The place where his left ear used to be was throbbing to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Fast and panicked. His breath came out in short, loud gasps. Nora was just a few steps away from him, leaning over the table where the pistol and knife lay. Her face was contorted, but she was no longer crying.
‘Please,’ he whispered, his voice hoarse. ‘Please don’t do it.’
Now she let out a dry, strangled sob. ‘Be quiet.’
‘Why won’t you untie me? We still have a chance… please just untie me, okay? Okay?’
She didn’t respond. Her right hand wavered shakily over the weapons, which gave off a dull gleam in the light of the naked bulb.
His whole body convulsed with fear. He writhed around on the chair, twisting as far as the ropes would let him. They cut into his flesh, burning him, as unyielding as steel bands.
But it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my…
He screwed his eyes tightly shut, only to open them again. He had to see what was happening. Nora’s hand was on the knife now.
‘No!’ he screamed, or at least he thought he did. ‘Help me! Why won’t anyone help me?’ But now, when he most needed it, his voice had abandoned him. It was gone, and soon everything would be gone, for all eternity. His breath, his pulse, his thoughts. Everything.
Tears he was unable to wipe away blurred his sight of Nora, who was still standing there in front of the table. She gave a drawn-out wail, softer than a scream, louder than a groan. He blinked.
She had picked up the pistol, her right hand quivering like an old lady’s. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He wrenched his body backwards and forwards in desperation, almost tipping the chair over. Then he felt the cool metal against his cheek and froze.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
Her hand touched his head gently. He felt her fear, as great as his own. But she would carry on breathing, carry on talking, carry on living.
‘No,’ he whispered tonelessly, finding his voice again at last. He looked up at Nora, who was now standing right in front of him. He wished fervently that he had never heard her name.