Chapter Four
1654 Words
Stacie’s POV
Death doesn’t come gently.
It comes in fragments, in light so bright it feels sharp, slicing through my skull. In hands pressing into my chest, too hard, it felt too urgent and in voices overlapping, arguing, panicking, each one tugging me in a different direction.
“BP’s dropping…”
“She’s bleeding internally..”
“Her pulse is thready..”
“No. Wait, there’s a history here…”
It's cancer, fatal.
The word slips through the chaos like poison, slow and lethal. It lodges somewhere deep inside me, echoing as if it has always lived there. I wondered what they would do about it.
I try to open my eyes. I think I do. Everything swims, white lights blur into halos, then into nothing. My head lolls to the side and something wet slides down my temple. Blood. I can smell it, thick and metallic, mixing with antiseptic and rain.
Cold hands cut through my clothes.
“She’s crashing. We are losing her. ”
“No, don’t sedate yet, she’s unstable.”
“Her oxygen is dropping fast, too fast”
The voices filled my head again. I want to tell them to stop, I want to say it’s fine.
I’m tired, so tired. I had lived a hard life and I was ready to accept death. I had nothing worth living for again. The voices became lower till I was consumed in silence.
I drift.
I’m standing in a field, barefoot, the grass soft beneath my feet. The air smells clean. Warm and peaceful. My chest doesn’t hurt here. My head is clear. It felt like paradise. I couldn't help but smile. I felt light and happy, finally at peace.
I hear laughter. The sound was small, light and familiar.
“Mommy.”
I turn and she’s there. My daughter.
She wasn't wrapped in wires. Not silent. She’s whole, pink-cheeked, eyes bright as dawn. She reaches for me, tiny fingers stretching, trusting. It felt surreal. A heavy weight tugged my heart. I sob.
“I’m here baby.” I whisper, dropping to my knees. “I’m coming.”
Something yanks me backward. Pain explodes through my chest. The voices came back.
“Clear!”
The world convulses. My body arches violently, dragged back into agony. I scream or maybe I don’t, Maybe the sound never makes it out.
“She’s in cardiac arrest!” The voice was urgent.
“No, no…”
Darkness swallows me whole.There is nothing. No sound, No light, No pain.
Just… absence.
I don’t know how long I will stay there. Time has no meaning when you’re dead.
Then I heard a voice.
“Time of death: 3:42 a.m.”
The words echo it sounded final, like a done deal.
Something inside me recoils.
“No,” a voice cuts in sharply. “Again.”
That voice sounded different. Low, Controlled and Unshaken.
“She’s been down too long…”
“I said again. I won't pay all these bills just to end up with a dead body.”
“Sir, the brain….”
“I will take responsibility.” The voice sounded final, leaving no room for excuses. There was a brief pause.
Then movement. Hands returned to my chest. The pressure was harder than before.
“Resume CPR.” One voice barked.
My body jerks violently as air is forced into my lungs. My ribs ache, something cracks beneath the pressure.
“Come on,” the voice murmurs, quieter now. “Stay with me.”
Electricity surges through me again.Pain rips me apart and my heart stutters.Then I heard a sound.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A rhythm claws its way back into existence.
“We have a pulse!”
Reluctantly, painfully, life slams back into me. Hands pound, and a steady rhythm forced into me. A life I didn’t ask for being shoved back where it no longer belongs.
I float again.
My daughter watches me now, her face sad, understanding in a way no child should ever be.
“You can rest, Mommy,” she says softly.
“I want to,” I sob. “I just want to sleep.”
Another voice cuts through her. Low, Commanding.
“She’s not dying tonight.”
It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t plead. It decides.
“Get another line in. Now.”
Something about that voice anchors me, even as everything else unravels. It doesn’t sound frantic like the others. It sounds controlled. Certain. Like chaos bends when it speaks.
“She’s gone again.”
“No. She’s still here.” The voice said calmly.
My daughter fades, her little hand slipping from mine.
“I’m sorry,” I cry after her. “I’m so sorry.”
“ Let's meet again.” She said, with a smile on her face.
The pain spikes one last time, then nothing.
