After I died, my body was handled by my brother, James Murphy, a forensic pathologist. “The victim’s head is missing, and the body is severely decomposed, making it impossible to identify.” After completing his work, James called Isabella Murphy, my adopted sister, to celebrate her promotion at the Prestigious Company. At the same time, he sent me a message: [Megan Murphy, today is an important day for Isabella. You better be home on time!] [If you’re late, don’t bother setting foot in the Murphy house ever again!] But, James, do you know? The body you’re handling… it’s me. The sister you loved so much, the one who Isabella killed… Two weeks after my death, some locals found my dismembered body at Forest Edge while foraging. They called the police, and because my remains were found in Manchester, it was my brother, James Murphy, who was responsible for the post-mortem and identification. My soul hadn’t fully dissipated yet, and I watched as James, wearing a mask, inspected the body. Several police officers nearby grimaced. “This is horrific. Who could have done something so brutal to a girl?” “Exactly! Whoever did this deserves to be torn apart!” James frowned slightly but said nothing, ordering the remains to be taken back to the forensic lab. “The victim is female, approximately 23 years old. Initial estimates place the time of death around 16 days ago.” “There are multiple stab wounds on the chest, abdomen, and back, with the fatal wound located in the heart.” “From the pattern of injuries, she was stabbed four times in the chest, three times in the back, and around six times in the heart. After she died, the killer dismembered her body.” “The victim’s organs are missing—her kidneys, liver, and stomach were removed. The head is also missing, making facial recognition impossible.” “Additionally, the body is incomplete, missing the pelvis, left leg, and right hand. The remains are heavily decomposed. We’ll need to conduct a DNA test for further identification.” James handed the autopsy report to the police and removed his mask. “We still need to find the victim’s head and the missing body parts. The killer must have held a deep grudge to treat the victim with such cruelty.” “The head and hands may hold crucial evidence to identify the murderer.” “Got it!” Once the police left, James was about to sit down when his phone rang. I floated over to see that it was Isabella calling. “Brother, are you getting off work soon? Mum wants you home; otherwise, we won’t wait to cut the cake!” Isabella’s sweet, playful voice came through the line, and James smiled, clearly enjoying it. He quickened his pace as he packed up his things. “You little brat, why not wait for me? Tell Mum I’ll be home in twenty minutes!” “Today’s your big day—you think I’d miss celebrating your promotion?” After hanging up, he frowned, scrolled through his phone, and found my message thread. [Megan Murphy, today is Isabella’s most important day. You better be on time!] [Before you get home, pick up a gift and apologize to Isabella for spreading lies!] [Otherwise, don’t bother coming back to the Murphy house!] He sent the message, then glanced at the remains on the autopsy table. My heart raced—had he realized it was me? But a moment later, he just irritably switched off his phone, packed his things, and left the office. I felt a pang in my chest, but no tears fell. James, did you know? You were only inches away from me. If you had looked just a little closer at my body, you’d have seen the birthmark on my wrist—the one you always said would help you find me no matter what. You promised no one could ever take me away, but you broke that promise. And worse, you didn’t know that the sister you cherish, Isabella, is the one who killed me.
