Champagne for My Execution

After I took the fall for the fake heiress and was sent to prison.

The guards forced me to kneel on shattered glass to repent, made me drink from the toilet, and seared my back with cigarette butts until it was a tapestry of scars.

I endured a thousand days and nights of this hell, finally making it to my execution day.

The cold, dark barrel of a gun pressed against the back of my head. Through a one-way mirror, I could see my family in the observation room, popping champagne to celebrate.

My third brother, Kian, pointed at the monitor and roared with laughter.

Look at the way the little fool is shaking! She actually thinks shes about to be executed for murder.

Hiring a few actors to dress up in uniforms was a brilliant idea. Weve scared the pride right out of the 'true' heiress.

Thats what she gets for making our little princess cry. This private prison is her own personal playground, built just for her.

The gun fired a blank. The sound ripped through me, tearing my sanity to shreds.

Just as they were about to come in and enjoy the sight of my humiliating breakdown, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind:

Host, have you had enough of this so-called family? Teleportation countdown initiated. Let them weep over a corpse.

I was strapped into the execution chair.

Cold metal clamps bit into my wrists and ankles, digging into flesh that was already raw and infected.

A hard, cold cylinder pressed against the base of my skull.

The muzzle of a gun.

Behind me, the crisp click of the bolt being pulled back sounded like the Grim Reaper knocking at my door.

My body trembled uncontrollably. I bit my lip until it was a mangled mess, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth.

Is this how it ends?

I had spent a thousand days in this lightless death row.

Three whole years. Three years it took me to go from screaming my innocence to silently begging for scraps of food.

Rhea Blackwood, Ill ask you one last time. Do you confess to your crime?

The executioners voice was distorted by a modulator, sounding like harsh, electronic static.

I managed to pull my lips into a pained grimace, my voice as raspy as a broken accordion.

I confess.

What else could I do?

If I didnt confess, dinner tonight would be a bowl of rancid slop mixed with porcelain shards.

If I didnt confess, Id be dragged to the water cell to soak in freezing, filthy water for twenty-four hours.

If I didnt confess, the barbed whip would fall on my back again, a back that had never had a chance to heal.

I was terrified.

The pain had broken me.

Very good.

The executioner seemed pleased with my submission.

But something felt wrong.

The wall directly in front of me suddenly became transparent.

It was a massive one-way mirror, now electrified to reveal the scene behind it.

The bright lights made me squint.

Once my eyes adjusted, I saw them.

My family.

My eldest brother, Wyatt, swirled a glass of amber liquid, a mocking smile on his lips.

My third brother, Kian, was clutching his stomach, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face.

And there, in the center of their adoring circle, was the fake heiress, Corinne.

She wore an expensive designer gown, looking like a pure, innocent angel as she snuggled into our mothers arms.

There was no jury.

No victims family.

Only my biological parents and brothers, watching me as if I were a clown in a circus act.

I froze.

Even with a mind dulled by years of torment, I knew something was terribly wrong.

This was no official execution chamber.

Kians voice, dripping with undisguised contempt, crackled through the speakers in the wall.

Look at the way the little fool is shaking! She actually thinks shes about to be executed for murder.

It was Corinnes idea, and it was a brilliant one. Hire a few actors, put them in uniforms, and weve scared the pride right out of Rhea.

Thats what she gets for making our little princess cry. This private prison is her own personal playground, built just for her.

Every word was a sledgehammer to my heart.

It was all fake.

There was no murder, no prison, no sentence.

This was all because three years ago, Corinne had framed me time and time again, until my familys disappointment in me curdled into hate. The final straw was when she cried that I had pushed her down the stairs.

Just because she had whispered, Does my sister hate me?, my entire family had conspired to create this hell for me.

To appease their precious adopted daughter, they had spent a fortune building this basement, hiring professional actors, and faking everything.

Three entire years.

Right under their noses, I was tortured like an animal.

