Chapter 2

We stared at each other for what felt like forever, the silence so heavy it was suffocating.

I watched my dad go from trembling with rage to glaring furiously, his face eventually twisting into something terrifying.

The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he snatched up the scalding bowl of medicine and hurled it straight at my face.

Ever since my mom and my brother died, this kind of thing had happened more times than I could count.

Before, I always managed to dodge in time.

But this time, I stared at the bowl flying toward me and didn't move.

The scalding medicine burst across my forehead, mingling with blood as it ran down my face, clouding my eyes.

I wiped it off with my hand, my face never losing its calm.

I'd spent seven years trying to explain about the truth and my dad's distorted memories.

But right then, I suddenly felt like making him misunderstand me was fine.

As my vision blurred, I thought I caught a slight tremor in my dad's eyes.

Maybe after all these years of his hatred, I was imagining things.

Maybe I was fooling myself, thinking he still loved me, or felt a little pity for me.

I was burned, and honestly, I was barely hanging on.

But even after I wiped the medicine and blood from my face, all I could see in his eyes was nothing but absolute loathing.

My dad's hand was still frozen in the air after he threw the bowl, his voice shaking with pure hatred. "Say it again! Say it again!"

I watched as his hands trembled while he unlocked his phone, then turned on the video recording and aimed it right at me.

It felt like he was interrogating a notorious criminal, desperate to capture the most incriminating evidence he could.

A metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat, but I forced it back down.

Just like he wanted, I faced the camera and said seriously, "I was the one who killed my mom and my brother.

"I deliberately led my brother's car onto a dangerous mountain road so I could ditch him, and that's how he crashed through the guardrail and fell off the cliff."

My dad went completely berserk, trying to lunge at me from his wheelchair, but he ended up crashing to the floor in a heap.

He shouted at me, "You finally admitted it! You animal! You traitor!

"You did all for that bastard!"

I stepped back, silently watching him sprawled on the floor, feeling nothing but numbness.

Weak and desperate, he snatched up a shard of the broken bowl and still managed to fling it at me with everything he had. "Get out! Get out! Don't let me see you again!"

I turned around and headed for the door.

Behind me, he started coughing violently again, his voice hoarse with rage as he rasped, "I'll make you pay for what you did to your mom and brother."

I hesitated for a second, then kept walking out of the room.

Yeah, I'd pay with my life.

Very soon, I'd be with my mom and my brother again.

Before I left the hospital, I asked the nurses to please take extra care of my dad.

He was doing okay now.

Aside from his left leg being crippled, he only had recurring stomach issues that sometimes meant he had to stay in the hospital for a bit.

As I walked out of the hospital, I was already thinking about how I could save up whatever I could, in case he needed treatment down the line.

I'd have to hire someone to take care of him when he got sick.

He said he didn't want to see me anymore. It was better this way. He'd have to get used to life without me fussing over him.

We still had a small apartment that could sell for over a hundred thousand dollars.

Once I was gone, that should be enough for him to get by.

I walked home as dusk settled in.

The further I went, the more deserted it got, and the footsteps behind me kept getting louder.

He followed me almost every day, like some restless ghost haunting me that wouldn't let go.

Before, I'd ignore him, like he didn't even exist.

But today, that familiar, long-suppressed flood of anger and frustration surged up inside me all over again.

I spun around and hurled the keys in my hand straight at him.

The keys smacked him right between the eyes, but he didn't even flinch. Instead, there was an excited glint in his eyes.

In the darkness, I watched as blood trickled down from his brow, and he started walking toward me.

I gave a faint, mocking smile. "Why are you still alive?"

Everything I was dealing with today was caused by him.

Lucas Shaw walked up and pressed a new phone into my hand.

He spoke in a soft, innocent tone, "You never pick up when I call. Did your phone break? Here, I got you a new one."

I slammed the phone box onto the ground.

I forced myself to sound calm, but my words were still laced with hatred. "Get lost."

Lucas's eyes grew misty with tears as he bowed his head, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Alright. If you don't want it, toss it."

He turned and walked away, looking utterly miserable as he faded into the darkness.

It was almost exactly like the first time I met him.

Back then, I saved him out of pity.

But now, looking at him made me want to puke.

I grabbed the phone off the ground, about to slam it into the trash can.

But my hand stalled in midair, and my gaze was locked onto the delicate phone box in my palm, unable to look away.

I'd lost my job.

Over three months's pay was still owed to me, and I had no clue when I'd ever see it.

Just yesterday, I'd paid for my dad's hospital stay and emptied my account.

All I had left was two bucks in my pocket.

The phone in my hand felt like it was still tainted with the blood of my mom and brother.

Seven years ago, I watched my brother's car go over the cliff. It was like I could still see it happening right before my eyes.

His car window was rolled down back then.

Just before he went over the edge, we locked eyes one last time.

The last thing he said to me was, "Isabelle, don't be afraid."

There was no fear in his eyes. It was only regret and worry for me.

He wasn't afraid of dying.

He regretted bringing our mom along in the car.

He was worried that after he was gone, I wouldn't be able to make it on my own.

I looked at the box in my hand, and for a second, it felt like my mom and my brother's blood was trickling down the sides, staining it red.

It spilled onto my clothes and shoes, soaking everything.

Their voices echoed in my mind, sharp with disappointment. "Why are you still clinging to the killer's things? Throw it away."