The Red Eye [Open Novella Contest 2023]

Chapter 3

Donna awoke to darkness, which was weird. She was never a morning person and never woke up with the sun like Caleb, and definitely didn't wake up before the sun. She coughed gently into her bedsheet and blinked up at the ceiling. A strange feeling was stuck in her throat and her head ached. That wasn't unusual, but the feeling of cotton in her head was a new sensation. She blinked lazily up at the ceiling for a moment, disoriented.
Suddenly, her nose felt itchy and she was worried she was going to sneeze. Donna hated making loud noises during the night. Generally, Caleb was tired enough that he slept through anything, but Donna didn't want to risk it. She sniffled and reached over to her nightstand and grabbed a tissue. She blew her nose, and as she did it, the strange feeling in her throat flared into a burst of pain. She froze.

Oh my God, she thought. Ice flooded her veins. Donna threw off the covers and wanted to cry at the feeling of her muscles aching. Body aches were caused by fibromyalgia. A sore throat could be caused by stress or fibro or stress. But she had experienced those hundreds of times before, and the aching in her body and her sore throat were different. They were the feeling of her immune system trying to fight a respiratory virus.

Donna jumped to her feet and ignored how the movement made her sway. She ran to her dresser and fell to her knees. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She opened the drawer she always hated to open and grabbed two latex gloves and a cloth face mask. Her breath was wheezy and she swallowed hard. It was dark in the room, but Donna didn't need to see to pull the gloves over her hands and the mask over her face. Her eyes threatened tears. Stop it, stop it, stop it, she told herself. Crying wouldn't accomplish anything. She got to her feet and threw open the door to her room. The floor of the hallway was cold as she ran to the kitchen.

The cabinet under the sink was reserved for only cleaning supplies. Bottles filled with alcohol, bleach, and vinegar greeted her when she opened it up. The light from the nightlight didn't let her see enough though, so she growled and flipped on the light switch.

The medical-grade cleaners were in the front, and Donna grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner and wipes. She found herself holding her breath as she cleaned. The mask was there. But no mask was perfect. As she scrubbed the refrigerator handle, she found her eyes were still burning with tears and she was having trouble swallowing with both the sore throat and the lump stuck there. So, she cried. She sniffled and sobbed as she scrubbed. Her mask caught her tears and blocked the germs she was breathing out. But not all of them. She scrubbed the countertop.

She was sick. The thought made her scrub harder.

She was sick and she had been contagious for God knows how long. She scrubbed again, harder. Donna imagined the germs there being destroyed by her chemicals. Tears continued to fall from her eyes, and they started to blur her vision. The clock on the microwave read 3:47.

She didn't see it, but she knocked something on the counter. A decorative perfume bottle that Caleb's mother had bought at their annual flea market that fall. It was beautiful, and it had been a gift. The bottle rolled, and even though Donna saw it roll and realized that she should grab it, she couldn't make her arm work to grab it. The bottle rolled off the countertop and landed with an ear-splitting thud on the kitchen floor. Donna stared at it for a while, holding her breath. The bottle rolled for a second before it slowed to a stop.

"Damn it," she whispered.

"Donna?" Caleb's voice called out from down the hallway. His voice was rougher than usual, a sure sign that he had been fast asleep.

"Stay there!" she yelled. "I'm fine! But stay there!"

"What?" he said, but Donna didn't hear any footsteps. "Why? What's going on? Are you okay?"