DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 13, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 2/22/15, 7:40am

So. I guess here's pretty much where I stand right now: 

I'm still able to type. Obviously. But I haven't really mentioned how slow-going it's been. Last night I rushed to finish Part 12 in an effort fueled by terror and probably loads of adrenaline because I'd been terrified that Kyle would freeze to death. But I'm now finding it really hard to hold my shoulders steady enough to keep my hands at the keyboard. And even when I manage to steady my upper body, my fingers keep clenching together like I'm wearing rubber mittens three sizes too small. To tell you the truth, right now I'm hitting each key one at a time.

There's something else, too. My heart won't stop racing. It's been racing like this ever since the cop brought Kyle outside yesterday. And it hasn't stopped. I didn't really notice it because I've been so terrified all this time. But now that I'm sitting here relatively composed, with Kyle's calming presence nearby, my heart should have slowed down. But it hasn't. There's a long list of ways that Huntington's patients die. And heart attacks are pretty high on that list. I hadn't really been worried about that, though, because my heart had been fine. But now I'm worried.

I'm trying really hard not to be as scared as I am. But, guys, seriously, I'm really scared. I really, really wish at least I had my meds right now. My body is breaking down.

Everything seems to be breaking down. A moment ago, the power went off. For a while I just sat in the dark and waited. With even the distant drone of the generator gone, the silence was perfect and vast.

After a moment, I heard the cop trudge out the front door. I heard him fill a canister from the huge gas container by the shed, then he went off to re-fill the generator.

I thought about the U-Haul, sitting out there in darkness, a bullet hole in the bottom of its gas tank. When I was a kid, I used to help my dad fix our little car that was always breaking down. I didn't learn a whole lot, but at least I knew my way around a basic auto shop. I couldn't help but think that if Kyle and I could free ourselves, somehow, we'd be able to use whatever tools were in the little garage shed I'd seen earlier to patch the hole. It couldn't be that hard. Then, all we'd need to do would be to fill the tank and just drive away.

And I could live out whatever time I have left with Kyle, in peace, someplace anywhere other than here.

I wanted that so bad.

I listened to the cop moving around outside. Dawn was rising. Morning light was just starting to illuminate the driveway. Sometime last night, while I'd been trying to revive Kyle in the bath, the rain had turned to snow. Heavy flakes were plummeting from the sky, falling onto the pine branches and blanketing the driveway.

Just then, the lights came back on. The cop must have re-started the generator. The computer re-booted, still programmed to show nothing but Wattpad.

I'm trying to stop thinking about fixing the U-Haul and escaping to freedom. Thinking about it only hurts. Because, after all, it's pretty much only a fantasy.

The truth is that the cop has complete control over us. As hard as it is to accept that, I have to. And after last night, honestly, I don't think I'll be capable of finishing the last two parts of my novel under conditions like these. Not because I don't want to, but because if I'm being totally honest, I'm pretty certain now that whether the cop actually means to kill us, he will continue to exert his irrational will until Kyle, or me, or both of us, are dead.

I have no idea what to do.