Chapter 2

I floated in the attic, staring down at myself on the floor.

The corpse's eyes were still open, the whites filled with broken blood vessels from lack of oxygen.

The wound on my neck had stopped bleeding. Dark red blood had congealed into an ugly stain on the floorboards.

The summer attic was over a hundred degrees. I knew it wouldn't be long before this body started to rot.

At ten o'clock that night, they finally came home.

"That Michelin-starred Wellington was incredible. We should go back." Edward's voice was full of satisfaction.

"As long as Sloane's happy. Did you get everything ready for the concert outfit?" Victoria asked gently.

"Of course! Thanks, Mom and Dad!"

I passed through the attic floorboards and floated down to the living room.

The three of them sat on the couch, unwrapping bags from their shopping spree.

Not one of them glanced toward the attic stairs. Not one of them cared whether the eldest daughter — the one with severe asthma, locked in a sweltering attic — was even still alive.

"Is someone gonna come down and apologize or what?" Sloane suddenly raised her voice, yelling up at the ceiling. "Mom even brought back the signature dessert from the restaurant. Keep sulking and you won't get any."

I floated right in front of Sloane, staring at her perfectly made-up face.

She knew I couldn't hear her. She just liked feeling like the winner.

Victoria scoffed, putting the mousse cake in the fridge. "Forget about her. She's just jealous of you. It's been like this since we were kids. Every time she loses the dice roll, she acts like the whole world owes her something. Let her starve up there. One day without food and she'll learn her lesson."

"But Mom, what if her asthma acts up?" Sloane covered her mouth with fake concern.

"She's faking." Edward didn't even look up from the TV. "Last time she wanted to get out of mowing the lawn, didn't she pretend she couldn't breathe? The rules in this house are absolute fairness. She doesn't have the luck, so she needs to learn to accept it."

Faking.

I looked down at my translucent hands.

Right. In their eyes, even my illness was just a ploy for attention.

The next day at noon, the sun turned the attic into a furnace.

I floated back up to check on my body. The skin had turned a blueish-purple. Lividity was spreading across my back and legs.

A rancid smell was starting to fill the sealed space.

Downstairs, Victoria was setting up a BBQ on the backyard patio.

The smell of grilled meat drifted up through the vents. If I were still alive, my stomach would be growling right now.

"Hazel!" Victoria stood at the bottom of the attic stairs and pounded on the door. "How long are you planning to keep this up? We're having your favorite — ribs. If you come down right now, admit you were selfish yesterday, and apologize to your sister, I'll let you have lunch!"

I floated behind the door, watching Victoria's face, dripping with condescension.

She had no idea I was dead on the floor behind that door.

"Victoria, don't bother." Edward walked over and pulled her away impatiently. "That's just how stubborn she is. When she gets hungry enough, she'll come down on her own."

"I'm just too soft-hearted." Victoria sighed. "Treating them equally is so hard. I already gave her a fair shot with the dice. Her luck was bad, and now she's blaming us for playing favorites."

I watched them walk away, and I felt... nothing.

The gut-wrenching grief and longing I had when I was alive — it seemed to have drained out with my blood.

I was just curious. When they finally discovered that their so-called "fairness" was actually cold-blooded murder, would they still act so damn righteous?

I floated back to the backyard and watched Sloane secretly toss a burnt piece of meat onto my plate. She sneered at the air. "Eat up, loser. For the rest of your pathetic life, all you'll ever get is my leftovers."