The Flayed Daughter, Forensic Father's Late Regret

My brother died in a plane crash while rushing home for my eighteenth birthday. His body was never found.

Every birthday after that, my parents dragged me to his memorial. They forced me to kneel in the dirt and beg for his forgiveness.

On the night of my eighteenth birthday, a man started following me in the shadows. I was terrified.

I sent a frantic text to my parents. My mother called back, but only to scream at me.

"You're just making up stories to avoid kneeling for your brother! You're a pathological liar! Why didn't you die instead of him?"

Before the man crushed my phone under his boot, I heard the mechanical click of her hanging up.

I was carved into pieces and scattered across various corners of the city.

My father, the lead forensic pathologist on the case, didn't even recognize me.

Later, my brother returned home in glory, bringing the woman he had eloped with eight years ago.

When they realized that the pile of rotting meat on the exam table was me, they all lost their minds.

My father was called into the station on an emergency. At that point, they still hadn't found all the pieces of me scattered across the city districts.

Outside, thunder crashed and a torrential downpour soaked the streets of Seattle.

The entire police force was out with K9 units, searching every alleyway.

Captain Vance entered the room, his uniform drenched. He carried a blood-stained evidence bag.

"This bag stayed dry, Arthur. Check if you can find any biological traces from the killer on it."

My father nodded. He opened the bag and revealed several small, uniform cubes of brownish-red flesh.

In an instant, my father's eyes turned bloodshot. He gasped for air, clearly struggling to suppress his rage.

"This animal has no humanity! These pieces were carved off while the victim was still alive!"

In eight years, this was the first time my father had ever shed a tear for me.

Captain Vance looked just as sick. He didn't dare to interrupt.

As more bags were recovered, my body was slowly pieced back together on the cold metal table.

A day and a night passed. My father stayed hunched over the remains, his eyes mapped with red veins.

A crimson, skinless silhouette finally took shape.

Captain Vance couldn't take it anymore. He ran to the corner and threw up.

"No skin? Did the killer do that to hide evidence?" he managed to ask.

"No," my father said, taking a deep breath. "It was torture. The victim was flayed alive. The killer wanted them to suffer."

"Looking at the state of these blood clots, the killer likely rubbed salt into the raw flesh after flaying. Then he carved the meat away, piece by piece."

"He watched the victim struggle for hours until they died from the pain. He enjoyed the process."

My father was the best forensic pathologist in the state. He described my death with perfect accuracy.

"Fucking bastard!" Vance cursed.

"The facial skin was removed and dissolved in acid. Identification by sight is impossible. Based on dental wear, I'd place the age between sixteen and twenty."

"The killer was careful, but he left out the right femur. There might have been a distinctive scar, a deformity, or a surgical mark on that bone that could identify her."

"He's cautious. But I can reconstruct the face using the skull. I just need time."

Vance patted my father's shoulder. He looked at the missing right leg and frowned.

"Arthur, doesn't this match the signature of the Storm Ripper from eight years ago?"

My father's hand trembled as he pulled off his latex gloves.

Eight years ago, my father's evidence cornered the Storm Ripper. The killer had supposedly sabotaged the plane my brother was on before dying in the crash himself.

My father always treated that case as a forbidden topic.

"If this killer is connected to him, Arthur, you need to warn your wife. Tell your family to stay inside. If the Ripper's habits haven't changed, Lyra will be his primary target."

At the mention of my name, my father's brow furrowed instinctively.

"Doesn't she deserve to die anyway?"

That one casual question left the entire room in a deathly silence.

Those words hurt ten thousand times more than the killer's blade.

I thought eight years of neglect and verbal abuse might have lessened his hatred. I was wrong. He truly wished for my death.

"Arthur!" Vance's voice dropped an octave. "What if the girl heard you say that?"

"I don't care what she thinks! If she hadn't whined for Logan to come home for her birthday, my son would have stayed safe. The Ripper would never have found him!"

My father panted, his eyes crimson like a cornered beast.

"My son was only eighteen! We couldn't even find a single bone to bury! His mother and I searched that crash site for eight years... and we found nothing!"

These words had been branded into my soul for nearly a decade. My parents reminded me every day that I was a murderer.

In my worst nightmares, I could still feel my father's hands around my throat at the funeral, screaming, "Why wasn't it you?"

I often wondered that myself. Why wasn't it me?

If I had died, I would still be their precious little girl in their memories, not a cursed parasite.

Captain Vance sighed. "Logan is gone, Arthur. Do you really want to wait until something happens to Lyra to regret this?"

I looked at my father, waiting for his answer just as eagerly as Vance.

