After I Die

The third year since I died. Calvin Gabriel finally thought of me again. All because his childhood sweetheart, Vivian Lincoln, has had a relapse of leukemia. She needs me to donate bone marrow to save her life. I floated above Calvin's car roof, watching his hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening with the strain. For these three years, I have followed him almost every day—watching him accompany Vivian through chemotherapy, seeing him buy her favorite strawberry mousse, watching him gently read poetry to her in the hospital room. The tenderness that once belonged only to me is now all given to another woman. His black Bentley jolted through the alley in the northern part of the city, the wheels rattling over the uneven road, emitting a heavy, muted sound. He hadn't set foot on this road for three years. The last time he came here was the day I brought up the divorce. That day was just as overcast. I stood in the yard clutching the divorce papers, and when he stepped out of the car, he frowned and accused me of causing trouble—saying I was only acting out of jealousy toward Vivian Lincoln. Looking back now, I realize how foolish I was then, still holding onto a final, fragile hope that he would hear me out. When the car stopped at the gate of my home, Calvin Gabriel pushed open the door. His black suit still carried the scent of hospital disinfectant—a smell that stabbed at my heart like a needle. Three years ago, I lay on the operating table, breathing in that very same scent. Behind him followed a dozen burly men in black suits, each clutching steel pipes. The sunlight reflected off the pipes, casting a cold, hard gleam. Just like three years ago, when he sent men to smash up my house. That day, his men smashed the furniture to ruin. Mom held me and cried. Dad tried to stop them but was pushed to the ground. I sat on the sofa, watching his men tear through the house like madmen. The last bit of love I had left shattered along with the broken furniture. The front door of my house is wooden; ever since it was smashed by his men three years ago, it has never been repaired. Father said that whenever he sees this door, he remembers that day. Fixing it is useless—it's better to leave it as it is, a reminder never to trust the Gabriel Family again. Now, only a few crooked wooden planks hang there; when the wind blows, they creak, like they're crying. Calvin Gabriel stepped forward and kicked the door. With a bang, the wooden planks shattered into pieces, splinters falling to the ground and even bouncing onto his pant legs. He lowered his head and brushed himself off, as if shaking off some dirt. That look of disdain reminded me of what he once said: though my family's yard was small, it was full of warmth. Mother was hanging clothes out to dry in the yard; on the bamboo pole hung Fairy's little dress, bought last year by Mother for her. It was pink, with little rabbit patterns on it. Startled by the sound, the clothes hanger she held fell to the ground with a sharp snap, and the garments slipped off into the dust. She turned around, and the moment her eyes met Calvin Gabriel's, her face drained of color—like a crumpled sheet of white paper—and her lips began to tremble. I floated to Mother's side, wanting to take her hand, but my fingertips passed right through her arm—I couldn't touch a thing. Over these three years, I've long been accustomed to this helplessness, yet every time I see Mom and Dad suffer, my heart aches deeply. Mother used to be so cheerful—she loved chatting with the neighbors while smiling and cooking my favorite sweet and sour ribs. Since I left, she's rarely smiled, and half her hair has turned white. Calvin Gabriel strode over to Mother and grabbed her collar with one hand. She was already frail, weighing less than ninety pounds, and when he pulled like that, her feet nearly left the ground, her toes barely touching the floor. "Where is Fiona Scott?" His voice was cold, like ice in the dead of winter, utterly devoid of warmth. "Vivian's leukemia has relapsed. She needs to donate bone marrow. Tell her to come out." Mother's body trembled uncontrollably, her teeth chattering, yet she gritted her teeth, her eyes filled with stubborn defiance: "Fiona isn't here. You're at the wrong place." "Wrong place?" Calvin Gabriel sneered coldly, his laughter laced with mockery. He raised his hand, pressed Mother's head, and slammed it harshly against the wall. With a "dong" sound, a splash of blood suddenly stained the wall, the red glaring painfully. I watched Mother's head lean against the wall, my heart aching as if cut by a knife. I screamed and rushed forward, trying to push Calvin Gabriel away, but my body passed through him. Helpless, I could only watch as Mother's head was slammed against the wall again and again. Each impact sounded like a hammer striking my own heart.