He Left Me To Die, So I’ll Ruin Him

Chapter 1

During a glacier field practicum in my sophomore year, I collapsed on the ice from acute mountain sickness.

My boyfriend, Ethan Hale, the expedition leader hired for the trip, didn't help me. Instead, he handed the only portable oxygen cylinder to his childhood friend, Madeline Mercer.

"Maddie has congenital heart disease. She can't handle high altitude. You don't have that problem. Get up and rejoin the group!"

Madeline clutched my water bottle. "Ethan, I just heard her telling someone on the satellite phone that she was going to fake a collapse today so she could get out of the five-mile glacier hike."

Disappointment flashed in Ethan's eyes. He yanked me upright and dragged me to an abandoned supply tent in the lee of a nearby slope.

"If you've got this much energy to spare, go count all the research gear inside and log every item. I've let you get away with too much. That's why you think you can treat a field practicum like a joke!"

Outside, a -22°F gale shrieked across the ice, flinging frozen grit against the tent. I collapsed and pounded desperately on the flap, tied shut from the outside.

"Ethan, I'm really not faking it... Please, help me..."

"Come out when the cold has knocked some sense into that empty head of yours!"

He walked off without looking back.

But he had forgotten the medical report I'd shown him the night before. It clearly diagnosed acute mountain sickness (AMS) with high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). He had treated it like a joke, convinced I had made it up to get out of the practicum.

The pulmonary edema worsened fast. With severe oxygen deprivation and hypothermia setting in, my breathing slowed, then stopped.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in midair, staring at the entrance of the tent.

Not far away, Ethan was draping a down jacket over Madeline's shoulders.

"Leave her in there for half the day. We'll see if she ever fakes another collapse."

"Mr. Hale, it's freezing out here. Could we at least pass this coat in to her?"

Ryan Carter, our class representative, approached Ethan nervously, carrying a heavy winter coat and a box of nitroglycerin tablets.

Ethan turned to him. "This is a glacier field practicum, not a game. Rules are rules. If she had the nerve to announce over the satellite phone that she was going to fake a collapse, she can deal with the consequences. If any of you feel that sorry for her, you're welcome to take her place in there."

Silence fell at once. Several students who had been about to speak up for me lowered their heads, barely daring to breathe.

Madeline hid behind Ethan and let out a startled cry. She pressed a hand to her chest, frowned, and began gasping for air.

"Ethan, don't get angry. You're scaring me..."

She leaned against his arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Soph is unbelievable. There's obviously nothing wrong with her, but she still had to make such a huge scene. She's probably curled up in a sleeping bag in there, sleeping like a baby. You all spoil her too much. She doesn't deserve anyone's sympathy."

Ethan glanced down at Madeline and patted her back reassuringly. "Relax. I know what I'm doing."

Then he looked toward the tent being battered by wind and snow. He found a thicker climbing rope and picked up two ice axes lying nearby. He positioned the two ice axes in an X across the outside of the tent flap, looped the rope around the doorpost and the axes, wrapped it around four times, and cinched it tight.

I floated above him in silence and watched him finish.

Inside, the temperature had already fallen close to -31°F. My body lay twisted on a sleeping pad in the corner. Severe oxygen deprivation and acute pulmonary edema had turned my lips and fingernails a frightening bluish purple.

Pink frothy fluid leaked from my mouth and nose, ran down my cheeks, and froze almost instantly into dark-red ice crystals. My down jacket was soaked through with cold sweat and blood, then frozen stiff around me like a shell. Even as a spirit, I could still feel the bone-deep cold that had settled into my body before I died.

I reached out with one translucent hand and tried to grab Ethan's wrist as he tied the rope.

'Ethan, I'm really dead.'

But my fingers passed straight through his arm.

After tying the rope, Ethan brushed the snow off his gloves and pulled out his phone. He opened w******p, and our chat was still open on the screen.

The last thing I had sent him was a photo of my medical report from the night before. In bold print, it read, "Acute mountain sickness (AMS) with high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). Immediate descent to a lower altitude advised."

Ethan stared at the photo for 2 seconds, then gave a contemptuous snort. He pressed and held the image, then deleted it without hesitation.

"What lousy luck," he muttered. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Then he turned to the entire class, his voice quiet but clear enough for everyone to hear. "No one goes near the supply tent before today's practicum ends. She needs enough time in there for the cold to knock some sense into her. We'll let her out when she's ready to admit she was wrong and lose the attitude."

He was certain I was only throwing a tantrum. He was certain a little punishment would be enough to make me back down and apologize the way I always had.

But dead people don't apologize, Ethan.