Slowly We Die. Emelie Schepp

       PROLOGUE

      THE WOMAN OPENED her eyes and looked straight up at me. Her hands began clawing desperately at the air, as if she’d just realized what was about to happen.

      I could see her surprise, her confusion, and I whispered to her that there was no alternative, that it was too late, she had already seen too much in the back of the ambulance.

      She should have kept her eyes closed, shouldn’t have looked around with her meddling gaze, shouldn’t have seen me take the ring.

      “I’m sorry,” I said, pressing my hands against her nose and mouth, “but what would you do if you were me?”

      She didn’t answer. How could she?

      She struggled again to pull her face away from me, making one last desperate attempt. Her thin body thrashed up and down on the stretcher. She tried to grab my hands, but instead her fingers just pulled at my arms with increasing panic. Her nails tore at my skin, but I didn’t stop. I pressed harder. Harder.

      She tried to scream, and I heard a gurgling sound. She couldn’t keep it up any longer; her strength began to wane, and she blinked a few times without any tears falling.

      And then, finally, it came. The awareness. This was the end. Her brain let go of all other thoughts, taking in the reality—crystal clear and horrifying.

      There was no sound, only a tiny gasp as she surrendered, as her body finally relaxed and became completely still.

      I took my hand away from her mouth and listened to the silence. I smiled. It felt so simple, so undeniable, so complete.

      This was a deviation from the plan, yes, but nevertheless it was a beginning. I was filled with excited anticipation, with revenge.