I’d just fucked a sixty-year-old married Oscar-winning actress to death.
Chapter Nineteen
“Melinda!” I said, shaking her shoulder frantically.
She didn’t move. Her eyes were open and clouded. I’d never seen a dead body before, but there was no doubt in my mind that I was looking at one now. I ran over to the table where I’d put my phone, nearly tripping over my shoes.
Shaking, I dialed 911.
“Hello? I need an ambulance! I’m at The Stanton Hotel on Fifth, the penthouse suite. I—I think she’s had a heart attack.”
Fuck, how the hell could this be happening?
“Okay sir, what’s your name? We have an ambulance on the way. Is she responsive?”
“Liam, and no. She . . . I think she’s dead. Her eyes are open, and she’s not breathing. She’s so pale and her lips a . . . are turning blue.” I ran my hand through my hair, not sure what to do. I felt like I was frozen. Everything I thought I knew about how to cope in an emergency had jumped out the window.
“Okay, I need you to try and feel for a pulse. The medics are just arriving now. Is the door open?” she asked me. I put my shaking hand on Melinda’s neck, trying to find the pulse.
Still nothing.
“No, the door is locked, and I can’t feel a pulse,” I replied, on the verge of tears. Her skin was still warm to touch. “What do I do?” I yelled, distraught, clutching my head. Fuck, my head was a mess.
“Sir, what I need you to do is give her chest compressions. I want you to put me on speaker and sit the phone on the floor. Can you do that?”
Nodding, I set the phone to speaker and put it on the floor beside me. “Now what?”
“Okay. Lay her flat on her back. Loosen any clothing around her neck. Now, I want you to measure two hand lengths from the hollow of her neck to the vicinity of her chest.”
My college first-aid elective was slowly coming back to me. I measured two hand lengths and placed my hands on her chest.
“Okay, now press, one, two, press, one, two, press, one, two. Can you keep doing that until the ambulance arrives?”
“Yes,” I replied, starting the compressions.
“Good. I’ll stay with you on the line. You’re doing great, Liam. Really great. The paramedics have arrived, and they will have a key.”
I jumped at the sound of a loud banging on the door. “Okay I think that’s them now.”
“Liam, we’re coming inside.”
Two men walked in carrying a bag and a stretcher. “Thanks, Liam. We’ll take over from here.”
I stepped back, grabbing the towel off the chair and wrapping it around my waist. The worst thing was I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do but stand there and watch.
They worked on her for close to twenty minutes, one pumping air into her lungs, the other doing the compressions. Finally, the first guy shook his head. They both stood up.
“She’s dead?” I said, in a high-pitched voice.
“I’m sorry. There was nothing you could have done.” He bowed his head, his expression grim.
Fuck. What the hell do I do now?
I clasped my hands behind my head, trying to think. I kept seeing her vacant eyes below me. I’d known Melinda for nearly four years. I considered her a friend, but right now, grieving for her wasn’t even on my radar.
The only thing I could think about right was protecting her name. She was married, for fuck’s sake, with grown children and grandchildren. I didn’t want this to be the way people remembered her.
If this got out . . . well, these kinds of stories forged c areers for reporters. The press was going to eat this up.