“Captain, how did I do?”
Michael picked up a red marker and added a few more strokes on the skull—his own father’s—before nodding in satisfaction.
“Nice work.”
“The dead carry bad vibes. Drawing protective symbols really does keep things safe. Good thinking, Sophie.”
Then he deliberately turned to me.
“Emily, you’re not going to blame us again, are you?”
A heavy ache clogged my chest.
Even if it weren’t my father, no one’s remains should be desecrated like this.
I forced my anger down.
“Michael Johnson, you’ve gone too far.”
He shrugged, a thin smile curling at his lips.
“This is for your dad’s own good—so he can move on.”
“Who knows, maybe he’ll even look out for you in the next life.”
“Michael!”
My eyes burned red; my voice trembled.
“What did my father ever do to you, that you’d mock him like this?”
People were gathering around.
I drew a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“This is the Fire Safety Exhibition Hall, a place that deserves reverence. And you turned a dead man into a grotesque prop. Aren’t you afraid he’ll come find you at night?”
My last words cracked with fury.
Sophie stepped up first to “clarify.”