After my brutal death, Dad kept delivering more orders, day and night. He was always on time, even offering to take out customers’ trash on his way down. It didn’t take long before the property manager began to suspect something dark, that maybe those missing tenants were actually hidden in the garbage bags Dad took downstairs. Dad only chuckled calmly at this. “I’ve been running deliveries around here for ten years, and you’re still questioning me?” In front of the police, Sam Hendricks, the property manager, dragged over a trash bag leaking blood. A few bystanders, straining to watch, nearly gagged. The officers quickly cleared the crowd and surrounded Dad. “Officer, it’s him,” Sam said, his hand trembling as he pointed at Dad, fear and suspicion heavy in his eyes. “The last few tenants who ordered from him—well, they’re all gone now.” Dad stood still, holding several trash bags in each hand. Despite the sudden chaos, his expression stayed calm. He set down the bags, raised his hands, and let the police approach. “Sir, we have reason to believe you’re involved in recent disappearances. Please cooperate with the investigation,” one officer ordered, his voice cold. Dad shrugged and nodded, unfazed. “Go ahead. I’ve been delivering here for nearly ten years now, every day. Not like I’m going anywhere.” When they tore open the bloodied trash bag from Sam, all they found were dead rats. “It’s not illegal to kill rats, is it, Officer?” Dad shrugged, leaning back. But the officers ignored him, determined to keep searching. All they found, though, was a pile of trash and some unclaimed food deliveries—until one of them reached the bottom of the delivery cooler, where a metal box lay hidden. The K9 unit started barking furiously. When the officer pried the lid open, a sharp smell of blood spilled out, making the bystanders gag. Inside was a box filled with raw, bloodied scraps. Dad stayed calm, even apologizing to the crowd. “Sorry, hadn’t processed those kidneys yet. Bit gamey; should’ve soaked ‘em in some vinegar…” The officers pressed him down and barked, “Enough games, Frank Collins. Where are those missing people?” “And your daughter, Lily Collins, has been gone for nearly two weeks. You filed a report, then pulled it back. What did you do to her?” “File a report?” They shoved him to the ground, but he only laughed, a cold, mocking sound. “If I’d waited for you to find her, she’d have rotted by now.” Following him silently, I felt my soul ache with every word. I’m already dead, so why does it still hurt? Dad always called me stupid. All my life, I was the one he’d berate. Now, the police were shoving Dad out the door, bringing him to his apartment. The freezer in the center of the room immediately caught everyone’s attention. When they carefully opened it, the stench made even the officers grimace in disgust. Inside, lying in a twisted heap, was me. The missing Lily Collins, my body horrifically mangled.
I was attacked on a night like any other. With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked quickly, trying to figure out what to make for dinner. Then, shadows sprang from the darkness, too fast and rough for me to even scream. Fear and pain swallowed me as I fought desperately, but they were too strong. They dragged me to a dark basement, hands tearing at my clothes. I screamed, but my mouth was gagged tight. My flailing limbs only seemed to spur them on, and I felt my body being torn apart. My soul was ripped away in that moment, forced to watch the horror being done to me. At one point, a younger man with curly hair gasped, “Hey! She’s not moving!” “Passed out from all the fun?” “Hey, get up! Quit faking!” The muscular man in charge hoisted my lifeless body, slapping me over and over. Each blow reverberated through my soul like an echo of pain. Finally, after dozens of slaps and seeing my head slump with no response, they began to panic. They checked my pulse, and it was gone. The younger guy clutched his head in horror. “We’re finished. They only paid us to have some fun, not kill her! I’m not going back to prison!” “Stop whining,” the leader spat, kicking him. “They asked for a job; we got paid extra. She won’t be back for her money anyway.” They disappeared into the darkness. And I floated aimlessly, finding my way back to our front door. I arrived just in time to see Dad return from his deliveries, fumbling for his keys. A neighbor called out, “Hey, Frank! Your Lily probably made dinner for you, right? You’ve got a good girl there.” “Good for nothing,” Dad muttered without a second glance. “So stupid, I’m just glad she doesn’t cause any trouble.” “Oh, c’mon, Frank. Give the girl some credit. Kids have their pride, you know?” “I raised her on my own. I get to say a word or two.” Dad scoffed as he pushed the door open. The house was dark, and he frowned, calling out, “Lily? Didn’t make anything tonight, huh?” Nothing answered except the cold draft from the hall. After Mom’s accident, Dad started his job with Quick Bites, out all day, every day. He said I held him back, that he could never find a new wife because of me. I was just his stupid deadweight, too dumb to do well in school, or even cook right. As the night wore on, his frustration grew. “That girl. Out wandering now, huh? Just wait till she gets back.” He kept calling my phone, dialing until it went straight to voicemail. He even took his scooter out, riding around the streets, searching up and down the path I took home from school. But I was nowhere to be found.
