---- Inside, my cold voice began to play slowly: [I hate you, Chandler. In this life and the next, we will never meet again.] Chandler's phone slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a loud crash. He closed his eyes in despair, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Mariah..." he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault." I thought he would never listen to that recording again but who would have guessed that for many years after, he would continuously replay it? Again and again, it became a form of self-torture that he endured for years until one day, he finally chose to hang himself from the old locust tree in his garden. By then, none of it mattered to me. When the murderer was caught, I had already ---- moved on to my next life with no care for the living or the dead.