Summer Songs

I was an innocent man on death row. My wife Nina, the city’s top defense attorney, ignored nine pleas for help. The first time, she held a press conference to comfort her bullied junior while I was beaten by inmates. The second time, she withdrew my defense to answer his sobbing call, leaving me on the stand. Every time hope appeared, her junior had an “emergency.” This was my final chance before execution. But on the phone, his voice whispered, “Nina, you can’t be distracted during a birthday wish.” She hung up. The proof of my innocence was undeniable, but without her to present it, the judge signed my death warrant. When the guard gave me the verdict, I thought the red stamp meant life in prison. Instead, he said: “Execution confirmed. Your lawyer said there’s no need to notify her about the body.” So I died. What I don’t understand is why, after my execution, Nina was the one who went insane.

1 Today is Ryan’s birthday. The lights in the execution chamber were a brilliant, piercing white. Nina is probably cutting his cake right now, isn’t she? In the final second before my consciousness faded, I thought I could hear the sound of my own heart stopping. The Julian Croft who had once loved Nina Hayes with every fiber of his being was finally, truly dead. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in mid-air. Below me was the city’s most luxurious riverside restaurant. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glittered like a fallen constellation. Inside, a single candle flickered with intimate warmth. Nina was wearing the designer suit I had always ironed for her, not a single crease on it. She was gazing tenderly at the man across from her. Ryan had his hands clasped, his eyes closed as he made a wish. It was a picture so perfect, I could have painted it from memory even in the darkest corners of my prison cell. How ironic. My body was growing cold in a crematorium miles away, while my wife was here, helping another man make a birthday wish. Ryan opened his eyes, a boyish, innocent smile curving his lips. “I made my wish, Nina! Now you have to help me make it come true.” Nina poured him a glass of red wine, her voice dripping with affection. “Of course. Anything you want, Ryan. Anything.” Her phone, resting on the table, vibrated. The screen lit up with a text message notification from the prison. I drifted closer, wanting to see if she would even look. Just one glance. Just a flicker of emotion as she read the words: Execution completed. Nina frowned, her long, elegant fingers swiping across the screen. She deleted it. Without even opening it. “What’s wrong, Nina? Who was that?” Ryan asked, leaning over with a look of pure innocence. Nina placed her phone face down on the table, her tone dismissive. “Junk text. Nothing important.” Junk text. So that’s what the final message of my life was to her. Junk. “Was it… was it Julian?” Ryan asked, biting his lower lip as his eyes instantly reddened, looking like a startled fawn. “It’s my birthday… Is he still mad at me for taking you away? Maybe… maybe we should go check on him?” He looked exactly as he had in the courtroom that day, crying as he testified that I had “pushed him down the stairs.” He had wept then, too, saying he didn’t blame me, that my obsessive love for Nina had just made me lose control. And Nina, just like now, had instantly hardened her expression, her heart aching for him as she took his hand in hers. “Why bring up that murderer?” Nina said, cutting a piece of cake with a strawberry on top and holding it to Ryan’s lips. “He killed an innocent janitor and put you in the hospital to have a kidney removed. A man that vicious deserves to rot in a cell.” “This is your special day. Let’s not let someone so foul ruin the mood.” I looked at that piece of cake and felt a wave of nausea. Ghosts don’t have stomachs. But I still wanted to vomit. So, in her heart, I wasn’t just a murderer. I was foul. Nina, did you know? Just ten minutes ago, that foul man you refused to help for the ninth and final time ceased to exist.

2 Nina took Ryan back to our home. The home I had decorated with so much care, only for it to be usurped by him after I was imprisoned. In the entryway, where our wedding portrait used to hang, there was now an abstract painting. One of Ryan’s, I presumed. The slippers by the door were gray and fuzzy. Ryan’s size. Nina slipped them on with practiced ease, hanging Ryan’s coat on the rack. The movements were so natural, so fluid, you would think they were the ones who had been married for years. “Nina… can you… can you stay with me tonight?” Ryan asked, tugging on her sleeve with wide, timid eyes. “That threatening letter Julian sent me… I still get scared when I think about it.” I floated near the ceiling, watching coldly. A threatening letter? In prison, I could barely get my hands on a pen and paper. The only letters I ever wrote were desperate pleas to Nina for help. How had they become threatening letters to him? Nina’s face darkened. She ruffled his hair gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. He can’t hurt you.” “But… what if he gets out? He was sentenced to life with parole, right? He could be out in twenty years if he behaves…” Ryan flinched. Nina scoffed, unwrapping a silk scarf from her neck and tossing it onto the sofa. “Get out? He’s never getting out.” She walked to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of whiskey, and downed it in one go. “He had a sliver of a chance, but then he had to go after you and get an innocent person killed.” “As the only witness at the scene, I submitted a supplementary statement to the judge. I insisted that I saw him push that janitor with my own eyes before shoving you down the stairs.” “Even though it was dark and I didn’t see everything clearly, I had to say it. For you, and for the person who died. For justice.” Ryan asked cautiously, “What about… what about that air-conditioner repairman? The one who said he saw something different. Is that a problem?” “It’s not a problem. I buried his testimony so deep no one will ever believe him,” Nina said, swirling the ice in her glass. “That was the ninth time he tried to ‘find evidence’ to force my hand. All lies. He’ll never change.” “I needed him to know that my patience has limits. If he wants to live, he needs to behave himself in there and stop dreaming about getting out and causing trouble.” I looked at her, so arrogant, so certain in her absolute control, and I wanted to laugh. Nina, you’re the best criminal defense attorney in the city. You’ve never lost a case. But you lost this one. You lost your husband’s life. And there’s no coming back from that. Ryan seemed to relax, wrapping his arms around Nina from behind and resting his cheek against her back. “You’re so good to me, Nina. If only Julian were half as reasonable as you.” “Him?” Nina sneered. “If he were reasonable, he wouldn’t have killed someone just to force me to stay married to him.” I floated in front of her, swinging a phantom fist at her face. It passed right through. But I still screamed the words. “I DIDN’T PUSH ANYONE! HE PUSHED THE JANITOR HIMSELF TO FRAME ME! HE THREW HIMSELF DOWN THE STAIRS!” No one could hear my roars. Nina just shivered, frowning as she turned up the thermostat. “Why is it suddenly so cold in here?” Ryan tightened his arms around her. “Maybe Julian’s thinking about you.” “He doesn’t have the right,” Nina said, putting down her glass, her eyes full of disgust. “He’s been quiet the last few days, though. No more calls from the prison guards. I guess my last warning finally scared him.” “In a few days, I’ll pay a visit to the prison.” Ryan’s body tensed. “Why would you go see him?” “To have him sign the divorce papers,” Nina’s voice was like ice. “Having a murderer for a husband is a stain on my reputation that I’ve tolerated for far too long.” Divorce papers? No need, Nina. A death certificate is far more effective. It automatically dissolves all legal ties between us. Cleanly. Completely.

