The Perfect Show (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Thirty-Three)

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Tabitha Reynolds didn’t want to get out of the shower.

Even though the space heater was on and waiting for her once she opened the door and stepped onto the bathmat, it was warmer inside the cozy confines of the shower. It was late December and Tabitha’s Venice, California loft was notoriously drafty. Just the thought of leaving the bathroom and returning to the open living space made her shiver. Plus, for reasons she couldn’t understand, her muscles felt strangely achy, and she wanted to give them a little more time to unclench.

She knew that she shouldn’t complain. After all, things were mostly going her way. Ever since the divorce two years ago, her professional life had improved dramatically. She decided to turn her love of fashion into a career and started her own blog before adding YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok channels. In less than eighteen months, she’d gained over two million followers across her various platforms. That was how she’d been able to move out of her crappy Mar Vista apartment into this spacious, if admittedly chilly, loft apartment.

Her personal life, however, had gotten a little messier. Just thinking about it made her chest tighten slightly, forcing her to inhale deeply to get in the necessary air. For a while, she wasn’t even interested in dating again. And after she struck gold with her fashion commentary, she didn’t feel like she could trust that any of the guys she met were sincere in their interest.

Things with her nine-year-old daughter, Samantha, were also a little iffy of late. The girl had developed a bit of an attitude in recent months, and Tabitha couldn”t help but wonder if it was because of the reduction in available mother-daughter time due to work. Unlike when she was a stay-at-home mom, this fashion thing was sometimes all-consuming, and Sammy often paid the price. Tabitha’s eyes were suddenly a little blurry as she tried to blink back the tears that had emerged out of nowhere.

She would have felt guilty about allowing this week’s activities if it hadn’t been on the books for weeks. According to the custody schedule, Sammy’s father was supposed to have her next week, after Christmas and through New Year’s Day. But he’d specifically requested that they change it so he could take her camping and spend Christmas Day in Yosemite. Tabitha had conceded, even though she knew that Sammy wasn’t super enthused to spend her Christmas in a tent surrounded by snow and that she would hold on to her resentment for weeks after she returned.

Since it was out of her hands, Tabitha tried to let it go. She also tried to remember that she was entitled to some downtime. That”s why this evening, her friend Marnie would be coming over for a girls” night, comprised of good white wine and a double bill of crappy romantic comedies. She looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was 4:36 p.m. Marnie would be here in just under an hour.

What ultimately made her turn off the water wasn”t any pressure to get ready in time or a sense of guilt at taking a twelve-minute shower. It was the odd feeling she was experiencing. It occurred to her that all of the strange sensations she”d been experiencing over the last few minutes hadn”t gone away. In fact, they seemed to be getting worse.

Her slightly blurry had escalated to full-on fuzzy. Those achy muscles were now both stiff and weak. The tension in her chest had gotten significantly more pronounced. She found it increasingly difficult to breathe, as if her upper torso muscles were refusing her instructions to breathe in and out normally.

Even wrapping the towel around her body and stepping out of the shower was a challenge, as her arms and legs weren”t responding properly. She moved over to the bathroom counter and rested her palms on it for support. She wasn”t sure what was going on. She”d felt fine when she entered the bathroom, but over the course of the last fifteen minutes, it was like her body had started to shut down.

She blinked several times, trying to focus. That’s when she noticed something on the counter that she’d missed before. It was a canister—what looked like an aerosol spray can, hidden behind several other cans at the very back of the counter. But it didn’t have any brand markings on it. It was just a silver, metal can. She didn’t remember buying anything like that or getting it as a gift.

Her thoughts turned away from the can as she realized that it was no longer just difficult to breathe, it was borderline impossible. She reached over to grab her cell phone, which was resting on the counter by the sink. She wasn’t sure if this was a heart attack or what, but she felt the urgent need to call 911.

But as she extended her hand for the phone, she discovered that all her limbs now seemed to be nearly paralyzed. She couldn’t maintain her balance. Her fingers brushed against the phone, knocking it to the floor, Then, without warning, her entire body careened to the left and landed with a thud. It wasn’t as painful as she would have expected, mostly because everything felt increasingly numb.

As she attempted to reach out for her phone, she tried to inhale deeply but found that she could barely suck in any air at all. Fear began to grip her as she realized she might not have the ability to call for help and that if this didn’t get better fast, she wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.

She focused all her attention on two things: reaching her phone and getting air into her lungs. She watched her fingers grip the bathmat, trying to pull her hand closer to the phone, which was only six inches away. She ordered her lips to suck in another gulp of air to give her strength to tap the phone.

But to her horror, she realized that even they were no longer responding. She could not get any air into her body. And then, without her even understanding that it was happening, her heart stopped.

Her fingers settled on top of the phone as her world went dark forever.