Echoes of the Dead: His Deadly Regret

My husband, Sean Sterling, pressed his face gently against Jessica Vance's belly.

She was wearing my maternity dress, sitting on the sofa I bought with my own money, living in the home that used to be mine.

I floated right above the crystal chandelier, watching them, completely bored.

Three years ago, I was pregnant with his child too.

Seven months along. The baby had just started kicking me.

But then, a thin steel wire was choked into my throat, and my baby bled out into nothingness before I even drew my last breath.

It was Jessica---his current, precious wife---who did it.

Sean had no idea.

He thought I was just a cold-hearted Mafia princess who ran off with millions. He thought I betrayed his partner. He thought I was evil incarnate.

I was kicked out of my own family for him. My brother Jayden went blind trying to save his life.

But Sean never believed me.

He only believed Jessica.

So, after I died, my soul became trapped by his side. It had been three years.

But today was a little different.

In the police interrogation room, a cold case had just been cracked open. Someone pointed at Jessica's name and called her the real traitor.

When Sean heard this, he squeezed the glass in his hand so hard it shattered.

Blood dripped from his palm, staining the interrogation table.

I counted the drops. Seven drops.

My baby was exactly seven months old when he died.

I wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if God had finally remembered me.

"A woman like Vivian Hall has blood all over her hands. You think she's worth framing Jessica for?"

Sean's voice was ice-cold.

He pulled out a handkerchief and calmly wiped the glass shards from his bleeding knuckles.

Ghost, chained to the interrogation chair, burst into a hysterical laugh. His handcuffs rattled loudly against the metal table.

"You really think that little Mafia princess ran away with your money, Detective?"

Ghost spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm.

"Your lovely wife paid me two million dollars to drag Vivian to Warehouse 3. When I choked the life out of her with a wire, she was still carrying your kid in her belly!"

Sean didn't stop wiping his hands. He didn't even blink.

A mocking sneer played on his lips.

"Vivian Hall? She's a mob boss's daughter. Criminality is in her blood."

"Three years ago, she stole thirty million, betrayed my partner Marcus, and fled. That's exactly who she is."

"If you're going to make up a story, at least make it believable."

"Meanwhile, Jessica is an honors graduate from the Police Academy. Clean record, bright future."

"One belongs in the gutter; the other lives in the light."

"You think the wild rants of a junkie like you can twist the truth? You think you can drag a cop's wife into the mud?"

He tossed the blood-stained handkerchief onto the table.

"Keep interrogating him. Don't stop until he tells the actual truth."

Sean pushed open the heavy iron door and walked out.

I floated in the air right above the hallway, following him.

He walked into the restroom, turned on the faucet, and washed his hands over and over again.

The mirror reflected his sharp, handsome face. He looked completely unbothered.

He said Jessica lived in the light and I belonged in the gutter.

But he was once the man who held my hands and told me he loved my rebellious soul. He had said he would gladly step into the gutter just to be with me.

When Marcus's undercover identity was exposed, he was brutally murdered on the street.

Sean held his cold body and sat in a pool of blood for an entire night.

That was when Jessica appeared. Crying, she handed him a few blurry photos and heavily edited audio recordings.

Every single piece of "evidence" pointed to me.

Faced with his brother's blood, Sean's love for me shattered instantly.

After that, his eyes held nothing but hatred for me.

He didn't arrest me, nor did he ask for a divorce. Instead, he systematically destroyed my life to prove his loyalty to the badge.

He took down my father's business piece by piece, tearing our family empire apart.

My younger brother, Jayden, was blinded by rivals while trying to protect Sean.

Yet, Sean dismissed Jayden's sacrifice as a cheap, manipulative trick to win his sympathy.

Later, Jayden was cornered by enemies again, hovering between life and death.

I ran to the precinct to beg Sean. I knelt in the pouring rain for an entire night.

When dawn broke, he finally walked out.

He held a black umbrella, shielding Jessica from the storm.

The rain beat down mercilessly on my face.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a disgust I had never seen before.

"Vivian, this is what your family owes Marcus."

That was the last time I ever saw him alive.

A few days later, I was dragged to Warehouse 3.

Sean had walked into the breakroom now.

Jessica was sitting on the bench, holding a warm cup of milk.

Seeing him enter, she stood up immediately.

"Sean, what happened to your hand?"

She took his hand, her eyes turning red with worry.

Sean held her hand back and gently guided her back to the seat.

"It's nothing. Just dropped a glass."

"Did Ghost confess?" Jessica asked tentatively.

Sean let out a cold laugh.

"He's just a junkie trying to get a plea deal. He's pointing fingers at everyone."

He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"He actually claimed you hired him to kill Vivian."

Jessica's body froze for a fraction of a second. But very quickly, tears began to stream down her face.

"Sean... how could I ever do something like that? I know Vivian hurt Marcus, but I always thought she was just confused."

"When she took the money and left the country back then, I was honestly happy for her. I thought she was finally getting a fresh start."

Sean's eyes darkened.

"Don't even say her name. It dirties your mouth."

