When I Die

The door clicked open. A man in a starched white coat entered, polishing an antique pocket watch with his thumb. He bowed to my parents and Lawrence.

"Proceed," Father said.

"Yes, sir." Dr. Mercer moved with robotic efficiency. Three helmets gleamed in his hands. "You'll observe through these. The subject can endure three memory probes safely." A pause. "Most subjects do."

"Three is plenty!" Mother snapped her helmet on. "Start with Vanessa's disappearance—she knows everything!"

The doctor hesitated. "Mrs. Vitale, the subject's neural patterns are unstable. We should begin with—"

"Yes, we'll follow the doctor's procedure." Lawrence stepped forward, his voice firm. "Let's do this properly. For Vanessa."

Mother gave a nod, and the doctor began his work. Moments later, all three were seated with helmets.

The lights dimmed. Cold gel seeped into my scalp as the helmet clamped down.

Click.

Music trickled into my skull. The doctor's pocket watch swayed like a pendulum.

"Don't resist," he murmured. "The more you fight, the more it will hurt."

"Okay," I whispered. Now I was the perfect little lamb waiting for slaughter.

The doctor blinked, surprised by my compliance. But he recovered quickly, continued to sway the pocket watch.

"Sleep now, Miss Vitale. Dream of your first meeting with Vanessa... such happy sisters..."

His low voice pulled me under.

I blinked. Leather seats. In front of me was Lawrence's profile as he drove—that jawline still unfairly handsome.

"Almost home," he said, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

Next to me, Vanessa bounced, her ponytail swinging. "You're so tall!" She held my chapped hands. "Poor thing, doing farm work all these years. You'll never work again, I promise!"

Father chuckled from the front seat. "She's not a porcelain doll, Vanessa."

"But she's perfect!" She giggled. Then—"I made you tiramisu!"

"That's your welcome gift?" Mother teased. "How cheap."

Vanessa stuck out her tongue. "It's the thought that counts!"

The car erupted in laughter. For a moment, I marveled—this was how daughters could speak to parents?

After years in the countryside, the sight of such an exquisite cake overwhelmed me. Hesitant, I didn't immediately reach for it.

"Don't you like my cake?" Vanessa's voice trembled with manufactured hurt. "I worked so hard on it..." Her eyes shimmered with impending tears.

Father frowned. "It may not be expensive, but Vanessa made it with love."

"That's not what I meant." I responded quickly. "I'll eat it right now." I quickly took the cake and ate it. The cake melted on my tongue, delicious... until fire erupted in my gut.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me—this wasn't normal. Cold sweat soaked my back. I was going to be sick—here, now, in Lawrence's car.

"Are you feeling alright?" Vanessa grabbed my hand.

"Can we...pull over?" I gasped through clenched teeth.

"We can't stop on the highway!" Mother said, eyeing me with suspicion—as if a mere cake couldn't possibly cause this reaction.

But each wave was more violent than the last. Lawrence reached for the window controls—

—too late.

Hot liquid shame spread across the leather. Vanessa shrieked like a scalded cat, yanking her dress away as if my humiliation were contagious.

"Was my cake really that bad?" Vanessa whispered. "Does Claire hate it that much?"

"You're the older sister. Must you be so cruel to a twelve-year-old who worked hard to welcome you?" Mom said.

"Maybe Claire just doesn't like me," Vanessa mumbled, bowing her head and clutching her soiled dress. "This is my favorite one."

Father shot me a cold glance before turning to Vanessa with a soft tone. "It's all right, dear. Daddy will buy you a new dress."

Lawrence stopped the car on the emergency lane. Those beautiful eyes—the ones I'd dreamed of for years—took in the disaster in the backseat. "Vanessa's cakes are delicious. I've tasted before." he said stiffly. "This was unnecessary for your first meet."

I shrank into myself, my face burning. This wasn't how our first meeting was supposed to go.

When we resumed driving, the silence that followed was worse than any scream.

After arriving at the mansion, Vanessa helped me to my room. As the door clicked shut, her smile dropped like a mask.

"About the cake..." I began weakly.

Her lips curled. "Emetic, silly!" A giggle. "Had to test if you were really family—we Vitals have iron stomachs."

The admission stunned me silent. Seeing this, she leaned in, her breath hot and sour against my ear: "Don't look so hurt. It's just—"

Then, like magic, tears welled in her eyes. She flung the door open and ran straight into Lawrence's arms in the hallway.

"I didn't mean to make her sick!" she wailed, her voice carrying through the entire house. "She got so angry after eating my cake!"

Lawrence's expression turned serious. For the first time in all these lost years, he stood before me, and this was what came out of his mouth. "There was no need to take your dislike for Vanessa this far," he said coldly. "You're an adult. Must you be so cruel to a child?"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs—Mother and Father, drawn by the commotion.

"Is this your plan?" Mother demanded, her voice sharp with conviction. "To drive Vanessa out the moment you returned? How selfish can you be?"

Father showed displeasure in his eyes. "Vanessa has done so much for you, yet you're not the least bit grateful. Instead, you've been scheming to frame her!"

They stood in my doorway, staring. I didn't speak. What should I say? Between me and this family I'd dreamed of returning to, a gap had opened—wide and unbridgeable.

Then the pain hit, like skull-splitting. The memory dissolved as the extraction machine screeched in my ears, pulling me back to the present where my family sat frozen, their faces pale with horror.