Free Poison Me by Cami Checketts Page B

the fleece blanket covering his lower body. He rubbed at the never-ending ache in his bony knuckles. “I’m past help.”
    “Oh, Richard,” the voice was sweet, almost too sweet to be real. He pictured her as a breathtaking blonde. A natural blonde. It had been years since he’d seen one of those. It’d been years since he’d seen any woman.
    “Nobody is past help,” she said. “I’m here to take away your pain and make you into a new man.”
    He grunted. “Right. How are you going to make this” —he gestured to himself, unable to straighten his fingers completely— “into a new man?”
    “Drink this quickly and I promise you’ll feel better.”
    A cool glass materialized next to his quivering lips. He sniffed. The potion reeked like some kind of nasty medicine. Nudging the glass away from his mouth, he said, “How is that crap going to help me?”
    The voice came soft and soothing this time. “This miracle drink is going to take away all your pain.” There was a pause and then a tinkling laugh. “I promise.”
    Richard yearned to see past the cloud that encircled him, but there was no hope for that—life had been cloudy for too many years. He bit back a curse, wishing he knew who belonged to the voice and the small hand holding the glass. “Who are you? I recognize your voice.”
    “I’m just a friend,” she said.
    The cup tipped and Richard forced his mouth to open. The woman promised it would help. Anything was worth a try. Lukewarm, foul-tasting liquid gushed down his throat. He choked. The potion kept coming. It tasted like regurgitated vomit. He tried to spit, but the stream of fluid choked him.
    He couldn’t get enough air. He tried to cry out, but no sound escaped. The woman pressed his head into the chair and squeezed his nostrils with an iron grip. He had to swallow the disgusting liquid or suffocate. She murmured comforting words with her sugary voice the entire time she attempted to drown him.
    Richard pushed his head forward to try to dislodge her hand. A large stone on her ring finger dug into his forehead. A few ounces of the drink spilled down his chin. Sticky and warm, it gnawed at the skin of his face, searing his flesh almost as deeply as his throat.
    The woman cursed and shoved him back into the chair with her forearm. She dumped the remaining contents of the cup into his mouth. He felt the acidic fluid burning his esophagus.
    Finally, the liquid stopped flowing. The woman tucked his fleece blanket around him. His vision darkened until the cloud was a thunderstorm. His throat was coated with the aftertaste of the bitter liquid. His eyes bulged as he gasped for breath.
    “W–what?” he sputtered. “What was that crap?” He coughed and spit.
    The woman wiped his face with a cool cloth. “Don’t worry. I know it tastes bad, but it will help, I promise. Drink some water to clear your mouth.”
    He swallowed several gulps of water, but the pain didn’t lesson. He hacked and doubled over. He couldn’t catch a full breath, couldn’t stop coughing. “This is supposed to make me feel better?” He managed to say between gulps of air.
    “Try and rest,” the soothing voice said. “In the morning everything will be better.”
    “More water,” he sputtered.
    The woman lifted his water glass to his chin. He choked on the cool liquid and pushed her away. She set the glass on the table and disappeared like a wraith. Richard’s throat grew more parched. He reached for the glass again, but grasped a letter from today’s mail. Swallowing against the pain, he prayed for relief. The room grew blacker by the second. Now everything hurt. He called out. Nobody answered.
    He fumbled for the call button, but couldn’t locate it in the darkness. The glass of water knocked over onto his lap, soaking him. He cursed. Another coughing fit struck him. This time he tasted blood.
    Richard’s fingers skimmed the wall. He couldn’t reach the pull cord. His hand dropped. He closed his eyes