He pulled Jessica into his arms, gently stroking her back.

I hovered right above the vent, watching Sean protect Jessica's stomach so carefully.

I reached down and touched my own empty belly.

Before that cold wire tightened around my neck, there was a tearing pain in my lower body.

A tiny heartbeat, which had started before mine, disappeared from this world first.

Ghost's mocking laughter echoed in my memory.

He had told me Sean thought my baby was dirty.

I looked at Sean's hand as he wiped away Jessica's tears.

I remembered a rainy night in Brooklyn years ago when I was cornered in an alley by a rival gang.

It was this very hand---warm and firm---that pulled me into a dark alleyway behind some trash cans.

He had shielded me with his body, his grip so tight it almost crushed my wrist.

Mixed with the smell of blood and rain, he had whispered, "Don't fear."

That hand used to be my only sanctuary in a dark world.

Now, it was gently comforting my killer.

I reached up and touched the invisible scar on my neck.

During the precinct briefing, the lead investigator from the federal task force slammed a stack of files onto the table.

"Detective Sterling, the suspect, Ghost, keeps insisting that Jessica Vance hired him for the hit."

"According to protocol, Jessica must be placed under internal investigation."

Sean leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen in his hand. He didn't even look at the files.

"Agent Miller, I know the protocols."

"But if we start investigating a detective's family just because some street thug opened his mouth, how are my guys supposed to do their jobs?"

He stopped the pen with his fingertip.

"I closed Vivian Hall's missing person case three years ago myself."

"The travel records are crystal clear. She took thirty million dollars from the mob and took a boat to the Caribbean."

"Ghost claims she was killed in Warehouse 3. Where is the body?"

Sean stood up, leaning his hands on the table, staring down the federal agent.

"No body, no financial paper trail, just the word of a junkie."

"Agent Miller, if you want to investigate my wife, bring me real evidence."

I floated near the whiteboard, watching Sean defend my killer. I smiled silently.

He would never know that his "innocent" wife was actually the daughter of the head of the Vance Syndicate---the city's most ruthless crime family.

She was the deepest mole ever planted in the NYPD.

She had framed my father's family---who never touched drugs or took innocent lives---for all the bloody crimes committed by the Vances.

And that "travel record" Sean was so sure of? It was nothing but a cruel bargain Jessica forced upon me.

The night Jayden was stabbed while shielding Sean, he was left clinging to life.

But Sean had used his police connections to block every medical channel that could have saved my brother.

Desperate, I knelt before Jessica.

In the sterile white hallway of the hospital, she stood in her crisp uniform and tossed a plane ticket and a written confession at my feet.

Her voice was as sweet as honey.

"Sign it."

"Admit that you betrayed Marcus, and I'll get the best surgeon in New York to save your brother."

I signed it.

But the surgeon never came.

Instead, someone unplugged Jayden's ventilator.

Though Jayden survived, the lack of oxygen caused permanent brain damage. He lost his sight completely, cast into eternal darkness.

Jessica had stepped on my face with her polished boots, crushing my dignity into the cold tiles.

She had leaned down and whispered in my ear:

"Vivian, I forgot to tell you. Sean hates betrayal more than anything."

"Do you think he'll believe a confession signed in your own hand, or will he believe me?"

Back in his office, Sean locked the door.

He loosened his tie and pulled open his bottom drawer.

He took out the file at the very bottom---my missing person case from three years ago.

He stared at my photo, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the corner of the paper.

After a long time, he closed the file, his expression unreadable.

He pressed his hand flat against the folder, his knuckles turning white as if trying to erase my name from the earth.

But after a long struggle, all that came out of his tight jaw was a raspy whisper.

"Vivian... you better stay gone."

I floated down in front of him, looking at the hatred and conflict in his eyes.

"Because if you come back, I'll put you behind bars myself... or will I go crazy for you all over again?"

A wave of deep sadness washed over me.

He didn't know that I could never come back. I was already dead.

The desk phone rang.

He took a deep breath, and his voice instantly softened.

"Hey, babe. Is the baby kicking again?"

On the other end, Jessica's voice sounded perfectly vulnerable.

"Sean, I was cleaning out the storage unit and found an old gray sweater Vivian left behind."

"It makes me feel really uneasy. Can I just pack it away in a box?"

Sean's eyes went cold.

"Her trash should have been thrown out long ago. Don't touch it. I'll come home and handle it."

He hung up, grabbed his keys, and rushed out.

I followed him back to the apartment.

Sean strode into the storage room and snatched the gray sweater out of Jessica's hands.

I had knitted that sweater for him, stitch by stitch, by his hospital bed when he was shot during an undercover operation.

He held the sweater, his fingers lingering on the uneven stitching near the chest.

Then, he threw it into the hallway trash can.

The edge of the trash can caught a loose thread, pulling the fabric apart to reveal a faded paper amulet sewn inside.

I had waited in line at a cathedral all night just to get that blessing for him.

He had laughed at me back then, saying cops didn't believe in superstitions.

