JENNIE

The fact that she knew my name didn't alarm me.

My family owned half the city, including a good portion of this very hospital. Considering that my sister's escapades were constant fodder for the tabloids, I would have been more insulted if she didn't know who I was.

But once again …it was that look in her eyes. It chilled me right down to the bone; I know you, Jennie Kim, it said. Way more than just a face from the Society Pages.

Before I could choke out a reply, she smiled—for real this time—and my poor brain struggled to find the right words to describe it. Dazzling. Magnificent ...

The flash of pearly white teeth nearly knocked me senseless. I lost my grip on the handkerchief for a split second, sparking the taste of copper over my tongue.

"Word travels fast around here," she said, voice traveling down my spine.

I felt my nose wrinkle as I frowned. Apparently news of my terminal illness had spread before I'd even left the damn hospital. How long before my picture ended up splattered over the front of some tabloid beneath the headline, Heiress given weeks to live?

I didn't answer. Instead, I willed my nose to stop bleeding, though I had a feeling that I was quickly becoming in danger of needing transfusion number four.

I felt so dizzy all of a sudden. As if, at any moment, I could pass out. Faint.

"What do you see?"

"Huh?"

The question threw me off and had me turning to face her before I could help it. Wordlessly, she inclined her head and my eyes automatically followed.

The hall we were in opened onto a causeway, where patients and visitors alike wandered the pristine floor.

The sight reminded me of a hotel—albeit minus the IV poles some people sported instead of suitcases. The air was the same: that busy, 'places to go, people to see, get the hell out of my way' vibe that made everyone seem closed off, further away.

Without meaning to, I found my gaze settling over a young girl who had her head wrapped in a polka dot headscarf. Beside her, a man I guessed to be her father pushed an IV pole that rattled over the floor.

She was almost as pale as I was, with dark, bruise-like circles underneath her eyes—but that wasn't what stood out to me the most.

She was smiling. Walking, talking and …smiling. Despite the obvious physical signs, if you went off that expression alone, you would have never guessed she was sick at all. My gaze remained glued to her, even as the mysterious doctor spoke up again.

"Mortality," she said grimly. "It's the most precious commodity in the world, don't you agree?"

I nodded. I may have not been that invested in my own life, but I could read the fervent desire on all the other faces—from the new mother carrying her infant in a car seat, to the elderly man clutching a newspaper to his chest.

The lust to live was always the same.

"There are some who would do anything for another chance at life, for more time."

She spoke so matter-of-factly that it wasn't until my mind processed what she was really saying that her morbid tone struck me like a blow.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." I sounded like I was under water. My nose was still dripping. Even the pressure of my hand wasn't enough to staunch the blood flow.

"You wouldn't," Ms. Gray Eyes said with a shrug. "Immortality doesn't interest you, does it, Jennie?"

Alarm raced down my spine—no longer was I convinced that this was just a random chat with a stranger. It was all in her tone.

"I have to go." I clutched the now bloody handkerchief and tried to stand. My legs felt as flaccid as limp noodles. Sweat poured down the back of my neck, and the erratic beat of my heart quickened and then faltered. Thump, thump, th-ump.

"You're not afraid of death," the person—though I was now seriously doubting that she was a doctor—continued. "You welcome it; or so you tell yourself. But, I'm here to offer you a choice—"

"I think …I need a real doctor."

I was through humoring her. Without bothering to be polite, I attempted to stagger in the direction of the activity, grasping onto anything to steady me. My hands were slippery and my once-burgundy peacoat was now soaked scarlet.

Hemohemorrahgia kept haunting me in Doctor Wallis' curt tones. 90% fatality!

"Mortality can be a hindrance of sorts."

She was still talking, only I had no idea just what she was getting at. More importantly, why hadn't she gotten a doctor or flagged down a nurse? I clung to the wall and scanned the crowd of blurring faces, desperate to catch sight of another white lab coat.

"I think I …need …help."

It took all my strength just to get the words out. And she only ignored me.

"I'm here to offer you a choice, Jennie: accept your impending death, or …something else."

What else? I struggled to ask but was only greeted with silence. It stretched on for a good five minutes before I realized that she had finally left. That strange vibe was gone at least, but so was any sensation or feeling in my limbs. Or sound. My vision was an inky shade of gray, nearly black, but …

When I finally gave into the darkness, I swore I could hear her whisper one last time, "It's your decision, but if you're smart, you will make the right one."

Beep, beep, beep played the horrible mechanical lullaby that lured me out of sleep.

Oh no.

I knew that smell. That icky metallic taste in my mouth that came from the solution they used to flush an IV. Heart sinking, I realized where I was even before I peeled my eyes open to a worried Harper and clinical white walls.

"It's been two days, miss," he announced, frowning beneath his salt-and-pepper mustache. At least the man knew exactly what I wanted to hear: no sappy stuff, just the facts.

"Get the car ready," I rasped the moment I found my voice.

Ouch. It hurt to talk. I had to take a few sips of the water Harper poured from a pitcher just to erase the grittiness in my throat. I couldn't remember how I had gotten here or why. All that mattered was the fact that my trusty driver was already standing, ready to carry out my bidding.

"I'll have the car brought around in a minute, Miss."

I could tell from his expression that he wanted to say more—something other than the customary confirmation of orders.

That he was concerned, perhaps? Worried? That maybe this time I should stay inside this horrible place, strapped to a bunch of machines?

Whatever it was, at least he knew better than to mention it out loud. Without another word, he disappeared through the door of what I guessed to be a private room. Oh God. I was definitely in a hospital—not even an emergency room bed, but an actual inpatient wing judging from the sounds of chaos coming from the hall.

What had Harper said? Two days?

I shivered at the thought. Forty-eight hours of blissful unconsciousness while these trigger-happy villains in white had been free to do whatever they wanted to me—all while gleefully charging my family's account.

I forced down a few deep breaths, and then tried to sit up.

It was a bad idea.

It hurt—everything hurt; my body, my skin, my head, even my hair. I felt tender and used and broken, which was probably why the IV snaking from my wrist wasn't clear with the usual maintenance fluid, but red.

For some reason, I wasn't alarmed by the sight of what had to be my fourth transfusion this month, merely annoyed. From experience, I knew that they wouldn't let me leave until the whole thing was finished running—no matter how many lawyers I threatened to call.

I sank back against a wall of pillows with a sigh. Everything that I had always put off loomed overhead, threatening to come crashing down if I didn't take care of it soon. That whole 'will' business would definitely need to be dealt with—and not only for the sake of the money. In fact, I was willing to put the welfare of my Siamese cat, Mr. Tinkles, above the entire Kim fortune.

Tinkles had been rescued from a shelter after an accident had left him blind in one eye and missing two hind legs. Like any true spinster in training, I had given him his own wing in the house and a personal cook. He was my special baby and he absolutely hated me. I couldn't even look at the beast without him flexing his claws.

To be fair, he hated everyone, but if making sure he had fresh tuna every night was the price Rosé would pay for taking control of our inheritance, then so be it.

In fact, it seemed very important to ensure Mr. Tinkles' wellbeing. There were so many things Rosé needed to know: his nightly schedule, and how to rub his belly with the sole of her slippered foot so that it didn't hurt so much when he scratched, the importance of his favorite toy, Mr. Squeakers.

Oh, and the whole 'your sister is dying' thing. That should probably be mentioned as well.

I glanced around the room and found my cell phone resting on the bedside stand, most likely courtesy of Harper. I attempted to reach for it, annoyed by just how badly my fingers shook. In the end, I settled for keeping it on the table and switching on the speakerphone. I tried six of the eleven numbers I had listed for Rosé before someone finally picked up on the third ring.

"'Lo?"

I sighed at the sound of a man's voice, and strained my own to carry. "Can I speak to Rosé or Roseann or Peach or Sprinkles, whatever she's calling herself now—" She went by so many damn names these days, I could barely keep up.

There was a grunt from the other end. "Hey, sweetcheeks! Phone."

A second later, my sister's chirpy voice filled the room, laced with static. "Hello, helloooo?"

Wonderful. From the high-pitched giggle edging her words, I could tell she was already drunk.

"Rosé?"

"Jeen!" Her shriek bounced off the walls and I wished that I had the strength to slap my hands over my ears. Instead, they just twitched by my side, too heavy to lift. "Jenjen! What's going on?"

Her worried tone caught me off guard.

"What do you mean?"

Unease coiled in my stomach. Had Harper gotten to her first?

"You only call when something bad has happened," Rosé accused. "So what is it? Did the stock market crash? Are we desti …dessitude?" Another tattered giggle.

"Destitute," I corrected offhandedly. "And no, we are not, by the way. Where are you? I'll send the car."

I rolled my eyes in anticipation of the answer; which seedy bar would Harper have to drag her out of now?

Her reply came on a bubbly bit of laughter. "Belize, darling!"

"B …B-what?"

"Buh-leeze," Rosé squealed, drawing out the word. "Paulo here has a Villa. We've had a whole beach all to ourselves!"

My guess was that 'Paulo' was the charming answerer of the telephone and with a hazy grasp of geography I assessed that Belize was somewhere in South America. Rosé sure knew how to pick her men. Though, to be fair, she was in the tropics while I was stuck in a hospital bed. I shook my head to clear the rare bit of jealousy that thought stirred.

"When are you coming back?" I asked, though I guessed the real question was why I was so surprised that she had left the continent without even telling me?

That was typical Roseann. I could only be grateful that, this time, she had remembered to bring along her cell phone.

"Not for three weeks," Rosé said. "Paulo has some business to take care of, and then we plan on going on a cruise—"

"Do you think … Do you think you might be able to come home early?"

I hated how petulant I sounded. I might as well have added a 'pretty please' onto the end—however, from her tone one might think that I'd suggested my sister sprout wings and fly.

"Early? What on earth for?"

Was it really that much of a hassle to visit your only sister?

"I could send the family jet ..."

"Oh no. Something is wrong," Rosé whined. "What is it? The last time you sounded like this, Dad had his heart attack."

"Nothing," I lied. "I just …miss you, is all."

"Miss me?"

I could picture her scrunching her nose up as she tried to puzzle out the meaning of those foreign words. My family never threw out terms like 'love' and 'missed.' We merely coexisted: a band of allies bound together by blood and money.

My parents never had a marriage—merely a business arrangement. Rosé and I weren't their children, but assets. I had only one other relative, apart from my sister: an eccentric uncle by the name of Orwell who hadn't been seen since Father's funeral.

"Well," Rosé said, "you'll see me when I get back. We'll get lunch or something, huh?"

"All right."

I didn't have the heart to mention that I wouldn't be alive in three weeks, according to Dr. Wallis' grim prognosis.

I was dying.

Only now did the realization hit me like a kick in the gut—and my irresponsible kid sister couldn't even come home on a private jet, just so that I could tell her in person.

I would be lying if I claimed to not feel something. Hurt? Though, maybe the ache in my chest was just pity at the thought of Mr. Tinkles going without his nightly belly rubs? What would he do without me …

"Jennie? Jen? You there?"

"Yes," I croaked, shaking my head to clear the troubling thoughts. "I'm here."

"I have to go. I don't get good service out here, so it's probably best if you don't call me for a while. At least until I get back. Also—" I sighed, guessing the turn of the conversation before the words, "Can you send me some money?" even left her mouth.

"How much?" I demanded, cutting her off mid-plea.

"About two hundred, give or take."

I wasn't naïve enough to assume that she meant the amount at face value.

"Two hundred thousand?" I clarified, just to drill the point home; she could jet off to Belize without a word, but it was nice to know that I, big sister Jennie, would always be her glorified ATM.

"Pretty please?"

I wanted to be annoyed, but she could have asked for two-hundred million and it still wouldn't have made a difference.

"Fine," I said, forcing down a dry swallow. "It will be in your account by tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jen! You're the best! Smooches."

With a fake kiss, she hung up.

I didn't even get the chance to mention Mr. Tinkles and what should happen to him in the event of my unfortunate demise. For the longest time I just sat there, staring at the plain walls of my hospital room while trying to ignore the commotion of doctors and nurses from beyond the doorway.

Several realizations hit me all at once.

For one, I was alone. I was dying and I was alone.

I didn't even get the chance to tell my little sister that everything was all hers—apparently, beach-hopping with someone named Paulo was more important.

My kitty would go hungry.

"Miss Kim?"

I jumped as the door opened and someone entered the room. Assuming it was a nurse, I struggled to pull myself upright while pointing at the hated IV.

"I'm leaving as soon as you get that damn thing out of me …"

I trailed off once I realized that the small figure approaching me was a young girl. She was a pretty thing with charming blue eyes and a pink scarf wrapped around her head, turban style.

It was nearly a full minute before I realized that I recognized her; the girl from the other day. From all appearances she looked to be the sickly child I had seen on the causeway, but at the same time …

This girl wasn't pale. Her skin was fuller and those eyes were less sunken in. The only thing on her arm was a tiny pink bracelet whereas two days ago, there had been an IV.

I'll take whatever she is having, I thought in awe of her transformation. Perhaps there was a trial for a new miracle drug being tested somewhere in the hospital?

"Hello," she greeted me. Her smile was beautifully crooked, revealing one missing front tooth and a dimple in her left cheek. In one hand, she held a single rose which she placed on my bedside-stand. In the other was a folded slip of paper. "She told me to give you this," she said, offering the note.

She? "Who told you?" I asked, even as I raised my trembling hands in an effort to grab the ivory slip. Harper? Dr. Wallis? "Was it a man in a uniform? Was he wearing a hat?"

That smile widened as she shook her head. "Nope. She did."

I was confused. Even more so when she reached over to take my pathetically weak hand in her own. She was warm. Gently, she eased my fingers apart and slipped the paper into my palm.

"She said to read it and answer the question at the bottom."

Huh? I stared down at the white slip.

Was it some kind of hospital survey? A list of things I would have to 'pinkie promise' not to sue for if they let me out against medical advice?

I didn't care. I pulled the edges apart as the girl stood back, forcing my blurry vision to take in the words scrawled across the page.

Jennie Kim, you have been chosen, the first line read in black ink. Certainly not the usual opening of a 'please do not sue us' letter. Intrigued, I read on:

Choose wisely. You will only be presented with this opportunity once.

Choices …that word triggered something—a memory. Blond hair, gray eyes: that strange doctor from the hallway.

Had she sent me this note?

By the time I reached the very bottom I was convinced this whole thing was a joke.

There were two neat lines of script, each in front of a box. A checkbox. It reminded me of one of those notes you received from a boy in grade school—or, like the ones I had received with strict instructions to pass on to Rosé. One of those, Do you like me? If so, check yes! Only, the options specified in this note differed slightly.

Well, Miss Kim, this mysterious 'she' had written. Make your choice.

Beside each box was a single word, and if I wasn't so weak I would have rubbed my eyes just to make sure they weren't playing tricks on me.

Live, read one option. The other was just as simple. Die.

Choose wisely, the writer reminded. Either option, once selected, cannot be undone.

"What is this?"

The note slipped through my shaking fingers to bounce onto my lap but, when I glanced up, I was shocked to find that the strange girl had vanished. All that was left behind was that startlingly red rose on my bedside-table. Next to it was a plain silver pen that I was quite sure hadn't been there before.

I blinked, shook my head and wearily rubbed my eyes again.

But all three items remained.

It's a joke, I told myself sternly. Obviously that "doctor" in white had a thing for messing with the minds of the terminally ill.

Terminal.

For some reason, that word made my heart beat faster. I was terminal. Voice cracking around a laugh, I tested the word out loud.

"Jennie Ruby Jane Kim is terminally ill."

Thinking of Mr. Tinkles and Rosé and my parents' two, cold plots on the family estate, the words died in the back of my throat. Impulsively, I found myself reaching for the pen. My fingers closed over the shaft, and I dragged it closer while spreading the note flat on the table's surface.

My choice?

Death, of course, I thought with a harsh bark of laughter. I wasn't afraid. I had stared down that dark abyss my entire life, as the girl who nobody really saw, but everyone wanted something from.

My parents had demanded perfection. Rosé, attention. Mr. Tinkles, tuna. Even Harper, as wonderful as he was, stuck around because of a hefty paycheck every month.

No one wanted just Jennie and, as I sat tucked in that hospital bed, I realized for the first time that I had never really lived my own life. The epitaph on my tombstone might as well read, "Here lies Jennie Kim; she lived to serve."

Death was the one thing I had always had control over. From the age of thirteen I had gotten the grim gist that how, when, or where didn't really matter. It was something final. Something that—in that moment—would happen only to me.

No one else could take control.

Only now, I needed to take control. These days, the doctors and nurses called the shots. I was just the body strapped down, forced to suffer it all until …

I gulped and dragged the pen over to the box marked Death. I made a faint line—barely a mark on the ivory—before something made me move a little to the right.

Okay, Ms. Doctor, I thought as I formed a tiny check as neatly as I could. Two can play at this game.

She wanted to give choices, did she? Well, I choose Life. My own life, to live the way I wanted without being at the beck and call of someone else.

That vibrant, streak of black ink blazed from the page in triumph. I felt oddly proud of myself as the pen slipped from my fingers to roll across the floor.

When unconsciousness found me again, I could have sworn that I was smiling for the first time in months …

Even as a deep, accented voice chased me into the darkness, whispering, "Choose wisely."