My dad, Captain Logan Turner, is the leader of a search-and-rescue team. During a field training exercise at Glacier Ridge, Montana, his team discovered skeletal remains buried in the snow. After calling the police, he immediately phoned my adoptive sister, Heather Blake, instructing her to cancel her upcoming hiking trip. One of the team members reminded him, “Shouldn’t you call Melanie, too?” But he snapped, “Why bother with that wretched monster? Better if she’s dead out there!” What he didn’t know was that I had already died. Those broken bones in front of him—they were my remains. And yet, he failed to recognize his own daughter. Content 0 “The bones show multiple impact marks from sharp objects, and they’re incomplete,” said one of the experienced officers at the scene. “This doesn’t look like an accident—it seems like murder.” My skeletal remains were uncovered from the snow. The officer made his judgment immediately. My dad nodded gravely, promising to recover the rest of the remains. Before taking action, he pulled out his phone and called Heather. “Heather, there’s been a murder up on the mountain. Cancel that hiking trip you signed up for. Stay home for the next few days and be careful.” “Yes, Dad, I will,” Heather replied sweetly. But Dad still couldn’t rest easy and gave her a few more warnings until she playfully complained, “Dad, you’ve said it a million times—I got it!” Only then did he hang up. One of his team members, Paul Harrison, spoke up. “Hey, Captain, didn’t I hear your younger daughter mention she was planning a hiking trip, too? Maybe give her a call?” My dad’s face instantly darkened with irritation. “Why bring up that worthless brat?” “That heartless monster who stood by as her own mother died? I’d be glad if she dropped dead out there.” Even though I was already dead, a cold gust seemed to pierce through me. I shivered. So, this is how much my dad hates me. But why didn’t he recognize me? Didn’t he realize that these pitiful bones in front of him belonged to the daughter he despised so much? 0
The search lasted a full day and night. The team combed every inch of the mountain. My dad worked tirelessly for 48 hours without rest. Yet, despite all their efforts, they had found very little of me. When the police questioned him, his face was heavier than before. “We’ve searched the entire mountain and found only a single leg bone.” “I suspect the victim’s body was dismembered and scattered here deliberately.” The officer was stunned. “So, the perpetrator likely disposed of the remaining body parts elsewhere?” “Not just body parts—there’s still a lot of tissue missing. All we have so far is one leg bone,” my dad explained grimly. “This was a vicious, premeditated killing. The murderer is far more brutal than we imagined.” The officer paused before replying, “I’ll call for more reinforcements and expand the search area.” At that moment, one of the team members found a necklace hanging on a tree branch and handed it over. When I saw it, a spark of hope ignited within me. It was the necklace Dad had given me years ago for my birthday. Surely, he would remember! He had to! Dad examined it briefly before handing it to the officer. “This might have belonged to the victim,” he said. “Take photos and upload them online. Let’s see if we can find the next of kin to identify the body.” Paul glanced at the necklace and hesitated. Then he said, “Logan, doesn’t this look familiar? I think I’ve seen it on your younger daughter before…” Dad’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Identical necklaces are everywhere. Paul, you’re acting strange today. Did Melanie put you up to this nonsense?” “She’s always been manipulative. Don’t fall for her tricks.” Paul tried to say more, but Dad was called away. Watching his retreating back, I felt my hope sink. Dad wasn’t always like this. He used to love me. But ten years ago, his high school sweetheart passed away after years of domestic abuse, leaving behind a daughter—Heather. Dad took Heather in, despite my mom’s protests, and treated her like his own. My mom couldn’t accept it and demanded a divorce. After a heated argument, she climbed Blackwater Bridge with me in her arms, threatening to jump. The wind on the bridge was strong. I was terrified and begged her to put me down. In the end, she leapt into the icy Silver Creek River, leaving me alive but forever marked by that night. When the recovery team found her body, Dad slapped me twice without hesitation, calling me a murderer. From then on, he only had one daughter: Heather Blake. I was even forced to change my last name. I became Melanie, the unwanted. Dad hated me, and now that I was dead, he should finally be happy, right? 0