3 For the next three days, Nina’s life was perfect. She took Ryan to an art gallery, to a fancy Japanese restaurant, and even went shopping for a men’s watch with him. I followed her like a shadow, a numb specter watching her hand over the future she had once promised me to another man, piece by piece. It wasn’t until the afternoon of the third day, while Nina was in a meeting at her law firm, that her assistant, Alex, knocked frantically on the door. “Nina, there’s… a package was returned from the prison.” Nina didn’t even look up from the documents in her hand. “So? If it was returned, it was returned. Do you really need to interrupt my meeting for something so trivial?” “No, Nina, it’s… the package is for you. And…” Alex hesitated, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. Nina snapped the folder shut, annoyed. “And what? What is Julian up to now? A hunger strike? A letter written in his own blood? More of his clipped fingernails?” A few quiet chuckles rippled through the conference room. The other partners all knew about Nina’s “crazy” husband and the extreme lengths he went to in order to win her back. Alex swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Nina, you should really come see for yourself. The courier says it requires your signature in person.” Nina stood up, her face a cold mask, and strode out of the room on her sharp heels. “Let’s see what kind of pathetic drama he’s cooked up this time.” I floated behind her, a strange, dark pleasure blooming in my chest. No drama, Nina. Just dust. In the firm’s lobby stood a uniformed courier, holding a square, heavy-looking black box. Any adult would recognize its shape immediately. But Nina didn’t go there. Or rather, her subconscious refused to. “Ms. Nina Hayes?” the courier asked, checking his clipboard. “This is an expedited delivery from the Southside Crematorium. The sender is listed as ‘Julian Croft (by proxy).’ I need your signature, please.” Crematorium. The word dropped into the bustling lobby like a stone, and all sound ceased. Nina’s confident stride came to an abrupt halt. She stared at the black box, her expression shifting from disdain to disbelief, finally settling into a mask of absurd fury. “Crematorium?” “Hah!” She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. She marched over and grabbed the courier by his collar. “How much did Julian pay you? Huh? To help him with this ridiculous stunt?” “He’s so desperate to see me he’s pulling this kind of sick joke now?” “Mailing his own goddamn urn?” “Why didn’t he just burn himself alive and mail the whole package?!” The courier, terrified, struggled against her grip. “Ma’am, let go! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know any Julian Croft!” “This is an official shipment from the crematorium!” “Unclaimed remains are sent to the next of kin if they can be contacted!” “Next of kin? I’m not his next of kin!” Nina roared, her eyes blazing. “I was his lawyer! Not his undertaker!” “But you’re listed as his emergency contact in the system…” the courier stammered, on the verge of tears. “Get out!” Nina shoved him hard. The courier stumbled back, losing his grip on the black box. It hit the marble floor with a dull thud. Enraged at the sight of it, Nina lifted her sharp-heeled shoe and kicked it. “Bastard. Just looking at this thing is bad luck.” The lid popped off. Ashes spilled across the floor. Inside, there was also a sealed velvet bag. Next to it, a neatly folded piece of paper slid out. It was a certificate of cremation. Nina stared at the mess on the floor, her chest heaving. She pointed a trembling finger at the box, her voice still laced with venom. “Julian. You’ve really outdone yourself.” “Forging official documents! Again! The forged critical condition notice wasn’t enough, now you’re faking cremation certificates?!” She whirled on her assistant. “Alex, call the police! Right now! I want Julian Croft dragged out of that prison! I’m suing him for public disturbance! I’ll make sure they add years to his sentence!” I floated beside the velvet bag, looking at what was left of me. All I felt was a profound, hollow sorrow. Nina. It’s real. That’s me. Why… why won’t you believe it?