NOVEL NEXT Chapter 12: Anger Management by the Cubic Meter
I sat on the bench outside the courtroom, elbows digging into my knees, head buried in my hands, waiting for our time slot. Thankfully, my in-laws hadn't arrived yet. A shuffling noise to my right made me turn my head without lifting it, and there they were. I drew a fortifying breath, bracing for what I knew was coming. My father-in-law's eyes locked onto mine, his jaw tight, face flushing red as he stared at me like he wanted to kill me. I didn't even have the emotional strength to roll my eyes.
He marched toward me, his whole posture coiled for a fight. When Sophie was alive, they didn't like me, and they never tried to hide it, but at least they kept up a thin layer of politeness when she was sick. They politely pretended I didn't exist. Since her death, it had gotten worse. And honestly, I was grateful for that. They had given her hell in her last days, but at least they didn't make it worse for her by coming at me every chance they got.
"You gold-digging bastard!" he spat, jabbing a finger at me. "You robbed us! Stole what was rightfully ours. Sophie's money, our money!" His voice rang out in the hallway. "And you killed her!"
A murmur rippled through the people waiting nearby. I stayed seated, jaw clenched, refusing to look away. Nothing I said would ever change his mind. It never had before.
His lip curled in disgust. "White trash," he sneered, shaking his head. "An orphan nobody wanted then, and nobody wants now."
My mother-in-law also shot daggers at me, scrunching her nose like she smelled something foul.
I rubbed my face, closed my eyes, and ignored them until it was our turn. I could feel their eyes on me and the wave of hate coming off them, but at this point, I just didn't give a shit anymore. With Sophie gone, I had no reason to pretend to tolerate them or act polite. As far as I was concerned, they could both go jump off a cliff—preferably a high one with jagged rocks at the bottom.
Their lawyer argued that the trust fund, a key part of my mother-in-law's family legacy, should remain within the family and be transferred to her. He also insisted that my wife's jewelry, which included heirlooms passed down for generations, rightfully belonged to them.
My lawyer pushed back with Sophie's will and, to my surprise, a letter she had written after one of their visits. I hadn't even known it existed.
"Can I see it, please?" I said, my voice tight.
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To Whom It May Concern, I write this with a heavy heart, but there are matters that must be clearly and formally stated. I wish to eliminate any ambiguity regarding my intentions. From the moment I received my cancer diagnosis, my parents repeatedly pressured me concerning the disposition of my life insurance policy, trust fund, and personal jewelry. They urged me to transfer ownership of these assets to them. I refused, and I continued to refuse, regardless of how insistent they became. Based on their past behavior and temperament, I have no doubt they will attempt to contest my will. It is for this reason I am writing this letter. Let me be clear. My decisions are not an act of defiance. They were not the result of coercion or manipulation by my husband. I was not subjected to undue influence, nor would I have regretted any of these choices had I survived. My will was drafted well before my diagnosis, and despite considerable pressure, I never intended to amend it. My decisions are based on my lived experience, my judgment, and the values I hold. I affirm them without reservation. Throughout my life, my parents were not sources of emotional support or affection. Instead, they maintained a transactional view of my existence. My accomplishments were treated as evidence of their superiority. "Of course she excels; that is due to my genes and my investment." Or, "Naturally she draws well; that is my talent passed on, though she will never reach my level." In contrast, every error or shortcoming was treated as entirely my own. A personal flaw. A failure they regretted allowing into their lives. They exercised control over every facet of my development, not in the interest of my well-being, but to advance their own social and financial aims. My friendships were vetted based on perceived benefit. I was discouraged from associating with children whose parents lacked professional or social utility. At the same time, I was expected to cultivate relationships with families that held influence. A father who owned a medical equipment company. A mother who chaired a philanthropic board. I was not regarded as a daughter, but rather as an instrument of ambition. When I was diagnosed with cancer, I informed them. I admit, in retrospect, that doing so may have been driven by a lingering hope for empathy. None was offered. My father's initial response was, "Who is the beneficiary of your life insurance?" My mother's was, "Make sure you pass on your grandmother's jewelry to me before you die." Later, when I chose to discontinue chemotherapy, my father responded, "Good. The treatment is a waste of money." During the months of my illness, they visited me frequently. Their purpose was not to inquire about my condition or provide comfort, but to insist that I amend my will. They asked me to designate my father as the beneficiary of my life insurance, to give the jewelry to my