Goodbye, My Dearest

As I lay brutally battered by the hands of those ruthless criminals, my mother, Susan Chase, was joyously partaking in the birthday party of her adopted daughter, Yuna.

Even my desperate call for help was summarily dismissed by her.

"It's Yuna's birthday. Don't you dare ruin the merriment."

Five days later, she, with her own hands, meticulously dissected a headless female body.

The process consumed nearly five hours of her time, including the suturing of the body.

The analysis unveiled the myriad of inhuman torments the deceased had endured throughout her existence, but Susan failed to recognize that the headless corpse was none other than me, her profoundly despised daughter.

My lifeless form was discovered in a sewage pool on the periphery at 3 a.m.

Over the preceding five days, a significant sign of bloated cadaver had transpired.

Upon receiving the report, the police promptly arrived at the scene. As a forensic doctor, Susan had to curtail her celebrations with Yuna and hasten to the crime scene alongside them.

She adeptly instructed her assistant to help extract my body from the foul mire. "Tread carefully if you wish to avoid the charming blood clinging to you, and don't you dare shake."

The assistant, Johnson Whitman, was a novice male forensic doctor. He stood tall and slender. Glasses perched upon his nose.

Despite the multiple layers of masks shielding him, he struggled to contain his gagging reflex.

However, upon hearing Susan's words, he swallowed his urge to vomit and moved his hands with a newfound lightness and steadiness.

Following the on-site investigation and evidence-gathering, my body was expeditiously conveyed to the criminal investigation team and laid upon the dissection table.

A blindingly bright light shone down upon me. I hovered in the air, silently observing my mangled body. My already feeble soul seemed to be further drained away.

Before the procedure commenced, Susan adhered to the customary bow to the deceased. "You appear so youthful. What a tragedy!"

Her movements were practiced and professional.

With each motion of her blade, a sharp pain pierced my heart.

Suddenly, her actions ceased, and her fingers gripping the scalpel quivered slightly.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of the body's dimensions or the similarity of the cause of death to a case from years past that caught her attention.

I watched as her brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes, and then she abruptly seized my wrist.

A distinctive red mark, present since my birth, adorned the inside of my wrist.

The arm was a deathly grey, caked in mud. But after Susan cleaned it, no red marks were to be seen.

Of course, she couldn't see it.

The red mark had been severed by a dagger that fateful night.

Johnson inquired with curiosity, "Ms. Chase, what's amiss? Have you discovered something?"

Susan finally snapped out of her reverie and released my wrist. "Nothing."

I sighed.

Mom, we passed each other again.

Several times, in fact.

The autopsy report was delivered to Mike Collin, the leader of the criminal investigation team, the following day.

During the meeting, Susan calmly detailed the state of the body.

"The deceased female, estimated to be between 21 and 24 years of age, had been subjected to violence prior to her demise. She sustained multiple fractures and 32 non-lethal knife wounds across her body, and her head was nowhere to be found.

"Due to the deceased's body exhibiting signs of bloated cadaver, fingerprints are no longer viable for identification. I have submitted a DNA test, and the results should be available in as little as three days."

Upon hearing the report, everyone present furrowed their brows. Mike's face was marred by an anger he could scarcely conceal, and he struck the desk with his fist.

"Son of bitch!"

Mike swiftly organized his men to initiate investigations and dismissed everyone.

Then, Susan was summoned to his office.

"Vivian approached me recently. She wishes to join the criminal investigation team after graduation and reactivate her father's police number."

Susan's hand, which had been holding the cup, froze, and a hint of loathing rose in her eyes. "She is unworthy of being a police officer, let alone reactivating Jack's police number. She is nothing but a disaster."

Seeing her emotional state, Mike pursed his lips and patted her shoulder in an attempt to console her. "I understand that Jack's departure was a significant blow to you, but it's not entirely Vivian's fault. She was just a child back then. She has been riddled with guilt all these years and has always been thinking about you and Yuna."

Unable to bear any more, Susan shouted with fury, "She must have been hoping Yuna would die. If she truly cared about us, she wouldn't have neglected to call us after Yuna was kidnapped and endured such a harrowing ordeal. Is this how a sister should behave?

"She's a cold-blooded beast.

"I don't want to hear about Vivian Harrison, and don't bother me specifically about her affairs in the future. Yuna is still waiting for me at home, so I'm going back first."

I watched her depart, my heart heavy with pain, as transparent tears fell to the floor in a continuous stream.

Mom, I was not cold-blooded.

I just died on the day Yuna was kidnapped.