And now, the engine was failing, and they needed a part from the “old model” they’d discarded in the junkyard.
My phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Please,” a voice whispered. It was Bella. “Please don’t do it.”
I gripped the phone. “Bella?”
“They’re listening,” she hissed, her voice thick with tears. “I’m in the bathroom. They don’t want me to live because they love me, Maya. They want me to live so I can play the winter tour. They’ve already sold the tickets. If I have the surgery, I’ll be back on stage in six weeks. That’s what the doctor they hired said.”
“Bella, you’re sick. You need help.”
“I want to go to sleep, Maya. I’m so tired. They’ve been giving me these pills… my heart always hurts. Don’t let them win. Let me go.”
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