"It would be better if something did happen to her."

The last flicker of light in my ghost-eyes went out.

I'm dead now, Dad. Will you finally be happy when you find out?

Just then, an officer brought in a blood-stained phone charm.

It was a soft, finger-sized white lamb.

My father glanced at it and waved his assistant over. "Just a cheap trinket. Send it to the lab to see if the blood belongs to the victim."

I stared at him in shock.

He had completely forgotten. He was the one who gave me that charm for protection years ago.

Back then, my father's job had made us many enemies.

Once, a pair of men on a motorcycle tried to kidnap my mother and me.

My mother was dragged for yards holding onto their bike. My father was stabbed in the chest saving me.

After he got out of the hospital, he gave me that plush lamb.

Hidden inside was a tiny, high-voltage stun device.

Back then, he patiently taught me how to use it. He stroked my hair and told me that even if he wasn't there, I could protect myself.

Now, the man who gave me that gift dismissed it as a worthless piece of junk.

Oh, Dad. You just missed the only chance to identify me.

After finishing his shift, my father checked his phone. He saw my SOS texts.

He called my mother. I thought they had finally realized something was wrong.

But he opened his mouth only to bash me. "She's playing the 'I'm being followed' card again. Lyra has been pulling this crap for years. Tell her to stay at Logan's grave for a few more days until she learns her lesson!"

I didn't lie! Dad, I was really in trouble! The body you just stitched together is me! Please, believe me just once!

His brow remained tightly knit in irritation.

I hoped my mother would worry. I hoped she would notice the pattern was different this time.

After eight years of being ignored, I had stopped sending those kinds of messages. This was a real emergency.

My mother comforted him first, telling him not to let his blood pressure rise. Then she spoke with cold, sharp venom.

"I got those annoying texts too. She never lets us have a moment of peace. I already told that brat she's not allowed home for the next few days. Just looking at her makes me sick."

I listened to them trade insults about me. My father reminded her to lock the doors and set the alarm for their own safety.

Not once did they wonder if I was safe out in the dark.

I slumped into a corner of the room. My chest felt hollow. No one cared that I was gone.

"I need to file a report!" A familiar voice echoed from the lobby.

"My friend Lyra Miller is missing! She's been gone for two days!"

It was Piper Bennett, my only true friend and deskmate. She was frantic.

She told the officers I wasn't answering my phone. I had missed our planned meeting.

Seeing her eyes red from crying made my spirit ache.

I tried to wipe her tears, but my hand passed straight through her face. I laughed and cried at the same time.

Thank you for trying to save me, Piper.

As the officer asked for my parents' contact info, my father walked into the lobby. He looked down at Piper with disdain.

"Don't bother," he told the officer. "I'm her father. She isn't missing. She's just being punished and isn't allowed to hang out with her low-life friends."

He spat the words 'low-life friends.' I saw the color drain from Piper's face as she hung her head in shame.

Piper isn't a low-life!

She was the one who draped her jacket over my head when I was hiding and crying. She was the one who shared her lunch with me when I had nothing to eat.

Piper was the one who chased bullies across the track with a dirty mop when they harassed me.

When everyone else isolated me, she held my hand. She told me we were 'Cool Girls' who were actually isolating the rest of the class.

She was my best friend in the whole world.

But because my father was a veteran officer, no one questioned his word.

My disappearance was buried under his denial.

I watched Piper leave the station, looking absolutely crushed. I wanted to follow her, but I was tethered to my father.

I watched him process my skull. I followed him home.

On the dinner table sat grilled lobster tails, spicy crab legs, and garlic butter shrimp.

My mother remembered all of Logan's favorites. But she refused to remember that I was deathly allergic to shellfish.

Once, years ago, my father asked why I wasn't eating. I thought he was finally showing me love.

I gripped my fork, trembling. "Dad... I'm allergic to seafood..."

My mother slammed her silverware down. "What did I do to deserve such an ungrateful child? I spent all day in this kitchen and now I'm the villain?"

I looked at my father. He was my hero when I was little. He used to protect me when Mom got angry.

But this time, my hero just put a huge piece of crab on my plate. "Just eat, Lyra. Don't upset your mother."

Their eyes locked onto me. I felt like a criminal for having a physical limitation.

I ended up eating the entire plate.

That night, my throat swelled until I could barely breathe. My eyes puffed shut. My skin felt like it was on fire.

"Help... help me..."

My voice was a raspy whisper. I stumbled to the door, but the handle wouldn't turn. It was locked from the outside.

Panic set in. I banged on the wood, trying to make a sound.

"Please... Dad... Mom... save me... I don't want to die..."

