Not Quite Dead Yet

by Holly Jackson

I’m sick of people.’ ‘Am I people?’ ‘You sure look like one.’

‘My choice is I can die now, or I can die in seven days?’

What kind of choice was that? Jet couldn’t even decide what to have for breakfast most days. Die now, or die in a week? Toast or cereal? Both?

Not enough time. To scream. To live.

Pre-dead. Un-dead. Fuck sake, a zombie, that’s what she was. Talk about foreshadowing.

‘I’m finally going to do something, Mom. Something important. And I’m going to see it through to the end. This time will be different. It has to be different, because it’s my last chance.’

‘I’m going to solve my own murder.’

Didn’t see her. Because she was small? Or because she was dead in a week and didn’t matter as much as the other people here, the ones who didn’t have a countdown hanging over them. Halfway between the living and the not, her edges less defined somehow. No … probably just the small thing.

The moment she goes in alive and comes out dead.

‘– I think I’d remember getting and spending thirty grand, Billy. How many lattes and avocados do you think I buy?’

‘And I’ve never been murdered before either.’

‘Well, you’ve probably ruled some things out. I’m no detective, but it probably wasn’t aliens or Taylor Swift. She’s very busy.’

And her heart was right: what was the point of being afraid anymore? The worst had already happened – the thing from your nightmares, the reason you didn’t go out alone in the dark or held your keys in your knuckles if you had to. Jet couldn’t get any more dead; it had already happened.

Was this what it felt like to be a man? Walking on this creepy dark bridge, not scared for a second that she wouldn’t make it out the other side, because it didn’t really make a difference whether she did or not. The night belonged to her now too.

A dead woman walking. And dead women had n...

‘– I feel fine,’ Jet lied. ‘No different. Turns out dying feels a lot like living.’

‘If you asked my heart how long, it could only say it’s been a while,’ he sang. ‘And I’d ask you instead: how could you not love that dangerous little smile? She laughs like an old man dying, and I gotta keep it together, I’m really trying. Loved her since the start, since day one, but day one won’t ever be one day ’cause …’

Half. Halftime. Halfway dead. No return. No taking it back. No undoing her choice.

‘That’s dark,’ Billy said, looking around. ‘I think motives for murder usually are pretty dark. But it is my first time.’

Don’t be boring, Sophia, I don’t have time for it.’

‘– I’m not dead yet,’

‘You know you can still get in trouble, right? I’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card. It’s called dying. You don’t.’

‘Did TV teach you how to pick a lock, Jet?’

‘Don’t need to. There’s a lockbox.’ She pointed to the little black box mounted against the wall, behind a plant pot, a combination lock across its face. ‘But I love your faith in me as a master criminal. Let’s keep that energy going.’

‘I don’t think that’s the security alarm!’ Billy screamed back. ‘Jet, do you smell smoke?!’

‘Love you,’ Jet said, opening the door. ‘S-sorry?’ Billy stuttered. ‘Talking to the dog. Bye, Reg. See you later.’

‘I’m right behind you if you fall,’ Billy said. ‘I’ll crush you.’ ‘I’ll catch you.’ And Jet was sure he would, actually.

it wasn’t an accident, if Luke killed Emily … then it wasn’t my fault.’ ‘Jet.’ Billy turned to her, the storm settling in his eyes, reaching out to take her hand, holding it in her lap. ‘It was never your fault.’

‘You’ve been in love with her since you were a kid, and you never knew she’s the one who ruined your life!’

‘Margaret Mason,’ he said, breathless. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of second-degree arson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’

So many unanswered questions she was going to die with.

But there was something worse than all of that put together. That she was going to die while Billy hated her. That was worse.

Who would have thought, this time last week, that Billy Finney would be her most important thing? Not just poor, sweet Billy. So much more than that. Home.

Because, Billy, this past week, I haven’t really been dying. I think, maybe, it’s the opposite. I’ve finally been living. And that’s all because of you. You showed me.

‘You can love something without needing it to love you back.’

‘A sixty-piece set. But the hammer isn’t here. The murder weapon. It’s yours, Billy.’

‘It was you.’

Wtf