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| A Flash on Dagger |
This is wrong…this is so wrong.
The
dagger shifted of its own accord. Every muscle in her body creaked in an effort
to contain a tremor. She pinched her tongue between teeth and held her breath.
A nice little slit.
Carefully,
she withdrew the glass dagger and remembered in time. She inserted the tip of
her little finger into the wound and worried a dimple. The flesh encircled her
fingertip with a soft crackle.
The pen…the casing.
She
dropped the dagger.
Silly Nancy.
Crazy
shadows deceived her. She panned her sights frantically across the seat.
Vince
was getting mad at her. Her pulse bolted into overdrive.
The
black tube jumped to her notice. On the tissue where she’d left it.
Two-and-half minutes now.
Dr. Croyd had told her. Time never stops.
Nancy
stretched across without moving her little finger. Her shoulders strained. In
one lunging motion, she snatched the pen from its resting place. A snort
escaped her on retreating. The casing slipped in her fist but wasn’t going anywhere.
No
time to self-castigate. A measured kind of frenzy overtook her as she looked
upon her stub-like finger. Dr. Croyd had failed to mention how to complete the
procedure.
Counting down, Nancy. Two minutes soon.
She
retracted her finger and pushed the casing into the wound. Layers of tissue
parted smoothly; marzipan came to mind. Vince did not flinch.
Blow, Dr. Croyd had
said. Blow until it’s nice and full.
Nancy
felt sick.
She
brought her mouth to the end of the tube and filled her lungs. She pushed her
breaths into the tube. This time, the air travelled freely.
Don’t stop now, get a nice rhythm going. Keep
blowing, Nancy, keep blowing until it’s nice and full. Don’t stop.
His
velvety brogue, his aroma of spiced lavender, his Errol Flynn moustache. Everybody
liked Dr. Croyd.
Tears
sprang to her eyes. Vertigo caused the cab to bob around her. She took another
lungful and blew into the tube. Vince took her air. His shirt whispered as his
chest billowed. A steady hush comforted her. His body continued to radiate
heat. Were these the embers? Were her efforts still in vain? Had she got her
minutes wrong? Had her three minutes actually long elapsed? Vince might be
taking her air, but he might already be dead.
She
took another lungful. She breathed into the tube. His chest billowed again. She
would keep breathing into the tube.
Dr.
Croyd wasn’t here.
She
would keep breathing into the tube.
