Page 46 of Finders Reapers

I wondered if he had gone into the office that morning, only 48 hours after my death.

I couldn’t help but think of the moment that Charon had opened the file of my life as if it was nothing and casually informed me that my father had sold my soul to the devil.

I was certain that the ferryman had watched expectantly as if I was going to rear up like the Kraken and begin to destroy his office—but my father’s betrayal was just a tiny thing on the list of mental shit that I had to deal with.

Since I was ten years old, I had been in therapy, and my therapist told me that I was not good at feeling my feelings. Queen of distraction and oversharing, all to not actually feel the churning and bitter coldness inside of me. The knowledge that my father, who should have loved and protected me, abandoned me years ago. Long before he started to drift away from my life as well.

The thing was, I wasn’t exactly surprised that Antony Rossi had signed my soul over to the devil. Of course, some small part of me wanted to knowwhy, but a more significant part wanted to know what he got in exchange. What commodity was worth so much that he had to trade the soul of his firstborn and only child to get it?

My father lived on a nice enough street. Nothing exactly uniform because everyone had enough money to look unique without being pressured by a HOA. I had grown up in that house, but it hadn’t felt like home in years.

I stayed in my driver's seat and just watched, with my hands resting against the steering wheel.

Had Cody reached out to my dad?

Had they started planning a funeral?

There was a tickle. A clench inside my chest. Indignation at the injustice of all of it. I knew the thought was entirely selfish, butIwas the one that was dead. I wanted to know why, how, and what had happened.

The reports on the news hadn’t said much. My father’s social media was locked down, but he posted the occasional minion meme or infographics about brushing teeth.

The garage door started to lift, and I craned my head as I watched my father roll his Porsche onto the driveway. He used to do that when he wanted to clean his car—something he always did himself, even though he could have paid someone to do it.

I wasn’t expecting it, but my father’s appearance hit me like a punch in the stomach.

Not for any emotion I had for him, but rather the longing I had for my old body, my old life, and the turmoil of the unknown I was faced with.

I had gotten my long black hair from my father, though his was streaked with white strands. My nose had once been broad and long, like his. A roman nose—which had been sculpted and changed for my eighteenth birthday present. We had shared facial features. A lean statue.

When I was little, people used to tell me how much we looked alike, and I remembered being so proud.

I missed my old body so severely that it ached between my ribs. A phantom limb, making me feel taller than I was—my new skin felt like I was wearing an ill-fitting suit.

I was out of the car before I knew why—blame it on the hot Italian blood, but I was livid. Anger without an outlet flowed through me like holy fire, and I wanted to shake my father and ask him all the questions that made my teeth rattle and my lips vibrate.

My sandals slapped against the road as I rounded the Camaro and began to walk towards my father’s house.

“Hey!” I barked. “Stronzo!”

My father didn’t look up as he lifted the hose from its hook in the shed and attached it to the tap at the front of the house.

“Dad!” I shrieked. “Look at me!”

I hopped the curb, and I was no less than ten feet from my father, when I could no longer move.

Taken aback by the familiar feeling, trauma threw my mind back to the club, listening to the pop pop pop of the gun as the mass shooter took out the dancers.

Was my dad going to die?

I screamed behind closed lips, and even though I wasright there,my father couldn’t see me.

I was invisible.

Rome had been right.

The universe, and my place in it, was conditional on my ability to do my job. I didn’t need to be visible or solid all of the time. My new body was a gift, and it could be taken away if I misused it.

Message received.