One of Us Is Dead

35 Monday 3 October 2022

Bill Llewellyn wasn’t actually doing that great. The professor was shivering and perspiring heavily. The weekend’s events had really shaken him up.

He could barely hold the Diet Coke can, his hand was shaking so much. Trying desperately to think clearly, with his brain frozen like the way a computer screen freezes and needs rebooting. What if his wife did know about Shannon Kendall? What if she was thinking of reporting him to the university?

What did he have here he should destroy? Wipe from his computer? Oh Jesus.

His chest was pounding, crazily. It felt like a heavyweight boxing fight was happening inside it. Sapping his energy. He sat down in his chair, behind his desk. Think, think, think.

How would he explain about Shannon to Bethan? Thank God he’d now got rid of the trophy underwear. That had been smart.

Maybe if he just put on the charm and convinced her that what they had was worth fighting for, she might change her mind and not leave him. He must ring her immediately to try to save his marriage.

He reached over to his desk phone, tapped her number out on the keypad, giving himself a moment before picking up the handset and propping it between his shoulder and the side of his face. He needed caffeine — a shot of caffeine to jump-start his brain. He popped the ring-pull of the drink can, heard the hiss of escaping gas, and gulped down mouthfuls of the sweet-tasting nectar.

As the ringing tone started, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his mouth and then in his throat. Instantly the handset fell from his shoulder and he dropped the can, splashing him and everything around with cola. What? What had just happened? What on earth was in that can? A bee? A wasp? How? His panic levels rose.

Rivulets of perspiration were flooding down his forehead, stinging his eyes, half-blinding him. He managed to remove his glasses, dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and looked around.

It took a few seconds for Llewellyn’s near paralysed brain to process just what had happened. He stared ahead, his eyes wide. A new fear now began to grip him.

He could already feel his throat tightening, or was that his imagination? His pulse was racing. He made his way over to the fridge, side-stepping the puddle on the carpet and, feeling increasingly unsteady, almost fell over. He reached the fridge, grabbed the door handle, and for a moment stood, steadying himself. The tightening in his throat was increasing and he was having to work harder to breathe. He was wheezing. And feeling a little giddy.

He pulled open the door, reached for the top shelf of the fridge and pulled out the slim yellow package, six inches long, labelled EpiPen. With increasingly shaking hands and fumbling fingers, he managed to tear the package open, then with difficulty, his fingers reluctant to obey the instructions his brain sent them, he prised open the lid and took out the pen inside, letting all the packaging fall to the floor.

It was getting harder to breathe, his throat felt as though a steel ring was clamping it tighter and tighter. He tugged off the top of the pen, stabbed the needle end into his right thigh and pressed the plunger.

Nothing happened.

He frowned and pressed harder. Harder still.

‘What?’ he gasped. ‘What... the—?’

The EpiPen was empty. They’d sold him a dud pen?

He staggered back towards his desk. Had to get to this desk, to his phone, to dial 999.

He was sort of — sort of swaying.

Spinning brain.

Spinning, a giddily spinning body.

Fighting for breath now.

Trying to focus.

That damned desk was ahead. Just a few feet in front of him.

He just had to reach it.

He stumbled to the right, then to the left. Almost at the desk now. He reached out both hands to grab the edge, to steady himself.

But he was too far from the edge. His hand flailed on empty air. Then he hit the carpet, face down, barely aware of the sticky wetness, and the partially flattened can of Diet Coke wedged uncomfortably under his right thigh.

As he lay there, he heard a disembodied voice. A female voice. Bethan’s voice. ‘Hello?’ she was saying. ‘Hello, who is this? Who is this please?’

She had a nice voice. He liked her voice.

He died listening to it.