The search continued. Meanwhile, a teacher from Crestwood High School called Dad. “Melanie has been missing since last night. Her roommates said she was gone even before noon yesterday.” “Mr. Turner, can you contact her? If not, we may need to file a missing person report.” The teacher’s tone was urgent, but Dad only sounded annoyed. “Mrs. Quinn, Melanie is always lying.” “She’s skipped class before. Don’t worry. She’ll come back when she’s had enough fun.” “But…” Mrs. Quinn tried to argue, but Dad had already hung up. Heather was calling. “Dad, I don’t feel so well. When will you be done?” she asked softly. The frustration on Dad’s face melted away instantly. “It might take a little longer, honey. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Should I take some time off and come home to you?” His voice was gentle, his concern palpable. Listening to him, I felt a bitter pang. Since my mom’s death, Dad had never spoken to me with that kind of warmth. He always said I was a murderer—that I had destroyed our family. But Dad, I’m your real daughter. Couldn’t you care for me, even just a little? That night, he took time off and rushed home. Heather, lying in bed with round-the-clock care and a personal doctor on standby, was his sole focus. His eyes were filled with worry. “Heather, how are you feeling?” “Dad!” she exclaimed with joy, throwing her arms around him. As I watched their affectionate exchange, even as a spirit, I felt my nose sting with emotion. But no tears would come. I could only stand there, invisible, while Dad fussed over her. Eventually, Heather lifted her head from his embrace, her bright eyes shifting cunningly. She tested the waters. “Dad, didn’t you say the search would take several more days?” “Have they already found all the body parts?” Dad froze, startled. “How did you know the body was dismembered?” My dimmed hope flickered to life again. The necklace hadn’t done it, but this was an obvious clue. Surely, Dad would piece it together! But Heather shrugged it off with a casual, “I saw it on the news.” “Whoever she was, it’s so tragic. I can’t imagine how her family must feel.” Dad nodded, completely missing the flicker of satisfaction in Heather’s eyes. “Yes, it’s awful. But we haven’t identified her yet. Her family might not even know she’s gone.” That small spark of hope within me was extinguished once more. Dad, it’s me. Can’t you recognize me, even now? 0
Dad stayed home with Heather Blake all day. It wasn’t until late that night that his phone buzzed with a call from the team. Someone at Timberline Outpost had made a major discovery, and he was needed immediately. Dad quickly threw on his gear to leave, but Heather, clutching the doll he’d given her as a welcome-home gift, suddenly appeared. Her wide eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “Dad, it’s thundering outside. I’m scared…” For a moment, hesitation flashed in Dad’s eyes. Just as Heather’s plea seemed to anchor him, his phone vibrated again. Tom Larson had sent dozens of photos from the scene. One glance, and Dad’s pupils dilated in shock. He turned back to Heather and said gently, “Sweetheart, be good. Stay with your aunt, and Daddy will be back soon.” He dashed down the stairs and out the door, heading straight for the outpost. When he arrived, he pushed past the line of police tape. But Tom Larson stopped him at the entrance. “Logan, I don’t think you should go in there…” Dad brushed him aside, snapping, “I’ve been in search-and-rescue for years. I’ve seen everything.” “Move.” Yet the moment he stepped inside and caught sight of the well at the center of the scene, he staggered back and retched violently. The air was thick with decay. Pieces of flesh, dismembered and unrecognizable, had been fished out of the well. The soaked remains lay in bags on the ground. Nearby, sealed evidence bags held the tools of the crime: a hammer, an axe, a saw—and even a grindstone. The officer at the scene began explaining grimly, “These tools weren’t just used for dismemberment.” “They were used on the victim while she was still alive.” “We’ve found traces of blood and skin tissue on the stones—marks left by her struggle against the pain.” “This was torture.” “And based on preliminary findings, the victim was a tall woman. Her left leg shows an old fracture, likely from a dog attack. She might have had trouble walking.” With each word, Dad’s face grew darker. His lips pressed into a firm line. Was he grieving for me? Then, suddenly, Tom Larson spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Logan, I can’t shake the feeling… wasn’t your youngest daughter’s left leg also injured? And her build… it’s a match, isn’t it?” “Tom!” Dad roared, his expression hardening into anger. The fleeting softness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep fury. “What lies has that little monster been feeding you? You’ve been bringing her up a lot lately!” “I’ve already said, even if she’s dead out there, it has nothing to do with me.” “And anyway, a coward like her? She’d never die. She’s too selfish.” Tom opened his mouth to say more, but Dad had already stormed off. Nearby, another officer received a call. “Logan,” the officer called, stopping him. “Your younger daughter’s teacher just reported her missing.” Dad grabbed his phone and hurled it to the ground, his voice echoing through the space. “Enough! Enough already!” “The victim is in pieces, and you’re playing this ridiculous game with that brat!” “If she wants to go missing, let her! Finding the killer matters more.” The officer started to speak again, but Dad’s phone suddenly rang. Heather’s voice came through, trembling. “Daddy, the thunder’s so loud… I’m so scared.” The gentleness returned to Dad’s face instantly. “Sweetheart, Daddy will be home soon.” But before he could leave, the officer stopped him. “Logan! Come back!” Turning, Dad saw Mrs. Rachel Quinn, my teacher, standing in the rain, soaked to the bone. She had come personally and brought surveillance footage. The video showed a figure in a red winter parka—the exact one found on the victim.
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