Chapter 2
How many years had it been since Jasper Green last called himself my brother?
Too many. I couldn’t remember anymore.
I stared up blankly.
We’d argued for so many years. So many.
Ever since our parents passed away.
Maybe I really had lost my mind.
Here I was, looking at a complete stranger–a man I’d never laid eyes on before.
I nodded. “Okay.”
I followed this stranger back to a strange, unfamiliar house.
Inside, the place was so spotless and cold it felt almost eerie.
Not a speck of dust anywhere. Not a hint of life.
It was as lifeless and pale as the man’s own face.
Years ago, maybe I would’ve been scared.
But now, life and death hardly mattered to me.
There was nothing left worth fearing.
I glanced around.
On the coffee table sat a few small white bottles of pills.
I recognized them instantly–they were the same kind I’d tried to stockpile.
But doctors are always so cautious.
No matter how many excuses I made–insomnia, stress–they never gave me more than a couple at a time.
After nearly half a year, I’d only managed to collect barely a dozen.
Now, looking at those bottles, I couldn’t help but feel, almost absurdly, a twinge of envy.
That much would be enough–enough to die.
Beside the pill bottles was a photograph.
It was strange–about twelve inches, black and white.
The man in the photo stared straight at the camera, calm, expressionless.
It stood out so much I couldn’t help but look again.
1/4
Chapter 2
Then I looked at the man beside me, whose face–even his expression–was nearly identical to the one in the photo.
Even caught with such things out in the open, his expression didn’t change.
He walked over to the table, calmly picked up the pill bottles and the photo, and tucked them away in a drawer.
Then, in a gentle voice, he said, “Sit down. I’ll make dinner.”
Oh. He really seemed to believe it.
He thought I was the one with the problem, that I’d forgotten my own brother.
My mind snapped back for a moment.
Lying to someone who was already desperate to die–I suddenly felt guilty.
I wanted to explain, to leave.
But that photo, those pills–I found myself strangely curious.
What had he gone through to end up like me, wanting to die?
How did he even get so many pills?
Against my better judgment, I sat down.
He went into the kitchen. He said he’d cook, but after a long time, nothing happened.
I grew suspicious and got up, walking to the kitchen doorway.
He’d opened the fridge and was just standing there, staring blankly inside.
The huge refrigerator was as empty as the house.
Not even a bottle of water.
Clearly, no one had cooked here in a long time.
There wasn’t even a pan on the stove.
Just a single ceramic pot, the kind you might use for boiling medicine.
It was ages before he finally came back to himself.
He closed the fridge and turned to me, his expression tinged with embarrassment.
“Sorry–I forgot to buy groceries. I’ll go out and get some.”
All these years, I’d often stared at myself in the mirror.
I was alive, but it felt as if my soul had floated out and was just hovering somewhere above me. But now, I realized-
2/4
Chapter 2
There was actually someone in this world who seemed even more dead than me.
He walked past me toward the door.
I couldn’t hear his footsteps, couldn’t even sense his breath.
Suddenly, I thought: maybe this stranger would never come back.
Just like the night I fought with Jasper Green and fell from the bridge.
Jasper and the doctors all believed it was just that the rain was too heavy, the bridge too slick.
That I’d slipped and fallen.
But I knew better.
He was almost at the front door, about to step out.
I called after him, “I like fish.”
He froze.
After a moment, he turned back, face still blank and pale. “What did you say?”
I met his gaze and repeated, “I said, I want to eat fish. For dinner–can you cook fish for me?”
The front door was open.
Early winter, the evening wind howled in, cold and sharp.
The edge of his coat flapped in the gust; his already messy hair was blown into further disarray. His face looked even more ghostly.
His hand, hanging at his side, seemed to tremble just a little.
At last, he nodded.
I watched him leave, the door closing behind him.
Maybe this meant he’d actually come back.
The thought almost made me laugh.
Here I was, planning to end my life, and yet I was worried about whether a stranger would
return.
I sat back down on the sofa and closed my eyes.
The images came again.
My parents, who should have been safe, buried under the rubble.
And me–the one who survived, stepping over their deaths to drag myself through another day.
The scene shifted: Jasper Green’s eyes, full of resentment.
214
04:47
Chapter 2
His voice, harsh and biting.
“Claire Green, you’re the one who should be dead. You deserve it!”
“Claire Green, how do you even sleep at night all these years?”
I didn’t sleep well.
Not a single night in all these years.
I was trapped in nightmares, struggling to wake up.
When I finally opened my eyes, I glanced at the closed drawer under the table.
My hand moved on its own, opening the drawer and taking out those pill bottles.
I’d never stolen anything in my life; my palm was instantly sweaty.
But I’d researched the dosage carefully.
If I used half, I could leave him the rest.
And if he truly wanted to die, it would be enough.
My thoughts scattered; I tried to comfort myself as I fumbled with the bottle.
But then the phone, left on the table, suddenly rang.
The jarring sound exploded in the silence of the living room, making me nearly drop the bottle.
My heart raced with guilt.
I hurriedly put the pills down and reached for the phone.
Only then did I realize–it wasn’t mine.
He must have left it behind when he went out.
I answered.
At once, a furious voice burst through the speaker:
“I’m telling you, Frederick Austin–there’s no way you’re walking away from this without paying me back every cent of that seventy million!”
