The Last Invitation (83)

The wheezing grew louder. Like a gurgling. The sound bounced around Jessa’s head.

Where is that coming from?

She opened her mouth to ask and started coughing. The thick, rattling kind. That probably explained the wetness on her cheeks. But her stomach and back? The odd pulsing. She faded in and out, but the pain only increased.

Retta and the man watched her now. Neither moved or said a word. The look on Retta’s face . . . Was it guilt? She had her fist to her mouth as she shook her head.

A rush of strange sounds, then a voice broke through. “What happened?”

Jessa smiled, or she thought she did. Gabby’s voice. About time she got here. The dramatic entrance was . . . typical.

“Jessa! Oh my God,” Gabby said as she slid to her knees beside Jessa. Gabby held her hands in the air, like she wanted to touch or comfort.

Jessa wasn’t sure why, but she needed to sit up. There was something she needed to do. She’d come here for a reason. A really important project.

The wheezing came in short, painful puffs now. The sound came from her. She’d finally figured it out.

“Did you call 911?” Gabby shouted at the other people in the room. “We need to get someone on the phone to help until the ambulance gets here.”

Too late. The words rolled through Jessa’s head. They were all too late.

She was dying.

Not yet! I promised to be a better person. Let me try.

“Open your eyes, Jessa. I need you to stay with me,” Gabby pleaded.

Are my eyes closed? Jessa could have sworn they were open a second ago, but Gabby sounded sure, so now Jessa didn’t know.

Gabby’s words rushed out, and she held something against Jessa’s stomach. The pressure throttled up the pulsing. The pain stabbed and sliced now. Jessa wanted to push Gabby away, but her hands lay limp.

“Jessa, can you hear me?”

I’m sorry. For the lying and for all the horrible things I said behind your back. You deserved better. Jessa wasn’t sure if she said the words out loud, but she didn’t think so.

Jessa couldn’t tell how many minutes passed since she’d gotten to the house. A few? Many? She mentally pushed and shoved her way through the darkness slowly enveloping her. She had one more thing to do. That’s why she needed to make that fist. The small move swallowed up all her concentration, her last drips of energy, but she would get this done.

A push and another. No, her fist wouldn’t open. But she could make it tilt. The back of her hand knocked against Gabby’s arm. Once . . . twice. Gabby finally took her hand.

There.

Done.

“Jessa, no!”





Chapter Seventy-Four

Gabby




Gabby felt Jessa slide something small and hard into her hand. Against her palm. Gabby didn’t have time to look because Jessa’s body went limp as the last beats of her life drained out of her.

Gabby struggled to remember CPR and first aid. She pressed her other hand harder against Jessa’s blood-soaked shirt, desperate to stop the bleeding. Red stained the floor and her skin. The memory of finding Baines in the same room whipped through her. Death sank into every inch and every corner and festered there.

“Do not move.”

Gabby heard Retta’s order. She didn’t know if it was meant for her, but she couldn’t go anywhere. She had to sit there and protect Jessa until the ambulance arrived. Hold her hand on the gaping wound and hope Jessa still had a chance with a flurry of machines pumping air and blood for her.

“Gabby?” Retta’s voice floated through the quiet room.

Gabby ignored the soft-toned outreach. Mentor, judge, supporter. She’d done this. She’d stalked Jessa, followed her here, and killed her. Brought a man with her to finish the job. A man Gabby recognized from the grocery store parking lot all those weeks ago. The man who had intervened when Rob tried to give her information. Retta had had him following her all along.

“Gabby, listen to me.” Retta kneeled across from her, on the other side of Jessa’s still body. Retta reached out and checked for a pulse.

When Retta’s hand fell limp on her lap, Gabby knew.

“She needs help.” Gabby felt rage for Jessa instead of at her. Jessa’s life could not end this way. Not during one of the only times she’d taken a chance for someone else. For her . . . Gabby hated it, but Jessa was only in this house, on the floor, because of her, which meant she’d done this. She’d made demands and said awful things about who Jessa was, pushed her to help. And now she was dying.

Gabby looked up, ready to scream the house down, until she looked at Retta’s face. Tears ran down her cheeks, as if she cared. As if she hadn’t ordered this.

The need to spew hatred and vent about blame poured through Gabby. “Where is the ambulance? When did you call?”

“No one is coming.”

No one . . . “What? How can that . . . How could you . . .”

Retta sighed. “We need to come to an understanding. Right now.”

“Screw that.” Gabby fumbled, trying to remember where she put her cell. Pocket, right. She took it out, but before she could hit a button, the man behind her stole it out of her hand. “What are you—”

“There’s not going to be any miracle here. Jessa will die today.” Retta wiped her cheeks, sounding ragged and a bit lost. So quiet and forlorn, and totally uncharacteristic of her. “How she will be remembered and who will take the blame is up to you.”