DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 13, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 2/22/15, 5:12am

I haven't slept at all. It's been a long night. 

I guess it's like—what?—around five in the morning? Which means that it was about four hours ago that the cop finally showed up. But after everything that's happened since then, it feels like a lifetime ago.

I guess I have to back up all the way to last night when I was banging at the door, shouting to the cop that I'd finished Part 12. 

He must have taken his time reading the story on whatever computer he uses, because I'd pounded my hand sore by the time I finally heard the house's front door open.

Outside the window, the cop's flashlight danced across the pines as he crunched over the gravel driveway.

I called out to Kyle again. Still, there was no answer.

From my vantage in the house it was impossible to see Kyle at all, even when the cop reached him. The flashlight glared too brightly. After he uncuffed Kyle from the pine tree, the cop must have had to pick him up and carry him, because only one set of footsteps returned to the house, staggering as if under a heavy weight.

A couple of minutes passed in absolute silence. Then a couple more.

I banged on the door once again. "Is he okay?" I cried out. "Just tell me if he's okay!"

Still more endless silence.

Finally, the cop's footsteps arrived outside the bedroom door.

"Cuffs," his muted voice said.

I hurried to cuff myself to the bed and immediately threw the key against the door. The cop didn't even bother to look through the slot to make sure I'd secured my wrist to the rail.

He just unlocked the door and walked in—carrying Kyle over his shoulder.

He dropped Kyle roughly onto the bed beside me. Kyle fell on his back, his legs spilling over onto the floor. He was dressed in his one set of dirty clothes; the cop must have dressed him himself, because Kyle was definitely not conscious. His skin was a shadowy pale color, and his lips were a frighteningly purplish blue. Dark circles ringed his eyes. His hair, damp and tangled, smelled strongly of gasoline.

I only noticed the thick fishing line  when the cop turned to leave. The synthetic string, tied tightly around Kyle's pale neck and trailing out into the hallway just like last time, actually came as relief. Until I saw it, I'd been certain that Kyle was dead. But if he was dead, why would the cop have bothered to keep him secured like this?

"You earned this," the cop said, nodding at the computer. "Congratulations." As he stepped out the door, he lightly kicked at the fishing line. "Behave yourself this time." He wagged his finger and tossed the handcuff key at me.

Behave myself?

This was when I finally fully understood how psychologically disturbed the cop had become. If Kyle was actually still alive, he was obviously deeply unconscious, barely clinging to life. And the cop was warning us not to get up to something sexual? Now?

The cop had lost it. He was literally demented. He was beyond rational thinking and sane reasoning.

He returned with two bowls of what looked like hot chicken soup, both on a single tray. Without another word, he left. He locked the door behind him.

Right away, even before uncuffing my left wrist, I felt for Kyle's pulse.

Nothing.

The skin on his neck was cold to the touch.

I hurried to uncuff myself, and I got a better angle, straddling his torso. Kyle's body felt cold even beneath my legs. Again, I gently pressed my finger against his neck. His head tipped farther back. His eyelids, limp and gray, fell slightly open, revealing slivers of nothing but white.

I waited for a pulse. I pressed with slightly more pressure where I thought his jugular was.

Still nothing. No pulse. Nothing.

He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be dead. I wouldn't let him be dead.

I kept my finger at his neck. My own heart was racing.

Then, finally, I felt a pulse. A single pulse. One beat of his heart. Nothing else followed, but it was enough to give me hope.

Kyle was still alive.

I tried to remember everything I knew about hypothermia. Which was next to nothing. All I could do was reason that if his body temperature had fallen, then he needed to be warmed up, fast. For a moment I considered wrapping him in the duvet, but then I remembered the bath.

I turned on the faucet. When the water was close to scalding, I flipped the drain closed. Then, while the tub filled, I hooked my arms under Kyle's arms and dragged him off the bed.

Kyle's not that big, but he's not exactly a small person, either. Since rushing to finish the final section of Part 12, I'd managed to put my Huntington's symptoms out of my mind. But now, as I struggled to pull Kyle's limp body toward the bathroom, I was forced to face my physical limitations. My knees buckled, and I fell to the floor. I barely managed to keep Kyle's head from cracking against the doorway. I ended up inching us both backwards on my knees. It was awkward, but it was the only way I could pull Kyle across the bathroom threshold while my arms and legs did what I commanded them to do only about half the time.

With my hands still shaking from the exertion, and my arm muscles jerking in random spasms, I managed to remove Kyle's clothes just as the tub had filled.

I still have no idea how I actually got him over the edge of the tub. All I know is that I pushed and heaved his loose limbs until I felt like I would break in half, and then, finally, he splashed down into the water, soaking me in the process.

He didn't react to the shock at all. His pale body rested against the porcelain, gray against the white of the tub. His penis, now as familiar to me as his hands, bobbed limply in the water. His arms fell to his sides, and his chin dipped beneath the surface.

Now, the biggest challenge was making sure to keep his head from sinking under the water. I couldn't let him drown.

This turned out to be harder then I'd thought. I tried to hook his arms over the edge of the tub, but they were too limp. I just couldn't keep his body propped up. His weight kept sliding down, each time pulling his mouth and nose dangerously close to the water's surface.

In the end I had no choice but to strip off my own clothes while struggling to hold him up, and to climb into the tub behind him.

When I lowered my naked body into the hot water, the tub filled to the brim. I wrapped my arms around Kyle's chest. beneath the water, I felt his cold flesh against my breasts. His head rested against my shoulder. I held him tight, my cheek against his.

"Wake up," I whispered into his ear. "Wake up."