And they were right here, on the other side of the glass, sipping wine and watching my suffering for their own amusement.

A casual after-dinner entertainment.

My vision blurred. Not with tears, but with a despair so absolute it felt like blindness.

Corinne seemed to notice me looking at her.

She walked up to the glass, picked up a microphone, and her voice, sickeningly sweet, filled my cell.

Happy birthday, sister.

This little gift took the boys a long time to prepare. Do you like it?

All you have to do is get on your knees, bow to me three times, and say youre sorry. Then well let you out, okay?

She giggled, a delicate, tinkling sound.

Behind her, Wyatt stroked her hair fondly. Corinne, youre too soft-hearted. Trash like her should be scared to death in there.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

A metallic sweetness flooded my throat.

These were my blood relatives.

The family I had fought so desperately to belong to, to please.

Proceed with the execution, our fathers stern voice commanded, tinged with impatience. Dont be late for the celebration dinner tonight.

The executioner behind me pulled the trigger again.

BANG!

A deafening roar.

I felt a massive impact at the back of my head, and a violent ringing consumed all other sound.

It was a blank, but at this range, the concussive force and sound were enough to shatter a persons spirit.

My body convulsed, my heart seizing violently in my chest.

The world began to spin as darkness flooded my vision.

And in that final moment, a cold, mechanical voice exploded in my mind.

[Hosts vital signs are in rapid decline.]

[Hosts mental threshold has collapsed.]

[System activated.]

[Host, have you had enough of this so-called family?]

With the last shred of my consciousness, I grasped onto that lifeline.

Had I had enough?

How could I not have?

If I had another life, I would rather be a blade of grass, a stone, anything but a member of the Blackwood family.

[Do you wish to abandon the salvation of the Blackwood family and depart from this world?]

[The moment this body dies, you will be able to return to your original world and embrace a new life.]

I want to go back.

Ive dreamed of escaping this place.

[Affirmative. Teleportation sequence initiated.]

[Detachment commencing.]

[Let them weep over a corpse.]

The pain was gone.

In its place was a lightness I had never felt before.

My perspective began to rise, and I looked down at the emaciated, scar-covered body slumping lifelessly in the execution chair.

That was my body.

And it was my final gift to the Blackwood family.

On the other side of the one-way mirror, the laughter continued.

Whoa, shes down for the count! Kian slapped his thigh, howling as he pointed at the monitor. Not bad acting! That fall looked pretty convincing.

She probably wet herself. That gunshot even made me jump.

Wyatt took a sip of his wine, his eyes full of contempt. A coward is a coward. With guts like that, how did she ever think she could compete with Corinne?

Corinne covered her mouth, giggling, a flash of vicious pleasure in her eyes.

Dont be so mean, boys. My sister has always been a bit timid.

But that expression on her face was so ugly. Like a dead fish.

They were still waiting.

Waiting for the person strapped to the chair to wake up from her terror, to start crying and begging for mercy, to get on her knees and bark like a dog.

That was the script they had written.

But a minute passed.

Then two.

The figure in the chair remained motionless. Not even the slightest rise and fall of her chest.

Her head hung limply, like a broken doll.

A strange stillness began to seep through the thick, soundproof glass.

Whats going on? our mother frowned, setting down her teacup. Why isnt she getting up? Has she gotten addicted to playing dead?

Kian clicked his tongue in annoyance and grabbed the microphone.

Hey! Rhea! Stop faking it!

The shows over! Get up and bow to Corinne!

No response.

Only the crackle of static from the speakers and the dead silence of the small room.

The actor guards exchanged uneasy glances. The prop guns they used were specially made to produce sound and a slight puff of air. They were completely harmless.

Are these the actors you hired? our fathers displeased gaze fell on Wyatt. Completely inept. Did they actually scare her into fainting?

Wyatts face flushed with irritation. He slammed his glass down.

Ill go wake her up.

This stupid girl. I give her an easy way out, and she forces me to get my hands dirty.

