the top. Knowing Melissa she’d have left him a full pen: that meant that there was 300 ml of insulin – more than plenty to send him into hypoglycaemic coma, from which there’d be no waking up.
Takumi tensed, trying to pinpoint the man’s whereabouts. His heart began to beat ferociously, his adrenalin kicking in, and Takumi thought that his body was his worst enemy of all, for his raised pulse would only aid the effects of the insulin. Despite his earlier resolve to show no fear, he cried out and began swiping randomly to push away his killer.
He felt the sting of the needle as it punctured the side of his neck. It was as if a wasp had stung him. He slapped at it, but found the man’s hand as he pushed down on the plunger. In desperation Takumi dug his nails into flesh and tried to tear the hand loose. The man only laughed and continued to depress the plunger. Takumi realised too late that he had not found skin, but leather gloves – the source of the man’s scent when he first noticed his presence in the room.
‘This is almost too easy,’ the killer said, stepping away. ‘I came here hoping that you were some sort of karate master and that I might have my hands full in a one on one battle. I was looking forward to the challenge. Instead, you’re about the most pathetic of them all.’
‘You bastard! You evil bastard!’
‘Hah, what happened to the inscrutable Jap reserve I’ve heard about? When you’re about to die, Japs’re no braver than anybody else.’
Takumi grabbed at the wheels of his chair, twisting round. Not to face the man but searching for his side table. He scrabbled with his fingers along the top, searching for the cellphone he’d placed there.
‘Looking for this? Oh, sorry, I forgot you can’t see. If you’re looking for your phone, I’ve got it right here.’
‘Please . . .’
‘What? Please what ? Please help you?’ Something clattered against a wall and Takumi thought that the phone had been thrown across the room. He continued to scrabble at the table, his fingers meeting things that were normally familiar but in his panic unidentifiable. He could not find what he was seeking for. Takumi began yelling in frustration.
The wheelchair was yanked round. The man leaned over him, grabbing hold of his head and holding him tightly. ‘Shut up! Shut up, goddamnit, or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.’ Takumi felt the man shake him savagely. ‘Good. That’s better. Now if you scream again, I won’t finish things with you. I’ll wait here for your pretty little granddaughter to come home. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you understand what I’ll do to her?’
‘Leave her be, she has nothing to do with this.’
‘Shut up. You have no say in what I do. All you’re going to do is sit there and die, you old Jap bastard.’
The man shoved Takumi’s head to one side, then stepped away. ‘How long does it take for that insulin to work? I’d have thought it would be kicking in by now. Let me see your face.’
Takumi wanted to resist, but suddenly he felt a sinking feeling in his entire being, like someone had opened a valve and his blood was spilling out of him. He well recognised the symptoms associated with hypoglycaemia as his blood sugar levels began to drop. Ordinarily he would call to Melissa and she would bring him a sugary drink, or some hard candy to suck on, and he would stave it off. Never had it come on as rapidly as this before. Heat burned a swathe up the centre of his back. Conversely the sweat popping out on his brow was icy cold.
‘Shit. I’ve never watched a yellow man turn white before. I think you’re fucked up, old man.’
Takumi began to shiver. It didn’t manifest outwardly, the sensation was internal, his cells craving energy. The phantom pain was back. But now it travelled up from his ghost legs, through his thighs and into his lower abdomen. A cramp knifed its way into his stomach.
‘Are you hurting? What a pity. Well, if it’s
Takumi tensed, trying to pinpoint the man’s whereabouts. His heart began to beat ferociously, his adrenalin kicking in, and Takumi thought that his body was his worst enemy of all, for his raised pulse would only aid the effects of the insulin. Despite his earlier resolve to show no fear, he cried out and began swiping randomly to push away his killer.
He felt the sting of the needle as it punctured the side of his neck. It was as if a wasp had stung him. He slapped at it, but found the man’s hand as he pushed down on the plunger. In desperation Takumi dug his nails into flesh and tried to tear the hand loose. The man only laughed and continued to depress the plunger. Takumi realised too late that he had not found skin, but leather gloves – the source of the man’s scent when he first noticed his presence in the room.
‘This is almost too easy,’ the killer said, stepping away. ‘I came here hoping that you were some sort of karate master and that I might have my hands full in a one on one battle. I was looking forward to the challenge. Instead, you’re about the most pathetic of them all.’
‘You bastard! You evil bastard!’
‘Hah, what happened to the inscrutable Jap reserve I’ve heard about? When you’re about to die, Japs’re no braver than anybody else.’
Takumi grabbed at the wheels of his chair, twisting round. Not to face the man but searching for his side table. He scrabbled with his fingers along the top, searching for the cellphone he’d placed there.
‘Looking for this? Oh, sorry, I forgot you can’t see. If you’re looking for your phone, I’ve got it right here.’
‘Please . . .’
‘What? Please what ? Please help you?’ Something clattered against a wall and Takumi thought that the phone had been thrown across the room. He continued to scrabble at the table, his fingers meeting things that were normally familiar but in his panic unidentifiable. He could not find what he was seeking for. Takumi began yelling in frustration.
The wheelchair was yanked round. The man leaned over him, grabbing hold of his head and holding him tightly. ‘Shut up! Shut up, goddamnit, or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.’ Takumi felt the man shake him savagely. ‘Good. That’s better. Now if you scream again, I won’t finish things with you. I’ll wait here for your pretty little granddaughter to come home. Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you understand what I’ll do to her?’
‘Leave her be, she has nothing to do with this.’
‘Shut up. You have no say in what I do. All you’re going to do is sit there and die, you old Jap bastard.’
The man shoved Takumi’s head to one side, then stepped away. ‘How long does it take for that insulin to work? I’d have thought it would be kicking in by now. Let me see your face.’
Takumi wanted to resist, but suddenly he felt a sinking feeling in his entire being, like someone had opened a valve and his blood was spilling out of him. He well recognised the symptoms associated with hypoglycaemia as his blood sugar levels began to drop. Ordinarily he would call to Melissa and she would bring him a sugary drink, or some hard candy to suck on, and he would stave it off. Never had it come on as rapidly as this before. Heat burned a swathe up the centre of his back. Conversely the sweat popping out on his brow was icy cold.
‘Shit. I’ve never watched a yellow man turn white before. I think you’re fucked up, old man.’
Takumi began to shiver. It didn’t manifest outwardly, the sensation was internal, his cells craving energy. The phantom pain was back. But now it travelled up from his ghost legs, through his thighs and into his lower abdomen. A cramp knifed its way into his stomach.
‘Are you hurting? What a pity. Well, if it’s
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