CELL

/ TWENTY FIVE /

Fuck!

Ryan released the doctor and jumped up, staggering away from her.

He couldn't do it. The Ryan before all of this might have been a killer. That could even be why he was here in the first place. This Ryan, however, wasn't. Bradley was a monster, but that didn't make him one. He didn't subscribe to the maxim of an eye for an eye, a murder for a cold-blooded murder, and if he had continued with his attack, she would have turned him into her.

Fuck!

Was he being weak by releasing her? Possibly. He hoped he would live to regret his decision.

Dr Bradley's head was moving from side to side, as if she was searching for something, but her eyes were fluttering. The hand that had clawed at him was still on her chest, while the other was patting at the floor in an uneven beat. She was making gasping sounds in sharp breaths that rasped over her damaged throat.

Her movements and sounds were diminishing in strength. He crept closer and knelt beside her.

She jumped, her body jolting suddenly. Her head and hand didn't stop, though, and continued their shaking and tapping.

"Bradley?" Ryan said tentatively.

He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she didn't respond to the contact.

"Dr Bradley? Can you hear me?"

She didn't acknowledge him and, with the glassy stare from her eyes, he wasn't certain she could see him.

Or knew he was there.

What had he done?

Using both hands, he shook her, then gently tapped her face, unconsciously copying her own rhythm. Her rocking head stilled, and her breaths grew fainter, to the point he could barely hear her. Then her lips moved as she said something too quiet for him to hear.

Relieved that she had the strength to speak, however weakly, Ryan cheered inwardly. He hadn't killed her! But she was clearly waning. Perhaps he had.

She spoke again. He leaned in.

"What did you say?"

In a voice that was struggling to push through her damaged tissue, she whispered:

"I'm sorry."

Ryan frowned and lifted back up a little. There was no time to question what she meant.

Bradley's hand shot up and grabbed his throat. Rather than her fingers spreading to squeeze his neck, they formed a claw to grip around his trachea, pushing into the flesh surrounding it. It was his turn to try to prize her off, but she was stronger than he expected. Stronger than she should have been. Instead of wrenching at her wrist, he had to take hold of her fingers and thumb and try to pull them apart. As he was doing so, he saw her other hand scrabble at her pocket and pull something out.

He only just released her thumb to lash out wildly, trying to knock the knife from her grasp. It sliced into the side of his palm and he shrieked, twisting it away. Instinctively, though blood was gushing from the wound, he continued his attempt to release his gullet, watching for the returning blade.

A deafening BOOM next to his head brought another shriek and knocked him sideways as if it had been a physical push. His ears were ringing, and he pressed against them with his hands. It took a second for him to realise the doctor no longer held onto him and he looked at her.

And wished he hadn't.

Dr Fiona Bradley was staring straight upwards. Her eyes were wide. Her mouth was drawn back in a silent, frozen snarl.