He strode out of the observation room, pushed through the heavy metal door, and entered the execution chamber.

Kian and Corinne followed, eager to get a closer look at my pathetic state.

Wyatt walked up to me and kicked the iron leg of the chair.

CLANG!

Wake up! How long are you going to keep this act up?!

My head lolled with the vibration of the chair, but it didnt lift. My matted, yellowed hair covered my face, hiding my expression.

Wyatts patience ran out.

He reached out, grabbed the collar of my prison uniform, and tried to haul me to my feet.

I said

His words died in his throat. His hand froze.

The skin his fingertips touched was as cold as ice.

Not the normal coolness of a living person, but a profound, bone-deep cold that had lost all trace of life.

And she was so light.

The person in his hands felt as light as a sheet of paper, as if she were nothing but a skeleton.

Wyatts heart skipped a beat.

He instinctively let go.

My body, no longer supported, slid down the back of the chair and crumpled onto the concrete floor with a heavy thud.

My limbs were bent at grotesque, unnatural angles.

What are you doing, bro? Kian walked in, pinching his nose in disgust. The room stank of old blood and mildew. Hurry up and wake her so we can get out of this dump. It stinks.

Wyatt didnt speak.

He stared at my body on the floor, his pupils constricting violently.

That feeling it wasnt right.

That stiffness it wasnt an act.

Kian, call a doctor, Wyatts voice was hoarse.

Kian paused. A doctor? Why? Just throw a bucket of cold water on her. Shell wake up.

I SAID CALL A DOCTOR!!! Wyatt suddenly roared, the veins on his neck bulging.

The shout startled Corinne, who had just entered the room.

Wyatt, whats wrong? she pouted. Sister is just playing dead to scare us. Why are you yelling at Kian?

Wyatt ignored her.

He crouched down, his hand trembling as he slowly reached a finger toward my nose.

No breath.

Dead silence.

He then shakily felt for a pulse on my neck.

Nothing. Not even the faintest flutter.

Wyatt collapsed onto the floor, his face instantly turning a deathly white.

Shes gone.

Whats gone? Kian was still clueless, kicking my leg in annoyance. Hey, Rhea, knock it off. You really think youre some kind of A-list actress?

I SAID SHES NOT BREATHING!!!

Wyatt whipped his head around, his eyes like those of a cornered animal.

SHES DEAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! SHES DEAD!!!

Dead?

Kian looked as if hed just heard the worlds most ridiculous joke.

Bro, did she fool you too?

How could a blank kill someone? We had experts calibrate these props!

Refusing to believe it, he crouched down to slap my face.

Rhea, thats enough

His hand touched my cheek.

The icy, rigid feel of my skin made the words catch in his throat.

Kian was a race car driver. Hed seen his share of blood and accidents. He knew the difference between a living person and a dead one just by touch.

No one could fake that temperature.

Kian snatched his hand back as if hed been electrocuted. He scrambled backward, knocking over a nearby rack of torture implements.

A loud crash of metal echoed through the room.

How could this happen Kian muttered, his eyes vacant.

The medical report said she was in good health

I had someone give her nutritional IVs regularly for the past three years

How could she just be scared to death by a single blank?

By now, our parents, who had been watching from the doorway, realized something was terribly wrong.

Our father strode in, his face ashen.

What is all this commotion! Get a hold of yourselves!

Despite his stern words, his pace was hurried. If someone had actually died, even here, it would be a massive problem.

Especially since the dead person was his own daughter.

Even though he had never truly acknowledged me.

The doctors! Where are the doctors?! he roared.

There was no need to call for one from outside.

Our second brother, Nolan, was a top surgeon. He had been delayed by an important surgery and hadn't arrived yet. But the facility was equipped with its own emergency medical team, precisely to prevent them from taking the game too far.

Several people in white coats rushed in.

They were also on the family payroll, responsible for patching up my wounds to ensure I wouldnt die, so the torture could continue.

Quick! See whats happened!