I Called For Help, He Called It Jealousy Chapter 09

I Called For Help, He Called It Jealousy Chapter 09

The investigation concluded. Ethan was fired from the department for allowing his personal feelings to

compromise the rescue and for the fatal errors he’d made at the fire.

For covering up Lily’s earlier crimes, he received a suspended three-year prison sentence and four years of

probation. His reputation was destroyed. To everyone who knew his name, he was a disgrace.

I was buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of Northhaven. Every day, Ethan came to my grave and stayed on

his knees for hours.

He brought my favorite cake and the white lisianthus I loved. But he only dared leave them at the foot of the

steps, well away from my headstone.

He couldn’t bring himself to come any closer. He was afraid even his presence would disturb my peace.

Late one night, in a downpour, he returned to the apartment we’d once shared. He was soaked through.

Everything inside was exactly as I’d left it. He’d even hired someone to come every day and care for the

succulents I’d grown on the balcony.

He sat in the dark living room without turning on a light. In front of him stood a holographic projector he’d

paid a fortune for on the black market.

Supposedly, if you fed it enough data about someone who had died, it could create a lifelike image of them. With a trembling hand, he switched it on.

A pale blue beam gathered in the middle of the room. The light shifted, and suddenly I was standing there, an image assembled by Al from my photographs and voice recordings.

“Claire…”

Ethan stumbled forward, desperate to pull the figure into his arms. Instead, he passed straight through empty

air and fell hard onto the floor.

The image looked down at him with vacant eyes. A synthetic version of my voice filled the room.

“Ethan, do you copy? The blast door’s locked. I can’t get out.”

It was the plea he’d heard over the radio at the fire. The System had helpfully made that recording the only

thing the hologram would say.

Ethan went rigid. “Claire! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

He fell to his knees, pleading, then broke down completely, battering his forehead against the floor until it

bled.

“I didn’t know the door would lock! I didn’t know Lily was pretending! Hit me. Scream at me. Whatever you

want. Just please don’t talk to me in that voice.”

The hologram showed no expression. It simply kept repeating those same desperate words.

“The door’s broken! It only opens from the outside! Smoke’s pouring through the vent. I can’t hold on much

longer!”

The cries for help he’d brushed aside now cut into him with every repetition. He covered his ears and rolled

across the floor in agony.

“Stop! Please, stop saying it!”

He crawled toward the projector to shut it off. But the moment his hand touched the power button, he

stopped.

If he turned it off, he’d be completely alone in the apartment. He would lose even this false image of me.

His hand fell away. He slumped against the wall and let the cold, mechanical voice keep tearing through him,

over and over.

“Claire…”

His cry of despair rose through the sound of the rain. “Take me with you. Please. It hurts so much.”

I floated near the ceiling and watched him without sympathy. It hurt? Compared with burning alive, what did

he have to complain about?