He looks so sad. My poor Vincent. I wish I could tell him not to worry. That it’s all going to be okay. I don’t feel so bad. Not as bad as I thought it would. The fear is gone. Randal is gone. Annie is safe. Vincent is safe. That’s what matters.


    I wish it had been different.


    I can hear his voice still. Sometimes he’s yelling. I like that. He sounds like my Devil when he’s mad. But then his voice will turn into something different. Something sad. Something pleading. I want to tell him that I hear him. I want to tell him that I love him, too.


    I wish he had told me sooner. I wish I had told him before all of this. I hope he knows. I don’t think I’ll be okay leaving if he doesn’t know that I love him, too.


    I try to tell him, but I can’t.


    My body won’t respond. I can’t even get my eyes to open. I just want one more look. One more look at Vincent’s beautiful face.


    There are more voices now. And movement. I can’t make out the words anymore. I hate that this reminds me of when Randal drugged me and pulled me into the elevator. When was that? An hour ago? Less? It feels like a lifetime ago. Time can be funny like that.


    The voices are fading.


    I wish they’d give me a nket before they left. It’s so cold. I don’t think that’s right. You shouldn’t have to be cold at the end. Cold and crippled in the dark. Life is so unfair. I want to scream. I want to cry.


    A new voice hovers above the rest. Bing clearer. A voice I haven’t heard in a long time.


    “Mom?” I try to ask.


    My soul heaves with recognition, but she doesn’t answer me. The voice is still there, but it echoes around me like a memory.


    “Mom, I missed you so much” My sanity shutters with unshed sobs. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get back. I’m not ready to leave.”


    Dying is supposed to be peaceful. It isn’t supposed to be like this.