Chapter 8
The car screeched to a halt, jerking Claude from his tipsy slumber against my shoulder. I thought he sought comfort there, but then I chastised myself for such wishful thinking. After all, I was dead. What more could I possibly hope for?
Once Claude stumbled back into our house, he clumsily went upstairs, shedding his prized suit and tie with a defeated grace. Standing before our empty bed, I could feel his hesitation. He probably loathed the idea of sleeping in a bed I had once occupied. In the past, any
bed I had slept in would be discarded the next day with me on it.
I thought he would retreat to his study for the night. However, against all expectations, he slowly approached our bed. His usual cleanliness was gone. He didn’t even shower before collapsing into bed.
Soon after, he sat up, rifled through his jacket for his phone, and dialed my number, the so-called “Grim Reaper” he had taunted me with in life. I had become his haunting spirit after I died, as he had wished.
“You have reached a number that is currently off p>
He tried to call me, but couldn’t get through. Frustrated, he threw the phone forward, which passed right through my forehead. I felt nothing.
But then, in a drunken frenzy, he picked up the phone again. This time, he called Richard.
“Richard, did you hide Claire away? Tell her not to bother returning if she doesn’t want to. If she dies out there, I won’t even claim her body p>
Richard’s reply was tense. “I’ve been searching for her, too. I’ve already called the cops, but damn it, they only ever contacted you!” Undeterred, Claude furiously typed something into his phone and tossed it onto the nightstand before collapsing back into sleep.
He hadn’t locked the screen, and I saw the message he’d sent me, a threat veiled in concern. [My mother’s birthday is the day after tomorrow. If you don’t come home by then, don’t bother returning. I’ll proceed with the divorce legally, and you can forget about becoming my wife forever p>
I chuckled silently beside the bed. I thought, ‘I can’t return, Claude. This time, you’ll never be bothered by me again. Once you find out about my death, our marriage will be null and void. As a widower, you’re free to marry Kate p>
Watching over him these past days had exhausted my spirit, but I got compelled to stay by Claude’s side, perhaps because I’d slept on this bed every night. Overcome by weariness, I lay down beside him.
A thunderclap shattered the silence of the night. In that flash of lightning, Claude’s hand found me, and he murmured, “Decided to come back p>
Momentarily, I wondered if he could see me. But then his hand fell through me, a stark reminder of my spectral existence.
The following morning, Claude awoke with a groan, his gaze tightening as he surveyed the room. He glanced at his hand as if trying to grasp the remnants of a dream.
“If you’re not coming back, never come back,” he muttered bitterly, irritable, as he stripped off his shirt and headed for the shower.
Regardless of his despicable traits,
there was no denying his appealing physique and the cold, aristocratic beauty of his face, which I had fallen for repeatedly. My superficiality astounded me.
en
While waiting outside the bathroom, the phone rang several times, with calls from Kate and several unknown numbers.
After his shower, Claude emerged in only a towel, water droplets tracing down his neck to his chest. He casually returned one of the unknown calls.
“Is this Mr. Claude Hart, husband to Ms. Claire p>
Claude paused, assessing whether the caller was a police officer based on the number displayed.
“We are calling from Century
p
Wellness Hospital. Ms. Floyd had a prenatal check-up last week, and there was a concern regarding Thalassemia. We would need mother and father to undergo further testing to ensure the child is unaffected p>
Hearing the doctor’s news, I saw an unfamiliar expression cross Claude’s usually confident face, a mix of panic and surprise. “She’s pregnant?” Claude’s response left the doctor momentarily stunned before he replied, “Didn’t your wife tell you about that?” After politely ending the call, Claude frantically redialed my number.
I never let his calls go unanswered for more than three seconds before. Now, no matter how much he tried all he got was the dead tone of a switched-off phone. Perhaps, at last,
he realized something was wrong.
QUMS