Settling the Past Debts

Four years after I died, my headstone was already crooked. I haunted Jim’s dreams for weeks, begging him to come fix it. But he wouldn’t come. Frustrated, I kept up my ghostly wailing, crying about how miserable I was in the afterlife. In his sleep, Jim just scowled. “Leave me alone, Erica. I’m not going. I’m busy.” And yet, one night, he showed up right after getting off work, a shovel slung over his shoulder. The man had never done a day of manual labor in his life. He took one swing. And my headstone… it toppled over completely. Jim, a cigarette dangling from his lips, actually let out a short, sharp laugh. “Damn it, Erica. Are you doing this just to mess with me?”

1. Another All Souls’ Eve came and went. As usual, Jim burned nothing for me. My debts in the Underworld just kept piling up. Even the Reapers were telling me to just move on, to reincarnate already. I looked down at the tattered rags I wore and shook my head. No. Jim was too much of a bastard. I had to watch him raise our daughter. Only then would I be willing to let go. Jim and I have a daughter. She’s four years old this year. I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what she looks like. Jim won’t let me see her. He rarely visits me, either. The first year after my death, he went on a rampage, throwing everything of mine out of the house. He forbade the nanny from even speaking my name. It was as if he was trying to erase me from his world, scouring away every last trace until nothing remained. The house was covered in wards. He slept with silver charms by his pillow. And my daughter’s room was sealed behind a web of protective circles. Even a fleeting glimpse of her was an impossible dream. For a man like Jim, who never believed in ghosts or gods, to go to such lengths… he must have really put his back into it. He despised me that much. So how could I ever hope he would treat our daughter with kindness? I have to watch. I have to stay until she’s grown.

2. A cold wind sliced through the night. I huddled behind my fallen headstone, wrapping my arms around myself, but I couldn’t stop shivering. The cemetery was swallowed by darkness. I buried my face in my knees, too scared to look up. Too scared of being seen by the other shades passing through. These lost souls, they prey on helpless spirits like me. They steal your clothes. They devour your offerings. They hoard the warmth of incense meant for others. I had no one, so I was an easy target. A sound rustled nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my face deeper into my knees, holding my breath. Suddenly, the sound stopped right in front of my grave. With a heavy thud, a shovel landed at my feet. I peeked out from behind the stone, and a sob nearly escaped my lips. It was Jim. He stood there in a black overcoat, his features sharp and severe in the moonlight. He cast a lazy, dismissive glance at my headstone as if to confirm it was mine. As if it were hard to tell. He hated complications. The massive marble slab bore only a few words. Beloved Wife: Erica. Husband: Jim. He hadn’t even added our daughter’s name. He wasn’t in any hurry to fix the stone. Instead, he crouched down, pulled a cigarette from his coat, and lit it, his eyes fixed on the small, faded photograph of me. A cloud of smoke curled from his lips. “Erica,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl, “you had all that money. You couldn’t have left a little for me when you died?” “Now here I am, in the prime of my life, running a business and raising a kid.” He tapped the ash from his cigarette and gently poked my forehead in the picture. The nerve of him. He was the one who spent his days partying and chasing women. Of course I had to leave something for my daughter. He was still thinking about my money, even after I was dead. Shameless. A surge of fury shot through me. I whipped up a gust of wind and sent it howling straight at him. Jim’s hair was thrown into disarray, the collar of his coat flipped up, and a smudge of ash landed on his sleeve. But he didn’t get angry. He just flicked the ash away, his gaze lifting slightly. “Mad now, are you?” “You’ve been dead this long, and you’re still holding such a grudge.” I conjured another gust, slapping it across his face. He talked too much. Instead of getting angry, Jim just smiled. He stubbed out the cigarette under his heel and picked up the shovel. “Fine, I’ll fix it.” “I don’t know why being a ghost is so complicated. One day you’re crying about being cold, the next you’re complaining you’re broke.” “Erica, you’re a ghost. Have some dignity, will you?” I glared at him. It was his fault. He barely visited once a year. How was I supposed to get by without clothes or offerings? Every time I told him I needed something, he’d brush me off, his eyes closed in feigned sleep. “I got it.” “Stop haunting my dreams.” “My sleep is precious. I have to wake up and earn money for your daughter’s formula.” I believed his crap. I waited and waited. And waited some more. Finally, when I couldn’t wait any longer, I slipped back into his dreams. He was still lying there, eyes shut, and spoke with weary familiarity. “Erica, you again. Don’t you ghosts ever sleep?” “You promised you’d burn me some money!” Jim chuckled. “Forgot. Just wait a little longer. I’ll get to it when I have time.” Right. No time? He had enough time to take our daughter with him to meet a blind date. He was a master at squeezing minutes out of his day, but when it came to me, he was always “too busy.” At least this time he showed a flicker of conscience. I only had to scream at him in his dreams twice before he showed up. Jim hefted the shovel, sizing up the hole. I watched him, a frown creasing my ghostly brow. He looked a little too eager. Did he even know what he was doing? Of course not. Jim brought the shovel down with a powerful swing. My headstone crashed to the ground. It landed at his feet, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on his expensive trousers. Jim grimaced and muttered a curse under his breath. Then I heard him ask, “Erica, you can probably still live here without a roof, right?” A fire ignited in my soul. I clenched my fists, ready to give him a slap he’d feel in the mortal world. “Daddy!”

