Chapter 3
Finally, after suffering through to the evening of the sixth day, Megan handed me the final task card.
She made me look into the camera and admit:
“I’m not sick. I’m just lazy. Starting today, I won’t freeload off my parents anymore.”
I looked at the teleprompter text and couldn’t read it out no matter what.
It wasn’t because I was stubborn.
It was because I really had no strength left.
My tongue was getting stiffer and stiffer, and my words were becoming slurred.
After seven takes, Megan slammed the headphones onto the table.
“Fine. If she still refuses to admit it, put her in the reflection pod.”
The door to the reflection pod opened twenty-eight minutes after I died.
Not because they realized I was dead.
But because Megan thought the timing was right for the climax shot of the “lazy bum bowing her head.”
Cameras, boom mics, and fill lights all rushed to the door.
My dad stood in front, wearing a long-suppressed look of victory.
“Zoe, get out here! Kneel now and say you were wrong, and I’ll still accept you as my daughter.”
The moment the door opened, there was no crying inside.
No admission of fault either.
Only a thick, damp, unpleasant smell rushed out.
My body was lying on the floor, my head tilted to one side, saliva all over my chin and collar.
The tips of my right fingers were still stuck in the crack of the door, the nails lifted, blood already dried.
Dylan was the first to change expression.
He threw down the walkie-talkie and rushed over to feel my neck.
“Director Megan! Call an ambulance! She has no response!”
My dad frowned.
“Why call an ambulance? She must have heard me tell her to kneel, so she’s pretending to be dead instead.”
Dylan shouted so hard his voice cracked.
“She’s not breathing!”
My mom still didn’t believe it.
“No way. She was just banging on the door. She’s just tired. She’s always like this. She’ll be fine after lying down for a while.”
“Zoe, everyone’s watching. You still refuse to admit fault. Get up now and stop embarrassing yourself!”
My dad used the tip of his shoe to poke my calf.
“That’s enough. It’s just a show. Do you really have to act like this?”
But my body gave no response at all.
Dylan knelt on the ground and started CPR on me.
While pressing on my chest, he shouted:
“She’s got a mouthful of secretions. We need to clear her airway! Is there a first-aid kit? Is there a ventilator?”
The people from the production team looked at each other.
There wasn’t.
Their base had five high-definition cameras, three livestream setups, and dozens of lights.
But they couldn’t even find a proper first-aid kit.
Half an hour later, I was taken to the hospital.
Outside the emergency room, the red light was glaring.
My dad sat on a bench, both hands on his knees.
My mom was still cursing under her breath:
“She was just trying to scare us, to get revenge on us!”
Before she could finish, the emergency room door opened.
Dr. Grant came out and took off his mask.
“Who is Zoe’s family?”
My mom jumped to her feet.
“I’m her mother. Doctor, is she still pretending in there? I’m going in right now and dragging her up. She’s embarrassed us enough already. If she’s still pretending, then I’ll just pretend I never had a daughter!”
Dr. Grant was silent for a few seconds.
“The patient had already lost spontaneous breathing and heartbeat when she arrived. We did emergency treatment, but unfortunately, we couldn’t save her.”
“Zoe is dead.”