Chapter 3

Jessica's POV

The next morning, the Austin family diner opened for business as usual.

The Saturday morning rush brought twice the usual crowd. The greasy smell of frying bacon and bitter black coffee drifted all the way from the ground floor up to the second.

I hovered aimlessly above the cash register. Being dead meant no sleeping and no starving. All I had left to do was sit back and watch the show.

I already knew how this twisted script ended. I saw it when I was seven.

I was in the middle of building a Lego set when Amy suddenly coughed. Sarah dropped her spatula, rushed over to scoop her up, and screamed at me, "Jessica, tell me the truth! What did you snatch from her this time?!"

I hadn't done a damn thing. But I was still shoved into the corner for a timeout while Amy got carried off to the bedroom.

My legs started to ache, so I snuck over to my parents' bedroom and peeked through the crack in the door. I could hear Sarah sobbing.

"She came out screaming, seven whole pounds," Sarah cried. "And Amy? Barely four, turning purple, couldn't even catch a breath."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"That psychic was RIGHT! That thing was fighting her even in my womb! She stole everything from Amy!"

"It's just a theory, Sarah. We don't know for sure—" David frowned.

"Don't know for sure?!" Sarah let out a bone-chilling laugh. "I almost bled out on that table, David. She almost killed me."

"She was born a JINX!"

From that day on, that word became my real name.

I used to think that if I just tried a little harder, they'd finally see me.

Now I know the truth. They always saw me. They just didn't want to.

Around 10 AM, the kitchen service bell rang furiously.

"Sarah! We're out of ribeyes! Run down and grab a box from the basement!"

"On it." Sarah wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed her keys, and headed for the stairs.

I drifted right behind her.

The staircase was narrow. Her heels clacked down the wooden steps. The air got sharper the deeper she went.

"What the hell, why is it freezing down here?" She rubbed her bare arms.

She was heading for the dry storage. But as she passed the heavy iron freezer door, she stopped dead in her tracks.

White vapor was seeping out from under the gap. An entire night of sub-zero temperatures had formed a thick layer of frost around the doorframe.

She stared at the frost, her brow furrowing.

Open it, Mom, I whispered right in her ear. Open it and look at what you did.

Her hand slowly reached for the handle. Two inches. One.

Her fingertips brushed the freezing metal. All she had to do was push down, and she would see the daughter she despised, curled up in a twisted, frozen heap.

Right then, her phone buzzed.

Sarah jerked her hand back like she'd been burned. She pulled out her phone, and the coldness on her face instantly melted into sheer panic when she saw the screen.

"Hello? Luke? What's wrong with Amy? Is she sick?!"

Whatever Luke said made her let out a massive sigh of relief. "Just nerves? Oh, thank God. Okay. I'll have David run a glass of warm milk over right now. Luke, please, just keep an eye on her."

She hung up. When she looked back at that heavy iron door, her eyes held nothing but pure disgust.

"Are you kidding me? You actually turned the backup compressor on?" she scoffed at the metal door. "God, Jessica, you are ruthless. Putting on a whole show, trying to play the victim so we'd cave? Keep dreaming."

She marched over to the breaker box on the wall.

Clack.

She yanked the main power switch for the freezer all the way down.

"Let's see you play the victim now." She clapped the dust off her hands, hoisted a box of frozen steaks, and headed back upstairs without a single backward glance.

I hovered in place, staring dead at that disconnected red switch.

Behind the door, the machine that had been roaring like crazy all night let out a low, heavy mechanical groan—like a dying man taking his last breath—and completely stopped.

In that moment, I actually wanted to laugh out loud.

Mom, it's too late.

You think doing this means I'll be fine? Oh, the reality is going to be so much worse than you think.

In that pitch-black, airtight room, the temperature is going to slowly creep back up. That freezer is about to become one giant incubator. My frozen corpse is going to slowly thaw out, bloat, and rot, until it reeks to high heaven. I won't even get to leave behind an intact body.

Whatever. It’s not like I can feel the pain anymore.

I floated back up to the ground floor. David was walking out with a thermos, getting ready to bring Amy her milk.

"David," Sarah sneered, "The brat turned the compressor on. She just can't stand seeing Amy succeed. She’s pulling a stunt to distract us."

David stopped dead. Pure fury ignited in his eyes.

"That vicious little bitch," he spat. "You know what? Let her. She wants to freeze, let her freeze."

"Don't worry, she won't. I killed the breaker."

"Good." He gave a cold nod. "Until Amy is holding that trophy tonight, NO ONE touches that door. Let her rot in there."

I listened to them bounce off each other perfectly.

For eighteen years, I busted my ass trying to prove I was just as good as Amy. I danced until I collapsed from fever in the studio. I handed them straight-A report card after straight-A report card.

And every single time, I got the exact same response: "Amy is sick today, and you have the nerve to smile?"

I used to not understand why nothing I ever did was right.

Now I get it.

I was never a daughter in this house. I was just the jinx from that psychic's prophecy. I was just the villain meant to be sacrificed in Amy’s perfect little fairytale.

I drifted over to the diner's front windows, staring out at the blinding sunlight.

Nationals were tonight.

I hope you lace up those lucky shoes and dance your heart out, Amy. Dance as long as you possibly can.

After all, I paid for your ticket with my dead body.