My sister Lynn was a hurricane of a human being. From the moment she could walk, she tore through life leaving wreckage in her wake, and from the moment I was old enough to understand, I was the one who swept up the ash. I did it because of the clock. It was a digital hum beneath the skin of my left wrist, a glowing red countdown that only I could see. [Days remaining until family demise: 193] A voice in my head—a system I believed in with the desperate, naive faith of a child—told me that every time I took the fall for Lynn’s transgressions, the clock would extend. If I took the blame ninety-nine times, the curse would lift forever. My family would live. So, I took the fall. I took it until my high school expelled me. I took it until my friends stopped calling. I took it until the judges in the county courthouse looked at me with the weary, disgusted eyes reserved for hopeless, repeat offenders. For the ninety-ninth time, I took the fall for her and spent two years in a state penitentiary. The day the heavy steel gates slid open and I walked free, the countdown on my wrist finally blinked down to zero. I thought it was worth it. I thought I had bought their lives. But when I finally reached our front door, my hand froze over the brass handle. Through the thin wood, I heard my parents talking inside. “Erica’s coming home today,” my mother sighed. “At least Lynn finally learned her lesson. She’s been so quiet since the trial, too scared to cause any more trouble.” “Yeah,” my father’s voice was dry, dismissive. “It wasn’t easy, but seeing her older sister go behind bars did the trick. She fell right into line. But listen—make sure you delete all the message logs on your phone.” “Of course.” “If she ever finds out that ‘countdown’ was just a little app my nephew Kyle coded over a weekend…” My father scoffed, waving his hand. “Relax. I deactivated the server this morning. The app is dead. She’ll never know.” I stood frozen in the dim hallway, the blood in my veins turning to ice. The grand, holy sacrifice I thought I was making to save my family—it was nothing but a sick, carefully orchestrated lie. In that single, quiet moment, my heart turned to ash. But then, the dead skin on my wrist flared back to life. ——– 1 “Erica? What are you doing, just standing out here?” Lynn threw the heavy door open, chewing a piece of mint gum as she looked me up and down. I looked down at my left wrist. The numbers that had hit zero were back, glowing a vicious, violent red. [Deception shattered. Host selected for dimensional extraction. Time remaining in this world: 72:00:00] I blinked, hoping it was a hallucination. It wasn’t. The clock kept ticking. I wasn’t a savior. I was just a guest with an expiration date. I raised my head to look at Lynn’s flawless, contoured face. There wasn’t a single trace of guilt on it. She didn’t care that I had just given up two years of my youth so she could keep hers. “Just got here,” I said quietly. Inside the living room, my parents—who had been whispering about deleting evidence moments before—instantly plastered wide, welcoming smiles on their faces. My father rubbed his hands together, his eyes darting away from mine. “Erica! You’re back! Why didn’t you knock? How long have you been standing out there?” He was fishing, trying to see if I’d heard. “Just got off the elevator.” I didn’t expose them. What was the point? I only had seventy-two hours left before I could leave this farce behind forever. Hearing my answer, my father’s shoulders visibly sagged with relief. He stepped forward, reaching out to take the faded canvas duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Lynn immediately took a sharp step back, pinching her nose shut. “Ugh, Dad, don’t touch that bag. It smells like the state pen. It’s bad luck.” My father’s hand hovered in the air before he awkwardly pulled it back. “Right… well, Erica, we should probably just throw those old things away. I’ll take it down to the dumpster later.” “My ID and my release papers are in there,” I said, my voice flat. My mother rushed over to smooth things over, pushing me gently into the entryway. “Oh, we’ll just grab those out first! Toss the rest of the clothes, sweetie. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow for a whole new wardrobe.” I stood barefoot on the polished hardwood of the foyer. The shoe rack was overflowing with designer sneakers and expensive heels, but there wasn’t a single pair of slippers for me. “Where are my shoes?” I asked. My mother hesitated, casting a guilty glance at Lynn. Lynn rolled her eyes. “Your old shoes have been sitting there for two years, Erica. They were covered in dust and bacteria. I threw them out last month to make room for my limited-edition platforms. Besides, the floor has underfloor heating. You won’t die walking barefoot for a bit. Why are you acting so high maintenance?” My mother let out a nervous chuckle. “She’s right, Erica, the heat is on. It’s warm. I’ll buy you some new slippers tomorrow.” I didn’t say a word. I just walked barefoot into the living room. The dining table was piled high with food. There were braised short ribs, which used to be my favorite, and garlic butter shrimp, which were Lynn’s. I pulled out a chair to sit down, but Lynn let out a sharp shriek. “Erica, stop! You haven’t even showered yet! You’re so dirty—how can you just sit on