When I was six, I was abducted by traffickers. Mum was so devastated that she fell into a deep depression. To ease her pain, Dad went to an orphanage and adopted Isabella. When I was found by the police at fifteen, I thought my parents had been waiting for me. But when I returned home, I found the entire family orbiting around Isabella. The brother who used to spoil me, the father who always made sure I ate, and the mother who used to sing me lullabies—when they saw me, the first thing they said was: “Even though you’ve come back, Isabella will feel hurt. She’ll think we love her less now that you’re here.” Isabella moved into my old room, and Dad said: “Megan, you’ve always been sensible. Since you’re back now, let Isabella have her way—she’s younger than you!” “Megan, Isabella is an orphan. We’re all she has. You’re her sister now, and you have to love her too, okay?” Isabella blew out the candles on my birthday cake, and Mum said: “Megan, Isabella has never had a birthday before. Let her blow out your candles and eat the cake. She deserves it more.” Isabella took my beloved British Folklore Jigsaw Puzzle, and James said: “If she likes it, let her have it. I’ve given you plenty of things, and Isabella’s never seen or played with any of them. I’ll buy you something new later.” … Memories flooded my mind, and even though I was now just a soul, my heart still ached. I had thought that once I came home, my parents and brother would love me even more. But I was wrong. Isabella had replaced me, stealing all the love from my family. But aren’t I their real daughter? As my soul followed James home, I watched Isabella excitedly throw herself into his arms, and he smiled, hugging her back. “You’ve made us so proud. Securing a promotion at a Prestigious Company was no small feat.” Mum beamed with pride, and Dad handed Isabella a knife to cut the cake. “James is home too! Let’s cut the cake together—it’s Isabella’s favorite, Strawberry Sponge Cake!” Isabella grinned as she cut the cake, giving slices to Mum, Dad, and James. They looked like a perfect, happy family. Halfway through the meal, they finally remembered there was someone missing. “James, didn’t you message Megan to come celebrate with us? Why isn’t she here yet?” Mum asked. I looked up, my heart swelling with hope. Maybe Mum still cared about me after all. James’s face darkened immediately. “Don’t worry about her! She had the nerve to spread rumors that Isabella was using drugs. God knows who filled her head with that nonsense!” “Forget about her. Ever since she came back, she’s been acting crazy. If she doesn’t want to come, we can still have a happy birthday for Isabella without her!” Dad’s face turned grim as well, and he reassured Mum. Mum didn’t think much of it and continued eating. I curled up in the corner, bitterly smiling to myself. Of course, as long as Isabella is around, they wouldn’t even think about me. They didn’t notice the flash of guilt on Isabella’s face, though. She had every reason to be guilty, because I wasn’t lying. She really was using drugs. Isabella had been playing the role of the sweet, innocent daughter at home, but in reality, she was a wild delinquent. Since I came back, I could see the hatred in her eyes. She would intentionally provoke me and then cry to make our parents and James take her side. I was driven to the brink of insanity, but Dad just called me crazy. I had developed a habit of staying up late, and about a month ago, I noticed that Isabella would often sneak out when our parents weren’t paying attention. She’d return home reeking of smoke and alcohol, looking completely drained the next morning. But she’d tell Mum and James it was all from working hard, and they’d fall for it, feeling sorry for her to the point of tears. Half a month ago, I went into her room to retrieve a notebook she’d borrowed under the pretense of “work research,” and that’s when I found it—drug paraphernalia. And worse, I uncovered links between her so-called prestigious company and an illegal organ trafficking ring connected to Southeast Asia. I was terrified. I ran to tell Mum and Dad, but they wouldn’t believe me. They thought I was jealous of Isabella’s success. “What are you trying to do, Megan? Spread lies that your sister’s into drugs?” “Megan Murphy, Isabella is an orphan! We’re all she has. Are you so jealous you want to drive her out and make her suffer again?” “Get out! Don’t come back until you know what you’ve done wrong!” They didn’t believe me. Even James turned his back on me. I was devastated, and I stormed out of the house. But as soon as I stepped out, I was grabbed by several large men, who dragged me into an alley where no one would see. I never imagined how much pain a knife could cause when it plunged into your body. I never thought Isabella would actually want me dead, but here I was, surrounded by her company’s thugs. Through blurry eyes, I saw her standing there, smiling down at me—a smile as sinister as a poisonous flower. “Megan, I bet you’re wondering why I’ve always been against you.” “Who wouldn’t want to stay in a rich family, with fancy clothes and loads of money to spend? Why should I leave just because you came back?” “I only wish you’d never been found by the police in the first place!” As I took my final breaths, they stuffed my body into a car trunk, cleaned up the blood, and drove to the countryside. Isabella, blood splattered on her face, finished me off with terrifying precision. Her smile was grotesque, twisted in a way that sent shivers down my spine, even as I lay dying. After disposing of my body, she cleaned herself up and went home, acting as if nothing had happened. And all that time, neither Mum, Dad, nor James even thought to wonder where I was.
