Part 3Champagne for My Execution

The pain was gone.

In its place was a lightness I had never felt before.

My perspective began to rise, and I looked down at the emaciated, scar-covered body slumping lifelessly in the execution chair.

That was my body.

And it was my final “gift” to the Blackwood family.

On the other side of the one-way mirror, the laughter continued.

“Whoa, she’s down for the count!” Kian slapped his thigh, howling as he pointed at the monitor. “Not bad acting! That fall looked pretty convincing.”

“She probably wet herself. That gunshot even made me jump.”

Wyatt took a sip of his wine, his eyes full of contempt. “A coward is a coward. With guts like that, how did she ever think she could compete with Corinne?”

Corinne covered her mouth, giggling, a flash of vicious pleasure in her eyes.

“Don’t be so mean, boys. My sister has always been a bit timid.”

“But that expression on her face was so ugly. Like a dead fish.”

They were still waiting.

Waiting for the person strapped to the chair to wake up from her terror, to start crying and begging for mercy, to get on her knees and bark like a dog.

That was the script they had written.

But a minute passed.

Then two.

The figure in the chair remained motionless. Not even the slightest rise and fall of her chest.

Her head hung limply, like a broken doll.

A strange stillness began to seep through the thick, soundproof glass.

“What’s going on?” our mother frowned, setting down her teacup. “Why isn’t she getting up? Has she gotten addicted to playing dead?”

Kian clicked his tongue in annoyance and grabbed the microphone.

“Hey! Rhea! Stop faking it!”

“The show’s over! Get up and bow to Corinne!”

No response.

Only the crackle of static from the speakers and the dead silence of the small room.

The actor “guards” exchanged uneasy glances. The prop guns they used were specially made to produce sound and a slight puff of air. They were completely harmless.

“Are these the actors you hired?” our father’s displeased gaze fell on Wyatt. “Completely inept. Did they actually scare her into fainting?”

Wyatt’s face flushed with irritation. He slammed his glass down.

“I’ll go wake her up.”

“This stupid girl. I give her an easy way out, and she forces me to get my hands dirty.”

He strode out of the observation room, pushed through the heavy metal door, and entered the “execution chamber.”

Kian and Corinne followed, eager to get a closer look at my pathetic state.

Wyatt walked up to me and kicked the iron leg of the chair.

CLANG!

“Wake up! How long are you going to keep this act up?!”

My head lolled with the vibration of the chair, but it didn’t lift. My matted, yellowed hair covered my face, hiding my expression.

Wyatt’s patience ran out.

He reached out, grabbed the collar of my prison uniform, and tried to haul me to my feet.

“I said—”

His words died in his throat. His hand froze.

The skin his fingertips touched was as cold as ice.

Not the normal coolness of a living person, but a profound, bone-deep cold that had lost all trace of life.

And she was so light.

The person in his hands felt as light as a sheet of paper, as if she were nothing but a skeleton.

Wyatt’s heart skipped a beat.

He instinctively let go.

My body, no longer supported, slid down the back of the chair and crumpled onto the concrete floor with a heavy thud.

My limbs were bent at grotesque, unnatural angles.

“What are you doing, bro?” Kian walked in, pinching his nose in disgust. The room stank of old blood and mildew. “Hurry up and wake her so we can get out of this dump. It stinks.”

Wyatt didn’t speak.

He stared at my body on the floor, his pupils constricting violently.

That feeling… it wasn’t right.

That stiffness… it wasn’t an act.

“Kian, call a doctor,” Wyatt’s voice was hoarse.

Kian paused. “A doctor? Why? Just throw a bucket of cold water on her. She’ll wake up.”

“I SAID CALL A DOCTOR!!!” Wyatt suddenly roared, the veins on his neck bulging.

The shout startled Corinne, who had just entered the room.

“Wyatt, what’s wrong?” she pouted. “Sister is just playing dead to scare us. Why are you yelling at Kian?”

Wyatt ignored her.

He crouched down, his hand trembling as he slowly reached a finger toward my nose.

No breath.

Dead silence.

He then shakily felt for a pulse on my neck.

Nothing. Not even the faintest flutter.

Wyatt collapsed onto the floor, his face instantly turning a deathly white.

“She’s… gone.”

“What’s gone?” Kian was still clueless, kicking my leg in annoyance. “Hey, Rhea, knock it off. You really think you’re some kind of A-list actress?”

“I SAID SHE’S NOT BREATHING!!!”

Wyatt whipped his head around, his eyes like those of a cornered animal.

“SHE’S DEAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! SHE’S DEAD!!!”