Night in Kijuju

The car door swung open on the man’s side, and he then walked round the vehicle and opened the door on Excella’s side, holding out his hand to help her out: — Here you go. The woman declined his help and tried to get out of the car herself: — Where are we? — A motel. We need somewhere quiet to wait it out, — the man glanced at her in her nightdress and decided to shield her from the rain and the damp chill. — Here, you’ll catch a chill,— the man draped his black coat over her slender shoulders. A light drizzle was falling outside. The girl didn’t have time to object, feeling the warm fabric settle on her shoulders. The two of them climbed the iron staircase to the second floor and, opening the door, entered the room. The room contained a double bed, a small wardrobe, and two bedside tables with dim lamps. There was also another door leading to the bathroom. — What a pain in the neck,— flashed through Excella’s mind as she frowned and looked at the man. — And what on earth are we supposed to be waiting for here… Zeno? Hearing the woman say his name with a strained tone at the end, he walked over to the sideboard, setting down his briefcase: — We mustn’t attract too much attention, your departure from the country could be detrimental to many people,— he noted to himself that the woman had remembered his name at the first attempt… Perhaps it was all down to his Italian heritage and the atmosphere steeped in ancient history. Excella rolled her eyes, folding her arms and leaning against the wall: — ...Does your agency not have a private helicopter for evacuation? He checked the notifications on his phone and, glancing at them, said: — We do, but it’s currently on a higher-priority mission, so the organisation has sent me, this will ensure you’re brought out safe and sound. The woman snorted, letting out a soft chuckle: —What confidence,— echoed in Excella’s head, before she felt a gnawing hunger mingled with a chill. — I’m hungry. Can you get me some Jollof rice, coconut soup, fufu and something else?— Excella collapsed onto the bed, clutching her head. — I’m afraid not,— Zeno hung up the phone. — What do you mean? — the woman tensed, propping herself up on her elbows. —You’re severely weakened at the moment, and there’s no telling how your body will react to regular food. Once the antidote has been administered, you’ll be able to get all the nutrients you need from this,— he said, pulling a syringe from his case and holding out his arm, positioning it under the lamp to demonstrate. —...Are you planning to feed me vitamins? — the woman grimaced with disgust and anger. —I’ve been ordered to deliver you alive and well, and, by the way, — he turned the case, showing the machine’s reading on the screen, — your 5 ml of healing is already ready. The woman moved closer, peering at the screen. She had dealt with this machine before… Indeed, everything looked clean and safe. Noticing her hesitation, Zeno clicked a couple of buttons and pointed his finger at a section of the monitor: — If you like, here’s another demonstration using a blood sample containing the virus and showing how it interacts with the antidote,— he said. On the screen was a video feed from a digital microscope, showing the antidote being repeatedly injected into the blood until the virus was almost 100% neutralized, with no fatal side effects for the host’s body. The video, played at an accelerated speed, showed around 30 attempts by the device and adjustments to its dosage settings. Excella’s face, illuminated by blue LEDs, watched the movement of the pixels with a frown, carefully weighing up all the risks. Memories flashed through her mind of how she had constantly administered the medication to Albert, dreaming of contracting the Ouroboros herself and standing by his side in their new world. However, the virus had not entered into symbiosis with her body, and that had led to this nightmare. The most terrifying thing was that everything in this motel felt like déjà vu… Even the stranger himself bore a striking resemblance to Albert… Would she have to trust him again, and then pray and hope that she wouldn’t turn back into a mass of flesh in agony? As she pondered, the woman caught a glimpse of her own face reflected in the metal rim of the case. The dark spot by her temple gnawed at her eyes… She was no longer that Excella Gionne… She no longer held that position at ‘Tricell’, she had no trusted partner in the case, she had none of her connections, and her beautiful face was gone. Excella lowered her head, letting strands of hair fall and partially cover her face. Her emaciated body throbbed with a dull ache in her head and bones. — To hell with Ouroboros, to hell with ‘Tricell’, and to hell with you. Give me your fuckin antidote, — the woman hissed through clenched teeth, holding out her other arm, where a vein was clearly visible. The man gently took her arm, and with his other hand opened an antiseptic wipe, rubbing the intended injection site. Without lowering her arm, he picked up the prepared syringe and then squeezed the area above the crook of her elbow. As soon as the vein bulged under the warm light of the lamp, the man said quietly: — I promise, this will help… The pain will be gone, — he said, gently moving his thumb along her bicep. The tip of the needle gently pierced the skin, gradually shifting almost entirely into a horizontal position. It was as if a sparkling kingfisher had dived into an emerald river, not reaching the bottom and continuing its journey upstream. The syringe plunger pushed down, administering the medicine. The woman closed her eyes against the unpleasant sensation on her skin, hissing: — I hope this will get rid of those dark spots and scars on my face as well. The man, without being distracted by the injection, said, looking at her from under his brows: — Do they bother you? Excella looked at him, studying his face, and replied: — I’m afraid only men look good with scars; women don’t look as attractive with them. The fingers on the syringe plunger paused, but resumed administering the medication after a couple of seconds. Once the needle had withdrawn from her skin, the man placed a tissue over the injection site and gently covered it, bending her elbow inwards. The woman raised her hand and pressed it to her chest. Zeno got up from the sofa, rummaging through his case, and muttered: — Now I’ll need to check on your condition every few hours; after a day, the antidote will have been fully absorbed. And, of course, you’ll need a nutrient boost, but that won’t be for at least another five hours. Excella struggled to lift her gaze to him. Everything felt like a distorted mirror, like a dream. As if she had become lost in a labyrinth of familiar corridors, and upon opening one of them, there stood Albert from her dreams. As if her mind, sick with the virus and betrayal, had sublimated his image as compensation for her shattered ego. Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a lighter… Those damned cigarettes. — I’d ask you to step outside if you’re going to smoke, — the woman said, almost in a whisper. Zeno didn’t immediately grasp what she’d said; it was as if he’d just woken from a daze. He stared at her, then at the cigarettes, and exhaled: — Oh, right… I’m sorry, — he nodded, leaving the room. Silence. Excella sat alone in bed, waiting to see which way the coin would fall and whether this shabby little room would become her grave. After a few moments, the tension mounted, already vibrating through her whole body. She felt cramped and stifled. — Fuck! — she blurted out, leaping out of bed and flinging the door open. Before the man could even look up in surprise—cigarette still burning in his mouth, eyes widening behind his glasses—Excella deftly snatched a cigarette from his case and placed it between her lips. Zeno hurried to pull a lighter from his pocket just as the woman cupped his chin with her hand, drawing his face closer whilst holding her cigarette in her other hand. Bringing the tips of the cigarettes together and waiting for one to light the other, she drew air through the paper roll, igniting the tip. Her eyes were completely focused on the green tip glowing in the darkness. The man, without looking away, carefully returned the lighter to his jacket pocket, afraid to move. As if his careless breath might blow out the flame on the silk moth perched on the tip of his cigarette, reaching for the light in the darkness. After the flame had been shared, the woman broke away from her companion, exhaling the longed-for smoke. — ...I can’t stand cigarettes, I can only tolerate cigars. But, damn it, how I needed that drag,— she brought her other hand up to her chest, exhaling smoke to the chaotic rhythm of the rain. The man smiled faintly and, after taking a drag, asked: — Cigars, then… And which ones?’ Excella tilted her head and replied: — Oliva, but sometimes Cuban Partagas.’ The man raised one corner of his mouth and said, gesturing with the cigar in his hands and nodding gallantly: — Of course. After a brief silence, the woman leaned on the railing and said: —...By the way… Albert didn’t mention that he had any relatives.