You Can't Kill What's Already Dead

My eyes burned, another all-nighter done, just like the thousand others I'd pulled for my demanding wife, Brittany, and her "successful" friend, Marcus.

Then, darkness.

I woke up floating, looking down at my own wake, my grieving parents, and in a corner, Brittany and Marcus - she wasn't crying, she was relieved, nestled in his arms.

"The Prosperity Bond is a marvelous thing," Marcus murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "It took his earnings, his life force, and multiplied it for me. Tenfold."

My breath caught in my spectral throat, my entire life's work, my very essence, stolen and sold by the two people I trusted most, fueling their lavish lifestyle as it drained me dry.

The betrayal was a jagged blade, twisting in my non-existent gut, leaving behind only the cold, sharp fury of pure, white-hot rage.

Suddenly, blinding sunlight hit my face; I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own bed, alive, solid, on the very morning of the car crash that killed me, armed with the horrifying truth.

"Ethan! Get up! You're going to be late for that presentation!" Brittany's voice, sharp as ever, cut through the silence, but this time, I wasn't just hearing a nagging wife-I was hearing a co-conspirator plotting my demise, and my patience was gone.

I stared at the lines of code on my screen, my eyes burning.

Another all-nighter, another app module nearly done.

This one would net me a thousand bucks, maybe.

Enough for groceries, maybe half the rent.

The front door slammed. Brittany was home.

"Ethan? Are you still hunched over that stupid computer?"

Her voice, sharp and annoyed, cut through my concentration.

I sighed, pushing my chair back. "Just finishing up, Brit."

She walked into my small home office, already dressed for a night out I couldn't afford.

"Finishing up? You said that yesterday. Marcus called."

My stomach tightened. Marcus.

"He just closed a deal. Ten thousand. Cash."

She emphasized the word "cash" like it was a foreign concept to me.

"He's taking me to that new place downtown. You know, the one you said was too expensive."

I nodded, not meeting her eyes. "That's great for him."

"Great for him? Ethan, it's embarrassing. My husband makes pennies while my friend-"

"Your friend?" I interrupted, a bit too sharply.

Marcus was my college roommate, my supposed best friend.

Now he was a "lifestyle influencer," whatever that meant.

He mostly just showed off.

"Yes, my friend," Brittany snapped. "He knows how to make money. He knows how to live. Unlike some people."

She gestured vaguely at me, at my messy desk, my tired face.

I turned back to the screen. "I'm working, Brittany. This project is important."

"A thousand dollars is important? Don't make me laugh."

A few weeks later, I landed a bigger project.

A hundred thousand dollars.

It felt like winning the lottery.

I told Brittany, expecting, for once, a smile.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh. That's... nice."

The next day, Marcus drove up to our apartment building in a brand-new luxury sports car.

One that cost at least a million.

He leaned out the window, sunglasses perched on his head. "Hey Ethan! Just picked this up. Small bonus."

Brittany ran out, squealing, admiring the car, admiring Marcus.

She looked back at me, standing awkwardly by the curb.

Her expression was clear, disappointment mixed with disdain.

"Why can't you be more like him, Ethan?" she'd hiss at me later that night.

"He works smart, not just hard. You're always tired, always stressed, and for what?"

The pressure mounted.

I took on more projects, worked longer hours.

Sleep became a luxury.

My health suffered, but Brittany only saw Marcus's effortless success.

"He just bought a new condo, Ethan. Lake views."

"He's flying to Bali next week, first class."

"He says you need to hustle more."

I was so tired.

Exhausted to my bones.

But I had a critical client presentation tomorrow.

The biggest of my career so far.

I had to make it. For "our" future, Brittany said.

I pushed myself, one more line of code, one more slide.

My eyelids felt like lead.

The highway lights blurred into streaks.

My hands gripped the steering wheel too tight.

Fatigue was a heavy blanket, smothering me.

The client presentation. I had to get there.

My car swerved.

A horn blared.

Then, darkness.

Cold. I felt a strange, detached cold.

I was floating, looking down.

My parents were there, their faces crumpled with grief.

My mother sobbed into my father's shoulder.

They were at my wake.

My wake.

I was dead.

Then I saw them, tucked away in a corner, voices low.

Brittany and Marcus.

Brittany wasn't crying. She looked... relieved?

Marcus had his arm around her.

"It's done," Marcus murmured, his voice smooth, almost casual. "The bond should transfer everything smoothly now."

Brittany let out a breath. "Thank God. I couldn't take much more of his pathetic struggling. And the money... it's really all yours now?"

"And yours, my dear," Marcus said, his lips brushing her ear. "The Prosperity Bond is a marvelous thing. It took his earnings, his life force, really, and multiplied it for me. Tenfold."

My earnings. My life force.

Siphoned. Stolen.

My hard work, my exhaustion, it had all fed Marcus.

Made him rich. Made him vibrant.

While it killed me.

Brittany knew. She was in on it.

The woman I loved, my best friend.

Betrayal, cold and sharp, pierced through my spectral form.

Anger, a pure, white-hot rage, consumed me.