After celebrating Isabella’s promotion, James returned to his own place. He had a house near the Manchester Police Department, making it easier to respond to calls quickly. He poured himself a glass of water and sat on the sofa. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, but his hand hesitated. He hadn’t moved the screen for a while. I floated over and saw it was my message thread. I hadn’t responded to any of his texts, not that he’d been replying to me for the past few months. The last few texts were all one-sided, from me to him. James clicked his tongue, scrolling through our messages: [Hey, did you remember to take your stomach medicine? I got more for you—don’t forget to bring it!] [James, I’ve been stuck on a work problem. Could I ask you for advice?] [Today’s my birthday, will you be coming home?] My birthday had been the day Isabella killed me. It took James a moment to realize this as he opened his calendar and saw the red heart marking the date: Megan’s 23rd Birthday. He froze for a moment, then quickly exited the calendar app and called Mum. “Mum, did Megan call the house about half a month ago?” Mum hesitated. “No, she didn’t. Wasn’t that the day she had a fight with Isabella? Why?” James paused, then said, “No reason.” After hanging up, he grew visibly frustrated. He tried calling me, but no one answered. More irritated now, he opened our chat and started sending voice messages: [Megan, have you grown up now? Who taught you to run off and not take responsibility for your actions?] [You’ve got two hours to call me back, or you can forget about calling me brother ever again!] I looked at him in confusion. Hadn’t he just told me I wasn’t allowed home unless I apologized to Isabella? I always loved James, but I was also terrified of him. When I didn’t finish my schoolwork, he’d scold me. When I disobeyed, he’d rush home to discipline me. Over time, a wall had grown between us. Isabella, on the other hand, could joke around with him, bother him whenever she wanted, and he would always be patient and kind with her. His smile never faded when she was around. I felt dizzy, my soul growing lighter, as if I were losing my grip on existence. I was fading, but somehow, I couldn’t disappear completely. That’s when James finally lost his composure. He grabbed his coat and stormed out, heading straight to the police department. I followed him as he went back to the forensic lab, put on gloves, and began working again. But just as he was examining my remains for further evidence, he suddenly froze. His fingers brushed over the birthmark on my wrist—a small heart-shaped mark, something unique. When we were kids, he used to poke that mark and say, “Megan’s a gift from the heavens. They gave her a heart-shaped mark so I’ll always find her, no matter what.” Now, James stared at the birthmark for what felt like an eternity. I thought I must be imagining things. Why would he tremble if he hated me so much? I shook my head, ready to close my eyes and conserve my strength when he pulled out his phone and made a call. “Mum, are you sure Megan didn’t call home after she left?” For the first time in ages, he called me by my nickname instead of my full name. “Well, now that you mention it…” Mum’s voice was hesitant. “She used to call every day. It’s strange that she didn’t this time…” “Mum, do you think Megan didn’t come home because of me? If so, I—” “Don’t be ridiculous!” Dad interrupted. “I haven’t even confronted Megan for spreading those lies about you, Isabella!” “James, stop worrying. She’ll come crawling back. Where else would she go?” Yes, Dad. Where else would I go? You’re all I have, and the Murphy family is all I’ve ever known. But now, you only care about Isabella, the one who murdered me. James hung up the phone, bracing himself against the autopsy table. He shook his head. “It can’t be…” “There are plenty of people with birthmarks. It’s not her…” As he was about to continue, his phone rang again. “James, we found some fabric remnants on the hillside.” “We traced the fabric to a brand store. The staff confirmed it’s an old classic model, with fewer than thirty owners.” “Seventeen of those are men. The remaining thirteen women have no missing persons reports.” “James, I’ve sent you a list.” James opened the message and enlarged the photo. The next second, his face turned pale with disbelief. The last name on the list was Megan Murphy.
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