I Died, But He Wouldn’t Let Go / Photo Evidence and Doubt
I Died, But He Wouldn’t Let Go

I Died, But He Wouldn’t Let Go

Author: Michael Branch

Photo Evidence and Doubt

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He shook his head, muttering, "Losing it, man. Talking to ghosts now."

"Better not be you. The moment I say I won’t leave flowers, you show up. Looks like money means more to you than I do. Fine, really not leaving you any this year."

Hey, come on, I was wrong! The cost of living in the Underworld is high; my salary can’t even get me a decent apartment.

I hovered near the window, pouting. "You try paying rent in Purgatory, big guy. Spoiler: it’s not cheap. See how far your mortal dollars go."

He turned on his phone’s flashlight and went to check the circuit breaker, then laughed at himself. "So it was a blown fuse. I thought it was you."

Big guy, you weren’t wrong. It really was me…

He fixed the breaker, shaking his head at his own superstition. But I saw the relief in his eyes, the hope that maybe, just maybe, I was still around.

After fixing it, he put down my phone and went to shower. My phone!

My Messenger’s top contact was Carter. The last message was a video call from me, which he’d declined. The date was five months after my mom died—the day I committed suicide.

I stared at the screen, fingers trembling. The call log stared back, cold and silent. I tried to remember what I’d felt that day, but it was all just a blur of pain and static.

So why did I kill myself? Because my mom was gone? That couldn’t be it. I still had friends, and Carter.

I scrolled through old photos, messages, anything that might give me a clue. My mom’s smile, Carter’s goofy faces, screenshots of group chats. It didn’t add up. I was loved. Wasn’t I?

I searched the phone for clues, but it was like someone had deliberately wiped things clean.

Every folder was empty, every app reset to factory settings. It felt like someone had gone out of their way to erase me, to make sure no one ever found out what really happened.

Some apps still had my search history:

"What’s the least painful way to die?"

"What’s the easiest way to die in the world?"

"Is it wrong for girls to dress up pretty?"

…

The words burned my eyes. I couldn’t believe I’d typed them, couldn’t believe I’d been that desperate. But the evidence was right there, undeniable. My heart twisted in my chest.

All pretty negative searches. Did I really look this stuff up before I died? No way, I was always so cheerful…

I remembered the way people used to tell me I was the life of the party, the one who could make anyone smile. But maybe they never saw the cracks, the moments when the laughter faded and the darkness crept in.

Just then, the bathroom door opened. Wow, a handsome guy fresh out of the shower—just boxers, towel drying his hair. Isn’t this indecent exposure?

He wandered into the living room, water dripping down his neck, looking more like a lost kid than the man I remembered. I rolled my eyes, covering my face. "Seriously, Carter? Modesty died with me, huh?"

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