Chapter 7: Blood and Melodrama

Lillian’s informants were always efficient, and soon she heard that Marcus was showing kindness to me. In a panic, she coughed up blood, and the doctor said she might not make it through the year. But according to my memories from my past life, after Marcus died, she took some miracle pills and immediately recovered. If I’m not mistaken, her illness must be fake.

This kind of melodrama would’ve made for good reality TV. I almost expected a camera crew to burst through the door, demanding a confessional.

But it doesn’t matter—I don’t want to meddle.

I’d learned the hard way that some battles aren’t worth fighting. Lillian’s drama could be her own undoing; I’d survived worse than a little bad acting.

Yet she just wouldn’t leave me alone.

In the middle of the night, Marcus barged into my room, ignoring Sophie’s attempts to stop him.

His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood, the hinges squealing in protest. The clock on the wall read 2:13 a.m.—the hour when nothing good ever happens.

"Rachel, Lillian is critically ill. Dr. Collins says she might not make it through the night."

His face was pale, his eyes wild with the kind of panic that only comes when you think you’re about to lose everything. I sat up slowly, squinting at him in the darkness.

I rubbed my eyes, still groggy.

"Then why are you looking for me? Want me to be her burial companion?"

I tried to keep my tone light, but there was an edge to it that even I couldn’t hide. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and desperation.

As soon as I finished speaking, he came over and grabbed my wrist. Before I could react, a cold flash of a knife swept by. He actually cut my wrist and used a bowl to collect my blood. I struggled with all my might, but couldn’t move at all. By the time he let go, the porcelain bowl was already half full of blood.

The pain was sharp and sudden, but my body felt distant, like I was watching it all from the ceiling. He moved with a grim determination, his hands steady as he caught the blood. The bowl was one we’d used at Thanksgiving last year—cranberry sauce, not blood, had filled it then.

"Dr. Collins says, since you survived an arrow to the heart and your wound healed quickly, your blood must be the legendary healing blood that can bring the dying back to life. Rachel, saving a life is urgent. I owe you—I will make it up to you. Sophie, hurry and bandage Mrs. Carter’s wound."

After saying this, he carried my blood and ran out.

He didn’t look back, not once. The door swung shut with a click that echoed in the hollow space inside my chest. I sat there, numb and bleeding, the world spinning out of focus.

Because of the system’s settings, even though I was still bleeding at this moment, I didn’t feel any pain at all. Only my eyes, uselessly, filled with tears.

I wiped them away with the back of my hand, angry at myself for caring. Even the system couldn’t save me from this kind of hurt.