Chapter 8
8
She’s behind the kitchen island.
Her skin is blue and blotchy, sagging as if it doesn’t sit quite right on her bones. A crusty line of spit and gunk trails from between her purple, cracked lips and down her cheek, splotching the dark wood floor. Red streaks her swollen face and neck like she’d been clawing, trying to peel off her skin with her chipped turquoise nails. Her hair is a mop, strands of black slashing across her face. Bloodshot eyes, glassy and empty.
I’m frozen. I don’t feel anything. Not my heartbeat. Not the air. Time has stopped completely. I’m not sure if I’m even breathing. I want to look away, but I can’t.
A fly buzzes by. Lands at the tip of her nose.
I’m snapped out of my daze. I fold over, limp. Hot sickness rushes up my intestines, my stomach, my throat—acrid, searing, wet. I bolt for the bathroom, puke into the toilet, empty everything, until all I spit up is foamy water and stomach acid. I don’t even have the energy to flush. I fall backward, the bath mat soft against my head. Sweat slicks every crevice and limb. I tremble, hot and cold at the same time. Pins and needles prick my fingertips and toes. I can’t control my breath. The room is flashing, blurring. Vision clips in and out, darkness in my periphery. I’m on solid ground but the earth seems to shift like waves, tossing me back and forth. At some point, I press myself against the hard ceramic bathtub, curled like a fetus in a womb.
I pray for the door to crack open, for Chloe—somehow alive—to appear, a plate of juicy mango wedges resting on her hand. I wish she would slink next to me, brush the sweaty hair out of my face, hold me, feed me, reassure me that this was all a big joke. That everything is fine.
But when the door stays shut, reality sloshes into me.
Chloe is dead.
I take a few sour, shaky breaths, crawl up to sit, and gather my thoughts.
Police. Yes. This time, I must call the police. There’s no excuse anymore. I can’t be scared. Chloe needs it.
With slippery fingers, I grab my phone, turn it on. No batteries. Shit.
Chloe must have a charger somewhere. I crawl toward the vanity, search around. Nothing. Of course not. Who keeps a charger in the bathroom?
The bedroom is my best bet. But that means exiting back into the kitchen. Seeing… her.
My mind spins, images of Chloe’s dead body searing my retinas.
Okay. Stop thinking. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe!
When I’m stable enough, I grab the sink to help me stand. My hands are so sweaty I can’t find purchase. Slowly, I use the wall, leaving damp fingerprints on the brocade wallpaper. I splash cold water onto my face.
When I look up, Chloe’s bloodshot eyes stare back at me, her dry, cracked lips suspended in a silent shout, almost in warning.
I scream, jerking away from the sink.
But it’s only my reflection. I didn’t turn on the light, so my skin looked dark and blue. I almost laugh at how ridiculous it is, being afraid of my own face. The moment eases weight off my chest, the smallest distraction.
Okay. Focus.
I open the bathroom door and slide into the bedroom, keeping my eyes trained on the wall, my back to the kitchen. I find a charger on top of the nightstand, plug it in, and power on my phone.
Installing Automatic Updates. 0%… Estimated time: 1 hour and 15 minutes.
I blink. Blink again. “What the actual—” I claw at my hair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I plant my face into her soft cotton pillow and scream. I scream and scream and scream until I have no voice left in me anymore.
I want to cry but I can’t leave Chloe rotting there any longer. I have to contact the authorities now . If I can find her phone, I can use it to make an emergency call.
“Please, please, please,” I mutter to myself, searching her bedroom, the living room, hoping her phone is anywhere but on her. No luck. Tears pool in my eyes as I glance at the kitchen.
With all my willpower, I step toward her. I breathe through my mouth, unwilling to inhale the scent of her decay, knowing it will make me sick again. My eyes are fixed to the smooth white ceiling, the fancy gold sconces, until I make it to where Chloe rests, hidden behind the kitchen island.
I squat next to her. “I’m so sorry.” I pat around her body, her legs, searching her pockets, up her toned stomach. There. The hard plastic of a phone case. It’s trapped under her. I try to poke it out, but her body is too heavy, the phone doesn’t budge.
I have to move her.
“God, please. Let this be the last of it.” I’m a cold, hard atheist, but I need anything I can get right now. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Help will be on the way.” I don’t know why I’m talking to her like she can hear me.
With all my strength, I push her body off the phone. She rolls over, thumping onto her stomach. I grab the device and sprint into the bathroom. Forty percent battery. A flood of notifications populates the lock screen. I groan, swiping them away, trying to remember how to make an emergency call, when I notice the little lock at the top of the screen is already open.
My face unlocked Chloe’s phone.
Maybe God is listening.
I swipe up, leaving a streak of sweat on the screen, and call 911.
The line responds immediately. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“My sister… she… I think she’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t think she’s dead. She’s definitely dead. Like, for a day or two now. Maybe more. Fuck. I don’t know.” My heart is pounding up my throat. “Can you just please send someone to help?”
She asks for the address, and I give it to her.
“Do you know the cause of death, ma’am?”
“I-I don’t know. I walked into the apartment and found her on the ground.” My voice cracks. Sobs ripple from my chest.
“I hear you. I’m sending a team now. Are you able to get away from the body? Get some fresh air?”
“Y-yeah. Okay.” I close my eyes as I hobble out of the bathroom, grasping at the walls to find my way. Once I’m outside the apartment, I sit on the plush hallway carpet, beside the door. “I’m outside.”
“Emergency services should be with you soon. Hold on tight. Will you be okay if I let you go while you wait? Or do you want to stay on the phone with me?” What is she going to do? Sit over the line and coo at me until the police arrive? She probably has other emergencies to tend to.
I shake my head though she can’t see. “I’m okay. You can go.”
“All right. If we need anything, we will give you a call back on this number. Please be safe.” The line goes dead.