the dining chairs? That’s custom upholstery. Do you have any idea how much it costs to clean?” My hand froze on the back of the chair. I looked at my father. In the old days, whenever Lynn threw one of her tantrums, he would at least make a show of scolding her. But today, he just cleared his throat and avoided my eyes. “Erica… your sister is a big social media influencer now, she has hundreds of thousands of followers. She has to keep the apartment looking nice. Just go take a quick shower first. Wash off… you know, the bad luck.” I nodded slowly, pulling my hand back. I turned toward the bathroom. In the bottom corner of my vision, the red numbers pulsed. [71:45:12] When I finished showering and walked out, they were already eating. At my place, there was a single paper plate and a set of cheap, flimsy plastic takeout cutlery. Lynn was using her silver fork to pick at a short rib. “Mom, these ribs are so dry. Gross.” She spat the half-chewed meat back onto her plate. My mother immediately began fussing over her, ladling soup into her bowl. “I’ll watch the heat next time, sweetie. Drink some soup. You work so hard on your livestreams every day, you need to keep your strength up.” I walked over and sat down. I picked up the plastic fork. A sharp plastic burr on the handle dug into my palm, but I didn’t care. I picked up a piece of broccoli and ate it. My father looked at me, a brief flicker of shame passing over his face. “Erica, we ran out of clean plates. And since you just got out, we thought disposable might be safer for your immune system.” “It’s fine,” I said, swallowing the tasteless food. It didn’t matter. I didn’t belong in this house anyway. After dinner, I walked toward my old bedroom. But before my hand could touch the doorknob, Lynn dighted in front of me, blocking the path. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Going to sleep.” “This isn’t your room anymore,” Lynn sneered, pushing the door open. Inside, the room had been completely transformed into a professional streaming studio. There were pink ring lights, acoustic panels on the walls, and shelves overflowing with high-end cosmetics. My bed, my desk, my childhood journals—everything was gone. “Where is my stuff?” I turned to my mother. My mother rubbed her hands nervously against her apron, stepping forward. “Erica… money was tight while you were… away. Lynn had to start streaming to support us. Her old room was too small, so I let her use yours. Your old things… I sold them. Or threw them out.” Even my journals. Ten years of silent endurance, of taking the fall, of my foolish pride in believing I was saving my family. All of it had been treated as garbage. I nodded. “Where do I sleep, then?” My father pointed to the utility closet at the end of the hall. “I cleaned it out and set up a cot for you. Just for a few nights, Erica. Once things look up, I’ll rent you a nice studio apartment nearby.” I didn’t argue. I dragged my feet to the utility closet. It was packed with cardboard Amazon boxes and Lynn’s discarded trash. The air was thick with the scent of mildew. I lay down on the squeaking, metal cot, staring up at the dark ceiling. The countdown on my wrist glowed like a fresh wound. [70:12:05] Through the thin drywall, I could hear Lynn’s high-pitched, fake-sweet voice starting her livestream. “Hey guys! Welcome back! Today we’re doing a huge giveaway, so make sure you hit that follow button in the top left corner…” I closed my eyes and turned over. Less than three days. Just a little longer, and it would all be over. Suddenly, the closet door was kicked open. Lynn stood there, her phone held high, the camera lens pointed directly at my face. “Look, guys! This is my ex-con sister, fresh out of the state pen today. Let this be a warning to all of you—never end up like her!” 2 The bright flash of her phone camera blinded me. On the screen of Lynn’s phone, the live chat was scrolling at a dizzying speed. Words like “trash,” “disgusting,” and “why is she even in your house” flashed across the display. I instinctively reached for the thin, yellowed blanket to cover my face. But Lynn lunged forward and ripped it away with surprising force. “Oh, don’t hide now! You weren’t this shy when you were committing crimes, were you?” “Guys, you have no idea how embarrassing she is. Two years ago, she stole proprietary data from her own fiancé’s startup and sold it. Got herself two years in the state penitentiary.” I stared at her perfectly contoured face, my stomach turning. When she was thirteen, she had shattered our neighbor’s priceless Victorian Meissen vase. That was the day the countdown first appeared on my wrist. My father, with tears streaming down his face, had begged me to take the blame, telling me the clock meant we would all die unless I paid the debt. I took the beating from the neighbor. When she was eighteen, she was drag-racing without a license and broke a pedestrian’s leg. She had cried and begged me on her knees. I took the fall, losing my Ivy League scholarship in the process. And when she was twenty-two—two years ago—she had stolen the source code from my fiancé Wyatt’s tech startup just so she could buy a limited-edition Birkin on the black market. When Wyatt called the police, the countdown on my wrist showed it was the last time. I truly believed that if I took this final hit, my family would