Chapter 3

After celebrating Isabella’s promotion, James returned to his own place. He had a house near the Manchester Police Department, making it easier to respond to calls quickly.

He poured himself a glass of water and sat on the sofa. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, but his hand hesitated. He hadn’t moved the screen for a while.

I floated over and saw it was my message thread. I hadn’t responded to any of his texts, not that he’d been replying to me for the past few months. The last few texts were all one-sided, from me to him.

James clicked his tongue, scrolling through our messages:

[Hey, did you remember to take your stomach medicine? I got more for you—don’t forget to bring it!]

[James, I’ve been stuck on a work problem. Could I ask you for advice?]

[Today’s my birthday, will you be coming home?]

My birthday had been the day Isabella killed me. It took James a moment to realize this as he opened his calendar and saw the red heart marking the date: Megan’s 23rd Birthday.

He froze for a moment, then quickly exited the calendar app and called Mum.

“Mum, did Megan call the house about half a month ago?”

Mum hesitated. “No, she didn’t. Wasn’t that the day she had a fight with Isabella? Why?”

James paused, then said, “No reason.”

After hanging up, he grew visibly frustrated. He tried calling me, but no one answered. More irritated now, he opened our chat and started sending voice messages:

[Megan, have you grown up now? Who taught you to run off and not take responsibility for your actions?]

[You’ve got two hours to call me back, or you can forget about calling me brother ever again!]

I looked at him in confusion. Hadn’t he just told me I wasn’t allowed home unless I apologized to Isabella? I always loved James, but I was also terrified of him.

When I didn’t finish my schoolwork, he’d scold me. When I disobeyed, he’d rush home to discipline me. Over time, a wall had grown between us.

Isabella, on the other hand, could joke around with him, bother him whenever she wanted, and he would always be patient and kind with her. His smile never faded when she was around.

I felt dizzy, my soul growing lighter, as if I were losing my grip on existence. I was fading, but somehow, I couldn’t disappear completely.

That’s when James finally lost his composure. He grabbed his coat and stormed out, heading straight to the police department. I followed him as he went back to the forensic lab, put on gloves, and began working again.

But just as he was examining my remains for further evidence, he suddenly froze. His fingers brushed over the birthmark on my wrist—a small heart-shaped mark, something unique.

When we were kids, he used to poke that mark and say, “Megan’s a gift from the heavens. They gave her a heart-shaped mark so I’ll always find her, no matter what.”

Now, James stared at the birthmark for what felt like an eternity. I thought I must be imagining things. Why would he tremble if he hated me so much?

I shook my head, ready to close my eyes and conserve my strength when he pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Mum, are you sure Megan didn’t call home after she left?”

For the first time in ages, he called me by my nickname instead of my full name.

“Well, now that you mention it…” Mum’s voice was hesitant. “She used to call every day. It’s strange that she didn’t this time…”

“Mum, do you think Megan didn’t come home because of me? If so, I—”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Dad interrupted. “I haven’t even confronted Megan for spreading those lies about you, Isabella!”

“James, stop worrying. She’ll come crawling back. Where else would she go?”

Yes, Dad. Where else would I go? You’re all I have, and the Murphy family is all I’ve ever known. But now, you only care about Isabella, the one who murdered me.

James hung up the phone, bracing himself against the autopsy table. He shook his head.

“It can’t be…”

“There are plenty of people with birthmarks. It’s not her…”

As he was about to continue, his phone rang again.

“James, we found some fabric remnants on the hillside.”

“We traced the fabric to a brand store. The staff confirmed it’s an old classic model, with fewer than thirty owners.”

“Seventeen of those are men. The remaining thirteen women have no missing persons reports.”

“James, I’ve sent you a list.”

James opened the message and enlarged the photo. The next second, his face turned pale with disbelief.

The last name on the list was Megan Murphy.