Max knew the dope was killing him. Why wasn’t he dead already? The grit in his eyes hurt like hell, as did his hair–both roots and follicles. Something smelled bad.
A ticking clock drove him insane. He couldn’t move. Margie’s voice, warm as honey, penetrated his brain, “Don’t leave me a complete orphan, will you?”Margie, I wish I could be strong like you want, but it’s too late.
A mind-killing jangling interrupted his thoughts. I’m surely dying now.
The answering machine clicked on. “Max, are you there? This is Margie. Where have you been all week? Call me. Please.”
Max tried to sit up. He saw blood on his chest—lots of it. Was he dead already?
His mouth tasted ashes.
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