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"That day, your wife's hands were broken. She used the shattered bones to call you, in too much pain to even scream. What were you doing then?"
His finger hovered over the call button, frozen, unable to press it.
"Logan! Don't listen to him! Call the police! Call them now!!"
Mark yanked Chloe's hair, slapping her hard, over and over. "You were off gallivanting with this bitch, looking at stars and moon. That was your wife's last call for help. Her tongue was cut out, she couldn't speak, could only pray you'd notice something was wrong. How desperate must she have been when you hung up?"
Logan shut off the backup phone. His whole being seemed empty, his eyes vacant, soul utterly lost.
"What did she tell you about the miscarried baby? Her ex-boyfriend's? Or that sugar daddy's?"
A terrible premonition washed over Logan.
He even resisted the truth about to come. "Don't—"
"That child was mine. She never planned to keep it from the start."
By the time Logan reached the scene, Chloe was barely conscious.
It was an abandoned factory. She lay in the dirt, covered in blood, her wounds caked with mud, swollen and festering.
Her right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, bent backwards against her body.
He stared for a long, long time.
Mark stepped out from a corner, shrouded in shadow. "Stop looking. I wrenched her arm off."
Logan asked, "Is that how you broke Sophia's arms and legs?"
"Sophia? Oh, your wife."
Mark chuckled lowly, walked over to Chloe, and kicked her hard a couple of times. "Pretty much."
Memories of my death, blurred by agony, sharpened into horrifying focus again.
A cold wind blew, making my spirit shiver.
"I was with Chloe for a year. Last year, she said she wanted to get married, then conned me out of every cent I had and vanished. I searched for her for a full year. Finally got my hands on her."
Mark lit a cigarette.
Logan looked up. "What does that have to do with Sophia?"
He exhaled a cloud of smoke, utterly indifferent. "Nothing to do with her. Blame her for being your wife. You two were off living it up abroad. I couldn't find you, so I took my anger out on your wife instead."
Logan's whole body began to tremble, his voice ragged. "She didn't do anything wrong…"
Mark flicked his cigarette ash, walked up to him, and kicked him hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Playing the heartbroken widower now? You were happy enough to ditch her and run off with this slut. Was the safari fun? Were the Northern Lights pretty? Having regrets now?"
Chloe, lying nearby, stirred. She struggled to lift her head, her face a mask of blood.
She made guttural, muffled sounds, using all her strength to look towards him.
Logan glanced at her.
"Oh, I cut her tongue out. Just like your wife."
The knife in his hand shook. He was too cowardly to even lift his head.
Seeing this, Chloe lost all hope.
Mark swung a pipe, cracking it against Logan's skull. "Worthless piece of trash."
Logan blacked out.
Mark clenched the cigarette between his teeth, hauled a gasoline canister from the corner, and doused both of them.
Chloe screamed soundlessly, "Ah! Ah!" But this place was too remote. No one passed by. No one heard her cries for help.
I knew this better than anyone.
I watched Mark finish pouring the gas, light a lighter, and drop it at his feet.
The flames raced upwards, engulfing his entire body in seconds.
He didn't try to run.
I don't know how much time passed.
The sound of vehicles came from outside the broken windows.
The police had arrived.
Mark was burned to death on the spot. Chloe's injuries were severe; despite being rushed to the ER, she didn't make it.
Logan suffered severe burns and lay in the hospital for a month.
He lost his job. He spent his days wearing a mask, drifting through life in a constant state of fear and regret.
Then one day, Logan showed up at my grave with several bottles of whiskey and drank himself into a stupor all night.
I screamed at him in fury, telling him to get lost.
Logan jolted violently, looked up dazedly, his eyes seeming to meet mine. Tears traced paths through the ferocious scars on his face.
"Sophia? Is that you?"
I left him with one cold, final sentence: "Logan, don't you dare taint my path to the next life."
It was like he suddenly sobered up. He grabbed the half-empty bottle, stood up, and walked out into the vast, dark night.
The next day, Logan's body was discovered on a desolate road outside the city.