3. A small, sweet voice drifted from the darkness. I froze. Jim flinched, immediately hiding his cigarette and frantically brushing the ash off his coat. My head snapped around. There, running towards us, was a little girl in a white puffer jacket. Her hair was woven into beautiful little braids, her cheeks rosy and full. Her eyes were like dark, round grapes, shining and bright. She was laughing as she ran straight for Jim. She was so small, so soft. It was effortless for Jim to scoop her into his arms, wrapping his large coat around her, hiding her completely from my view. “Didn’t Daddy tell you to wait in the car?” Jim’s voice had lost its edge, replaced by a gentle warmth. He nuzzled his nose against the little girl’s cheek. “Mrs. Lynn said she’s making stew at home, and I’m hungry.” She wrapped her tiny arms around Jim’s neck, pressing her cheek against his. “Daddy, your face is so cold. Let’s go home.” She kissed his cheek, then her small hands moved to cover his ears, a tiny, earnest attempt to shield him from the wind. So smart. So sweet. I couldn’t get enough of the sight of her. Jim kissed her back, pulling the coat tighter around her. He glanced at the ruined gravesite. “Erica, you’ll have to make do with the house for now.” “My daughter’s hungry. I have to go.” My fists tightened. I surged after him. “When are you going to fix it?!” Jim couldn’t hear me. But the little girl in his arms peeked out from the folds of his coat, her grape-like eyes looking right at me. Then, she spoke. “Daddy, isn’t that lady going home?” Her little finger pointed directly at me. Jim froze. He glanced over his shoulder. Of course, there was nothing there. Without another word, he shrugged off his entire overcoat, wrapped our daughter in it until she was a tight, warm bundle, and strode towards the cemetery gates. As he left, his voice floated back, a low, flat warning. “Don’t even think about following me, Erica. The wards I have at home will be more than you can handle.” I stopped in my tracks. All I did was stir a gentle breeze to brush the last of the ash from his cuff. Jim’s eyes dropped to the spot where the wind touched him. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he turned and walked away without looking back. I stood there, alone, and didn’t follow.

