Chapter 24 Melissa
Melissa
Melissa can’t make sense of the scene before her.
A woman she doesn’t recognise is kneeling on the floor of Damon’s bedroom, a phone in her hand, while he has a rope around his neck and his hands are bound.
She briefly wonders if she has interrupted a kinky sex game before she notices they are both fully clothed.
Then she registers Damon’s eyes. They have all but rolled into the backs of their sockets, leaving milky white orbs.
Only now does she realise what is happening.
This woman is killing him.
Melissa races towards Damon, ready to shove the stranger to one side.
But the woman is lightning fast, back on her feet and weaving effortlessly past her.
Melissa doesn’t have time to stop her because she can tell from Damon’s appearance that she is about to lose him for a second time.
She attempts to loosen the ligature around his neck but it’s too tight.
She needs something to cut through it. She grabs a vegetable knife from the wooden knife block in the kitchen and hurries back, sawing through the rope, being careful not to go too deeply and accidentally slice his neck.
‘Stay with me, Damon,’ she begs him. ‘Come on. I’m not losing you.’
Finally, the fibres of the rope splay as she severs it, the blade leaving a small cut on his neck. A sliver of blood trickles down it as she checks his vitals.
No pulse, no heartbeat. He is dead again.
Melissa begins the same procedure as last time, checking his airway is clear, then breathing into his mouth and launching a series of chest compressions.
They don’t work. She repeats the actions, and still he fails to respond.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ she screams at the top of her voice.
Only then does she register the defibrillator on the floor.
She doesn’t have time to consider how it got there.
It’s unplugged but she hopes it contains enough charge to work.
She lifts Damon’s T-shirt and attaches the pads around the left side of the chest under his armpit and below the shoulder on the right.
Then she presses a button and stands clear as the first shock is administered, rocking Damon’s inert body.
Once prompted, she starts CPR again before preparing the machine for the next burst. But a second before she presses the button, Damon’s eyes snap wide open and he gasps for air.
He tries to sit upright, grabbing at his neck, trying to pull off the noose he thinks is still coiled around him.
‘It’s me, it’s Mel,’ she says over and over again. ‘There’s no rope, you’re safe.’
He glares at her as if he doesn’t believe it, and it takes several more reassurances before he accepts the truth.
She takes the knife again and, this time, cuts through the plastic strip binding his hands before removing her phone from her pocket.
‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ she tells him as she dials.
‘No,’ he rasps.
‘Damon, I need to get you to hospital,’ she says, more firmly. ‘You have to be checked over.’
‘No!’ This time, he swings his hand and bats the phone out of hers and across the floor.
‘What the hell?’
‘I saw the dead boy.’
She wants to shout at him, to tell him she doesn’t care, to remind him that only minutes ago, he was dead. Dead.
‘And he wasn’t alone,’ he continues. ‘I saw her, too.’
‘Who?’
Tears well. ‘My mum. I saw my mum again.’