DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 11, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 2/13/15, 2:31pm

I forced myself to tell Kyle about my Huntington's. And I told him everything. The worsening symptoms. The approaching physical decline. I even confessed for the first time to anyone that it was when I'd Googled Huntington's, and saw a YouTube clip of a patient with her awkward, zombie-like Huntington's walk, that I'd decided to face that horrifying fate by writing my own version of a zombie novel.

"I know that sounds strange," I sobbed. "I mean, how could a Huntington's patient ever write a zombie novel? It's just morbid. I know. But it was, like, the only way I had to just say, like, 'screw you' to my condition. And I really needed a way to do that." I even tried to explain that I'd probably made Ashley's TGV strain harmless as a kind of fantasy that my disease would somehow turn out to be harmless too. "But, of course, it isn't harmless," I said, and, finally, I told him about my prognosis of an early death. "My symptoms are getting worse every day now," I confessed. "Sometimes I can barely type at all." I was desperate that Kyle understood how real all of this was. "And if I'm not going to live much longer, I need to finish this book. My way. I'm so sorry, but, Kyle, do you understand?"

Kyle didn't say anything. He just stared at me, shocked at learning that I was going to die early, and shocked that I'd kept it from him. But in his eyes was the heartbreaking look of someone who would do absolutely anything to take away my disease and who understood the hard truth that there was absolutely nothing that he could actually do to help me.

"Okay," he said, and tears spilled from his eyes. He pulled me close like he was drowning and I was drowning and there was nothing else to do but hold on tight. "Okay," he whispered again, and he touched his forehead to mine. "I'm here for you, okay? I'm here."

I don't think I'd ever loved him more than in that moment. I know this is going to sound strange, or even vulgar at a moment like this. But I kissed him. I kissed him really deeply. And he kissed me back.

We collapsed onto the bed, and for a moment the warmth of his body was the only thing keeping me afloat in the world.

In the very next moment, though, he was ripped away from me.

The string around his neck tightened, then his entire weight was jerked off the bed.

"Time's up," said the cop's voice from the other side of the door.

Surprised and enraged, Kyle jerked back at the string, looked defiantly toward the door, and sat back on the bed beside me.

"Time's UP!" called the cop, and he violently jerked the string back through the slot.

Kyle crashed to the floor. He was able to slip his fingers between the string and his neck just before the string went taught again. From the other side of the door, the cop pulled on the string and dragged Kyle's body across the linoleum. Kyle coughed and sputtered as he slid backwards. Then his head reached the door with a crack, and now the string tightened further around his neck. Choking, Kyle gasped and struggled to breathe.