4. Silence descended. I sat on my overturned headstone, my mind drifting back to a time long, long ago. Jim and I had an arranged marriage. A merger of two family empires. He loved to play. He was a fixture in the tabloids. A star of the gossip columns. He was at his wildest at twenty-seven. I was twenty-three. We were forced together. Before the wedding, he’d smirked at me. “There’s a line of women waiting to be Mrs. Jim. You’re such a good girl, Erica. Try not to get your heart broken.” I met his gaze, my voice even. “If any of them had what it takes, the spot wouldn’t have been vacant for me to fill.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I thought you were more of a poet, Miss Zhou.” “I know a little about strategy, too,” I said modestly. Jim laughed. I’d never seen him laugh like that. His teeth were perfectly white, his hair catching the light, and genuine delight danced at the corners of his eyes. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his suit jacket draped over one arm. He looked part lazy rogue, part confident heir. “Alright then,” he said. “From now on, you protect me, Miss Zhou.” I had met many men, but none were like Jim. Beneath the polished, handsome exterior was a core of untamable recklessness. I knew I could never hold onto him. I wouldn’t dare dream that a man like him could ever love just one person. So I never overstepped. I never tried to cage him. In two years of marriage, I never once interfered in his affairs. He liked my cooking, but he was always too busy to come home. Often, he would show up at ten at night and ask me to make him something. I would only ever make him a simple omelet with a side of greens. Jim wasn’t a picky eater; he always finished every bite. I’d make the food and go back to my room. He’d eat and leave, never staying the night. I had the sprawling three-thousand-square-foot apartment all to myself. It was a peaceful existence. But that idyllic life didn’t last. After two years, Jim’s parents started pressuring us to have a child. Jim hated the idea. He dropped all pretense of a happy marriage. He was photographed with other women at galas. He spent a fortune launching the careers of aspiring starlets. He even had his father’s mistress send a floral arrangement to his mother’s company launch party. In the span of two weeks, the family business was trending for all the wrong reasons. Jim’s mother was furious. But Jim just sat across from me at dinner, calm as ever, placing a piece of fish in my bowl. “The fish is good. Eat up.” As he was leaving, he put on his coat and glanced back at me. “Don’t worry about my mother.” He paused, then added, “If she gives you any trouble, call me.” Just as he predicted, she did. His mother was a formidable woman. Unable to control her son, she turned her pressure on me. Back then, I didn’t know how to bow my head or show weakness. She made my life difficult, time and time again, but I never told Jim. Until my family’s company started to fail. Investors pulled out. The cash flow dried up. Desperate, my father told me to go to Jim’s mother, to beg her to give us a lifeline. It was only then that I learned how badly my family’s business had been struggling. It couldn’t withstand the targeted attacks from Jim’s mother. So I went to see her. For the first time in my life, I learned to bow my head. She agreed to save my family’s company. But there was a price. She wanted me to have a child. “Jim is a lost cause,” she said coolly. “I need a new heir.”

5. I signed the non-disclosure agreement. One evening, as Jim was finishing his omelet and getting ready to leave, I took out two wine glasses. Under the warm glow of the dining room lights, Jim looked up, a playful smile touching his lips. I stood up, the pencil skirt molding to my form, the click of my heels echoing on the marble floor. Jim leaned back in his chair, draping his jacket over the back, watching me with a lazy, amused expression. I walked over to him and, looking down, carefully poured the wine. A drop splashed onto the back of my hand. He watched me for a second, then his large hand covered mine, and in one smooth motion, he pulled me onto his lap. I sat there, my ears burning, but forced myself to remain composed. Jim chuckled and drained his glass. The scent of wine was intoxicating. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Trying to make me stay?” I buried my face in the crook of his neck, unable to meet his eyes. I could only manage a small, shy nod. Jim toyed with a strand of my hair that had fallen near his hand. “Can’t drive after drinking,” he murmured. “Guess you’ll have to put me up for the night?” “Hmm?” I didn’t answer with words. I just pressed a soft kiss to his neck. His blood was warm. I could feel his pulse beating against my lips. Jim laughed, tilting my chin up. His kiss was possessive and absolute, stealing the air from my lungs. It was a night of beautiful madness. After that, Jim started coming home more often. He spent more and more time with me. Back then, under the guise of caring for his health, I asked him to quit smoking and drinking. And he did. He started carrying candy and gum in his pockets instead. He made time to have dinner with me. He took walks with me in the evenings. He learned my favorite foods at fancy restaurants, my preferred level of sweetness in a bubble tea. That life lasted for four months. Then, I found out I was pregnant. Joy, then shock. And then, a wave of panic and fear washed over me. According to the contract, the child belonged to his mother the moment it was born. I couldn’t let her find out about the baby yet. So I told no one. Not even Jim. Until he found the contract. I thought he would explode with rage. I braced myself for it. But all he did was ask me, his voice quiet and hollow, “Erica, do you even have a heart?” “You used our child as a bargaining chip.” I gripped the sleeve of his shirt, my face pale. I couldn’t say a word. I had deceived him. From the very beginning, I had never considered asking for his help. I had never imagined that our tangled lives would weave something real between us. I had used him. There was no defense for it. “I thought you had some feelings for me,” he said, his voice laced with betrayal. “I didn’t think you could be bought by my mother.” “Erica—” He said my name, and his eyes were filled with ice. “We’re done.” I sighed, unable to bear the memory of his frozen gaze. I only remember that in the four years that followed, he returned to his world of parties and beautiful women. He had completely moved on from me. A gust of wind swept by. I shrank into myself, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. My mind was filled with the image of my daughter’s round, dark eyes. So beautiful. She had grown up safe and sound. She was such a good girl. A tear escaped, then another. Laughter mixed with sobs. A sour ache bloomed in my chest, and the tears wouldn’t stop, soaking the front of my spectral form. The cold wind bit at me, making my very bones ache. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, and I couldn’t breathe. So I cried harder. Until the cemetery was filled with my desolate, echoing wails. On and on. Endlessly. Tears fell, drop by drop, onto my cold legs, staining the exposed white bone beneath with a ghostly red. I clenched my twisted, broken fingers, my nails digging into the raw flesh. The pain was excruciating. A voice, thick with blood and sorrow, tore from my throat. “What are you crying about?” “Isn’t being a ghost better than being alive?” “All this wailing is giving me a headache.”

