Getting a second chance at life isn't exactly as enchanting as it seems.
Sohee Young, who lived life like the callous person she was, dies. She gets another chance to live life correctly though, and that is by swapping lives with Lina Park, who die...
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EXACTLY AN HOUR and half from when we placed the meringues in the oven, my phone chimed. Each crinkle in the paper—the ringtone Lina had for Andrew—chipped away at my stubbornness and refusal to call him over.
ANDREW: Here.
And a link.
"Oh, that is so burnt," A voice, laced with glee, said behind my back. At the howl of laughter, I already knew who.
"Nobody asked for your input, Marshall." I snapped as the elder took the tray out, no mittens required. Too bad. All of me wished it scorched his hand, but he had to be immune.
"Emma, come see this disaster!" The old man cackled. On demand, the door swung open, and she stepped in with a tentative wave, inching away from the chaotic kitchen. Or from Marshall, judging by her wary gaze.
"Why are you here?" Like I needed more intruders.
"To look at your shit." To make his point, the hologram of the exact emoji hovered above the dessert, setting the elder the throw his head back into another fit of cackles. The blue food coloring I added to mine at the last minute before stuffing it in the oven turned it into a lightish... brown. Basically, the emoji. And the opposite of Andrew's perfect, marshmallow ones.
"Who were you planning to poison this with?" Marshall interjected. "Will?"
Emma blinked and came a little closer. The similarity between her and the stepping stone girl finally struck: their hesitance and unwillingness to interrupt a conversation, especially when demonic elders were around. He must've scared the life out of her to cut off her rambling.
"You could give it to him and see if he can act like he's in love with you if he wants to live."
Yeah, if he could act.
"If neither of you have any business with me, leave."
"No, wait!" Emma's hands stopped directly in front of me. "I have to tell you something. But I couldn't tell you before because I thought we weren't close enough but then I kind of changed my mind."
"You're not close," the elder answered.
I rubbed my temples. "Let's talk tomorrow."
"But I want to hear it now," Marshall whined. Well, I didn't.
"See?" She pointed at him. "Um, great. So you know Philip?"
"Who?"
Emma tapped a finger to her lips as she explained. "The one hanging out with Andrew all the time? The one I've been hanging out with recently?"
A blank stare. Nameless guy?
"Seriously? Don't you have to like... make connections and all that stuff? Network?"
"Not here," I chuckled. Who would I even network with? The librarian?
"Well at least remember my boyfriend!" Emma cried. "I remember your future boyfriend!"
"You fell in love?" Marshall grinned.
"I do remember him. Crew cut. Overrated denim jacket."
"And?" She pushed.
"What else do you want me to know? His classes? His GPA?"
Emma tilted her head back and groaned. "Philip. His name is Philip."
And mine was Not Up For It.
"Okay. You're not interested. But you better be nice to him when I drag him to meet you formally tomorrow. Now," rubbing her hands together, she said, "how's our development with Andrew?"
"She kicked him out," the elder told Emma. The rush of adrenaline overrode her fear of the white-eyed monster, because she gasped.
"No wonder he seemed so down when I talked to him! It was the face of having to depart from your crush!"
"Stop making things up."
"You know Andrew acts different too, right? He would have loved for Lina to hang out with other people, but now..."
I trained my eyes on the ceiling, hoping Elizabeth would come down and save us with her factual conversations.
✗ ✗ ✗
"Lina-ya," Said mother called. "Do you think you can take out the trash, please?"
Take out your own trash. The words stilled on the tip of my tongue as a flash of my mother's tired face came into view. With a soft smile and pleading gaze, she dragged the bags to the front door.
"Sure," I found myself muttering. Before I could rethink my decisions, I carried the black bags out the door. A grunt escaped me. How did I get involved to throw away someone else's mother's trash? Usually I'd turn the other cheek to avoid getting roped into helping.
A small rustle cut the sounds of the rustling breeze. I had to be hallucinating. But like the denial I faced in the white box before realizing that I died, I gaped at the disfigured form emerging from behind the trash can. The hands first, ashy and wrinkled. Distressed eyes. Wild hair. Lips curled into a snarl.
My hands shook, reaching for my dagger. Turning around to face the car window, I saw my eyes glow white again. Like the flashbacks I had when awakened, I heard the slow, steady steps the souleater took. The fighting I saw between the women and her husband became intense. It matched the rhythm of a ticking clock, lava shooting out and silencing the gurgled screams. Ceasing the slapping and kicking of the woman's hands.
All while the cry of the baby grew louder.
The shadow of a monstrous figure behind her grew. Then, as if on instinct, I unsheathed the dagger and whirled it, grazing the woman's face. A hissed scream, shrill and piercing through the night escaped her, and, like a deflating balloon, the souleater dissipated.
"What was that?" I whispered. My voice trembled, and my knees shook. The ground beneath me spun, and as I tumbled to the concrete driveway, the crunch of cans and plastic wrapping served as the only reminder that I was still alive.
