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What I feel is euphoria. A strange sense of ecstasy.
I grab the IV bag, twist the syringe onto the attachment, and hold my breath as I depress the plunger. I’m hyperaware of everything—sound, movement, thoughts—as the two liquids blend.
At any moment, the nurse could return.
I could walk from this room and be greeted by a security team.
Oh, God, what if this is a setup?
What if? What it? What if?
I gasp for air and shake away the paranoia, not willing to be taken down by my own mind as I shove the used syringe into my pocket and pull out the next.
I repeat my actions, this time pushing the plunger harder. Faster.
Once the last drop of lethal injection is administered, I stagger backward, fighting my building conscience as I shove all the evidence into my pockets.
“See you in hell, Richard.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s foreign to my throbbing ears. “I hope you suffer for your sins.”
I rush for the door, gripping the handle with a hand covered by my jacket sleeve. I wipe away my earlier prints in a frenzy of rabid movements and then escape the room.
There’s no relief at the sight of the empty hall, only pure, delirious focus to measure my steps. I shake uncontrollably. My arms, legs, and hands quavering.
I want to run. To sprint.
My instincts beg me to flee. But I hold my pace, keeping my head low as I pull out my handkerchief and cover the lower half of my face while I pass the nurses station.
I’m almost hyperventilating when I reach the elevator. My breaths are short and shallow. Everything moves in slow motion.
Each heartbeat feels like an eternity waiting for the elevator doors to open. And when they do, my relief is so overwhelming I gasp out a breathy laugh.
It’s too good to be true.
The rush of success floods my veins, the sensation ten times more exhilarating than adrenaline alone.
I escape into the confined space, no longer feeling suffocated, and smile at the graying man who enters behind me.
I’m no longer a victim.
Richard can’t torment me anymore.
He can’t hurt anyone else, either.
That part of my life is over, and all I want to do is rush into Sebastian’s arms and start on something new.
I press the button for the ground floor, still smiling, still basking in success. Then something shatters the celebration. Something hard and unyielding that presses gently into the low of my back.
“It’s a gun,” the man murmurs. “Scream and you’re dead.”