"She had the nerve to destroy Agatha's parents' headstone? I won't let her off easy this time."
"You tell her, if she won't get on her knees and apologize, I'll scatter her mother's ashes to the wind."
I screamed and lunged at him, trying to grab his collar, to tell him it wasn't me.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't touch him at all.
I collapsed to the ground in despair, tears streaming down my face.
By the time Blake arrived at the hospital with Agatha, Nathan was already standing outside the room, holding the urn.
Blake took it from him and kicked the door open.
The next instant, the stench hit him so hard he nearly doubled over retching.
Blake covered his nose and screamed at my body on the bed.
"Elaine, how long are you going to keep playing dead?"
"I lock you up for a few days and you turn the whole room into a cesspool!"
"You have three seconds to get up, get on your knees, and beg Agatha for forgiveness!"
"Three. Two. One!"
The countdown ended. The room stayed silent.
Blake's fury swelled. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised the urn of ashes and hurled it against the floor.
It shattered into pieces.
I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather what was left, but it was useless. My hands passed through everything.
A gust of wind swept through, and my mother's ashes scattered completely.
When I still didn't move—when my body still didn't move—Blake lost the last shred of his patience.
He let out a cold laugh, strode to the bed, and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking hard.
A rotting, bloated corpse tumbled off the mattress and rolled to his feet.
Blake froze.
Then a scream tore out of him—raw, guttural, loud enough to echo through every corridor of the hospital.
