Page 9 of Victorious Vice

He comes toward me.

Kisses me.

But then…

His face morphs into nothingness as I’m lying in a hospital bed, tethered to machines that beep in a steady rhythm.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound chases away the image of his face, and I’m left staring at sterile hospital walls. My skin is cold, pale—too pale. I shiver. The thin blanket covering me does nothing to ward off the chill that seems to seep into my very bones.

Someone knocks at the door but I can’t answer it, can’t muster the strength to do anything but keep my eyes fixed on the muted television screen across the room. The door creaks open, casting a shadow over my bed.

It’s him again. Vinnie.

I want to reach out, to call out to him, but just as suddenly as he appeared, he vanishes into thin air.

Across from me, the heart monitor flatlines.

My heart drops.

Another face emerges.

A child’s face.

Belinda.

And the flatline.

Always the flatline.

“No,” I manage to croak out with what little energy I have left. “No…not yet.”

But then another sound blends in with the unwelcome silence—a shrill ringing that slices through the dull hum of the machines like a knife through butter. It’s my phone, tucked away in the pocket of my robe hanging off the chair next to my bed.

The ringing doesn’t stop. It continues relentlessly, each chime reverberating in my head like a resounding echo in an empty cavern. I summon all my strength to sit up and retrieve the phone, every muscle screaming with effort as I extend an arm and grasp it.

I press, press, press the button. Bring it to my ear.

But the ringing…

It doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t stop.

It continues, a sharp, jarring contrast to the now silent heart monitor. I try to say something, but no words come out, as if the cold of the room has frozen my vocal cords. My head swims as I fight against a rising tide of nausea and inexplicable fear.

“Hello?” It’s more of a croak than a word, barely audible over the relentless chiming.

No response on the other end.

Silence.

Silence so sudden it’s jarring.

The ringing stops. For a moment, all I can hear are my own ragged breaths echoing in the sterile silence of the hospital room.

Just as I am about to hang up, I hear it. A whisper on the other end of the line—so soft, so faint that I almost miss it.

---