Released (Caged #3)(61)

I wrapped a protective arm around Tria as we walked into the building and up the stairs. The place smelled funky, which was another thing I didn’t really remember. We walked down the hallway, glanced in tandem at the door of the apartment where we used to live, and then bypassed it for the next one. I banged on the door.

“Open up, you crazy bitch!”

“Liam! Stop that!”

“It’s a term of endearment,” I told her.

“Oh, it is not!” she snapped back. She reached up and knocked again.

“Katie! Katie, we have some things for you!”

No answer.

“I don’t think she’s here,” I said. “If she was, she’d open the door—she always does. She wasn’t out on the balcony, so she must have gone somewhere.”

“Where?” Tria asked as she turned on me and put her hands on her hips. Her expression was tense and worried. “Where does she ever go, huh?”

“She’s supposed to meet with her social worker every week,” I reminded her.

“And what day is that?”

I huffed a breath through my nose.

“Tuesdays,” I said. “Today’s Monday. I’ll go through the window.”

Leaving Tria at the door with the groceries, I hauled myself up the fire escape ladder and lifted my leg over the railing. There were about fifty cigarette butts neatly lined up at an angle against the grid so they stood on their ends. I shook my head a bit before yanking the window open and climbing inside.

The funky smell was more prevalent as soon as I got in. It was enough to make my nose sting a bit, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was a stale, old smell, and it got worse as I walked toward the front door.

“What is that smell?” Tria asked as soon as I opened the door.

“Not sure,” I admitted. I tried not to show my concern, but I had a tight little knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I left the door open and went straight for the bedroom while Tria carried the bags to the kitchen.

It was dark, but that wasn’t what set me on edge. The smell was stronger and familiar in a way I didn’t like at all. It reminded me of when my great aunt was in hospice care right before she died, and Dad had taken me to visit. It was pungent and reeked of endings.

I looked at the filthy floor, and my gaze came to rest on the only piece of actual furniture in the room—the large double bed. The blankets and sheets were crumpled at the bottom, and the mattress lay exposed. A tiny, crumpled heap lay in the center of the mattress. Her dark eyes stared blankly toward the closet.

“Fuck,” I mumbled.

It took three steps to get to the side of the bed. Once I was there, I didn’t know what to do. I reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder, not knowing what the f*ck was going to happen. Just as I felt her cool skin, her eyes blinked twice.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. “I thought you were dead.”

“Liam?” Tria called from the other room.

“She’s in here,” I said. I looked back to the lump on the bed. “You scared the f*ck out of me, you crazy bit—”

My words halted as her eyes rolled back in her head and she started to convulse.

“Tria! Call 911!” I screamed toward the other room. “Get an ambulance here!”

My heart began to race as I tried to hold her enough to keep her from flying off the bed and hurting herself. I didn’t know jack shit about seizures but figured that was a good thing to do. The attack didn’t last long, but once it was over, she didn’t open her eyes again, and the distinct smell of urine stung my nose.

This wasn’t good—not good at all.

“Krazy Katie?”

No answer.

I shook her just a little and stopped almost immediately. She had just been shaking violently, and that didn’t make her answer me. I tried grasping her fingers but still got no response. I could feel her pulse in her wrist and see her breathing, but there wasn’t much else.

“Liam, what’s happening?”

“Did you call?”

“I did. They’re coming.”

“Something’s wrong with her,” I said. I looked up, desperate to have her give me some sign that she knew what to do, but Tria just stared with wide eyes and an open mouth. “I mean really wrong. Fuck, Tria, what do I do?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

I didn’t know if it took forever for someone to get there because they were busy, if EMTs didn’t like coming to this neighborhood, or if it was just my perception. By the time the paramedics arrived, Krazy Katie had started to cough up blood. Though her eyes opened as they lifted her up onto the gurney, she never said a word.

Tria called Damon, and he drove us to the hospital. We watched a parade of patients come in and out of the ER with bloody gashes, nasty head bumps, and one obviously broken arm. Things picked up and slowed down in regular intervals until we hit about two in the morning, when a bunch of drunken idiots with busted lips and knuckles were brought in by the police, and a doctor finally came out to give us an update on Krazy Katie.

I stopped breathing and could barely feel Tria’s hand as she gripped my fingers. She used the other hand to cover her mouth as the doctor spoke. Tears immediately began to pour from her eyes.

Lung cancer.

Advanced.