Chapter 4

"She's in the ground, you bastard!" David spat, blood trickling from his lip.

Ethan's fist connected with David's jaw. A sickening crack.

Maria screamed.

I felt each blow as if it were on my own spectral flesh.

*My father, his kind face etched with worry. His hardware store, his life's work, crumbling under predatory lawsuits, smear campaigns. Ethan's work, I knew it. Tiffany's whispers in his ear, removing my every support.*

*The news of Dad's heart attack. Stress-induced, the doctor said. Ethan hadn't even come to the funeral.*

*David, trying to confront Ethan about me, about Dad. Then the "workplace accident." A falling beam. His leg, gone. Coincidence? I never believed it.*

*My brief release from that awful facility. I couldn't leave Maria there. I brought her home, to this small house, the only sanctuary I had left. But the darkness in me was too deep. The pills, the balcony, the final surrender.*

"There's a death certificate," David gasped, clutching his side. "Check it. She overdosed. Three years ago."

Ethan paused, a flicker of something – doubt? – in his eyes. He pulled out his phone, barked an order. "Get me everything on Sarah Jenkins. Now."

He paced the small room like a caged animal.

Then, his phone rang again. Tiffany.

"Ethan, darling, any luck?" Her voice, syrupy sweet.

"They say she's dead," Ethan growled.

A perfectly timed gasp from Tiffany. "Oh, Ethan, no! But... are you sure? You know how Sarah was. So... dramatic. Maybe she faked it? To hurt you? Maybe she ran off with someone else?"

The poison dripped, effective as always.

Ethan's face hardened again, the brief doubt extinguished.

"She wouldn't dare," he seethed. "If she's dead, I want proof. Where is she buried?"

David, struggling for breath, pointed a shaking finger towards the back of the house. "Family plot... in the woods."

Ethan smirked. "My assistant just found the death certificate. Says overdose. But Tiffany might be right. She could have faked it." He looked at David and Maria with utter contempt. "We're going to dig her up."

My non-existent stomach churned. Dig me up? The indignity, even in death.