Chapter 11
Elle had taken his shirt and cleansed his ear with alcohol. His ear was still stinging from the thorough rinsing she had put it through when he heard the study's door creak open. She came with one of her husband's old shirts and a tight, pained look on her face. Stiffly, she sat down in her husbands work chair and tossed him the worn baby-blue shirt. He slipped it on easily for the thing must have been at least two sizes too big. He didn't like the feel of it, though, for he was a classy man who loved the allure of gentleman's suits and dress shirts. This would have to do.
"It was that zombie, wasn't it? The one that's all over the news."
Rainier had no choice but to tell her the whole story. He, of course, left out the parts of him crying for the safety of his last shred of pride. When his story was complete, Elle gave him the most gruesome of expressions he could have hoped for. Was she not supposed to coddle him about his horrific escapade?
"How long has it been since you were bitten?"
It dawned on him then. Was he to die? Of course, when a zombie share's any kind of fluid, in this case saliva, the prey would end up as the predator. Dead. Oh, God, why did he not think of this?
He began hyperventilating.
Was this where his end was? To survive through such a horrible death filled life only to die in his last safe haven?
"Relax, and tell me..." she said softly.
He wasn't stupid. He saw her hand shift under her shirt where he knew she kept her military issued hand gun.
"It has been about two hours. With the traffic," he took another shuddering breath to continue, "and the whole running for my life thing."
She stared silently at his now trembling frame. He could hear the fire from the study's fireplace crackle off in the distance.
"I'm sorry-"
"Well not as sorry as I am!" he hissed venomously, "Kill me."
This was asking a lot and he knew it. Elle may have been steeled from her own adventures in active military life, but her recent desk-job transfer was beginning to soften her back up.
Plus they had known each other for so long.
They had first met in school. Back in the day, back in Lycée when things were so simple. He had opted out in taking the Baccalauréat and instead went to The Juilliard School to get a Bachelor of Music in composition. Ella had taken the difficult test only to fail. Defeated, she opted for a military life where she quickly met her husband, Ivan, and started her own family when she was able to transfer out of the line of active duty.
They had always kept in touch, though. He attended her wedding and was there at the birth of her son, Lyle. He was there for her mother's funeral and he was even there when she just needed someone to confide in. How could she kill this man?
"I know that it takes, at the longest, twenty-four hours for someone to change."
He didn't ask how she had come across this knowledge.
"I will get you something to eat and let you take care of any personal business you need to take care of," she stood and crossed the room to the door, " I'll stay with you throughout the night in here with the door locked. If you change... I'll kill you."
Did he have a choice? He stood and joined her at the door. Extending an arm for an official hand shake, he was rejected. Instead she hugged him close and cried silently into the crook of his neck. They stayed like this for a good hour before they got back down to business. The crooked business of death.
Sorry if I messed up anything about the French school system structure and test.
Lycée is secondary education from ages 15 - 18.
The Baccalauréat is similar to the Abitur, if anyone knows about it. Sort of like an extreme SAT or ACT test.