Page 62 of A Lie in Church

“Mr. Sanchester said he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

I sighed and took a seat.

“Are you okay, Miss Simpson?” Morris asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah.” I forced a smile.

It was hard to eat when a part of me was worried sick about Adrian and Tristan. I tried to convince myself there was nothing to be anxious about, but the weird feeling in my gut said otherwise. Every cell in my stomach was clawing at me. I was dying to know. I dropped my spoon and decided to go and check if Tristan was okay.

I ran up the stairs like I knew something bad was about to happen.

“Please be okay; please be okay,” I mumbled, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal door handle. I turned it and pushed the door open.

The room was dim, but I could make out some furniture in the room. I didn’t see Tristan though.

“Tristan?” I took slow steps into the room.

I tripped on something—or rather, someone. I looked down, and my heart stopped beating. I screamed, paralyzed in shock for what laid before me.

CHAPTER14

HOSPITAL

Iwished I had gone to him sooner. I would have saved him.

A doctor and two nurses were still in his room. It had been an hour now. I bit on my nails as I thought of what was going on in there. Is he still alive?

Morris came to stand in front of me. He held out a cup of coffee and a doughnut for me to take.

“Please eat something.”

“No, I’m not hungry,” I said and looked down at my legs, which were still trembling. I tapped my feet on the neat floor to ease the eerie feeling that engulfed me like a blanket.

My eyes were sore from crying due to the conversation on the phone with 911.

When I foundTristan’s unconscious body on the floor, I freaked out. I knelt beside his unmoving body and called his name, but he didn’t answer. I touched his hands, and they felt so cold. My heart pounded against my chest like a hammer. I thought he was dead. I screamed Morris’s name, but he took forever to come up.

My hands were shaking as I dialed 911. Tears gathered in my eyes, and fear consumed me like a flame. I had never seen a dead person, so I didn’t know if he was still alive or dead. I tried CPR, but my hands kept trembling nonstop, and I wasn’t sure if I was doing it the right way. The room seemed to shrink, and I couldn’t breathe. Everything became hazy until I heard a voice.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” a feminine voice came from the other line.

“I … I just came to check on my friend and found him on the floor. He isn’t moving. I think he’s dead,” I cried.

“Ma’am, breathe. I’m here to help.”

I nodded frantically as if she could see me. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

“I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, sniffling.

“Check if he is still breathing. Try and feel his pulse. Can you do that?”

“Okay.” I placed my head on his chest and listened quietly.

His heartbeat was faint, but I was relieved he was still breathing. I placed two fingers on his neck, and I exhaled when I felt it. A euphoric wave of relief washed over me, yet I was trapped between human morality and vengeful irony. This was the man who ruined my life, yet I was the one who was trying to save him.

“Yes, he is still breathing, but it … it doesn’t sound good.”