Dad wasn’t denying the murders anymore, but he wasn’t being particularly helpful either. “How many people? I don’t keep track. Leftovers are in the box. You can sort ‘em yourselves.” The box held scraps in different stages of decay. Some parts were blackened and reeking, nearly liquid from sitting so long. It was enough to keep the coroner’s office busy for weeks. While Dad was being shown around, identifying possible crime scenes at Maplewood Terrace, a man stumbled over, clearly drunk. “Frank Collins! Where’s my wife? You took my wife, didn’t you? Give her back!” It was Doug Montgomery, Carla’s drunk husband. The neighbors started whispering, “Yeah, haven’t seen Carla Montgomery in a while. I’d heard she’d had a fling with the delivery guy, her husband beat her up something fierce after that… But now…” Doug spat through slurred words. “Hell, I’m not the one having flings with some delivery guy! Now get outta here!” He took a swing at Dad, who only staggered and laughed, “Can’t handle your own wife? And you’re blaming me?” When I first went missing, Dad came to this neighborhood, knowing it was on my way home. He knocked on Carla’s door first, the only person he knew nearby. But Doug had thrown him out. “What’s your daughter to us? Just looking for an excuse to hit on my wife again?” Now, as the police separated the enraged Doug from Dad, Dad chuckled bitterly. “I’ve taken out so much trash, I can’t remember where Carla Montgomery ended up.” Faces turned pale around us—police officers calculating the endless garbage bags they might need to search, and the crowd imagining what might be in each one. Watching Doug rage helplessly made me feel something like joy for the first time since my death. I remember how Dad’s fling with Carla was exposed when Doug came to our house, reeking of alcohol, and told Mom, “Your husband’s been with my wife. You’ll pay up for it. Or maybe I’ll just take your daughter as payment.”
Dad and Carla had something short-lived once, nearly going through with a plan to leave together. I remember when Mom and Dad were always fighting, and he’d come home later and later. Carla was one of his regulars at Quick Bites, always seeming to know just how to get his attention. Once, I overheard them planning a future, each word a sharp sting in my heart. “Let’s just get a divorce. I won’t let him hurt you again,” Dad had said, his voice low and determined. Carla’s voice dripped with charm and anticipation, “Yes, we’ll finally be free.” I hid behind the door, tears blurring my vision. I hated Dad, hated that he wanted to leave me and Mom to chase after his happiness. I hated Carla, hated her for trying to destroy my family. And, somewhere in me, I hated Mom, too, for being too weak to keep Dad’s attention. But then, in the rain one night, Mom’s life came to an abrupt end. Dad and Carla’s plans crumbled, and he chose to stay, raising me on his own. He cut ties with Carla, filling his life only with endless deliveries and a child he resented. Some nights, he’d sit alone with a drink, calling me his “deadweight,” cursing that I couldn’t grow up faster. And I, after losing Mom, closed myself off, rebelling against him at every turn. I ignored his concern, meeting it with coldness and defiance, as if punishing him would heal the pain. Then came the night that sealed my fate. I don’t know how Dad found his way into that dark basement. He stood there, staring at my battered body, unmoving. After a long time, he draped a jacket over me, covering my broken form. He didn’t wail or cry; every movement was calm, mechanical. I thought, maybe he felt freed, relieved of the burden I’d always been. Maybe he’d go back to Carla, start a new life, chase that vision he’d once had. Maybe… he’d be happier without me. Dad never went back to the police. Maybe he hated them for refusing to file a report at first, telling him he’d have to wait 48 hours. Instead, he brought me home, tucking me into the big freezer in the middle of the room. He gently wiped my face with a towel, murmuring, “Wait for me, Lily. Dad’ll be right here.” And he threw himself into his work, delivering day and night. Until, finally, he found every last person who’d hurt me. Dad brought cigarettes for everyone at Quick Bites, trading every delivery in Maplewood Terrace for himself. He became silent, delivering more orders than ever, hunting for any hint of who was behind my death. One evening, Dad made his usual rounds, delivering food and politely asking customers if they had trash he could take downstairs.
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