Last night, when he'd had me tied down at the hospital to draw my blood, he'd confiscated my phone to keep me from running. Not only couldn't I have sent a threatening text, I couldn't even check the time.
All of that, and he'd already forgotten.
Blake carried Agatha in his arms and strode toward my room. He kicked the door open.
"Elaine, are you done with your little tantrum?"
"You've really gotten bold, haven't you? Threatening Agatha now? Have I been too easy on you?"
His voice was thick with fury, but the only answer he received was silence. Dead, absolute silence.
My head was covered by the blanket. He couldn't see my face, ashen and drained of every last trace of life.
Blake's brow furrowed. His tone grew more agitated.
"Don't think playing dead will get you out of this. Get up. Now. And apologize to Agatha."
Still nothing.
His anger deepened. He crossed to the edge of my bed.
"Elaine, you think ignoring me means I can't do anything to you?"
"Since when did you learn to play dead? It's disgusting."
I hovered behind him, watching him with cold, empty eyes.
Blake, I'm not playing. I'm just actually dead.
And the dead can't speak.