They Faked Death, I Made It Real
Agatha Christie · Completed · 5.5k Words
Introduction
I believed it. Sobbed until I couldn't breathe when the cops showed me photos of the burnt yacht. Thought my words—"I hope you all die"—had somehow made it happen.
Two weeks later, I found my sister's backup Instagram: "Finally ditched the boring sister! Bahamas is paradise 🏖"
Something inside me snapped.
Wanna play dead? Stay dead.
I took their death certificates. Canceled their social security numbers. Drained every joint account—every last cent. Sold the house to John, the kind of guy even cops don't mess with.
One month later, they came home tanned and loaded with designer bags, expecting to find me broken on the streets.
What greeted them instead were cold gun barrels pointed at their heads.
Chapter 1
My parents and twin sister faked their own deaths so she could steal my college acceptance.
I believed it. Sobbed until I couldn't breathe when the cops showed me photos of the burnt yacht. Thought my words—"I hope you all die"—had somehow made it happen.
Two weeks later, I found my sister's backup Instagram: "Finally ditched the boring sister! Bahamas is paradise ��"
Something inside me snapped.
Wanna play dead? Stay dead.
I took their death certificates. Canceled their social security numbers. Drained every joint account—every last cent. Sold the house to John, the kind of guy even cops don't mess with.
One month later, they came home tanned and loaded with designer bags, expecting to find me broken on the streets.
What greeted them instead were cold gun barrels pointed at their heads.
Patricia's POV
My twin sister Avery tore my Harvard acceptance letter into pieces and tossed them into the fireplace.
It went up in flames.
I lunged forward, reaching into the fire.
"Avery! Are you INSANE?!"
The heat seared my skin. I screamed as blisters erupted across the back of my hand, but the letter was already ash.
My Harvard acceptance letter.
Three years busting my ass on practice tests till 3 AM. A thousand late nights under my desk lamp. Countless hours memorizing vocab in the back of the diner kitchen.
Full ride. Pre-med track. My only way out.
Gone.
I collapsed on the carpet, shaking, tears streaming down my face.
"Oh, shut up. It's just a stupid piece of paper." She stood over me with that nasty smile. "Why the hell should YOU get Harvard when I couldn't even get into NYU? You're just a nerd. You'd bomb out anyway."
I turned to Dad—Vincent—and Mom—Helena—on the couch. Vincent sipped his wine. Helena examined her nails. Neither of them even looked up.
"Dad, Mom... she just burned my acceptance letter. That was my FUTURE." My voice broke.
Vincent slammed down his glass. "So it's burned. Big deal. Have the school send another one. Look, Avery's upset right now. Can't you give your sister a break for once?"
"A break? Haven't I given her enough my WHOLE LIFE?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "I gave up my room so she could have a damn walk-in closet. You took my work money for her designer bags. Now I earn a full scholarship—on my OWN—and you want me to give up MORE? What, you want my kidneys next?"
Helena stood with a cold laugh and walked over to stroke Avery's hair. "God, Patricia, don't be such a brat. Listen, we've made our decision. You're not going to Harvard."
"WHAT?!" I stared at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Avery got into this private art school. Real expensive. And, well, we're a little short, so since you're so damn smart and capable, you'll stay home. Get a job. Help pay for your sister's education."
"Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND? It's a full scholarship! You don't have to pay a DIME!"
"Yeah, but WE need YOU to pay!" Vincent's face turned red, veins bulging. "You're family, Patricia. Family takes care of family! What good are all those books gonna do you anyway? You'll just get married. But Avery—she's got real talent. She needs this."
Eighteen years.
Eighteen years invisible in this house. Studying like crazy for one ticket out.
And now they weren't just ripping up my ticket—they wanted to chain me here forever and bleed me dry.
I remembered my tenth birthday. Just me and a cake, waiting for them to sing. But they were upstairs reading Avery a bedtime story because she was "delicate." I waited all night. They never came down.
I remembered thirteen. Avery wanted the headphones I'd saved six months to buy. Helena said, "Come on, your sister likes them. Just give them to her. You're older—stop being so selfish." When I said no, Vincent slapped me across the face.
I remembered sixteen. School trip to tour Boston colleges. Three hundred bucks. I came home with money from my shifts at the diner. Helena didn't even look at it. "Avery needs summer camp. We're short." I said I wanted to see Harvard. She laughed. "Sweetie, what does a girl need college for? You'll just get married anyway."
And now, after I'd finally clawed my way to a Harvard acceptance—on my own—they wanted to take even that.
"I'm not staying." I stood up, jaw clenched, glaring at all three of them. "I'd rather DIE than be your personal ATM."
"You wouldn't DARE!" Vincent charged and backhanded me.
I hit the floor hard. My ears rang. Blood filled my mouth.
Avery giggled. "Careful, Vincent. Don't break her too bad. She's got a shift tomorrow."
I pressed my hand to my burning cheek and looked up at them.
Something inside me snapped clean in half.
"I HATE YOU!" The words ripped out of me. "I hate every single one of you! You wanna bleed me dry so bad? Then just DIE! GO AHEAD AND DIE!"
I grabbed my coat and ran out into the pouring rain.
That night I curled up on my cousin Diane's couch, crying until I thought I'd pass out.
Diane brought me tea. "Hey, don't cry. Once you're at Harvard, you never have to see them again."
But I cried harder. Because I knew better. Even at Harvard, they wouldn't leave me alone. They'd call every week with some new crisis. Avery needs new clothes. Avery needs art supplies. Avery needs a trip to Paris for "inspiration."
They'd never let me go.
Not unless they were dead.
The thought shocked me. But it took root anyway, dark and stubborn.
I figured this was just another blowout fight. Tomorrow the sun would come up. I'd have to face them again.
I never imagined my curse would actually come true.
Next afternoon, two cops knocked on Diane's door.
"Patricia Smith?" The older one looked grim. "I'm real sorry, but... your parents and sister took a yacht out last night. Got caught in a bad storm. Yacht hit the rocks and exploded. Search and rescue looked for ten hours. They only found wreckage and..."
He handed me a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a charred life vest with dark stains.
"This was your father's. They're officially missing, but honestly, with that explosion and those waves..." He paused. "I'm sorry. There's almost no chance they made it."
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