They Prayed Only After I Died Novel by Kira Pearson _ Novel



They Prayed Only After I Died Novel by Kira Pearson _ Novel

They Prayed Only After I Died Chapter 01

As the knife cut into me again and again, I managed to call my brother, Detective Brandon Naylor.
By the time he finally answered, my consciousness was already slipping away. His voice was sharp with irritation.
"What is it now?"
"Bran, help—"
I didn't even get to finish before he cut me off.
"Why is it always something with you? Cynthia's birthday party is at the end of the month. If you don't show up, I swear I'll kill you."
He hung up without hesitation.
The pain swallowed me whole. My eyes closed forever, tears still trailing down the corners.
Bran, you don't need to kill me. I'm already dead.
***
After my death, my soul did not dissipate as it should have. Instead, it lingered, strangely intact.
I watched as pieces of my body were found one after another—in dumpsters, in the river—plunging the entire city into panic.
The case caused such an uproar that the higher-ups assigned Brandon to conduct a full investigation.
Even in death, I felt a stab of guilt. I had caused him trouble yet again. The thought sent a chill through me.
Brandon frowned deeply as he stared at the reconstructed remains.
"What do we have? Anything on the victim? Time of death?" he asked urgently.
Austin Fletcher, who was assisting with forensic support, rubbed his tired brow. "Preliminary assessment suggests the victim was female, around 20 to 22 years old. Dead for at least 48 hours.
"The body is severely damaged. We can't extract much useful information at this stage. DNA results will take at least two days."
He paused, then continued gravely, "What she suffered was unimaginable. To prevent resistance, the killer brutally severed her limbs while she was still alive."
The room fell into stunned silence. Such brutality was almost impossible to believe.
"Whoever did this is a monster," one muttered.
"Poor girl, she must've suffered," another whispered, voice thick with sympathy.
Brandon banged the table, jaw clenched hard. "I will find this killer. No matter what, I will bring them to justice!"
Joe Whitman put a hand on his shoulder. "You've been running yourself ragged. With this case, I doubt you'll make it to Rosa's 18th birthday."
Joe wasn't just his mentor. He'd been our father's childhood friend.
After our parents died, he looked after us, teaching Brandon step by step how to investigate cases and hunt down criminals.
At the mention of my name, Brandon frowned instinctively. "Don't bring her up in front of me. She only brings trouble.
"Why would I attend her ceremony? I'm busy preparing for Cynthia's graduation."
Those words sliced straight through me.
After our parents died, he hated me, convinced that I was responsible for their deaths.
He even disowned me and drove me out of the house.
Later, during one of his investigations, he rescued a girl named Cynthia Lawson. When he learned she was an orphan, he brought her home and made her his sister.
Just like that, I became the one left behind.
Before I died, Brandon was still angry with me.
Angry that I had delayed his sister's graduation. Angry that my existence might cast doubt on her.
If he knew the person lying on that table was me, he would probably walk away without a second thought.
After all, no one wanted me dead more than he did.
Bran, now that I'm finally dead, you should be happy.

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