Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Eleven more days. Josie has eleven more days to come out of her coma before I take her life for a second time and dispose of the body where no one will ever find it. And I have to do all of this while saving lives at work and trying to act like a normal husband who can properly fuck his wife.
Regardless, we are even. More than even. What I did for Josie was so far above and beyond what she did for me. There’s no way to adequately measure it in one lifetime.
Tomorrow is the last day for Josie unless she wakes up before then. I’ve had a shit day at work because I can’t stop thinking about burying a body for the first time in my life and hopefully the last. I can’t stop thinking about what prison will be like.
On the way to my car, Izzy calls me. “I can read your mind. You want me to pick up dinner.” I open the driver’s door.
“Felix, I’m in our storage unit.”
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
Isabella has been to our storage unit once in the seven years we’ve had it. ONCE!
“I’m on my way. I’ll explain when I get there.”
“Felix,” she says with a shaky voice. “W-why is there an unconscious woman in our storage unit? In a hospital bed? T-tell me!”
“I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes. Don’t touch anything.”
“Touch anything? What am I going to touch? The unconscious woman? Felix, this is the woman that’s been on the news and online. She’s the missing woman! What the hell did you do?”
“Izzy, I need you to calm down. Stay put. Don’t call anyone else. And just wait for me.”
When I get to the unit, Izzy’s standing at the end of the bed, arms hugged to herself. “Felix! What is she doing here? What have you done?”
I hold my finger to my lips, wishing she’d keep her voice down a bit. “Do you want a lie or the truth?”
She frowns.
I thought of a lot of things, but I didn’t imagine having to tell Izzy without first being arrested. “When I was a first-year resident, Dr. Watts, Josie, was my chief resident. After my mom died, I struggled with addiction, and Josie saved my ass on more than one occasion. She saved my medical career. While you were gone, she showed up at our doorstep, out of the blue. You see, I owed her a favor after what she did for me. And so I had no choice.”
“Why is she unconscious in our storage unit?” Izzy asks like she’s on the verge of losing it.
“Shh …” I cringe again. “Can you keep it down?” I say while checking Josie’s vitals, her IV, feeding tube, and catheters. Over the next fifteen minutes, I proceed with the whole story, as unbelievable as it is. Then I show her Josie’s video because I need her to believe that I’m not a true killer.
“Felix …” Izzy whispers my name, dazed as she shuffles a few steps away from the bed.
Is she distancing herself from Josie or me?
Her fingertips touch her parted lips, gaze on Josie between slow blinks. “You c-can’t kill her t-tomorrow,” she stammers.
“That was her wish. It’s been two weeks. We are, in fact, in a storage unit. It’s winter. I have a full-time job. Her chances of waking up are slim. Her chances of waking up without neurological deficiencies are nearly zilch. I will follow her instructions. Return the equipment. And go on with my life. With our life.”
Izzy’s gaze flits to me. “We can’t let her die. No. It’s only been two weeks. She could wake up. You know this. And she might have minimal or no neurological deficiencies. It’s not impossible.”
Izzy’s experience as an ICU nurse isn’t helping this situation. I need her to feel helpless and reliant on me, not like a superhero.
“She has family … a fiancé looking for her. What if we can save her? What if she doesn’t remember her past life? Felix, what if we can do this?” She laughs. It’s a shaky laugh before she releases a long breath.
I’m glad she’s hopeful or relieved, but it’s not realistic.
“I’m following her wishes. The way I’d follow a living will. It’s the legal and ethical thing to do.”
“Legal and ethical? Are you joking? We are in a storage unit. You have a former medical examiner in a coma because you tied a bag over her head. Her fiancé is a homicide detective. You stole thousands of dollars’ worth of medical equipment, and now I’m either a witness who is going to report you or I’m an accessory.”
I unbutton the top of my shirt with my sweaty hands. Her assessment has my heart quickening. Reality fills the room, stealing all the oxygen.
“I’m proud of you,” Izzy says, donning a pair of blue gloves and rechecking everything I just checked, except she’s also checking for bed sores. She’s focusing more on the contents of the catheter bags. She’s assessing Josie like a nurse would do if she were caring for someone’s loved one … to return them to their family—alive. “Most people don’t seek the truth because it’s too messy. Most people don’t stretch their minds to make room for things they haven’t experienced and can’t see. I’m proud of you for listening to her. I’m proud of you for believing her.”