Day 135

His desk groaned as he placed the last crate on the only available surface.
At last, the room wasn't empty any more though her presence still gave the air a chill.
Looking around he could just about see the floor, rather he could just about make
out the path he had left for himself so he could navigate between the desk, window
and his side of the bed.
Her side was buried under yet more crates.

His gaze was drawn to where she used to rest no matter what he was doing.
The way she went was... unique?
He had no other words for what happened, in all his years as a doctor he'd never
encountered such a condition as she had nor had he encountered it since.
It had turned what was supposed to be a peaceful trip into a frantic rush to cure
whatever strange illness she had contracted.

If only he had noticed the symptoms earlier.
Of course they'd heard of some kind of respiratory virus going around but they
took every precaution to avoid it.
The climate was dry to begin with so her cough was attributed as such and
seemingly stayed as a slight cough for just over a month before fading entirely.

They didn't link her former cough to her dizzy spells, nausea and lethargy.
As the days went on she grew weaker and weaker, her breath grew raspier as
her lungs slowly seized up.
He still slept next to her, through her delirium and wheezin, gaspy breaths.

Even now he swears he hears her breathing.
Wait, he can hear her breathing but where could it be coming fr-
The crates on her side of the bed have been moved.
But how, nobody's been in this room all day except him...

He circles the room, her breathing is definitely coming from the bed, specifically
on her pillow.
He can almost smell her sickly sweet breath, can almost see her pallid face.
A month ago this would have brought him relief, he would have given anything to
see her again, even if she was a spirit.
But now... now the sight of her slowly materialising out of the pillow only fills him
with fear.

He has to get out of there, this can't be real, she can't be real.
He stumbles through the small patch of clear floor among the crates, trying to get
to the door, needing desperately to get out.

The door is locked.
The door is locked!
He panics, slamming his fists against the wooden surface and screaming for help.

Her scent is growing stronger and the sound of her breathing is now coming
from beside their bed.
As her breathing moves closer he finds his own breath mimicking her raspy
inhalations.
His vision begins to narrow, his pounding hands slip and falter.

A cold hand touches his shoulder and soft words are spoken into his ear.
The breathing stops.