The Last Thing He Told Me Series Novelas e Histórias

And Vincent realized too late—that even he was disappearing too. The last thing he saw was the journal glowing in the stranger’s hand and the faint echo of Camela’s voice crying out for him. Then everything plunged into darkness.

“All this time, she wasn’t running from me. She was trying to save us.” He looked over at me again. “You said she told you to take care of yourself?” I nodded slowly. “Yes. Those were her last words before they took her.” He swallowed hard. “She always did that. Put herself last.” For a moment, neither of us spoke. The fire popped softly in the corner. Then he said, almost under his breath, “He doesn’t know what’s coming for him.” I looked up. “Who?” “Daniel,” he said, his tone flat, deadly calm. “He’s got no idea what’s coming.”

I had known this for a long time. My eyelids felt so heavy. I was ready to go. I was so tired. Selena was crying loudly, but I couldn't comfort her anymore. On April 20th, I closed my eyes for the last time and slipped away.

I spent the first 2 days on the island drinking, smoking the island grown ganja, ugly crying, and when I reach exhaustion sleeping for 10 hrs. Something I hand done in years because I need to keep everything perfect for Sam so he’d love me. I’d called all 3 of my kids this morning, Damien reassured we that everything was fine. Turns out he had contacted Lena this past weekend and Lena had arranged for me to attend a retreat of the coast of Croatia that was geared towards helping executives decompress from the stress of high demand jobs. An executive I was not and I love my job so I don’t find it stressful, but I wasn’t going to complain and knew I was in much need of intense therapy.

I say, and he nods his head. "What do you want to do after breakfast?" He asked, pulling me out of his bedroom. Me? What do I want to do? I don’t know. “Ooh, by the way.” I stop him. “This is the last bit of that message, okay?” I say. “Alright. What is it?” He asks as we stand at the door. “In his last moments at the hill, Ejay or Matthew told me something I find baffling.” I state this after remembering those jerks words. “Something that involves you.” I add.

The campus outside doing its April things. He looked at the last sentence. The stories we keep are the institutions we are — and the institutions we build are only as honest as the stories we’re willing to tell about them. He looked at it for a long time. Then he picked up his phone. Called Mia. She picked up on the second ring. “Done,” he said. A pause. “Read me the last sentence,” she said. He read it. She was quiet. “That’s it,” she said softly. “Yes,” he said.

However, it was far too late. I wanted to tell her I didn't blame her, but I knew she could never hear me. In my final moments, I would never know if Mom truly spent her life atoning, nor what path Ryan would take in the orphanage. All I could sense was freedom from every burden. And with the wind, the life of Jessie Hartwell faded away.

I reached for him Fingers slipping from his The last thing I saw was his face breaking apart as I fell And the last thing I heard was the agent’s whisper: “Subject Two secured.”

“Just trying to make things easier for you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He dips his head to the side, dark eyes trailing over my face. “You really have nothing else to say?” “I don’t know what you mean.” I pull my hand free, finally, rubbing it subconsciously. “Nothing at all?” I blink, confused. “What am I supposed to say, Damon?” “You’re not even going to ask about last night?” For a second, my mind blanks. Last night. Hannah. The call. The way he left without looking back. My stomach tightens. “You didn’t exactly leave room for questions.”