When I Die

Tears streamed down my face—whether from the headache or the flood of memories, I couldn't tell. I forced my eyes open, desperate to escape the past.

Dr. Mercer stood over me, taking notes. Around me, my family removed their helmets, their expressions unreadable.

Lawrence wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Look, Vanessa was just a kid being a kid. Don't take it so personally."

"Claire, darling," Mother said in a soft tone, "your sister's always been naughty. We'll talk to her."

Father cut in, "Doctor, we have two more extractions. Find my daughter first."

The doctor bowed. "Please be patient, Mr. Vitale. The subject is remarkably cooperative. I am sure we will succeed."

As they reattached the helmets, the machine reactivated with an unstable hum. My mind swam through murky darkness as fragmented memories began to surface.

This time, the memory was in Mother's bedroom. She was burning with fever.

She lay in bed, moaning softly from time to time.

Father was away on business, Lawrence was at the office, and aside from the maid, only Vanessa and I were home.

Using an old remedy I'd learned in the countryside, I brought a basin of hot water, soaked a towel, and repeatedly wiped Mother's forehead, arms, and back.

She was barely conscious, her fever stubborn despite the medicine.

Vanessa glanced in and scoffed, "Mom already took her pills. The doctor said she’ll be fine. Why are you so worked up?"

"I'm trying to bring her fever down. In my village, some people have gotten brain damage from fevers like this."

Vanessa burst into laughter. "Oh my god, it's so nice of you! This is a modern city, not your backwater village!"

I ignored her and kept tending to Mother.

Wracked with worry, I refused to eat or sleep, watching over her all night as her fever spiked three more times.

By dawn, it finally broke, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Exhausted but relieved, I cleaned up the basin and towel and collapsed into bed.

Then Father's roar woke me.

"You dare sleep while your mother was sick all night? Where were you?"

He was furious.

Stunned, I clutched my cheek, stammering, "I—I was with Mother—"

"Shut up! If there's no money involved, we never see you appear, do we?"

He shouted. "Vanessa stayed up all night taking care of her and nearly fainted from exhaustion. And you? Only cared about sleeping!"

Father stormed away. I ran out to explain, only to see Vanessa arm in arm with Mother, laughing together.

Mother glanced at me—nothing but ice in her eyes. A look she'd never given me before.

Then the headache struck again, tearing through my skull and ripping me from the memory.

I gasped awake.

My parents and Lawrence had removed their helmets, staring at me in shock.

My mind was foggy, reality and memory blending together.

Mother's eyes were red. She reached out hesitantly, touching my face. "Claire…why didn't you ever tell us? We misunderstood you…"

I stayed silent. The memories were too painful, and the headache left me numb, robbing me of the strength to speak a single word.

Father exhaled heavily. "She's always been like this—never speaking up. It was her silence that enabled Vanessa's behavior!"

"An older sister has a responsibility to discipline her sibling. Of course, I'll punish Vanessa too—three days of confinement when we find her."

Lawrence frowned. "Mr. Vitale, there's no need for that. Vanessa hasn't done anything unforgivable. She's just a child."

Then Lawrence turned to me. "Vanessa's told me before—she was afraid of being replaced by you. After all, she lost her parents' love at a very young age. She's just a poor, helpless little thing. We should show her more tolerance and love."

I closed my eyes again, too weak to fight the pain. When I needed compassion most, no one saw it—not even my fiancé.

Perhaps I was never loved at all.

Then another wave of blinding pain crashed through my skull. My vision blurred, the world spinning violently around me. My limbs turned leaden. I realized my old illness, the one that hadn’t flared up in ages, was acting up again.

I’d never told my family about this old condition. It was tied to my past in the country, something I’d never wanted to bring up again.

But only then did I remember—the medicine was in the drawer of my bedside table. I tried to speak, but my jaw refused to obey.

Suddenly, the monitor screamed with urgent beeps. Dr. Mercer rushed to check the readings, fingers flying across the controls.

"The subject's extraction module is malfunctioning. We need to transfer her to the backup room where there's an identical extractor that can sync with your helmets remotely." He said.

"Will we still observe the memories from here?" Mother asked.

"Correct," the doctor confirmed.

Then he watched me with concern, sensing something was wrong. He turned to my father. "Sir, should we stop? The subject has undergone two extractions already. Though cooperative, her condition is unstable. I recommend pausing—"

"Pause nothing! My daughter is missing—five days now! She's never suffered a day in her life. Move Claire to the backup room immediately and begin the third extraction!"

Father's fury silenced him. The doctor barked orders to two assistants, who hauled me from the cold metal chair.

As they half-carried me down the hallway, my consciousness spiraled into blackness. Icy water seemed to rise around me.

I screamed, "Help me!" but no sound escaped. Each breath became a struggle.

The last thing I heard was the slam of the backup room door, then fading footsteps. As life slipped away, I found myself utterly alone, accompanied by nothing but the endless darkness. It felt just like—death.

Meanwhile, my family waited anxiously. Seeing the doctor return, they quickly donned their helmets without hesitation. Somewhere beyond my dying breaths, the machine's cold melody wrenched the last light of my mind back into memories.