mother, and to reassign the trust fund to their control. When I declined, as I always had, they told me once again that I was a mistake and the greatest disappointment of their lives. I do not write this to solicit pity. I write it to ensure clarity. Under no circumstances do I wish for my parents to inherit anything from me. I know them well enough to be certain they will seek to challenge my will. I therefore state, without hesitation or uncertainty, that they are to receive nothing. Their lives have always revolved around the accumulation of wealth, and that is the one thing they will not obtain from me. I leave everything I possess to my husband, John Rue. From the moment we met, he brought light, laughter, and genuine warmth into my life. He gave me a sense of home and belonging that I had never known. My only regret is that I cannot offer him more in return for the immeasurable love and care he has given me. Thank you for honoring my final wishes. With sincere appreciation, Dr. Sophia Annalina Rue |
Her handwriting was so weak and shaky, written in her last days. My chest tightened while reading it, and I had trouble drawing in breath. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since her death, and my recent experiences jolted me out of my grief. I thought I was getting better. I was wrong. This letter unleashed a flood of pain I thought I had overcome, drowning me all over again. The room closed in on me. The walls pressed inward. I sat there, numb, my hands shaking as I gripped the letter. Swallowing did nothing. The lump in my throat only grew, a boulder lodged in my windpipe.
The judge's voice warped, distant, like it was coming from the bottom of a well, and I couldn't understand what he was saying and didn't care. For a moment, the courtroom faded, replaced by the hospital room. Her frail hand in mine. The light in her eyes dimming with every passing second until it went out. An invisible fist constricted around my heart, and I rubbed my chest. The place had healed, but I suspected it might grow sore again. My mind was a whirlwind of memories, each one a dagger stabbing me again and again. I saw her face, her stubborn expression, and heard her voice pleading with me to keep my promise to live and love again. Her weak, shaky handwriting danced before my eyes. Despite the harsh truths she wrote, it was a reminder of the love she had for me. My body betrayed me, and I slumped forward. My shoulders hunched, and my hands shook uncontrollably. I bit my tongue, trying to stop the sobs that threatened to break free, as the judge's words echoed in the room. He struck the gavel, and the booming sound made me jump and look up, but he was blurred through the tears I managed to keep from spilling.
"The court rules in favor of the defendant," the judge declared. He kept talking for a few more minutes, but it all sounded like buzzing in my ears. I didn't catch the words.
My lawyer exhaled sharply. "It's over," he said, leaning toward me. "They don't have a case. The judge even advised against an appeal."
I nodded, but the words didn't really sink in.
Across the courtroom, my father-in-law's face twisted into an ugly expression. My mother-in-law looked like she had eaten a lemon. They lost. I thought it would make me happy, a small piece of revenge, but it didn't. I just felt sad and broken, thinking about everything they put Sophie through.
After the hearing, I drove to the cemetery, barely registering the trip. It was a miracle I didn't get into an accident. My feet carried me to her grave on muscle memory. I dropped to the grass beside her and leaned my forehead against the headstone. The air smelled of damp soil and wilted flowers, a scent that had become permanently engraved in my mind as cemetery smell from all my visits. This time, the familiarity was comforting, like returning to something known. I didn't speak. Just sat there and spent time with her, my head resting against the stone. I never thought much about life after death, but if it exists, I hoped she was somewhere beautiful, full of warmth and light and laughter, surrounded by all the love she deserved.
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The next day, I got angry. No, I didn't just get angry. I got pissed. How could they? How could they see her as nothing more than a possession when she was young, and a payday when she was dying? The sheer heartlessness made my blood boil. Sophie was amazing. She was full of life and optimism. She loved people and truly listened to them, not just waited for her turn to speak. It always amazed me how she remembered every patient's name and every parent's face. She cried for the sick and celebrated every child who recovered. Her sense of humor was sharp and wicked in the best way. And she fought until the very end. Yet these monsters, these so-called parents, had the gall to see her as nothing more than an asset. A tool for their own gain.
My fists clenched, knuckles white, veins bulging. My teeth ground together, jaw aching from the pressure. Violent images flashed through my mind. I wanted to tear them apart, squeeze their heads until they popped, and watch their smug, greedy faces twist in fear and pain. I wanted to burn their house to the ground, let the flames consume every last thing they cared about. It wouldn't bring her back. It wouldn't undo what they did. But God, I wanted to hurt them so badly.
