Page 98 of The Tenant
“Don’t be such a soft touch,” she snaps at me. “Shedeservedit. Just like you deserve it for what you did. You and Stacie.”
“That wasnothing.” I do my best to get the words out clearly. She needs to know this. “It was a onetime thing, and I regretted it immediately. I felt awful about it. I didn’t care about Stacie. I cared aboutyou. I lovedyou.”
Her lips twist into a grimace. “Do you still?”
I don’t know how to answer that question. How can I tell her that I love her after everything she’s done? I don’t even know who she is. And on top of that…
“You tried to kill me,” I point out.
“Tried?” She smirks. “It looks like I’m doing a pretty good job of it, actually.” Her gaze rakes over me. “How are you feeling right now, Blake?”
She knows I ate the cookies. Of course she knows—I practically fell on my face two seconds ago. I was kidding myself thinking that I could hide this from anyone. My speech is slurring, I can’t walk a straight line, and I’m back to seeing two of her.
“It was tetrodotoxin,” she informs me. “You know, the stuff that’s in blowfish that’s supposed to be so toxic? Usually, death results from respiratory failure within four to six hours.” She looks at me curiously. “How long since you ate the cookies, Blake?”
I don’t even know. I think it’s been about three or four hours. And now that she mentions it, it does feel a little difficult to breathe all of a sudden. I am leaning against the wall now to keep from collapsing, and even that is not going to be enough in a few minutes.
“There’s no suicide note,” I manage.
“What did you say?” She bats her eyes at me. “You’re slurring your words quite a lot.”
I try again, enunciating every word: “I. Ripped. Up. The. Suicide. Note.”
“Oh.” She waves a hand. “No problem there. I’ll write another one. I am very good at those.”
I fall to my knees, knowing that I won’t be able to get back up. This is it. I am not going to be able to survive this. I don’t want it to end right here, right now, but what can I do? I can’t call 911. I can’t even work my fingers anymore.
I can’t believe Krista did this to me. Ilovedher. I wanted her to be my wife.
And now she’s standing over me, watching me die.
Except a second later, she’s not standing over me anymore. She’s on the floor next to me. Our eyes meet, and suddenly, the front of her white tank top turns bright red. She opens her mouth to say something, and blood drips from her lips.
“Krista?” I gasp.
I look up, and Whitney is standing over us, swaying on her feet, gripping a knife so tightly that her blood-speckled knuckles are white.
“Krista!” I do my best to crawl over to her. I’m not doing so hot myself, but she looks even worse than I do. She is literally choking on her own blood, which is now coming out of her mouth and out of her back, soaking the floor beneath us. “Krista…”
“I’m calling 911,” Whitney says in a shaky voice, clutching her blood-soaked abdomen.
I crouch over Krista, watching the life drain out of her. I don’t understand how she could’ve watched me dying a few minutes ago and felt nothing. Because this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to watch. Even harder than when my mother died. Because I never expected to have my mother forever, but I thought I would grow old with Krista.
“Please don’t die, Krista.” Despite everything she did to me, my eyes fill with tears. “I love you.”
Her lips crack open, and a bubble of blood forms at her lips. “You…don’t…even…know me.”
“I do,” I insist. “I know you. Come on, Krista. Hang in there.”
As Whitney talks on the phone to the 911 dispatcher, I pick up Krista’s hand. It’s cold and clammy. Her eyes are still cracked open though—she’s still alive and conscious but barely.
“I love you,” I say again. “I know who you are, and I love you. Please…”
For a split second, a ghost of a smile touches her lips. But then her eyes flutter closed, and suddenly, her body becomes very still. My gaze drifts down to her chest. Is it still rising and falling? Has she stopped breathing?
“We have to do CPR,” I tell Whitney.
She hangs up with 911, and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “CPR? Blake, you can barely breathe. And I’ve got a stab wound.”
