Chapter ten:
#Jake
I had to pull myself out of this grief and return the phone to the woman, Steve's sister. Keeping the phone with me was just a weak excuse for my constant hesitation. I needed to end this indecision.
I turned the car around and headed back towards Leo Street. The rain had stopped, but the cold wind was still blowing fiercely. I arrived at the house, got out, and knocked on the door. There was only deafening silence. I knocked again, harder, but there was no response. I whispered to myself, "Maybe she really is asleep. I shouldn't bother her."
But something was wrong. This stillness wasn't the stillness of sleep; it was the stillness of neglect or absence. I pressed my ear to the door to catch any sound, but my nose caught a strange scent creeping out from the small door gap. Oh God, what is that smell? It's certainly not an ordinary smell.
My heart began to pound frantically. I hesitated no longer; this smell was unnatural. I started hammering the door with greater force, hitting with my knuckles, but to no avail. I had no choice but to break in.
I remembered the harsh strength exercises in my cramped cell. I never intended to use the power I gained in that house, of all places. I directed strong, successive kicks at the wooden door. If I were in my previous slender body, I wouldn't have been able to do it. But the strength acquired in hell broke the lock. The door shattered and burst inwards.
As the door opened, the smell grew stronger and deadlier: it was the smell of gas, magnified in the void.
I screamed internally. There was no time to search for the light source, as a single spark could end everything. I tried to hold my breath as long as I could. I rushed toward the kitchen, whose layout I knew well. The gas was emanating from the open stove burner. I closed it immediately, then opened every window I saw along my path. Every second was precious.
I sprinted through the dark rooms. This house has history with me; I know every corner of it. I rushed toward the bedroom and found her sleeping on the bed. No, not sleeping; she was unconscious, helpless.
I opened the bedroom window as well. I knelt beside her and tried to wake her: "Miss, wake up! Julie! Can you hear me?"
But she wouldn't stir. She remained submerged in her silence, her slender body motionless. She was wearing blue pajamas, and her wet hair had left a mark on the pillow.
I didn't hesitate for a moment. "You won't die here, Steve's sister, not after Steve is gone." I quickly lifted her into my arms. I felt her lightness and weakness in my hands, and I carried her out of that house filled with poison. I placed her in the back seat of my car and drove at the maximum possible speed towards the hospital.
Throughout the drive, I kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, afraid that her spirit might slip away from me. "Stay with me! You are not alone!" I kept repeating this phrase to her, and perhaps to myself. I felt my spirit returning to me. Steve is gone, but you must stay.
I reached the hospital and carried her again, rushing towards the emergency room, shouting, "Please, come quickly! She needs help! She inhaled gas for a long time!"
Doctors and nurses hurried over. They placed her on the bed, put an oxygen mask over her face, and connected her to an ECG machine. After they treated her, the doctor came out.
I approached him nervously. "Doctor, please tell me, is she okay?"
The doctor smiled wearily. "She will be fine, don't worry. She suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning, and she is currently unconscious. It's fortunate you brought her at exactly the right time. The probability of her passing away was high if you had been delayed."
A wave of relief washed over me, but it quickly turned into alertness. The doctor asked me, "Can you tell us your wife's name?" I quickly replied, "What? She is not my wife, she is my friend's sister, and her name is Julia Michael." The doctor apologized for the misunderstanding, but I told him it was okay.
I sat on the waiting chair, holding her phone—the cause of all this—in my hand. I looked at the screen: the wallpaper showed a picture of Steve and Julie embracing. I didn't just save my friend's sister; I saved her from death. I placed the phone on the table in front of me.
Minutes passed that felt like long hours. I was watching the door of the room when I heard a sharp, sudden sound coming from inside. It was a loud scream.
I got up quickly and ran towards the door. I stopped on the threshold, frozen in place.
Julie was awake. She was lifting her slender body on the bed, her green eyes, which resembled Steve's, wide open, filled with a look of genuine terror. She didn't notice my presence.
She screamed at the top of her voice, a scream mixed with fear and despair: "Is he dead? Is he dead?"
Nurses and doctors rushed in and tried to calm her down. But she was fighting back, her hands trembling, and tears streaming down her face.
"I didn't mean to kill him! He tried to strangle me! I defended myself!"
She continued to scream, pleading, "Will I go to jail? Have I become a murderer? Am I a criminal?"
I stood there, witnessing this violent breakdown, and the words spun in my mind: Murder? Jail? I shook my head hard. This cannot be real. This is all due to the poisoning. This is a terrible chemical delirium that made her see an attacker and stab him in her sick imagination. She is not a criminal; she is a victim of an illusion.
A nurse approached quietly, carrying a syringe. Julie succumbed to sleep again after being injected.
The doctors left, and I remained rooted to the spot. I finally entered the room and walked slowly towards the bed. I sat on the edge of the chair beside her. I looked at her face, which had regained its calm.
I whispered to myself, my eyes fixed on her small hand: "If I had hesitated to return your phone, you would be dead now."
She looked like a sleeping angel She just came down from heaven I examined her round face and small dimples , her full cheeks , and her lips, which were like a fresh strawberry. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes, which charmed even when closed, her perfectly drawn brown eyebrows, and her small, ideal nose that plastic surgeons couldn't recreate.
I placed the phone on the nightstand beside her bed and left the room. I am no longer just a lost man, and perhaps the events I lived today will be a major turning point in what will happen later.
In the morning, I heard a whispering voice, "Sir, sir, can you hear me?" I opened my eyes and found it was the nurse waking me up.