Vengeful? If only Tommy’s soul could return, filled with rage. At least then, I would be able to see him one last time. Hold him one last time.
Tristan called his most trusted men, had them wrap Tommy’s body in a sack, and tossed him into an unmarked graveyard where no one would think to look. When the task was done, a heavy silence clung to him like a second skin.
Jessica, still trembling, clung to his arm. “Tristan, it’s been days… Crystal won’t really die in there, will she? Maybe we should let her out, get a divorce, and finally be at peace. It’ll finally be just the two of us. Isn’t that better?”
At the mention of my name, even she wasn’t spared his irritation. “Relax,” he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. “She’s too much of a coward to die so easily.”
But you miscalculated, Tristan. I didn’t just die. I rotted. My soul drifted around you, watching, waiting.
Jessica opened her mouth as if to say more, but one look at his face made her shrink back in silence.
“Crystal belongs to me,” Tristan growled. “Even if she wanted to die, I get the final say.”
How absurd.
He allowed himself his little love affairs, his whispered romances. But me? I was to remain his, even couldn’t decide my own death.
Yet, from the very beginning, the one who strayed was him.
That night, Jessica curled up asleep beside him, brows furrowed. Tristan waited until her breathing evened out, then carefully slid out of bed, moving like a thief in the night.
I watched as he approached the door to my “prison”, a silver cross necklace hanging from his neck. How ironic.
Back then, when his mind was unraveling, when reality blurred at the edges, I had made a trip to the church, praying for his peace of mind. The pastor had given me this very necklace, assuring me it would protect him.
He had laughed at me then. Called me superstitious. Said the necklace was ugly and refused to wear it.
But now, after killing his own son, after locking his wife away to die, he was suddenly clutching the necklace like a lifeline.
How laughable.
I watched as he took slow, shuddering breaths, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His legs trembled. He was hesitating.
Then—
“Agh!”
He staggered back, eyes wide with horror.
A fat, white maggot had wriggled onto his hand, its bloated body squirming over his skin.
“Crystal! What kind of sick trick are you playing?”
Something in him snapped. He flung the maggot to the ground and stomped on it viciously, grinding it into nothingness beneath his heel.
“Come out,” he barked, shoving the door open. “Crystal, stop this nonsense and come out now!”
The door creaked wide, and a thick wave of decay rolled out.
