—their daughter and sister!

Three days before my wedding, my younger sister staged a scene—one where I supposedly abandoned her in the mountains. She claimed I locked her in a cabin, left her to be nearly assaulted, and that she barely escaped with her life. Furious, my fiancé dragged me up the mountain and locked me in that same cabin. He said, "Wendy, a woman as vicious as you won't learn her lesson without punishment. I already told you I'd marry you. Why go after Chloe? Since you're so desperate to climb your way up, you can stay here until the wedding day." I begged him, over and over, but my scorched throat could only force out hoarse, grating sounds. Three days later, Mickey O'Brien stood at the altar in his suit, waiting for me. What he got instead was my remains.

Three years after I had made my girlfriend, Sophia Lambert, sleep with her superior, she finally went from being his lover to becoming his wife. Meanwhile, I barely made it out alive after years of being undercover in a drug trafficking ring. My body was broken beyond repair, and I had returned home only to wait for death. Sophia arrived with one of her arms wrapped around her husband’s during a charity visit for the poor. When she saw me standing in line for relief aid, she let out a mocking laugh. “Benjamin, how did you end up like this?” I hunched my shoulders. I hid the First-Class Merit Medal for Narcotics Enforcement I had received not long ago. After a long silence, I asked, “Are you happy now?” She twirled the diamond ring on her finger in a lackadaisical manner. “The wedding’s next week. What do you think? “If you want, you can even become a groomsman. Orlando believes in diversity. His groomsmen comprises of different kinds of guys. He’s just missing someone disabled.” I shook my head and turned down her offer. “No, I won’t be able to make it.” The poison in my body had already spread to my heart. I only had a few days left.

When my ex-wife, Clara Quinton, holds a wedding ceremony with her first love, they put me in a coffin. Sha says this is a new immersive experience at the cultural village and asks me to play along with a staged scene where the ex-husband crashes the wedding. The guests gather around the coffin and cheer. The host grins and calls out, "Bury the ex, and may the newlyweds live happily ever after!" Her first love, Kevin Irwin, is dressed in a suit. His eyes glisten with tears. "Clara, is this really okay? After all, Sam has been with you for seven years," Kevin says. Clara gently fixes his hair and says in a soft voice, "Back then, he was the one who forced you to leave the country. Because of that, you got into an accident that nearly ruined your career. "Today, we're only making him lie in there for a little while." Before they close the coffin lid, I desperately grab onto the edge and scream, "Clara, Max is inside the coffin too!" Everything outside falls silent for a moment. Then, Clara lets out a cold laugh and says, "I can't believe you'd make up something so ridiculous. Max went to Southville with your friend, Noah. "There is a ventilation hose in the coffin. The camera is rolling too. So, stop pretending!" The dirt slowly covers the coffin. From inside the coffin, I hear her coldly order, "Let him out when he admits he was wrong and apologizes."

When Cornelia Montero’s childhood sweetheart, Trevor Hampton, accidentally shoved someone into some concrete, she immediately got to the scene. The Montero family had always been in construction, so Cornelia knew exactly what to do after such an incident. She helped Trevor make it look as though the victim fell by accident. She even brought Trevor to the police station to give his statement. They hoped that the next of kin would be more understanding that way. But Cornelia did not know that it was me, her husband, who was pushed off the building. She was my next of kin.

The border crackdown finally comes to an end. The police finally capture the notorious Roxanne Thorne, who has made headlines across the country. In the interrogation room, Jordyn Croft sits across from her in a police uniform, repeatedly asking the same question. "Where is that traitor, Christopher Savile, hiding now?" Roxanne slowly raises her eyes, her slender fingertips gently rubbing the edge of her handcuffs. "That young cop? We tied him to a metal frame and took turns beating him. Then we injected him with highly concentrated drugs before using blunt weapons to smash his knees and ankles piece by piece. Finally, we chained him to the barbed-wire fence at the border." She licks her lips, as if savoring the memory. "By dawn, his body was already stiff." Jordyn stands up and slams the files onto the table. "You're lying! He was the one who leaked the information back then and got more than a dozen of our officers killed. He even covered your retreat through the back mountain. The surveillance footage captured everything clearly!" Roxanne suddenly bursts into laughter. Her handcuffs clang loudly against the table. She says, "Christopher never gave us a single useful piece of information until the end. Instead, it was a hostage he'd previously rescued from us who kept feeding us information. His only condition was that we take Christopher away and make everyone believe he was a traitor. "That way, he could conveniently take Christopher's wife for himself." The entire room falls silent. Just then, the interrogation room door flies open. Jordyn's newlywed husband, Milo Lumley, rushes in, his voice urgent. "Jordyn, did you catch the suspect? Did they tell you where Chris is?"

On Mom's death anniversary, drug dealers break into the cemetery and take me away. To get revenge on my brother, Zack Smith—a forensic pathologist—they torture me until there isn't even a single uninjured spot left on my body. I hold on for almost three days, barely surviving, until I finally get a chance to call him for help. However, Zack replied, "Why didn't they kill you for good? A jinx like you who killed your own mother shouldn't be allowed to live!" When the drug dealers notice my action, they shatter all of my bones. The next day, a janitor discovers several large bags of human remains in the trash can. Zack painstakingly reassembles my body back together with his own hands—yet he fails to recognize that it's me, his younger sister he always claims to hate. When the drug dealers are finally arrested, he descends into madness.

