After My Murder I Returned

Fourteen Days

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Chapter 2: Fourteen Days

Day 1 ended with Nathan lying on his bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling, holding his phone like it might bite him.

Jonah Carter: u sure u good?

Jonah Carter: that was the most sober apology I’ve ever gotten from u

Jonah Carter: lmk if u need anything. fr.

Nathan typed I’m fine three times. Deleted it three times. Finally sent: Yeah. Just... had a moment. Thanks for lunch.

He didn’t sleep. He Googled “can you die and wake up ten years earlier” at 2:17 AM and got WebMD articles about déjà vu and a Reddit thread about DMT. Not helpful.

Day 2 started with Damien.

7:30 AM. Damien Reed Mobile.

Nathan answered on the first ring. “Hey.”

A pause. “You’re awake.”

“Uh, yeah. I, um... I’ve been up.”

“Elena Torres emailed me at 5:42 AM.” Damien didn’t say good morning. “She said you signed the term sheet at 9:17. And that you, quote, ‘sounded like a different person.’”

Nathan sat up in bed. “I, uh... what does that mean?”

“It means,” Damien said, dry, “you used the words ‘cash flow positive’ correctly in a sentence. Last month you thought EBITDA was a kind of, mmm, energy drink.”

“Right. Well, I, like, I’ve been reading.”

“Since when?”

“Since...” Since Adonis Daniels put a knife in me. “Since recently. Look, Dad, I, uh, I know I’ve been... distracted. Before. But I’m not. Not now. I’m all in on this.”

Silence. Nathan could hear Damien breathing. Then: “Sunday dinner. Six PM. Your mother’s making pot roast. Be there.”

In the other life, Nathan missed it. He was at a condo showing with Melanie. “For us, babe. Our future.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said. His throat was tight. “I’ll be there. I swear.”

Click.

He spent the morning throwing out clothes. Anything Melanie ever said she “liked.” Anything he bought to impress someone who wasn’t his family. The closet was half empty by noon.

Day 4 was Adonis.

Nathan hadn’t been to Ascend Fitness in ten years. Not after the knife. Doctors said “light cardio only.” Nathan heard “don’t go where he is.”

But twenty-four-year-old Nathan had a membership. And twenty-four-year-old Nathan was trying to prove he wasn’t scared.

He went at 6 AM. Told himself it’d be empty.

It wasn’t.

Adonis Daniels was racking weights in the free zone. 6’3”, 220, tank top, smile like a car salesman. He was spotting some crypto bro on incline bench, laughing at something, all easy charm.

Nathan froze in the doorway.

His body remembered before his brain did. The weight of Adonis’s knee on his chest. The smell of his cologne — Tom Ford, Oud Wood. The way he’d said, “Sorry, man. Nothing personal,” right before he twisted the knife.

“Yo,” Adonis called out, not unkind. “You, uh, you need a spot, bro?”

Nathan couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Uh...” His voice came out wrecked. “No. I, um... I forgot my headphones.”

He walked out. Didn’t run. Walking took more.

Outside, he punched the brick wall next to the entrance. Once. Twice. Skin split on his knuckles. Blood was bright, immediate, real.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

A woman jogging past slowed down. “Um, are you, like, are you okay?”

Nathan hid his hand behind his back. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m... I’m fine. Just, uh, just testing the mortar.”

She gave him a look and kept running.

He went to CVS. Bought gauze. Bought tape. The cashier was a med student. She looked at his hand and said, “You should, like, probably get that cleaned properly. Do you want—”

“No,” Nathan said, too fast. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

He wasn’t going to a hospital. Not yet. Not until he had to.

Day 7 was Sophia.

Sunday dinner. Chain Bridge Road. The house smelled like pot roast and jasmine and Damien’s cigars from the study. Same as always. Same as it hadn’t smelled in seven years in the other life, because Nathan stopped coming home.

He got there at 5:45. Sophia opened the door before he knocked.