But then he had pulled me close and asked me to sew it into his favorite sweater so he wouldn't lose it.

He said he was afraid of losing his luck.

On the weekend, Sean took Jessica for her prenatal checkup.

Driving past a local bakery, Jessica said she wanted a cheese bagel from the street vendor outside.

Sean parked the car and went down to buy it himself.

The bagel vendor was a limping old man who had once been helped by my father.

As he packed the bagels, he looked up at Sean.

"Detective Sterling, I haven't seen you with Vivian in a long time."

Old Ben sighed.

"She used to come here to learn how to bake these just for you. Her hands got blistered from the steam, but she kept going even while crying from the pain."

"That sweet girl loved you so much. Are you guys doing okay?"

Sean's hand froze mid-air as he reached for his wallet. His face darkened.

"Ben, she's gone. That's in the past."

He slammed the cash on the counter, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Don't mention her to me again."

He grabbed the box and walked away without looking back.

I sat on the roof of the car, watching the old man's confused face.

I looked down at my own ghostly right hand. There was indeed a deep scar from a burn on the back of it.

Sean got back in the car and handed the bagels to Jessica.

She took a bite and frowned.

"Sean, this is so tough and dry."

Sean immediately took a napkin and wiped her mouth.

"Spit it out if it's bad. I'll take you to the Rosewood for high tea."

He took the box of bagels and tossed them out of the window.

Right then, his phone rang. It was the lead detective from the homicide squad.

"Sean, we have a situation."

The voice on the line was frantic.

"The harbor police were dredging the bay near Warehouse 3. They pulled up a metal drum sealed with concrete."

"There's... there's a skeleton inside."

Sean gripped the steering wheel, his voice flat.

"It's just a mob dumping. Let forensics handle it."

The detective paused.

"Sean, the preliminary report says the victim is female. Her neck bones were crushed by a thin wire."

"It matches Ghost's confession... perfectly."

The car fell into a suffocating silence.

Jessica clenched her fists, her hand slowly covering Sean's knuckles.

"Sean, what's wrong? I heard something about a warehouse on the phone?"

Her voice trembled slightly.

"Is it about Ghost? He's just lying to cause trouble, right? He isn't making things hard for you, is he?"

Sean turned his head, his gaze landing heavily on her face.

The fleeting suspicion in his eyes made Jessica's heart skip a beat.

But he quickly looked away and squeezed her hand.

"It's nothing. Just a minor case. It's already handled."

He started the engine and drove toward the Rosewood Hotel.

"Nothing is more important than you and the baby."

I sat in the back seat, watching his tight jaw and the darkness behind his eyes.

He said it wasn't important, but his foot pressed harder and harder on the gas pedal.

The recovery site was sealed off with yellow police tape.

In the end, Sean still came.

He had left Jessica at the hotel, making an excuse about urgent paperwork at the precinct.

He stood outside the yellow tape, lighting a cigarette, watching the officers use a circular saw to cut open the metal drum.

Dr. Evans, the medical examiner, walked over and took off his gloves. His face was pale.

"Sean, we have the preliminary findings."

"Female, late twenties."

"Cause of death was ligature strangulation with a thin wire, causing cervical fracture and asphyxiation."

Sean flicked the ashes off his cigarette, his tone still seemingly detached.

"A body dumped in the bay? Just check the recent gang wars."

He turned to leave.

"Sean, there are some unique skeletal features," Dr. Evans called out.

"She had three broken ribs and a old penetrating wound on her right wrist that damaged the nerve."

The cigarette slipped from Sean's fingers.

It fell onto his hand, burning his skin, but he didn't even flinch.

A wrist wound.

Three years ago, during an internal mob dispute, someone had lunged at him with a knife. I had blocked the blade with my bare right hand.

Sean slowly turned around, his eyes blown wide, though his voice remained defensive.

"A lot of women have injured wrists. That doesn't prove anything."

Dr. Evans sighed and pulled two evidence bags from his kit.

He handed the smaller one to Sean first.

"We found this on her right ring finger."

Sean's gaze drifted down.

Inside the plastic bag was a tarnished, blackened silver ring.

On the inside of the band, the name "Sean" was crudely engraved---something he had carved himself while drunk years ago.

Sean stared at the ring, his breath catching in his throat.

He reached out to take it, but his fingers shook so violently he couldn't grasp it.

Seeing his pale face, Dr. Evans pushed the second bag into his trembling hands.

"Also, we found this in her pelvic cavity."

Inside the bag was a cluster of tiny, fragile bones.

"Based on the bone development, it was a fetus. About seven months old."

Seven months.

I remembered the seven drops of blood that had dripped from his hand when he broke the glass.

"This is impossible..."

Sean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Vivian was greedy... she ran... how could she..."

He suddenly looked up at Dr. Evans, his eyes bloodshot.

"This must be a setup by Ghost! He found a matching body!"

"Run a DNA test! Right now! Use her family's DNA from the database!"

He screamed, turned, and stumbled over a rock. He scrambled up and fled like a terrified animal.