As the youngest daughter of the powerful mafia family, the Blythes, I was spoiled the moment I was born. I had three older brothers who adored me. When I turned eighteen, our father was killed in a turf fight. The shock sent our mother into a rapid decline, and she passed away less than a week later. To avenge our father, my three brothers waged war against our enemies for three days. Though they emerged victorious, all three were critically wounded. My eldest brother, Damon Blythe, suffered a ruptured liver and was on the brink of death. Matt Blythe, my second brother, had severe kidney damage. Chris Blythe had lost too much blood and went into heart failure. I spent a fortune hiring the world’s top surgeons. They transplanted half of my liver to Damon, a kidney to Matt, and even gave my heart to Chris, replacing mine with a mechanical one. Thanks to the doctors’ skill, all three survived and went on to take over the Blythes’ empire. Five years later, they became infatuated with Sophia Foster, a poor but strong-willed intern. They even forced me to give up my last kidney to her. It was only after I had died on the operating table that they regretted what they had done.

A fierce storm erupts on a mountain peak at 25,561 feet, trapping me in the mountain camp under heavy snow. My husband, the leader of the mountain excursion squad, ignores my desperate pleas and hands the last oxygen tank to his beloved true love. "You're a professional climber—you won't die from missing a few breaths," he snaps. "Olivia has always been frail. Without oxygen, she's done for!" I watch as the two of them lean on each other, making their way down the cliffside, and I fall into complete despair. He's already forgotten that my body hasn't been able to survive without oxygen at high altitudes since saving him two years ago.

My wife's first love kills me without a shred of mercy. But my wife, a world-class surgeon, doesn't try to save me. Instead, she comforts her first love. "He's so ruthless! How could he hurt you this badly?" She even tells the police that I've severely injured her first love, claiming she wants to press charges for attempted murder. Then she points at my body and demands that I get up and apologize to her first love. "Charles, stop pretending! You just want me to pity you, right? Get up and apologize to Steven!" she yells.

My brother and I get into a car accident. My heart is ruptured—I need emergency surgery. But my mother, the hospital director, calls every available doctor… to my brother's room. He only has a few scrapes, yet she orders a full-body scan for him while I lie there bleeding out. I beg her to help me, but she snaps, visibly annoyed, "Can't you stop fighting for attention for once? Your brother almost injured a bone!" In the end, I die on the operating table. But after the news of my death breaks, my mother, who has always hated me, completely loses her mind.

My father was a hero cop, but I was a blemish to his shining resume as I was a delinquent who smoked, drank, and got into fights. Every time I tried to visit him at the precinct, he would slap me and tell me to leave in front of his colleagues. His fatherly love was all meant for Nana Smith, the daughter of his fallen comrade who was a paragon of good character and academic excellence. When Nana was kidnapped, he sent the entire city's officers after the kidnappers. When I was stabbed three times by some thugs and called him for help, he snapped at me, "Quit being a bother. The death of vermin like you is simply good riddance anyway." Even as I suffocated in agony, I lay in a pool of my own blood and sent him one last text. [Father, would you finally look at me twice if I end up a corpse?] He never replied. Then, three days later, the cops destroyed a major cartel hideout when my father found me, still holding on to evidence I had gathered against the cartel. That was when the madness started…

Three years after I died, Stella, my wife, decided to divorce me and marry her dying ex. She stormed into my old house like she owned the place, forcing me to sign the divorce agreement. Mom told her the truth—I was already gone. Stella rolled her eyes. "Why's he still pretending? Harvey's dying. I just wanna be there for him. What's so wrong about that? If he won't come out, I'm done paying your medical bills." She thought threatening Mom would shake something loose. But what Stella didn't get? Mom had already stopped treatment. She was just hanging on to watch her crack.

When I was eight months pregnant, my husband's foster sister invited me to hike a snow-covered mountain. Midway up, an avalanche hit. We were both buried. My husband rushed to the scene, but before I could utter a word, his sister accused me: "She planned this! She tricked me into coming today!" I tried desperately to explain. He didn't listen. Instead, he lashed out at me. "Sandra doesn't know any better, but you should! So what if she's blunt? Is this your petty revenge? Your pathetic life couldn't even begin to repay hers if she'd been hurt!" Then he left. Took her hand. Walked away. I screamed after him, begging him to save our baby. He didn't even glance back. Worse, he unhooked my safety harness and shoved me out of the rescue group. "Since you're so clever, find your own way down." Not long after, another avalanche hit. This time, I couldn't get back up. Three hours later, Sandra was in a car accident. She needed a blood transfusion. That's when he finally thought of me. But by then, he didn't know—I was already gone. Me, and the child I'd never hold, were still buried under the snow.

As my due date approaches, my husband's precious mistress falls into the water at a banquet. After being rescued, she immediately accuses me of pushing her. To "avenge" her, he throws me into a modified stainless steel water tank. I beg him, pleading for the sake of our unborn children. But he only sneers. "Don't try to use the babies to guilt me! You've still got a week before you're due. I know exactly how vicious you are—any child of yours would be just as rotten. Stay in there and reflect on your behavior. I'll let you out when you finally admit you're wrong!" Five days later, my husband returns home from a night out with his mistress, calling for me to come downstairs and serve them, as always. He doesn't know that my babies and I have already rotted beyond recognition.