She was younger. God, she was so young. Fifty-two, no gray yet, no widow’s lines around her eyes.

“Nathan,” she said. And then she just... looked at him. Like she was counting his eyelashes. “You came.”

“Uh, yeah. I said I would.”

“I know what you said.” She reached up, touched his cheek. Her hand was warm. “You’ve said a lot of things, sweetheart.”

Dinner was quiet. Damien had the paper. No one talked about NexPay. No one talked about trust funds. Sophia kept refilling Nathan’s water, even when it was full.

Halfway through, she said, “Jonah called me.”

Nathan choked. “He what?”

“He said you were acting ‘weird but good.’” She smiled. Small. Careful. “He said you apologized. Without, um, without him having to yell first.”

“Oh.” Nathan put his fork down. “Yeah. I, uh... I owed him.”

Damien turned a page. Didn’t look up. “Jonah Carter’s a good man. Loyal. You could learn something from him.”

In the other life, Damien said that at Jonah’s funeral. Jonah Carter was a good man. You could’ve learned something from him.

“I know,” Nathan said. His voice went rough. “I’m trying, Dad. I’m, like, I’m really trying.”

Damien looked up then. Held his eyes. Just for a second.

Then he nodded. Once.

Sophia reached over and took Nathan’s hand. Her fingers were cold. She didn’t let go.

Nathan didn’t pull away.

Day 10 was the first ripple.

NexPay was already moving. Elena Torres emailed: Wire confirmed. Welcome aboard, Mr. Reed.

2M. Gone. But not to a penthouse. Not to Melanie. To something real.

Nathan stared at the confirmation for an hour. Then he opened a new doc.

REED CAPITAL GROUP – INTERNAL

PROJECT: HALO

If Melanie Rivers was coming, he’d be ready. If Douglas Rivers wanted to play, Nathan would buy the board.

He didn’t know what Halo was yet. But it would be the opposite of her. It would be everything she wasn’t.

Day 12 was the warning.

M Street. He was coming out of the Reed Ventures office — tiny, one room, Damien’s charity case — when he saw her.

Melanie Rivers.

Red dress. Not the gala one yet. This one was Douglas’s money. She was coming out of Verve, the boutique she’d own in the other life, laughing, holding bags.

She was on the phone. “No, Daddy, I, like, I totally can,” she was saying. “The gala’s next week. The Reed thing. I’ll, um, I’ll make it work.”

Make it work.

Nathan stepped back into the doorway. His heart was in his ears.

She walked past. Close. Chanel Chance. He’d bought her a case of it for Christmas.

She didn’t see him.

But the black Escalade at the curb did. Window down. Douglas Rivers. Fifty-eight, silver hair, senator smile.

He looked right at Nathan.

And winked.

Nathan didn’t breathe until the Escalade was gone.

Day 14. Gala day.

He didn’t go.

He sent Jonah. Text to the foundation director: Family emergency. Give my seat to Carter. He cleans up better anyway.

He sat in his apartment. Black suit. Not the Canali. Something plain. Funereal.

At 9:17 PM, his phone lit up.

Unknown Number: Hi :) I think you spilled champagne on me at the Reed Gala? I’m kidding. You weren’t there. I’m Melanie. We have a mutual friend...

Mutual friend. Douglas. Of course.

Nathan’s hands didn’t shake.

He deleted the text. Blocked the number.

Then he opened his laptop. New folder.

PROJECT HALO – CONFIDENTIAL

SUBFOLDER: RIVERS, M.

SUBFOLDER: RIVERS, D.

SUBFOLDER: DANIELS, A.

He typed for three hours. Names. Dates. Places. Everything he remembered. The penthouse. The G-Wagon. The knife. The brunch comment.

When he was done, he sat back.

Fourteen days. He’d survived fourteen days.

And Melanie Rivers didn’t even know he existed yet.

Good.

Let her keep it that way.

For now.

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