I wanted to run away and hide. Seeing Phoebe like this shook me to my very core. “Help, please!” I screamed again as I tried to get the pillow under Phoebe’s head. Her body was stiff and I couldn’t get her neck to bend up. Then blood-tinged saliva dripped from her mouth, and she made a gurgling sound.
I screamed when I realized she was choking. Tears fell, dripping onto Phoebe’s body as I frantically turned her on her side. Her arm got stuck underneath her body, making it hard to turn her. I leaned forward, using my body to keep her from rolling onto her back.
The convulsions slowed and became less violent. I sat up, keeping my hands on her shoulder and hip. My lip trembled, and I subconsciously held my breath. Slowly, I let her body rock back. Her eyes were open, the whites tinged with blood.
“Phoebe?” I called. The only response I got was a blank stare. “Phoebe!” I repeated. “Phoebe!” I shook her. “No, no, no,” I cried. I let go and put my hands over my face, sobbing. I pulled at my hair and screamed for help again. The floor creaked. I held by breath, waiting.
But no one came.
“Phoebe,” I cried, barely able to get the word out. I pressed my fingers against her neck. There wasn’t a pulse. “No,” I whispered.
Terror paralyzed me. My ears rang and I felt dizzy. With my vision starting to black out, I pushed myself up onto my knees and placed my hands on Phoebe’s chest. I was shaking so bad it was difficult to establish a good rhythm of compressions, and I lost count after twenty.
I moved to her face, tipping her head back. I pinched her nose shut and blew all of my air into her mouth and them moved back to her chest. Something cracked when I pressed down. I screamed and recoiled, falling backwards and away from Phoebe.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cried and scrambled up. “Phoebe, please! Please wake up!” I closed my eyes and started compressions again. I counted out thirty and moved to give her air. Then I put my fingers over her carotid artery.
Nothing.
I pressed harder, convincing myself that I would find a weak, thready pulse. Her head flopped to the side. There was no heartbeat. She was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I COLLAPSED, WRAPPING my arms around Phoebe, and cried. I wasn’t sure how long I lay on the floor next to her, but the next time I sat up, her skin was cold and stiff. My hands trembled as I wiped my face, wet with tears and snot. I looked at Phoebe. Her eyes were half closed and her jaw had relaxed, opening her mouth just a bit. She was lying in a puddle of urine and had blood on her face. I didn’t want to leave her like that.#p#分页标题#e#
I took a few shallow breaths and pushed myself up. My throat hurt, and I was thirsty from crying uncontrollably, though I had no desire to fill up a cup and get a drink. I picked up the towel Phoebe had recently used. It was still damp.
I didn’t cry as I cleaned her. I was too shocked, too numb for any more emotions to register. I threw the towel in the shower and turned the water on to wash away the smell of urine. I went back to Phoebe. Her cheeks were already sunken, and her beautiful, olive skin had a grayish tint. I ran my hand over her wet hair, smoothing it into place.
“You’re free,” I whispered. “Finally free.”
The wall broke and I started crying again. I covered Phoebe’s body with the blanket from her cot, leaving her face exposed. I stared at her for a few seconds. Her eyes were so lifeless, so haunting. I pulled the blanket over her head. I got up, standing over her. I was trembling, but not from the cold. I pressed the back of my hands against my cheeks, surprised to feel how hot they were. Shakily, I walked back to my cot. I pulled the hood of Jackson’s black hoodie over my head and lay down, curling into a ball.
I felt like I was getting sucked backwards into a dark hole filled with cold, muddy water. I gasped for air, breathing in tears, and clutched at my chest. I turned my face into my pillow and cried. Being trapped in the basement with a body—even though she was my friend—scared me. My fingers curled around the blue fleece blanket, nails digging into the fabric.
My eyelids were puffy from crying by the time my legs were stiff and sore from being bent in the fetal position. I stretched out and looked at the window. It was still night. I took in a deep breath and pulled the blue blanket over myself. I closed my eyes, wanting dark sleep to take over and block out the pain.
I slipped in and out of consciousness until the sun rose. Luckily, I hadn’t gotten to the point of a deep sleep, the kind with the most vivid dreams. That also meant that I had held onto my anger and sadness. The salient fact that there was a body on the floor haunted me.