Through the haze of pain, I heard my mother's voice in the living room.

"It's just an allergy. She won't die. I'm glad I locked her in. She's always faking for attention. It's disgusting. Logan came to me in a dream last night saying he wanted that new gaming console. Let's go to the mall before it closes."

No! Mom, Dad, don't leave me!

I don't want to die. Please...

The front door slammed shut. I was totally alone.

Maybe dying won't hurt as much as this, I thought.

I curled into a ball in the corner.

The sounds of a father and daughter laughing drifted up from the apartment below.

"You crazy girl! You know you're allergic to peanuts! Why did you eat that cookie? You almost died!"

"I'm sorry, Dad. It was an accident. Don't tell Mom!"

"She already knows! she was so worried she threw out her back, but she's still making your favorite dinner. As long as you're okay, we aren't actually mad."

I felt like a sewer rat spying on someone else's sunlight.

I wanted that. I wanted parents who cared about my allergies. I wanted them to worry about me.

But I was just the bad kid who killed her brother. I didn't deserve love.

But Mom, Dad... I really don't want to die...

I didn't die that day.

At the last second, I threw myself out the third-story window. Someone found me on the sidewalk and called an ambulance.

The doctor said if I had arrived five minutes later, it would have been over.

A woman in the next bed was peeling an orange for her daughter. She looked at me and said, "Thank God you're okay. Your parents must be worried sick!"

I watched her feed her daughter orange slices, one by one.

My reflection in the window showed how truly alone I was.

I forced a smile and lied to the room. "Yeah. My parents love me so much."

Suddenly, the hospital door was kicked open.

My parents rushed in.

A wave of relief and sorrow washed over me. I struggled to sit up, tears streaming down my face.

"Mom... Dad..."

I was so scared. I thought I was going to die. Please, just hug me. Just once.

My mother grabbed my collar and yanked me off the bed. My IV line ripped out, and blood sprayed across the floor.

"You little bitch! You did this on purpose! You ate that food and jumped out a window just to make us look bad! You wanted the whole neighborhood to think we abuse you, didn't you? Why didn't you just die when you hit the pavement?"

I curled into a ball, shielding my head as her boots hit my ribs over and over.

I wasn't trying to hurt you, Mom. I just didn't want to die.

I survived a three-story fall, but I couldn't survive their hatred.

In the reflection of the glass, I saw my father leaning against the wall, watching coldly while my mother clawed at me. The woman in the next bed was clutching her daughter, looking at us with horror.

The people gathered in the hallway looked at me with disgust, as if I were a monster.

The lie I had told myselfDthat my parents loved meDwas shattered in front of everyone.

I was lying to you all. They don't love me. They hate me more than anything.

After that, they stopped giving me an allowance. I applied for boarding at school.

I lived on dollar buns and free soup from the cafeteria.

I slept in a sixteen-person dorm on a thin mat.

My scholarships barely covered the fees.

As I moved through middle school and high school, the costs went up. I studied day and night, obsessed with getting the highest grades to keep my funding.

I thought if I became perfect, they would love me again.

But when I brought home a near-perfect report card, my mother just sneered in front of the relatives. "She's slow. She's not half as smart as Logan was. She probably cheated."

Then, she slapped me across the face.

"Tell the truth. Whose paper did you copy?"

My face burned, but my heart felt like it was being shredded. I wanted to vanish.

Later, when the teacher called to confirm my grades, my mother just looked at the shredded pieces of my report card in the trash.

"So what? Logan got perfect scores in every subject. You're still a disappointment."

My heart broke along with that paper.

They liked smart kids like Logan. So, I tried to erase myself and become Logan.

I pushed myself harder.

I dealt with heat rash in the summer and frostbite in the winter because I couldn't afford proper clothes.

When I walked out of the SAT testing center, I felt like I had finally proven I was as good as my brother.

Surely they would love me now.

But I died the night before the scores were released.

I never got to be the 'perfect child' in their eyes.

I watched my parents set a place for Logan at the dinner table. They put food in his empty bowl, a ritual they had kept for eight years.

Wasn't I the one who caused this? Wasn't I the reason they were so broken?

Maybe I did deserve to die.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. A voice from the past echoed through the hallway.

"Mom! Dad! Open up! I'm back, and I brought your daughter-in-law!"

My father, the ever-composed professional, dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor.

My mother collapsed in her chair, tears flowing instantly. "Is it him? Arthur, is it him?"

My father stumbled to the door. His hands shook so hard he could barely turn the deadbolt.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, handsome man. It was him. My brother. The boy I supposedly 'killed' eight years ago.