6. I looked up. A young woman was leaning against a nearby headstone, casually munching on an apple she’d clearly filched from an offering plate. Behind her stood two figures I knew well. The Reapers who were assigned to guide me. I blinked, the tears stopping mid-fall. “I’m not going,” I blurted out. “I’m not reincarnating.” “I have to watch my daughter grow up.” One of the Reapers sighed. “In your current state, you can’t even get past the front gate of their house. How do you expect to watch over your daughter?” “But because you’ve shown kindness and helped the other lost souls here, we’ve petitioned the higher-ups on your behalf. We found a body for you.” “She looks about eighty percent like you did.” They pushed the young woman forward. She took another bite of her apple and did a little twirl. “So? What do you think? Satisfied?” I wiped away the blood and tears, finally getting a good look at her. She was slender, with fair skin. A small, red beauty mark dotted the corner of one eye. She was the spitting image of me in my early twenties. I hesitated. “If I take your body, what about you?” “Eh, I’m sick. No cure. I was going to die soon anyway,” she said with a shrug. “If you can use it, take it. Saves me the suffering.” “But what about your parents? What if they realize I’m not you…?” She shook her head. “Tough luck my whole life. Grew up in an orphanage. No family.” “The Reapers promised me a storefront in the Underworld so I can start a business.” “I’m done with the pain of living.” “Just say yes already.” I nodded, my eyes filling with fresh tears of gratitude. I thanked them over and over. The Reapers pulled my spirit from its ruined form and pushed it into the new body. I stared at my hands in wonder. They were warm. No longer cold and brittle, no longer carrying the faint, scorched scent of my death. The Reapers led the young woman’s soul away. Before they vanished, one turned back. “You have fifteen days.” “Erica, may you find your peace.” I listened to the strong, steady beat of my new heart, tears streaming down my face. Fifteen days. I would have taken fifteen minutes. I missed my child so much. After they left, I walked out of the cemetery. Using the information the girl had left in her phone’s notes, I found her small rental apartment and settled in. That night, I drafted a resume. My target was Apex Holdings. The company Jim had built from the ground up after I died.

7. The next morning, I applied some light makeup and changed into a white pantsuit. Standing in front of the mirror, I felt a jolt. I looked so much like my younger self. I smiled at my reflection. “Hello, Ava.” Ava’s identity was that of a top university graduate with an impeccable resume and extensive work experience. Getting into Apex wasn’t difficult. After a series of interviews, I was hired a week later. I didn’t see Jim on my first day. But I knew my resume had landed on his desk long before. My work experience, my hobbies and interests… I had filled it all out as myself. Jim had once helped me edit my own resume, back in the second year after I graduated. He’d had me work as his intern, personally training me for six months. Besides, the photo on this resume was a dead ringer for me. He had to know.