Chapter 2They Called My Death a Lie

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. The frantic racing in my chest slowed, stuttered, and then dissolved into absolute silence.

Suddenly, the suffocating weight was gone. My body felt weightless, drifting upward toward the ceiling.

Looking down, I saw myself.

A twenty-two-year-old girl curled beneath the dining table, her skin mottled with crimson blotches, her face distorted by severe edema. It wasn't until I saw the angle of my dead face that I felt a hollow ache: even in my final seconds of unconsciousness, my head had turned toward the credenza, staring up at the framed family portrait.

Even at the end, my body had instinctively looked toward the people who abandoned me.

Before I could process the sight of my own corpse, a muffled shout erupted from outside the second-story living room window.

"Jesus Christ! Hey! Stop the lift! Stop the platform!"

It was the commercial window washer servicing our townhome complex. He slapped his gloved palms frantically against the glass.

"Miss! Can you hear me? Hey!"

Seeing no response, the man didn't hesitate. He jammed a crowbar into the sliding latch, forced the frame open, and hoisted himself into the living room. He sprinted to my side, checked my carotid pulse, and jerked his hands back in sheer panic.

He whipped out his cell phone, his voice shaking as he gave the operator the exact address.

This time, the paramedics arrived within minutes.

I floated beside the stretcher as they rolled my body out into the blinding daylight, watching the rhythm of chest compressions that produced nothing. In the trauma bay of St. Jude Memorial, the ER physician finally stepped back, checking the monitors with a grim shake of his head.

"Time of death: two-forty-seven p.m. Acute anaphylactic shock. Notify the next of kin."

With the assistance of a responding police officer, the charge nurse plugged in my phone, powered it on, and dialed the contact labeled Mom.

The call connected on the fourth ring. Over the speaker, Paige’s delighted laughter rang out loud and clear.

"Mom, you’re a genius! Out of all those designs, this cuff is stunning. It’s totally me. I’m having them engrave my initials right now."

"As long as my baby girl is happy," my mother’s voice cooed, warm and indulgent. "Mama’s eyes were going cross-eyed looking through that catalog, but you deserve the best."

The nurse cleared her throat gently. "Hello. Am I speaking with the family of Tessa Mercer?"

The warmth in my mother’s voice evaporated, replaced instantly by sharp irritation. "Who’s this?"

"Ma'am, this is St. Jude Memorial Hospital. Your daughter Tessa was brought in following a fatal anaphylactic reaction. She has passed away. We need you to come to the hospital immediately to identify the body."

A brief, frozen pause hung on the line. Then my mother’s voice turned venomous.

"What kind of sick, bottom-feeding scam artist calls a mother with this kind of trash? Don't you dare curse my daughter! Tessa is sitting at home right now, lazy as ever. Get a real job and stop harassing people, you pathetic fraud."

She hung up with a vicious click.

The nurse stared at the dead line, stunned. Just as she turned to hand the phone to the police officer, the screen lit up again.

Mom Calling.

The nurse pressed answer immediately. On the other end, Gavin’s arrogant chuckle drifted through the car’s speaker.

"Picked up on the first ring. See, Mom? What did I tell you? It's just her playing games."

The nurse kept her voice strictly clinical. "Sir, ma'am, I assure you this is not a prank. Tessa Mercer is in our morgue. I am calling from her personal device. You need to come down here right now."

A furious roar erupted from the receiver.

"Tessa! Don't you dare hide behind some stranger!" my mother yelled. "Here I was, almost having a heart attack thinking someone was targeting you, and it’s just your sick, manipulative little show? All this drama because we bought your sister a piece of gold? How petty can one person be?"

"Ma'am," the nurse said, her voice rising in firm authority, "I can send you an official geotagged photograph from the facility right now if you—"

"Yeah, sure, send your little photo," my mother snapped dismissively.

In the background, the rumble of an SUV engine hummed through the Bluetooth connection, followed by my father’s impatient grumble.

"Hang up the damn phone, Evelyn. You're hogging the car audio, and Paige wants her playlist on. Stop indulging Tessa. Tell her we’ll be home in thirty minutes, and if the roast isn't on the table, I'll deal with her myself. Tessa, you hear me? Get dinner ready."

Gavin chimed in, dripping with disgust. "She’s doing this on purpose. She’s faking an emergency to milk your sympathy so you feel guilty enough to buy her something expensive, too. God, she makes me sick. I don't even want to eat at home now."

Paige let out a sweet, theatrical sigh. "Then let’s not go home! You guys bought me this gorgeous bracelet—let me treat everyone to that high-end sushi bar downtown!"

A chorus of cheerful approvals broke out in the car.

Then Paige added, her tone hesitating just enough to sound charitable: