“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, sniffing, as she steps carefully closer. “I’m sorry, Jonas. But I have to do it.”
She reaches out her hand—the one not holding the knife—and strokes his cheek. It’s no longer warm. In fact, it’s pretty cold.
“It was nice of you to bring the purse. I wish you hadn’t, though.”
She almost begins crying again, and she pulls back her hand. She doesn’t know what else to say. A prayer? That doesn’t seem right. She’s not religious and she doubts Jonas is.
Do it then.
She gingerly turns Jonas’s palm so it faces the ceiling, exposing the thin blue veins in his wrist—it’s not easy because of the laces, but she manages.
He’s already dead, she tells herself and closes her eyes. He’s already dead. He’s already dead.
The sentence becomes a monotone chant in her head. She focuses on it hard, shutting out all other thoughts. She needs to open her eyes in order to see what she’s doing. Her hand shakes so much she can barely steer the point of the knife, and she has to grip it with both hands to get it to land on the soft skin of Jonas’s wrist. The blade pushes the skin down a few millimeters.
All right, just a slight push and then pull down.
Selina stares at the knife, but it doesn’t move. Her arms are trembling violently. Her body is fighting back. It won’t obey.
Come on. He’s already dead. He’s already dead!
But the mantra doesn’t work anymore. The thought of Jonas’s blood about to burst out of his wrist is too much. She can’t do it. She can’t kill him. Not like this. Not with his sleeping face right in front of her.
She removes the knife, drops it on the floor and lets out a small scream of despair. She grabs her hair and looks up into the ceiling. She feels like vomiting. The temperature in the cramped room swings between frosty and stifling hot. Everything spins around. Selina realizes she’s about to faint. In a few seconds she will—
Then a noise cuts through.
Selina stares at Jonas. He’s still sitting in the same posture. But his neck is doing tiny twitches. His breath is audible again, although very faint and raspy.
It’s happening!
Selina is gripped by panic. She turns to the shelves, goes through them frantically, searching for something, anything she can use, just not something that will make it bloody. She pushes stuff to the floor, it’s all either for cutting, stabbing or bludgeoning, and she can’t do any of those things to Jonas, she just can’t, but she—
Then she sees it. The solution. It’s been right in front of her the whole time. She just dismissed it. It’s a plastic bag full of nuts and bolts.
She grabs it and empties it on the floor. Then she goes to Jonas, gets behind him and—before she has time to think—resolutely pulls the bag over his head and tightens it firmly.
Jonas’s breathing quickly becomes even more strained. The bag is expanding and contracting in small, rapid thrusts, the inside soon fogged up and the plastic starts to cling to his hair. Strong tremors go through his body.
“Sorry!” Selina tells him and starts bawling loudly. “I’m sorry, Jonas, I’m sorry!”
She grips the bag as firmly as she can, pulling it shut around his neck with all her strength. She cries and apologizes and strangles. She doesn’t know for how long. Maybe a minute. Maybe three. But suddenly, finally, Jonas is no longer twitching, and he’s no longer breathing.
Selina sobs and keeps clutching the bag tightly. She needs to be absolutely sure, so she counts to a hundred. When she’s positive that it’s done, that Jonas is really dead, she lets go of the bag and staggers away until she hits the wall. Her legs give way and she slumps to the floor. She begins crying again, but this time she also cries from relief.
It’s over. You did it. You saved the world.
The thought bears little comfort.
SEVENTEEN
Something vibrates somewhere close by.
Selina sniffs and takes a few deep breaths. It’s probably her dad. But she can’t talk with him right now. She can’t talk with anyone. Yet she pulls out her phone.
It’s Dan.
Selina answers and says hoarsely: “I did it.”
A bated breath on the other end. Then: “How?”
“I strangled him with a plastic bag.” Selina can’t really understand the words coming out of her mouth. It has to be someone else speaking. Another Selina in another reality. A reality where that Selina just killed another Jonas.
“You sure he’s dead?” Dan asks gingerly.
“I’m sure.”
“So he didn’t turn before you did it? I mean, he was still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Dan lets out a long sigh of relief. “Good job.”
Good job, Selina’s mind echoes. Like she passed a test in school.
“Did you ... get any scratches? I mean, I imagine he must have struggled. I think he could have infected you even though he wasn’t dead yet.”
“I didn’t get any scratches.”
“Was anyone else near him? You think anyone could have touched him?”
“There are no others.”
“We just need to make sure that—”
“Listen to me, Dan. Jonas didn’t infect anyone else. He was already halfway in a coma when I came to the hospital.” She looks at Jonas while she talks. His head, which is still in the bag, has slumped to the side. Luckily, she can’t see his face from this angle.
Dan is quiet for some time. “Okay,” he mutters. “I guess it’s over then.”
“It is.”
Selina is about to disconnect, when Dan goes on: “I just got this … I don’t know, it keeps bothering me. I feel like we overlooked something.”
Selina sighs. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but … I’ve been here before, you know. Where we thought everything was over. And then I remembered my sister …” Dan interrupts himself.
“I think you’re just paranoid.”
“Maybe you’re right. How about you? How are you feeling?”
“How