I woke up choking. Air tears into my lungs violently, burning, unwanted. I gag, my body jerking as if offended by survival itself. Something beeps steadily nearby, slow and rhythmic.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I squeeze my eyes shut, heart hammering painfully against my ribs. My body feels sore. Heavy. Weak. Like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.
When I open my eyes again, the ceiling isn’t white.
It’s dark. Wooden beams. Soft lighting recessed into walls that don’t smell like disinfectant but something clean and expensive. The bed beneath me is wide. The sheets are cool and smooth against my skin.
This isn’t a hospital.
Panic surges through me as I push myself up and immediately regret it as pain slices through my chest and abdomen. A gasp rips from my throat as I fall back against the pillows, trembling.
“Easy.”
The voice. The same one I heard earlier, the demanding one.
I turn my head to face him.
He’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, legs crossed, elbows resting loosely on the armrests. He’s tall. Broad-shouldered.
He dressed simply in dark clothes that look like they were chosen without thought and yet fit him perfectly.
His face is calm, too calm for my liking.
Sharp eyes assess me carefully, like he’s cataloging damage rather than reacting to it. Fear curls in my stomach.
“Where am I?” My voice comes out hoarse, barely more than a rasp.
“You’re safe,” he replies evenly.
That doesn’t answer anything.
“I want a doctor,” I say, forcing strength into my tone.
“You already have one.”
He gestures slightly, and only then do I notice a man standing near the far wall, flipping through a tablet. He looks up briefly, nods at me with professional calm.
“He’s Davis,” the man beside my bed says. “One of the best oncologists in the country.”
Oncologist.The word lands heavier now. Cancer.
My throat tightens. “Why?” I whisper. “Why am I here?”
The man stands. He’s even taller up close. He looked menacing, his aura screamed danger.
“You called for help,” he says simply. “You asked for it.”
My memory stirs…the rain, the road, the darkness closing in. I had called Doctor Kyle, not him.
“You found me,” I murmured.
“Yes.”
I swallow. “Why?”
His gaze sharpens, just slightly. “Because you were dying.”
I laugh weakly. “I know.”
Silence stretches.
Then he says, “Because I refused to let you die.”
Something about the way he says it so final and unquestionable sent a chill through me.
“Jason…” I whisper suddenly. “Where is Jason?”
The man doesn’t flinch. Instead, he reaches for a remote and turns on the television mounted on the wall.
The screen flickers to life.
Jason appears, suited, polished, standing beside Nancy. Cameras flash. A headline scrolls beneath them.
Forbes Heir Hosts Celebration for Nancy Langley’s Recovery.
He’s smiling, Laughing. Nancy looks very much alive, she survived with my kidney.
Something inside me cracked, but no tears came. I stared at the screen, I felt numb.
“So,” I say quietly. “I died and he didn’t notice.”
“You didn’t die,” the man corrects. “Not officially.”
I finally look at him again. “Who are you?”
He holds my gaze.
“My name is Skylar.”
The name feels unfamiliar. Safe and dangerous at same time.
“Your disappearance,” he continues calmly, “was intentional.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“You are legally dead, Stacie,” he says. “There were witnesses. A failed resuscitation report. A body that was never recovered.”
My breath catches. “You… lied?”
“I protected you.” He corrected me.
“ How long was I out for?”
“ Long enough for your husband to discard you completely.” “ He didn't bother verifying the news.
I shake my head, overwhelmed. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You asked to live,” he replies softly.
Did I?
I remember my daughter’s face and my chest tightened. Our meeting was just my imagination. My eyes tear up.
“You survived,” Skylar continues, “but survival comes at a price.
“ What price?” I wondered.
“Your illness is advanced. Treatable but only under strict conditions. No stress. No exposure. No past.” He said in that cold absolute voice.
I swallow hard. “Jason?”
“He’s your past now.”
His words are firm and absolute.“You can never go back. Forget him.”
The room suddenly felt smaller and cold.
“What if I want to?” I whisper.
Skylar steps closer, his presence towering, controlled.
“Then you will die,” he says evenly. “And this time, I won’t stop it.”
Silence crashes down between us as I close my eyes.
Somewhere deep inside me, something old finally lets go.
- Writer