I was so angry I couldn't sit still and kept pacing back and forth between the four walls like a caged animal. I wanted to kick the walls, smash something, and just rage. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my reaction was excessive, but I couldn't stop it. It exploded out of me and demanded release. It took me a full day to cool down and get my head straight. The rage settled into cold, hard fury, and I vowed to punish them. Maybe in the past I would have let it go, but reading her letter made me realize I couldn't. It wouldn't be right. She deserved peace in the afterlife, but revenge in this one. Some things are unforgivable.
When I felt back in control and able to function in polite society, I went back to preparing for my trip. Now I was more determined than ever to travel through the Gate. I had nothing left here and was in desperate need of a change. Good or bad, it didn't matter. As long as it was different, I would take it. I put my house on the market and met with the trust fund lawyer. Instead of monthly installments, I found out I could receive the full amount at once. Without a second thought, I signed the papers right then and there.
Letting go of our shared belongings was a heart-wrenching process. I kept my clothes, personal items, photos, and souvenirs from our life together. I donated the rest in her memory. She always loved helping people. Each time I felt myself wavering, tempted to hold on to something, I repeated aloud the promise I made to her: to live in the present and be happy. Saying the last part of the promise, to love again, was more than I could manage at that point.
While I waited for my house to sell, I flew all over the U.S., Canada, and South America to visit the Gates and raise the class level. I had a big surprise in Georgia. The Gate was on an army base.
Yeah, not going there.
Illinois. Another army base. Both Gates in Texas? Same story.
Frowning, I tapped my pen against the notebook. Georgia, Illinois, Texas... all military-controlled. One might be a coincidence. Two could be bad luck. But four? That was no accident. My heart raced, and a light sheen of sweat covered my body. The U.S. knew about the Gates. And if they ever found out about me, I wouldn't be a Traveler, but a lab rat.
I went through the rest of the U.S. locations. Eight were on army bases, two were in Native American reserves, and only one—way up in Alaska—was accessible.
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Travelers Gate #468217241 Destination: Lumis Status: Integrated Mana level: 32 Threat level: Moderate |
A magical world. Except for the higher threat level, it sounded good, but I wanted Shimoor. I wanted boooriiing.
Both Gates in Canada were accessible, but the first one was only accessible by a floatplane. It also led to Lumis, and the number was consecutive.
Curious.
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Level up +1 to all Traits, +5 free points, +1 ability point Class: Gate Traveler Level 2 Free points: 5 Ability points: 1 Gates to next level (0/5) |
Yes!
I added the free points to Constitution. It was my lowest stat, and I wanted to be sturdier.
The next Gate in Canada also led to Lumis. It was starting to look like a pattern. Two Gates in Germany led to the same world, and now three Gates, relatively close to each other, led to another. I wondered if the pattern would continue.
I flew to South America. Three of the ten Gates marked on the map were inaccessible. One in an area controlled by a drug cartel that the hotel clerk and two taxi drivers warned me was too dangerous, one in a large industrial park with people around at all hours, and one on private property. Another Gate was broken. A boulder and a heap of gravel blocked the way. When I approached, I got a strong sense of danger. It felt like a repelling force. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I tried to cross, I would be torn to shreds.
The other six were accessible and led to two different places. Both looked technological, with no mana levels, and technology rated Medium and Medium-low. But the other side of the Gate felt wrong. The moment I crossed, I had a sensation like something was being pulled out of me. It wasn't painful exactly, just deeply unpleasant, and it felt wrong, wrong, wrong. That was enough to make me jump back to Earth immediately.
After four Gates:
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Level up +1 to all Traits, +5 free points, +1 ability point Class: Gate Traveler Level 3 Free points: 5 Ability points: 2 Gates to next level (0/8) |
To handle shocks better, I dumped my free points into Strength. I was sick of hyperventilating every time something caught me off guard.
The effect was immediate. I grabbed a door handle, twisted like normal, and it snapped clean off in my hand. I stared at the broken piece, dumbfounded. I'd felt a difference when I first boosted my Perception, but not much since. Maybe the Intelligence, Wisdom, and Vitality traits that the Healer class raises are less noticeable? I had no idea, and the Archive didn't yield any answers on the subject. Truth be told, I didn't search for long. I ended up getting sidetracked to gathere more information about traveling. For the next few days, I treated everything like it was made of glass, careful not to crush it, until I finally adjusted. Thank God I didn't break anything else.
Someone made an offer on my house, but it was below market value. I stared at the number for a while, fingers hovering over the email. A year ago, I would've fought for more and argued over every dollar. Now? I didn't care. The only thing I could think about was getting off this cursed planet and going somewhere else.
I picked up the phone. "Accept it," I told the realtor.
After some thought and searching my feelings, I decided not to travel to the far-off Gates and instead chose to limit my visits to those in Europe. I wanted to get all the money, buy everything else I might need, farm some more skill points, and leave. Still feeling down after the court hearing, I was tired of this place and wanted to leave it behind as soon as possible.
In an online search, I found a few more upcoming one-day workshops and made a list:
Terrarium Workshop
Pottery Wheel Throwing
Ikebana Class
Craft Cocktail Making
Bonsai Tree Treatment
DIY Perfumeme
Homemade Cosmetics Basics
French Croissant Baking Class
Yoga Class
Salsa: Beginners Class
Graffiti Lesson
For some reason, the yoga class wasn't recognized by the system. I wondered if I should attend a few more classes to get the point, but decided against it. The rest yielded ten ability points. I spent one on Guitar Playing and saved the rest.
While considering what else to bring, I checked more World Information and Archive entries. None matched the humor of the first, but reading outsider perspectives about the world I knew was still entertaining. One Traveler raved about boxer briefs and bought fifty to take with him. It made me laugh, and I bought a hundred, just in case. I also picked up extra clothing, footwear, and some armored leather biker gear for protection. In pawn shops within a hundred-mile radius, I bought a lot more jewelry.
I searched for a mechanical solution to bring music with me, but unfortunately couldn't find one. There were mechanical turntables that could play vinyl records, but the ones that still worked were popular with collectors, and unfortunately, none were available for sale. Instead, I went to music stores and bought every available sheet music songbook for the guitar. I also visited bookstores to load up on reading material and knowledge books on every subject: math, engineering, medicine, chemistry, and more. Eventually, I would build my new home somewhere and might need this knowledge.
Finally, my house sold. I paid off the mortgage and collected the rest of the money. The cars went next, and with that, I started my final shopping spree. Storing food as-is in my Storage didn't sit right with me. After testing it with a cup of coffee and finding it still piping hot after two months, I knew things would stay fresh indefinitely. But somehow, it still felt wrong. As a solution, I bought fifty commercial chest coolers, filled them with ice, and started visiting stores. First, fifteen different butchers—cleaned them out. Then fish shops—same. Fresh eggs came next. I might have created a shortage. I cleaned out the delis, then moved on to fruits and vegetables. That's when the thought struck me—I had no idea what would be available in fantasy land, and I wasn't about to spend the rest of my life without tomatoes, coffee, or chocolate. I stopped by every nursery in the area and grabbed every seed variety they had. Who knew what I might miss?
Then came the absolute essentials: coffee and tea, and obviously more coffee. Two hundred pounds later, I figured I was set. Maybe it was excessive, but I had no intention of finding myself coffeeless. I also stocked up on dairy products, spices, salt, rice, pasta, candies, cooking and lamp oil, sugar, baked goods, and lots of bread. Alcohol came next. I bought whiskey, bourbon, and wine barrels since they looked less suspicious, and cleared out three liquor stores of beer and spirits. I wasn't much of a drinker, but I knew the value of a good social lubricant. Alcohol was a great icebreaker and bribe.
Water was next. Sure, I had the Purify spell, but I preferred the convenience of bottled water. Just in case, I also bought ten of the largest rainwater tanks I could find, each with a tap, and filled them to the brim. Naturally, I stocked up on toilet paper (I don't like leaves), personal grooming supplies, and detergent. Sure, I had the Clean spell, but better safe than sorry.
My Storage looked full. Maybe the stuff inside didn't reach the ceiling yet, but it was close. I hadn't believed I could fill 512 cubic meters of space, but I managed, big time. I spent another ability point to house the rest of my money—no point in leaving it behind. Now, I had 1,728 cubic meters. I rubbed my hands together, Challenge accepted.
My plan was to drive between the Gates in Europe, making stops at supermarkets to stock up, and visiting pawn shops and gaming stores for jewelry and copper coins.
I was ready. Just one last thing to do …