After I Died My Daughter Dialed His Number Novels & Stories

"Blake! It's Blake's doings again! She won't be satisfied until she tears this family apart. That little bastard, she's really pissing me off." Watching my father's fury, I laughed. Who would have thought that I could still do the things he was accusing me of after being dead for so many days? He took out his phone to call me. He called five times in a row, but no one picked up. He became angrier and started cursing at the air. I was already dead, but I could not avoid feeling a pang of pain in my heart as I wondered if souls could feel heartache too. I was already dead. If my father just looked a little closer at the corpse in the trunk, he would see that it was me.

After confirming my passing, the hospital contacted the only family member I had left—my father. When he arrived, he was greeted with the sight of my cold corpse. Kneeling on the ground, he sobbed, not understanding why his daughter had passed without warning. With the help of a nurse, he stood up and broken-heartedly started to contact Jeremy, but to no avail. Jeremy hung up on him time and time again, and he ended up not being able to call him altogether.

Christopher pretended not to care, but his fists clenched tightly. Suddenly, the sound of a ringing phone broke the tension. Christopher glanced at it and quickly answered. "What did you say? Phoebe has been cremated? I’m warning you, stop playing these meaningless games with me!" He threw the phone against the wall with a loud crash. He pushed Nikki’s hand away, gasping for breath. My father, with a grim expression, bent his hunched back and carefully picked up the phone Christopher had tossed. He listened to the emotionless voice on the other end of the line, and his eyes filled with tears.

"But what fun would there be in lying when I can't wait to see your reaction? The father-daughter bonding will be so touching." Tears burned my eyes, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. "You're lying. My dad is dead. He died from the medication he bought from the pharmacy. He's been dead for years. How could he suddenly be alive?" My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. "Stop playing games with me," I choked out.

I told him, settling into the seat. He nodded and gave a little flick of his towel, then turned to his bottles. The sound of glass clinking was oddly comforting. I slipped my phone from my pocket, hands trembling more than I cared to admit. Even now, I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, reminding me to memorize Anthony Hawkins’ burner numbers—just in case. I called every single one. And left the same message. “You did this. You took me away from her, and she died. You left her. If I ever see you again, I swear I’ll kill you.”

His hand fell back down, and he took one last gasp, then he went still. Sorry? “Sorry for what?” My voice was barely above a whisper as I stared at his calm, emotionless face. He was dead. I wouldn't be receiving any answer. Zane was my only hope out of the life I was in. Now, what was I supposed to do?

"You've reached Isaiah King-" I hung up and called again. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. It had been a full day since my father had implied; well, no, not implied, practically announced it; that Isaiah was dead. It had been a full day of this nightmare, of calling his number over and over, waiting for him to answer, for him to tell me this was all some sick joke. But he never answered. Isaiah was dead. I closed my eyes, burying my face in the pillow. “He can't just… he can't die. He's Isaiah King!”

My heart was drumming against my ribs. I was alive? How? I grabbed my phone, checking the time and date. May 24th, 2024. 10:35am. It was exactly two years earlier from the day I died. My phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” I answered. “Miss Scarlett,” A composed male voice spoke. “My name is Leonard. I'm your father's lawyer.” “I'm calling to inform you that your father has passed away,” The man continued. “He left behind considerable assets—companies, investments, and funds. As his only daughter, you're the sole heir.”

And again. "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…" The recorded voice droned on, indifferent. After the hundredth call went unanswered, I gave up. I said goodbye to my father. When I went to gather his things, his phone slipped out of his pocket. It was still playing a video on a loop. The same video Charlotte had sent me. So that was it. Charlotte had killed my father. The room blurred. I went down. When I came to, I was in a hospital bed.

After an agonizing internal debate, I finally dialed the number. There was no answer. I tried again but still nothing. Hector noticed the sudden shift in my demeanor. "Hey, what's wrong?" I couldn't bring myself to speak and just kept redialing. On the third attempt, the call finally connected. The background noise was deafening—people screaming and distant weeping. "Hello?" an unfamiliar voice answered. "Hi, I'm Eileen Allen. Who am I speaking with?" The person on the other end replied, "I'm a neighbor. Your mom was just rushed to the hospital. Your dad… He didn't make it."