They Called My Death a Tantrum, So I Stayed Dead novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Wedding
Ewan's ghost watches his girlfriend marry his brother at a staged wedding his parents think will save Pierce's life, and learns nobody knows his body is still in his bed.
The day after I died, my girlfriend got married to my brother.
I watched it from the back of the hall, where nobody could bump into me.
Cadence came down the aisle in a white gown and a veil with tiny crystals sewn along the edge.
I knew that veil.
I had walked through three malls to find it.
I had bought it for the day she would walk toward me.
Pierce waited at the end of the aisle in a gray suit, smiling at the crowd.
My mother sat in the front row with her hands pressed to her mouth.
My father had a folded handkerchief out already, and the music had not even finished.
Pierce took Cadence's hand.
Somebody in the second row called out, "You're a lucky man, Pierce."
Pierce touched the thin gray band on his left wrist.
He had worn it since the hospital, and he said he kept forgetting to cut it off.
The ceremony was fake. Everyone knew that.
Three weeks ago, Pierce and I were in the same car when it went off the road.
We both died on the shoulder, and a flat voice spoke to us out of nowhere.
"Win over your family and you will be brought back."
We both woke up in the hospital.
I told my family that if I failed, I would die.
Pierce told them the same thing, and they believed only one of us.
Then Pierce said the mission needed a wedding.
My father said, "Anything, son."
My mother cried and said, "Of course. Of course."
Cadence stood in my kitchen that night holding her car keys.
"It's an act, Ewan," she said. "He has to live. Please don't make this about us."
I asked her if she wanted it too.
She leaned her head on my shoulder and said, "It's just for show, sweetie."
Then she went and stood beside him at the altar.
At the hall, the officiant said the last words, and Pierce kissed her.
The guests clapped and the crystals on her veil shook.
My mother stood and shouted, "He's safe! My boy is safe!"
My father wiped his face and said to nobody, "Thank God. Thank God."
I tried to shout that I was in the room.
My voice made no sound.
I tried to touch my mother's sleeve, and my hand went through it.
I remembered my birthday last month.
I had asked them to come to dinner with me, only me, one table.
They said yes.
Then Pierce wanted to see a singing contest, and they sat in the third row waving glow sticks and screaming his name.
I ate the dinner I had booked alone, and I paid the check.
The guests went out to the parking lot to take photos.
I followed them.
Cadence stopped at the top of the steps and lifted her veil with both hands.
"Maybe I should go talk to Ewan," she said. "He didn't even come today. I could explain it properly."
"He's sulking, honey," my mother, Lorna, said. "Leave him."
"He's spent twenty-seven years being stubborn," my father, Alden, said. "Let him cool off."
Cadence looked at the empty road for a moment.
Then Pierce took her hand and tapped the tip of her nose.
"Come on, Cadence. The photographer's waiting. Don't worry about him."
She went with him in the time it took to breathe in.
I stood on the steps and watched my family go to the photographer.
Years ago, Cadence would have called me ten times in ten minutes if I missed one text.
She remembered every small thing I said.
Now, every word out of Pierce's mouth was a fact to the three of them.
My mother said it again in the parking lot, to a friend, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Ewan's always been like this. He wants all the attention. He'll say anything to get it, even that he'll die."
"Ewan?" the friend asked. "Is he not here?"
"He's at home with the door shut," my mother said. "He didn't want to be at his own brother's day."
Pierce stood behind her, and a hand rose to his wrist as a cousin told him how brave he was.
The band lit up for a second, and Pierce smiled at the light.
None of them saw it.
I did.
Then I understood what the three of them had just said about me.
I had not been in my room sulking.
I had died in my own bed, behind that shut door, the night before.
The crash had never healed, and I had hidden how bad it was because I was tired of being called dramatic.
Last night I lay down with a broken wrist under my blanket, and I did not get up.
Twenty hours had gone by.
My mother had walked past that door twice this morning in her good dress.
She had called through it, "Don't be late, Ewan," and then gone to find her earrings.
Nobody had opened it.
Nobody had even tried the handle.
My whole family thought I was angry at them.
Nobody knew my body was still lying in my bed at home.
So I followed them to the car and rode back with them, to see who would open the door first.
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