Daddy, Don't Be Mad, I'll Stay Put

I was floating. My body felt light, and the bone-deep pain was gone. I looked down at that small, frail corpse curled up in the tattered cotton batting. Its eyes were wide open, as if refusing to close even in death, and a dark red trail of blood still lingered at the corner of its mouth.

So ugly. No wonder Mom and Dad didn't like it.

I drifted through the heavy basement door and into the living room. It was brightly lit, the heater blasting warm air. A comedy show played on TV.

Callie, still wearing those spike-studded dance shoes, sat cross-legged on the couch eating cherries. Mom was feeding them for her, while Dad was massaging her legs.

"Callie, does your leg still hurt?" Dad asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Callie let out a coquettish scoff. "It hurts. That wretched Arlene has such hard bones—they made my feet ache. Dad, can you break her bones tomorrow? That way they'd be softer to step on."

Hovering in midair, I felt no chill, yet my heart grew utterly cold. It turned out to them, I wasn't a human being but merely an item to be worked on.

Dad dotingly tapped the tip of Callie's nose. "Alright, whatever you say. If Arlene still won't behave, I'll buy a real lambskin mat and stitch her skin onto it."

Mom shot Dad a look of mock disapproval. "Don't scare Callie like that. But Arlene really does need to be disciplined properly. After locking her in the basement these past few days, I wonder if she's learned her lesson."

Callie spat out a cherry pit. "Mom, do you think she might be dead already? When Dad went down earlier, I could even smell something foul."

Mom paused briefly, then smiled nonchalantly. "If she's dead, so be it. It just so happened we bought an accidental death insurance policy for her. The payout should be enough to get you that piano you wanted."

Dad chuckled along. "Don't be afraid, Callie. As long as I'm here, even if she turns into a ghost, she won't be able to hurt you."

The family of three was enjoying a harmonious and joyful time together. Their laughter echoed through the villa, sounding painfully shrill to my ears.

I stared at Dad's familiar face. This was my own birth father. Yet, to please his stepdaughter and his second wife, he had not only abused his own daughter but now, in discussing my death, thought only of the insurance money.

Suddenly, I felt the urge to laugh. What unspeakable sin had I committed in a past life to be born into a family like this?

Just then, Callie suddenly jumped down from the couch and spun in a circle on the wool carpet, barefoot. Her movements were light, her dance graceful. There wasn't any trace of her "walking phobia" at all.

"Mom, what do you think of my dance? I'm going to win the gold medal at the competition tomorrow!"

Mom applauded and said, "You're a genius. As long as you're away from that jinx Arlene, you can do anything."

Dad looked at Callie admiringly. "As expected of my daughter. Although we're not related by blood, you've picked up my poise all the same."

I hovered near the ceiling, watching the scene with cold detachment. So, it turned out Callie's illness was all an act, and everyone knew she was pretending. Only I was foolish enough to have believed it.

To "cure" Callie, I endured five years of torment that left my spine deformed, my internal organs ruptured, and ultimately cost me my life.

This wasn't just abuse. It was premeditated murder.