#WinterABC2020 Day 18; One last kiss.

By the time he woke up, I was dying.

Jeff’s nervous voice rang out in a loud shriek when he awakened to the sour taste of blood on his lips. This was my way of saying goodbye. Just one last kiss.

It was 3:30 AM, Saturday morning.

***

Hiya, 

My name is Nancy Drew and this is how my story began and ended……

Jeff Grasham was thrilled to make this evening enchanted for me. I’d just been signed as the first black, female partner at Baker McKenzie law firm and he knew how avidly I’d worked towards this position. The cocktail was ending at about 5 PM that evening and he’d booked me for a romantic dinner underneath the stars at the rooftop of our apartment. (he knew my love language pretty well.)

Jeff and I had met the same year I finished my Masters at the London School of Economics. He’d been to Oxford for his post graduate and when we both applied for paralegal at Baker Mackenzie, we knew from the onset, that something between us would spur up.

In his 5^th year at the firm however, he’d changed dreams and wanted to pursue his own specialized firm majoring in Aerospace law and Artificial Intelligence. By this time, he’d built his reputation and setting up a firm wasn’t as hard in London as along as you’d been there and in practice for over ten years.

I buttressed his dream. He proposed to me and I said yes.

As evening dawned that day, the partners were tipsy and seeking to take it to the next level, I got an SOS text from my best friend and I had to leave. I knew I’d make it in time for Jeff’s dinner if I left the firm by 6PM to head down Abbey Road, and get to her apartment before 7, I’d be sure to call Jeff and notify him I’d be home by 9PM.

After making the calculations and distances in my head, I walked to the partners loop and informed them that I would be taking my leave. It was met with the usual courtesy nooo’s and don’t go’s until they finally relented when I refused to budge.

I pulled out my phone to inform Jeff that I’d made a small detour to Vanquisha’s and I’d be home by 9 for the dinner.

I drove through Abbey road and parked right outside Vans’ apartment. She was waiting on her balcony and she scumbled into my arms as soon as she saw me walk through the door. She was bleeding.

She narrated to me how Terrance, her psychotic ex had somehow gotten a copy of her key to the house and entered and raped her while she took her afternoon nap. She had called in sick from work that morning and needed time off to rest.

“Van!!!!!! Whyyyy?? Why haven’t you gone to the hospital yet? Have you called the ambulance? That psycho!! How dare he?? He’s going to see my wrath today. Have you called the police?” I blurted out, tears irrepressibly progressing down my cheeks.

Van was hysterical. She couldn’t say a word. Curled up in-between my arms. She continuously wailed. I knew I had to call the police and take her to the hospital just to make sure she was okay and to get the PEP pill.

With quivering hands, I got my phone and dialed 911. It took ages for them to connect me to an officer but a sweet voice on the other end with a heavy Hispanic accent asked if they could help me. I re-counted the ordeal in tears and gave them the address to the house. It was 8PM by the time my quivering hands got off the phone with the paramedics who were about thirty minutes away.

Van’s body had shrunk into the sofa that we were sitting on and I decided to go fix her something to eat because it was going to be a stretched night for her. I texted Jeff on my way to the kitchen, filled him in and told him that I might be out longer than I had projected. He immediately called and asked if he could come and help but I told him I’d handle this, besides the cops were on their way.

I heard the door open and footsteps in the sitting area when I got off the phone with Jeff.

“Van? Van, I told you to lay down, I’m fixing you something warm to eat.” I beckoned.

No word.

“Van? Where are you going? Why did the door open?” I persisted, pulling the bacon out of the fridge and putting bread in the toaster.

Still no word.

Then I heard a yell of anguish…

My heart paced so fast I could barely gather up the energy to lift my legs. I walked to the sitting area and found Terrance with a gun over Vans head. I’ve never felt so destitute. I was reaching out for the phone when the hand with the gun shifted towards my direction and his heavy Macunian accent warned me not to do anything silly.

I stubbornly speed dialed 911 and he saw this.

Boom. Boom. Shorts fired. Door slammed and I fell to the ground.

After about 2/3 minutes, I staggered to my feet. I’d been shot on my shoulders and stomach. Van and Terrance were out of the room and the only thing on my mind was Jeff…

I couldn’t die before seeing him. It was about 10 PM now and the police hadn’t yet arrived. With the George Floyd riots all around London, the police response rate had more than tripled with the delay.

I lifted my throbbing body and got to my car. Drove to the apartment. Climbed up the flight of stairs and entered the house. Jeff was in the bedroom taking a nap and he was still fully dressed. The table was set and the house was filled with a sweet smelling food aroma.

I crawled into bed next to him and held his face for a while. He was such a heavy sleeper. He didn’t flinch a bit. I remembered the first time I met him, our first date, the first kiss, the day we moved into the apartment. Everything came rushing to me. The pain in my limbs had kicked in and I was bleeding profusely.

I leaned in and kissed him.

By the time he woke up, I was dying.

Jeff’s nervous voice rang out in a loud shriek when he woke up to the sour taste of blood on his lips. This was my way of saying goodbye. Just one last kiss.

It was 3:30 AM, Saturday morning.