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HONORA HADN'T KNOWN a life without Belle. Their friends had been family before either of them were even born. She remembered meeting the girl, her hair tied back in a single braid as she bossed her father around with her teddy bears. She had been so firm, so strict. To know that she was dying in her bed, given up on life, killed Honora over and over again. Knowing that nothing was working only made it kill her quicker.
"It's not working, love," Jack whispered, his touch a ghost on Honora's waist. She shook her head, pushing him away before walking around the table. She grabbed the needle and started to thread the string around the aorta again.
She clenched her jaw, her muscles trembling, as she guided the thread around the artery carefully. But her hands were shaking now. Suddenly, as if it hadn't really dawned on her at all, she knew that her friend wouldn't be at her funeral. Her friend wouldn't see her next birthday. Her friend wouldn't see another Sunday. The needle slipped out of Honora's grasp. She didn't pick it up that time.
"There has to be-" Honora hiccupped, her eyes stinging in the cold air of the room. Jack walked around the table. "There must be something. There is always something."
"Honora," Jack murmured. His hand found her back, but she shrugged it off.
"No, Jack. I need to do something." She grabbed the needle again, but the thread kept falling out of place. She groaned in frustration.
Jack wrapped his hand around her wrist. "It's over, Rue." She tried to pull her hand away, refusing to look him in the eye, but his grip was too tight. "Darling, it's over."
"No." Her voice was a mere whisper, a shot in the darkness for an invisible hope. She felt like a puppet, trying so desperately to escape the clutches of the puppeteer yet nothing was working. Because someone had control. Someone was doing this to her. The thing that made it worse was the fact that Honora knew Jack was right.
