43
Kieslingstraße 14, Nuremberg, Germany
July 3
Halfway down the stairs, Eva heard the familiar thump of the street door, and the shuffle, shuffle of feet on the steps. She froze, bag over her shoulder, hand on the wall, dead silent as she waited. The footsteps got closer, closer, and then she saw him: Rhodri came pacing upwards, caught sight of her, and paused.
“Eva!” he panted. “What’s… what’s going on?”
She adjusted the backpack, took a deep breath, tried to stay calm.
“I’m going out,” she said quietly.
“Out?” he asked, stepping towards her. “With all that? Where are you going?”
He smiled, happy, seemingly innocent. She returned the smile, but artificially.
“Just out. Nowhere special. I’ll… I’ll be back in a bit.”
Rhodri frowned at her.
“What about my afternoon off?” he said, touching her hand, and she flinched, very slightly.
“Can it wait?” she asked, sliding past him, but he caught her round the waist, leaned her against the wall, leaned in to kiss her. She kept her mouth away, and he brushed up against her cheek, once, twice, checking to be sure.
He moved back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone hardening. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Eva pushed him back suddenly, and he fell into the railing.
“Not telling you? What are you not telling me!”
She started down the stairs, but he caught her arm, turned her around. He looked desperate, confused, flustered. Angry.
“Eva, listen, I don’t understand. What are you talking about? What happened?”
She pulled herself away from him, but didn’t run. She stood there, eyes shooting left and right, thinking, fighting with herself. She threw her backpack off, reached in the side pocket, and pulled it out: the container with the orange lid.
“What’s this supposed to be?”
His mouth dropped open, but he didn’t move. Then he closed his mouth, jaw clenched tight. He met her eyes reluctantly.
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“I’ll bet. So try me.”
“Eva, not out here—”
“Yes out here! Come on! Let me have it! What have you really been doing all these months? It’s not web design, is it? Is it?”
He shook his head slowly, sat on the steps, head low.
“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you think—”
“Oh spare me the sob story! You’ve been lying to me, pretending to do good, and all this time, you’ve been messing around with this, killing innocent people! People we know! my clients! our friends! You’ve been killing them!”
“What are you talking about, Eva? I’m not—”
“Save it! I saw the news clippings! Modena, Graz and Linz were all eaten up by major outbreaks just days after we left! It’s not a coincidence, Rhodri! Nobody could think that’s a coincidence! That’s just murder, plain and simple!”
“Eva, I swear, if you just—”
“No!” she shouted, gripping the vial tight in her hand. “No more lies! That’s it! I’m done! Burn in hell, Rhodri…”
She grabbed her bag up off the steps, turned to leave, but Rhodri reached for her, grabbed her elbow. She turned fast, slammed her fists into him, and he stumbled back, trying to hold her arms. He reached forward, trying to wrap his hands around her head, trying to bring her to him. She kicked out, hit his shin, and they both fell down the steps, crashing into the landing below.
Eva scrambled to her knees, reaching for her backpack, slid her mask onto her face, as Rhodri lay there against the wall, bleeding out of his temple, head turned strangely, eyes half-open, twitching with his heartbeat.
She backed up, hit the wall, and then saw it: the container lay beside him, lid nearby, his shirt and face wet with its serum.
Eva checked herself quickly, patting herself down, feeling everywhere, the mask, her hair, her clothes… she was dry… she was dry, but Rhodri was… he was…
His chest was still, but she was too scared to reach in and check for a pulse. She slid further away, eyes never leaving him, slid further down the hall, and away. Rhodri made no move to stop her. No move at all.