Chapter 3

Less than fifteen minutes after Callaghan's frantic 911 call, the piercing wail of police sirens tore through the air.

A black SUV followed closely behind the police cruiser.

Before the vehicle even came to a complete stop, David—my father—leaped out, his eyes completely bloodshot. He had been at a meeting in the city, but after getting Callaghan's call, he had blown through over a dozen red lights to rush back.

"Where's Harper?! Where is she?!" David's voice cracked with sheer terror.

He sprinted into the backyard, his eyes immediately locking onto the door that Vivian was fiercely guarding.

"David! You're back just in time!" Seeing her husband, Vivian didn't back down; instead, as if she had just found her champion, she marched up to him. Pointing accusingly at Beckett on the ground and Callaghan nearby, she complained, "Look at them! That wretched girl drugged Beckett, so I put her in solitary confinement to punish her, and they're ganging up to bully me! They even called the cops!"

David completely ignored her hysterical rambling. He shoved Vivian aside with such brute force that she stumbled backward and crashed to the gravel.

"You locked her in the old tack room with the hornet nests?!" David's bloodshot eyes went entirely crimson. He stared at the woman he had shared a bed with for twenty years as if looking at a monster. "You know perfectly well about her immunodeficiency! Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"I told you, she's faking it! She just wants to ruin Beckett!" Vivian shrieked hysterically.

Sheriff Miller, who had arrived with David, strode forward, his face livid. He took one look at the heavy padlock, then at the storm drain where the key was hopelessly lost, and made a split-second decision. "We don't have time to fish for the key. Break it down! David, go get your axe!"

Jolted wide awake, David spun around and sprinted like a madman toward the nearby tool shed.

Hovering mid-air, I watched my father's stumbling, frantic back.

In my memories, my father was always buried in his work. His love for me had always been tainted by a cowardly compromise. Whenever Vivian showed blatant favoritism toward Beckett and harshly berated me, he would merely sigh, pat my head, and say, "Harper, you have to understand. Your mother is just overly stressed about your brother."

He had never truly protected me. And now, when he finally remembered to stand up for me... unfortunately, it was far too late.

David charged back gripping a heavy fire axe. He raised it high above his head, aiming directly at the lock.

"Don't you dare! That is my door! David, if you bust that door open, I want a divorce!" Vivian suddenly scrambled up from the dirt and launched herself at David like a crazed shrew, trying to wrestle the axe from his grip.

"Get the hell off me!" David had completely snapped. With a furious sweep of his arm, he hurled Vivian aside. She slammed heavily against the wooden fence and crumpled, unable to get back up.

Thwack! The axe smashed into the wood around the lock cylinder.

Inside, the wasps seemed to sense the outside threat. The furious hum intensified into a frenzied roar, and a few hornets squeezed out through the cracks, attempting to attack those outside.

Sheriff Miller swung his baton to fend off the venomous insects, roaring, "Keep swinging! Hurry!"

With a deafening crack, the lock cylinder finally shattered. David dropped the axe and landed a brutal kick, throwing the heavy wooden door wide open.

Sunlight instantly flooded the once-pitch-black tack room. The blinding rays sliced through the gloom like a fiery sword, instantly illuminating the bone-chilling horror that lay within.

At that moment, the air seemed to freeze completely.

Every single breath snagged in their throats.

Floating just above the doorframe, I looked down at them all.

David remained frozen in his kicking stance, turned into a soulless stone statue as his eyes locked onto the floor. Sheriff Miller's pupils shrank to pinpricks; he instinctively recoiled a half-step, his hand dropping to the holster on his belt.

There, at the end of their gaze, was me... lying in the dirt.

The corpse was grotesquely contorted. The purplish-red skin was swollen taut like a balloon on the verge of popping. My face, my neck, my arms, and even my eyelids were densely blanketed with a crawling, shifting layer of hornets. Blood, mixed with dirt and vile venom, pooled beneath my body into a dark, muddy mire of red.

It was a sight grisly enough to guarantee nightmares for any normal human who laid eyes on it.

"Har... Harper..." A harrowing, inhuman wail ripped from David's throat. His legs gave out entirely, and he collapsed heavily to his knees.

Dr. Callaghan was the first to snap back to reality. He dashed into the infested tack room, dropping to his knees beside my corpse. With a violently trembling hand, he reached out to check my carotid artery, only to find my neck so grotesquely swollen that there was no vein left to find.

He could only place his hand delicately over my bulging, lifeless eyes to close them, before slowly moving his fingers down to my chest.

In that singular second, time seemed to stretch on into eternity.

Outside the door, Vivian had just managed to scramble to her feet. She was still sneering coldly: "What is it? Is she still playing dead? Drag her out here!"

Slowly, Callaghan withdrew his hand. He turned his head to look at the crowd gathered outside the door. His face was as ashen as a sheet, and his lips trembled faintly.

"No pulse. No spontaneous breathing. Pupils fully fixed and dilated... Confirmed dead."