"Why can't you just die already?"
The cold, angry words slipped through the fog in his mind, pulling Matthew Lindberg out of the darkness. His eyelids moved, slow and heavy, like they didn't want to open. His throat felt dry, burning. His body was still, like it wasn't even his anymore, stuck in the hospital bed.
He could barely feel his arms or legs—just a light tingle in his fingertips. The light above him was too bright, shining off the clean white tiles. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing that told him he was still alive.
From outside the door, voices came in, quiet, but clear enough to hear.
"Is it done?" It was Catherine's voice. It sounded soft but cold. It wasn't the voice of the loving wife that he knew.
"The poison is slow," a surprising voice responded. Lenox. The man that he grew up with, his very own best friend. What are they talking about? Matthew thought. Then Lenox continued. "He won't last more than a week. No one will suspect a thing."
Matthew's chest tightened. Poison. The realization slashed through his mind, bringing with it a wave of nausea. The tea. Myka—his daughter—had given him tea just before he collapsed. He thought this was because of his disease. He never thought that they would actually poison him! His fingers twitched involuntarily.
He was dying. Helpless. Poisoned in his own home. No, that's impossible, he thought inwardly. How could his own daughter poison him?
Then the door creaked open. He heard soft footsteps approaching him. For a moment, he wondered if he should pretend that he didn't hear anything, pretend not to know that his own wife of thirty years wanted him dead. He swallowed. He could see her now, Catherine, dressed in red, her lips curved into a faint smile. She approached the bed, heels clicking softly against the tiles.
"Oh, you're awake," she murmured, voice sweet and mocking. She smoothed a hand over his hair, almost affectionately. "That's a surprise. I thought you'd be dead by now."
Matthew's eyes burned with unshed tears. He tried to move, to scream, but only a strangled wheeze escaped his throat.
"Shh," Catherine cooed. "Don't strain yourself. The doctors say you shouldn't exert too much energy."
She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear.
"You should've just died quietly," she whispered. "But you never knew when to give up, did you?"
His vision blurred. The pain was distant, overshadowed by the rage boiling beneath the surface. He wanted to tear that smile off her face, to demand answers, to do anything other than lie there helpless.
But his body refused to obey.
"Why are you dragging this out?" Kyle's voice—Matthew's heart stuttered.
His son stepped into view, hands in his pockets, eyes devoid of warmth. "He's barely holding on. Can't we just end this already?"
Catherine sighed. "Patience. It's more satisfying this way. Let him rot a little longer."
Matthew's fingers twitched again. He'd never heard Kyle talk to him like this. Was that really his son?
"If it weren't for the money, I wouldn't even be here," Kyle sneered. "Stop calling him my father. He's not."
The words struck harder than any blow. Matthew's breath hitched, chest burning. He tried to reach out—to touch Kyle's arm, to plead, to understand. But his hand lay limp on the sheets.
Catherine straightened. "Well, I suppose that is true, but… he still raised you all these years. The least that you can do is call him Father," she smirked. "Isn't that right, Lenox, dear?" she turned towards the man standing not too far away from them.
Lenox.
Matthew's sworn brother.
It didn't take too long before Lenox approached the bed. He glanced at the monitors, then at Matthew's pale face. "I'm working on cracking the code for the safe," Lenox said. "Once it's done, you'll finally get the rest your body needs."
Kyle scoffed. "Why is it taking so long?"
"It's not easy," Lenox replied. "Matthew's always been meticulous since he was younger. His passwords are difficult to guess. Besides, if he dies now, it would be too suspicious."
Matthew's pupils shook. His breath came in ragged bursts. What is Lenox talking about?
Matthew wanted to deny it, perhaps convince himself that this was an illusion, a hallucination.
But the truth stung.
Catherine stepped forward. "Don't blame us," she said. "This is all your fault. You used your money to force me into this marriage. You knew I loved Lenox, but you didn't care. You even used him to pressure me."
Matthew's chest heaved. He tried to deny it, to say it wasn't true, but no words came. Only a bitter metallic taste filled his mouth. Soon enough, blood dripped from the corner of his lips, staining the sheets.
His body started convulsing, pain tearing through him. His fingers clawed weakly at the blanket. His vision blurred, but he could still see them—Catherine, Lenox, and Kyle—watching with expressions devoid of pity.
"Tsk," Catherine clicked her tongue. "Look at you. Even now, you're making things difficult."
"Call the doctor. He can't just die yet. We cannot access everything, including the room where the vault was after his death," Lenox said, his face turning ugly. "Isn't this why I chose that poison?"
Hearing these words, Kyle and Catherine finally showed panic. Catherine leaned towards Matthew, her face close, but her words felt distant, almost like an echo.
Soon, his sight became blurry, and the room started spinning. It felt like the floor was gone, like he was falling into a cold, dark space with no end. His fingers moved once, then stopped. The numb feeling spread fast, covering the pain, making everything fade, even the bright light above looked far and faint.
His heartbeat slowed down, and the monitor beeped less often, each sound taking longer to come. Breathing became hard—shaky and weak. His chest tried to rise, but it didn't help. Nothing did.
"Hey! You can't die just yet!" Catherine's voice echoed inside his head over and over like a tolling bell. "Hey! We worked so hard just to get that! Hey! Wake up! Don't you dare die without telling us that code! Hey!"
However, this didn't stop the darkness that crept in further, its edges closing in. Then memories flickered in the darkness—Kyle's first steps, late-night talks with Lenox, Catherine's smile on their wedding day. All of it tainted now, twisted into something cruel.
His chest seized, a final burst of pain flaring hot and sharp, then fading all at once. His eyes slid shut. The beeping flatlined into one long, unbroken note.
And then, there was nothing.
His life had ended.
Or so he thought.