be safe forever. So I stood in that courtroom, looked Wyatt in the eye, and told him I had done it out of jealousy. Wyatt broke our engagement on the spot, looking at me as if I were a parasite. And now, the real thief was broadcasting my “shame” to the world for clout. “Lynn, stop it. Let your sister rest,” my father said, walking into the hallway. But his hand didn’t move to block the camera. He actually took a step back, making sure his face stayed out of the frame. “Dad, shut up! My stream has over a hundred thousand viewers right now!” Lynn’s face was flushed with excitement. She shoved the phone closer to my face. “Come on, Erica, say something to the chat. When you were working the laundry lines in prison, did you ever feel a single shred of remorse for the lives you ruined?” I stared into the lens, silent. My eyes drifted to a gold username hovering at the top of the chat. Top Donor: [Wyatt_W] It was Wyatt’s account. A prominent gold message rolled across the screen. [Ask her if she’s already looking for her next target to leech off of.] Lynn squealed with laughter when she saw it. “Oh my gosh, Wyatt, always straight to the point!” “Hear that, Erica? Wyatt wants to know if you’re already hunting for your next victim. Though looking like a cheap ex-con, I doubt anyone would touch you with a ten-foot pole.” I stared at the familiar username. My heart felt completely flat. “I don’t know any Wyatt. I’m going to sleep.” I turned my back to her. Lynn grabbed my shoulder, trying to yank me back. “Stop acting so high and mighty! Wyatt is my top donor. If he tells you to speak, you speak!” Just then, my mother walked in carrying a plate of sliced fruit. Instead of stopping Lynn, she smiled and popped a grape into Lynn’s mouth. “Have some fruit, sweetie. Don’t strain your voice.” Then she looked at me, her expression hardening into a frown. “Erica, your sister works so hard to keep a roof over our heads. Just cooperate. That gentleman bought her so many gifts; would it kill you to say hello? Did they teach you no manners in prison?” I slowly sat up, my eyes sweeping over their faces. My father’s evasion. My mother’s enabling. Lynn’s malice. [48:21:03] The clock had jumped down again. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll cooperate.” I looked directly into the camera lens, my voice dead calm. “I’m Erica Hale. I just got out of prison. I’m not looking for a target, and I’m not looking to leech off anyone. I only hope that the thief who actually stole the code gets what’s coming to them.” Lynn’s face faltered for a fraction of a second, a flash of panic crossing her eyes. But she quickly recovered, laughing it off. “See, guys? Still unrepentant! A total sociopath!” [Wyatt_W] sent two massive virtual gifts that flashed across the screen. Then, another gold message appeared: [Make her get on her knees and apologize. I’ll send ten more.] Lynn’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. Ten of those gifts were worth ten thousand dollars. She shoved her phone into its desk stand and marched over to me. “Erica! Get on your knees and apologize to Wyatt! You ruined his life’s work. It’s the least you can do.” My father frowned slightly. “Lynn, she just got home. Making her kneel…” “Dad! That’s ten grand! Do you know how many months I have to stream to make that much? Besides, she’s the one who committed the crime. What’s wrong with a little humility?” My father went silent. He looked at me, a brief flash of guilt drowned by greed. “Erica… just do it. It’s only a knee. You’ve been to prison; this is nothing. Do it for the family.” 3 My mother chimed in, pulling a crumpled envelope from her pocket and shoving it into my hand. “Erica, I know it’s hard. Take this, buy yourself a nice sweater tomorrow. Just do what your father says. We’re relying on your sister now.” I squeezed the envelope. It was thin. Maybe fifty dollars. Fifty dollars for my final shred of dignity. I didn’t cry. The tears had been wrung out of me on the concrete floor of my cell long ago. [24:05:11] Only twenty-four hours left. “Okay,” I said. I pushed my mother’s hand away, stepped in front of the camera, and dropped straight onto the cold tile floor. The underfloor heating wasn’t even on. The cold seeped into my kneecaps, a sharp, biting pain that went straight to my bones. Lynn screamed into her mic. “Wyatt! She’s on her knees! Where are my gifts?” The screen exploded with flashy digital animations, obscuring my pale face. Wyatt requested a voice connection. His voice, which used to whisper sweet things to me, was cold and mocking. “Erica Hale. Look at you, begging like a dog. Pathetic.” “When you destroyed my life’s work, you were so proud. Now you’re crawling on the floor.” I looked at the grout lines on the tile. “I’m sorry,” I said, flatly. “I’m sorry I stole the data. I’m sorry I ruined your hard work.” I took the blame. Just like the ninety-nine times before. Wyatt sounded irritated by my lack of emotion. “You think an apology fixes it? Do you have any idea what that project meant to me? People like you shouldn’t even exist.” Lynn fake-cried next to me. “Wyatt, don’t let her ruin your night. She’s always been cold like this. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she never bothers you again.” Wyatt hung up. The chat cheered. Lynn checked her streaming dashboard, humming a tune. “Alright, get up. You’re blocking the shot.” She kicked my foot lightly. I used the wall to pull myself up, my knees completely numb. My father tried to reach out to help me, but I flinched away from his hand and limped back to the utility closet. Behind me, my mother sighed. “She’s so bitter. Prison changed her.” “Whatever, we got the money,” my father said, sounding pleased. Late that night, they ordered a massive steak dinner to celebrate Lynn’s earnings. Nobody invited me. I sat on the cot, watching the clock tick down in the moonlight. [12:30:45] Almost there. In the dead of night, I heard rustling. I opened the door. My father was carrying my cheap canvas duffel bag toward the front door. “Dad, what are you doing?” He jumped, dropping the bag. “Erica, you’re awake?” He rubbed his neck. “Lynn has some VIP guests coming tomorrow. She said this bag smells like prison and wanted me to throw it out.” I walked over, zipped open the bag, and took out my ID and release papers. Then I handed him the empty bag. “Throw it away.” My father looked stunned. “Erica… don’t hate me. Your sister is the breadwinner now. We have to keep her happy.” “I don’t hate you,” I said. Why would I hate strangers? Back in the closet, I cleaned up my final traces. There was barely anything to clean; they had already thrown out my childhood. I took the fifty dollars from the envelope and slid it under the thin pillow of the cot. I put my few worn shirts into a plastic grocery bag. As dawn broke, the red numbers pulsed. [03:15:22] I opened the small window to let the fresh air in, clearing the moldy scent. Outside, Lynn was already yelling. “Mom! Where’s my Chanel coat? Why isn’t it steamed yet?” “Coming, sweetie! Don’t scream, you’ll ruin your voice!” I walked out of the closet. 4 In the living room, Lynn was admiring herself in the mirror in her Chanel coat. She saw me with the plastic bag and frowned. “What are you doing with that trash? Don’t get the floors dirty.” I changed into my old sneakers. “Just taking out the trash.” My father popped his head out of the kitchen with a spatula. “Going downstairs, Erica? Take the compost bag with you.” He pointed to a smelly bag of food waste by the door. I picked it up and walked out. The morning air was crisp and damp. I tossed the compost into the bin. Then, I took my plastic bag of old clothes to a secluded corner of the courtyard. I pulled out a cheap plastic lighter—something I had traded for instant noodles in prison. I had originally wanted to burn my prison uniform in front of my parents as a symbol of starting over. Now, I had a better use for it. I emptied the bag. Cheap T-shirts from my youth, tight discount sneakers, hand-me-down sweaters from Lynn. The physical remnants of their “love.” I flicked the lighter. The synthetic fabrics catch fire quickly, black smoke billowing into the cold air. I watched it burn. [00:45:10] Less than an hour. When I got back, the apartment was in chaos. Lynn was screaming at her designer purse on the sofa. “Who touched my bag? There’s a black smudge on it!” She saw me enter. “Was it you? You touched it!” I showed her my clean hands. “I didn’t.” “Who else could it be? You’re the only outsider here! Once a thief, always a thief!” She grabbed my collar. My father tried to intervene. “Lynn, calm down.” “Dad, this is a limited edition! It costs fifteen thousand! She can’t afford this!” My mother looked at me with deep suspicion. “Erica, did you accidentally brush against it? Just apologize and I’ll clean it.” I laughed softly. “Outsider.” Yes, I had always been an outsider. “I didn’t touch it.” I pulled her hand off my collar. “Liar!” Lynn pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the police. Let’s see if they’ll send you right back!” My father tried to stop her. “Don’t, it’ll ruin your reputation.” “I don’t care! She needs to go back to the pen!” She dialed 911. “Yes, I want to report a theft. We have an ex-con in the house, she’s stealing and trying to set fires.” I stood still, watching the clock. [00:10:05] Ten minutes. The police arrived quickly. Two officers looked at the mess. “Who called?” Lynn played the victim, sobbing. “Officers, it’s her. She just got out of prison. She vandalized my bag, and she was burning things downstairs. She’s a threat to society!” The cops look at my parents. “Is this true?” My father avoided their gaze, muttering. My mother sighed. “Officer, my oldest daughter has some… mental issues from her time inside. Please don’t mind her.” They wouldn’t even say a word to defend me. They threw me to the wolves again. The cop asked my name. “Erica Hale.” “Did you burn things downstairs?” “I was clearing out my own trash.” My voice was serene. “I didn’t touch her bag. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m just… leaving.” “Leaving? Where to?” I looked at my wrist. Single digits. [00:00:05] I smiled gently at my parents and Lynn. Four. “Somewhere you can’t reach me.” Three. Lynn rolled her eyes. “Oh, drama queen. Where are you gonna go with no money?” Two. A wave of dizziness hit me. The world blurs. One. [Countdown complete. Extraction sequence initiated.] [00:00:00] The last thing I heard before the darkness swallowed me was the dull thud of my body hitting the floor.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “542314”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply