Stay (31 page)

He turned to me, eyes locking for a few seconds. Then he pulled me close and gave me another lingering kiss before he hurried to the stairs, skidding to a stop. He turned around and sprinted over. He threw his arms around me and pulled me in for one more kiss before he disappeared upstairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

PHOEBE CAME BACK downstairs several hours after the sun set. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she squinted in the dim light. She slowly walked to the shower and turned on the water.

“Where Jackson go?” she asked and took off her clothes. “I see him leave with suitcase.”

My heart sank. A suitcase? Was it for him? I hoped not. Maybe he was carrying it for someone else. I didn’t want to even think about not seeing him for a long time. The hour-long gaps between our visits were hard enough. “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “And I don’t think he knew since he didn’t say anything.”

She took a breath and stepped into the shower. “Girls have hotel party. Maybe he take them.”

“Hopefully that’s all it is.”

“Is everyone gone?” I asked, feeling a spark of hope.

“Don’t know. Nate here maybe.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Zane has new friend,” she called, her teeth chattering from the freezing water. “Tall guy. Dark skin. Handsome and strong like Zane. And mean like Zane.”

“Great,” I mumbled. “Is he going to stay in the house?”

“Think so. I see him before today too.”

I bit my lip. My stomach churned, not liking the thought of Jackson being alone upstairs with Zane, Nate, and the new guy. “Have you ever heard of
Gone with the Wind
?”

“Clark Gable?” she called and shut off the shower. The faucet squeaked and water continued to drip.

“Yes! You’ve seen it?”

“I have,” she said and wrapped a towel around herself. “Illegally on internet.” She gave me a small smile and tiptoed across the dirty floor. She stopped at the dresser and quickly pulled out an oversized t-shirt. She put it on, letting the towel drop.

“It’s based off of a book,” I told her.

“I not know that,” she said and leaned over to grab the towel. She wobbled and had to grab the dresser for support. I put my hand on the thin mattress, ready to spring up and help her. She straightened up and blinked several times before giving her head a shake as if she was trying to clear her vision. “You read it?”

I pulled the book out from under my pillow. “I’ve only gotten through the first couple chapters.”

“Oh!” she said, her dark eyes opening in surprise. “Where you get that?”

“Jackson,” I told her. “He brought it down. Do you want me to read it out loud?”

“Story time?” she said with a grin.

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “What else are we going to do?”

“I like that.” She flipped her head upside down and rubbed her hair with the towel. “You talk in different voices for characters.”

“Hah, I’ll try.” I repositioned my pillow and opened the book, flipping to the first page of chapter one. Phoebe tossed her towel near the shower and sat on her cot, combing her hair with her fingers.

“I expect accents!” she teased.

“You won’t want me to keep reading if I do that. My friend Lynn and I used to talk in British accents and pretend to be here on vacation. It was fun, until we ran into someone we knew.”

Phoebe smiled, pulling her face up and hiding some of her sickness. “Sometime I pretend to be American,” she laughed.
 

“I have to hear that accent” I said and put the book down, using my finger as a bookmark. She turned to me. Suddenly, her smile disappeared. “Pheebs?” I asked.

Her body began to shake. I jumped up. The book clattered to the floor, falling face down and bending the pages. I ran over to her.
 

“Phoebe!” I screamed. The convulsions increased, and she fell forward. I heard her face smack against the cement before I had the chance to catch her. “Phoebe!” I dropped to my knees. Phoebe’s body trembled violently.
 

“Phoebe!” I screamed again, though saying her name had no effect. I reached out to hold her, but stopped. I had no idea what to do. I was so scared. I shakily inhaled, tears blurring my vision. “Help me!” I screamed as loudly as I could. “Somebody help!”
 

Phoebe’s head smacked against the floor as the seizure intensified. I flipped her over and put my hands on her shoulders, trying to keep her still. Her eyes were wide open, and a look of sheer terror was plastered on her face. Blood oozed from her nose, and I wasn’t sure if it was caused by her falling face first onto the hard ground or if something had ruptured internally. I began to hysterically sob, crying her name over and over. I reached over her convulsing body and yanked the pillow off her cot.

I wanted to run away and hide. Seeing Phoebe like this shook me to my very core. “Help, please!” I screamed again as I tried to get the pillow under Phoebe’s head. Her body was stiff and I couldn’t get her neck to bend up. Then blood-tinged saliva dripped from her mouth, and she made a gurgling sound.

I screamed when I realized she was choking. Tears fell, dripping onto Phoebe’s body as I frantically turned her on her side. Her arm got stuck underneath her body, making it hard to turn her. I leaned forward, using my body to keep her from rolling onto her back.

The convulsions slowed and became less violent. I sat up, keeping my hands on her shoulder and hip. My lip trembled, and I subconsciously held my breath. Slowly, I let her body rock back. Her eyes were open, the whites tinged with blood.

“Phoebe?” I called. The only response I got was a blank stare. “Phoebe!” I repeated. “Phoebe!” I shook her. “No, no, no,” I cried. I let go and put my hands over my face, sobbing. I pulled at my hair and screamed for help again. The floor creaked. I held by breath, waiting.
 

But no one came.

“Phoebe,” I cried, barely able to get the word out. I pressed my fingers against her neck. There wasn’t a pulse. “No,” I whispered.
 

Terror paralyzed me. My ears rang and I felt dizzy. With my vision starting to black out, I pushed myself up onto my knees and placed my hands on Phoebe’s chest. I was shaking so bad it was difficult to establish a good rhythm of compressions, and I lost count after twenty.

I moved to her face, tipping her head back. I pinched her nose shut and blew all of my air into her mouth and them moved back to her chest. Something cracked when I pressed down. I screamed and recoiled, falling backwards and away from Phoebe.
 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cried and scrambled up. “Phoebe, please! Please wake up!” I closed my eyes and started compressions again. I counted out thirty and moved to give her air. Then I put my fingers over her carotid artery.

Nothing.

I pressed harder, convincing myself that I would find a weak, thready pulse. Her head flopped to the side. There was no heartbeat. She was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I COLLAPSED, WRAPPING my arms around Phoebe, and cried. I wasn’t sure how long I lay on the floor next to her, but the next time I sat up, her skin was cold and stiff. My hands trembled as I wiped my face, wet with tears and snot. I looked at Phoebe. Her eyes were half closed and her jaw had relaxed, opening her mouth just a bit. She was lying in a puddle of urine and had blood on her face. I didn’t want to leave her like that.
 

I took a few shallow breaths and pushed myself up. My throat hurt, and I was thirsty from crying uncontrollably, though I had no desire to fill up a cup and get a drink. I picked up the towel Phoebe had recently used. It was still damp.
 

I didn’t cry as I cleaned her. I was too shocked, too numb for any more emotions to register. I threw the towel in the shower and turned the water on to wash away the smell of urine. I went back to Phoebe. Her cheeks were already sunken, and her beautiful, olive skin had a grayish tint. I ran my hand over her wet hair, smoothing it into place.

“You’re free,” I whispered. “Finally free.”
 

The wall broke and I started crying again. I covered Phoebe’s body with the blanket from her cot, leaving her face exposed. I stared at her for a few seconds. Her eyes were so lifeless, so haunting. I pulled the blanket over her head. I got up, standing over her. I was trembling, but not from the cold. I pressed the back of my hands against my cheeks, surprised to feel how hot they were. Shakily, I walked back to my cot. I pulled the hood of Jackson’s black hoodie over my head and lay down, curling into a ball.
 

I felt like I was getting sucked backwards into a dark hole filled with cold, muddy water. I gasped for air, breathing in tears, and clutched at my chest. I turned my face into my pillow and cried. Being trapped in the basement with a body—even though she was my friend—scared me. My fingers curled around the blue fleece blanket, nails digging into the fabric.
 

My eyelids were puffy from crying by the time my legs were stiff and sore from being bent in the fetal position. I stretched out and looked at the window. It was still night. I took in a deep breath and pulled the blue blanket over myself. I closed my eyes, wanting dark sleep to take over and block out the pain.

I slipped in and out of consciousness until the sun rose. Luckily, I hadn’t gotten to the point of a deep sleep, the kind with the most vivid dreams. That also meant that I had held onto my anger and sadness. The salient fact that there was a body on the floor haunted me.

I woke up having to pee, but I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to see the lifeless body hidden under a faded quilt on the dirty, cold floor. I waited until it was necessary to get up and rush to the toilet. I kept my eyes on my feet, not risking looking up, and dashed back to the cot once I was done.

My stomach grumbled, and my mouth was so dry. Just then I realized that by sitting there, paralyzed by grief, I was letting myself die too. I got up, took in a breath, and went to the card table. I couldn’t bring myself to turn around. I still couldn’t handle seeing her. I sorted through the wrappers. The only food that was left was Phoebe’s half eaten Pop-tart. I picked it up, breaking off the part she had eaten, saving the untouched part for myself. I quickly ate it and then went to the shower to fill up an unwashed plastic cup with water.
 

I picked up
Gone with the Wind
and sat on the edge of my cot. I flicked my eyes to Phoebe’s empty bed and cleared my throat. My voice trembled as I choked back a sob. “Chapter one.” I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “Scarlet O’Hara was not beautiful,” I read. “But men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were.” I didn’t know what else to do. I just kept reading.
 

“Addie?” Jackson’s voice came from the top of the stairs, causing me to jump. He hurried down the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the basement. I put the book down and stood, suddenly feeling weak. My bottom lip trembled. “What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw my face.

I couldn’t say the words. I just pointed to Phoebe’s cot. Jackson rushed over, his face going white when he saw her. He dropped to the floor and checked her, making sure she was really dead. He stood, taking a few steps back. His head slowly moved to the side. Once his eyes met mine, he snapped himself back to reality.

“Fuck, Addie.” He ran over to me. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. He pulled me in a protective embrace. His arms were shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I tried,” I told him, my voice strained and high-pitched as I tried not to cry. “I tried but it didn’t work. I couldn’t get it to stop and then I broke something.”

Jackson pulled my hair behind my shoulder and rubbed his fingers up and down my back. “What are you talking about?”

“She fell,” I said as warm tears streamed down my face. “And had a seizure. Then she stopped breathing and I couldn’t find her pulse.”
 

“Shhh,” Jackson soothed when I started crying again.
 

I remembered the sound of her sternum cracking and the way it felt crunching under my hands. My knees felt weak, and my legs began to buckle. Jackson scooped me up and sat on the cot, keeping me in his lap. I hooked my arms around his neck and took a deep breath. He smelled clean, like laundry detergent and soap. For some reason, the scent was calming. I buried my face against his skin and closed my eyes.
 

“I won’t let this happen,” he whispered. “Not anymore. I can’t ... we can’t. I hate seeing you get hurt.” He shook his head. “Let’s run.”

His words sent a shock through my numb body. “Really?” I asked and lifted my head off his neck.

“Yes, really.” He pulled me to him, our lips meeting for a fleeting kiss. I tangled my fingers in his hair and never wanted to let him go. I loved Jackson, needed him. I didn’t want him to go upstairs and be left alone down here. I didn’t want Nate and Zane to hurt him. I wanted us to be together without fearing for our lives. Shoes echoed on the old wooden planks as someone walked down the stairs. Jackson stood so fast I almost fell to the floor.
 

“What the fuck are you doing down here?” Zane asked Jackson. His tone was angry, but excitement gleamed in his eyes. He wanted to catch Jackson doing something he wasn’t supposed to. It gave Zane a reason to hurt him.

“Phoebe,” Jackson stated and waved his hand in her direction. “She’s dead.”

“Shit,” Zane swore and looked annoyed. “No wonder it smells like ass.”

I bit my bottom lip and stared at the ground. Jackson crossed his arms. “I’ll take the body,” he said.

“How dead is she?” Zane asked and walked around the cot. He covered his nose with his arm and nudged Phoebe’s body with the toe of his shoe. “She was supposed to work.” He tipped his head and knelt down. “Maybe
 
… ” he shook his head. “No, not fresh enough.”

I thought I was going to puke. My head turned up, and I stared at Zane in horror. He stood and caught my gaze. He eyed me up and down and frowned in disgust. He swiftly walked over, extending his arm. Jackson ran over, putting himself in front of me.