Chapter 4

Dad walked up the hillside, calling my name loudly.

"Chloe!"

"Stop hiding! Come home with Mom and Dad! We won't be angry with you!"

Mom also yelled.

"Chloe! Enough of your games! Get out here this instant!"

"If you don't show yourself, I swear I will cut you out of this family for good!"

Their shouts echoed hollowly in the valley, but there was no response.

Mom, Dad...I'm right here. I can't come out.

Please don't cast me out...

Dad looked down and saw the kite spool lying on the ground again.

He frowned, a vague sense of annoyance making him kick it away, muttering.

"Always playing around! Never gives us a moment's peace!"

Mom wasn't feeling well, so Dad let her rest where she was and went to search the hillside himself.

He suddenly stopped, sniffing hard.

A faint, indescribable smell of decay, carried by the wind, wafted intermittently up from below the hillside.

He instinctively pinched his nose, a look of disgust on his face, and mumbled.

"These villagers have no manners, throwing whatever dead things down the slope. It stinks!"

He was hesitating whether to brave the stench and search down the slope.

Just then, Mom screamed from behind him.

Dad looked back, anxiously asking.

"Victoria, what's wrong?"

Mom's voice came from up the slope, laced with her usual impatience.

"Did you find her? Where is she hiding and playing dead? I got bitten by ants!"

"Does she really expect us to get on our knees and beg her before she'll come back?!"

Dad looked at the steep slope, smelled the unpleasant odor, and finally backed down.

He turned to Mom, his face a mask of guilt.

"No, I've looked everywhere. She's probably not here."

"She might really have gone to a friend's or relative's house. Let's go back and call around."

He turned, quickly pulled Mom to the car, and they left.

Another day passed. I had been dead for over a week.

The house was eerily quiet, the air seemingly frozen.

Dad didn't go to work. He sat on the couch, staring out the window, unconsciously fiddling with the remote control.

Ms. Davies sent my parents the class yearbook she had made.

Mom picked up her phone, opened the yearbook, and aimlessly scrolled through it.

Finally, her finger stopped on a photo.

It was a picture she had casually taken of me that day she left me in the suburbs.

In the photo, I was holding the kite, a hopeful, pleading smile on my face.

After a moment of silence, she slammed the phone onto the table.

"How can this brat be so cruel?!"

"She's the one who killed my Lily, and now she's throwing a tantrum and disappearing?"

"Does she want to push me to jump off a building before she's satisfied?!"

Dad tried to say something, but his phone rang at that exact moment.

He picked it up, annoyed, but then saw an unfamiliar local number and a glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes.

Dad turned to Mon. "Maybe it's Chloe, calling from another phone!"

Mom snorted. "Well, answer it! I want to hear how Chloe begs for forgiveness!"

His hand trembled as he fumbled for the answer button. The voice that came through was calm, measured, professional.

"Hello, is this David Miller, Chloe's father?"

"Yes, speaking." Dad quickly replied.

"Sir, this is the police. We've recovered the body of a young girl in the southern outskirts, near Everbrook Village.”

"Based on our preliminary examination and identification, we have confirmed the deceased is your daughter, Chloe Miller."