I lowered my knife. “What—what’s going on?”
She smiled tightly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Will you believe me? Are you finally listening?”
Goosebumps scattered over my arms.
I swallowed. I nodded.
She sagged as if she could finally share the burden she carried.
“In that case...” She sucked in a breath. “I need your help.”
It took an eternity for me to find courage.
I knew the moment I spoke, my world would change all over again.
Finally, I murmured, “Why?”
Reaching through the door, she grasped my hand.
Her eyes glossed.
Her lips trembled.
Her voice split me in two.
“I need your help...because...” She squeezed my fingers, joy exploding on her face. “Nila, he’s alive.”
Chapter Four
Jethro
DEATH WAS WORSE than I ever imagined.
I’d hoped when the day came that it would be gentle—a tender snip when I was old and grey—a simple transition from one world to the next. It didn’t matter that I never believed I would reach old age...it was what I’d fantasised.
However, if I had known how excruciating it would be, if I’d guessed how prolonged and agonising actual dying was—I would’ve put myself out of my misery years ago.
Because this? There was nothing survivable about this.
This wasn’t heaven. Shit, it wasn’t even hell.
It was damnation on Earth and still I clung—no matter how fucking painful.
“You still—” I coughed, unable to continue. My lungs were heavy, my body on fire. I existed on the brink. The brink of slipping far, far away and never coming back.
I wasn’t dehydrated or starved.
I wasn’t cold or unprotected.
But none of those simple human requirements could save me. I’d run out of time, and it was now a simple matter of gambling on which malady would kill me.
The steady bleeding?
The spreading fever?
The bullet hole?
I’d given up trying to choose. I thought I’d faded hours ago, finally giving in to the pain.
