Lunar Virus ✔️

Chapter Seven: Elie

Elie's POV:

I had a bad dream. It was one of those dreams. The dreams that feel really real just ‘cause they’re so realistic. Like, “That probably happened, and now I’m mortified because my pants fell down in a public area.” But then you wake up pondering your life, wondering if your pants actually fell down, and after concluding it was just a dream, you feel relieved, then go about your day like a normal person. This time, I wake up from a dream about ten times more mortifying: fainting in the girls' bathroom. Really. I don’t even know where it came from. The only thing not adding up is that I’m not in my own bed. Rather, I’m in the infirmary. Still, there’s no way that I fainted in the girls' bathroom. Right?

A pressure builds in my head, and at its peak, a voice says, Boy, you better believe it happened. Holy Toledo! The voice from my dream! Damn it, boy. You really are a moron, aren’t you? Let me spell it out for you: It wasn’t a dream.

Me: No, this is not happening. I didn’t faint in the girls' bathroom! And who—

Who am I, you ask? Call me Quentin. The only thing keeping you alive right now.

Me: Holy Toledo, I’m going batshit crazy.

Quentin: Lol, no.

Me: Did you just say ‘lol’?

Quentin: Lol, yes. Isn’t that what you humans say nowadays? Lol. Lmao. Af.

Me: Where? How did you learn this?

Quentin: I learned most of the English language from the internet. To be honest, Italian and Spanish were much easier to learn. Not that anything is ever hard for me. Nada es difícil para mí.

Me: Oh my stars, I just spoke Italian!

Quentin: No, you imbecile! That was me. Me! And, um, that was actually Spanish.

Me: Oh.

Quentin: Anyway, back to the important stuff. I am the only thing keeping you alive right now. You’re welcome.

Me: Come again?

Quentin: You’ve been infected with a virus. But don’t worry, I’m keeping you safe. I really shouldn’t tell you any more than I already have. From my studies, I have learned that humans have rather fragile minds. And Elodie’s coming, so stop drooling.

The pressure in my head fades leaving just a gentle throb and a slightly dizzy feeling. Lifting my hand to my mouth, I find that, yes, I am drooling.

“Elie! You’re awake!” And now I’m drooling in front of Elodie. I quickly wipe it away and sit up. Elodie quickly strides in through the door and all the way to the foot of my bed with her arms crossed, looking only 20% concerned and 80% amused. “You know what I’m gonna ask you, right?” She says this 100% amusedly.

“You’re going to ask me if I’m okay?”

"No.” Okay, wow. I guess she’s not a very sensitive person. “The nurse told us that you were just sleep deprived.” She looks like she has more to say, so I stay silent. This is something I have learned from having two older sisters, and very bratty younger one. Looking like she’s trying not to laugh, she continues, “Why did I find you in the girls' bathroom?”

Holy Toledo, it really did happen. The pressure builds in my head again, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Man, that’s weird. I’m talking to a thing named Quentin in my head who’s supposedly keeping me alive. I would have thought I was crazy, if not for the fact that Quentin could speak different languages that I, a simple-simpleton, could not. I almost sigh in relief as the pressure fades.

Elodie clears her throat, now annoyed, and repeats her question, “What were you doing in the girls' bathroom?”

I try to think back to what I was doing, but come up blank. All I can remember is going to sleep after dinner at home, then having a dream, in which I just so happen to be in a girls bathroom. “Um, I can’t remember . . . .” I feel a blush slowly rising to my cheeks.

“You’re blushing,” Elodie says. Suspicion coats each syllable as she says, “Are you sure you don’t remember?” Damn my paleness! It was at times like these that I longed for darker skin. With Elodie being naturally tan, no one could ever know if she was embarrassed or not.

“I’m blushing because I’m embarrassed that I fainted in a girls bathroom. Not because I was being weird,” I say. I’d meant to say this firmly, but my voice cracks in the middle, only adding to her suspicion, and my humiliation. Damn puberty. Damn it all!

Elodie purses her lips, obviously not ready to let go of the subject, when Sheila suddenly burst in looking ruffled. Yes! I’ve been saved!

“Ello!” she gasps, fighting to catch her breath. Wait, Ello? I thought they hated each other. Great, I’m out for one day and they’ve already moved to pet names.

Elodie’s brows crease in concern, “What? Why do you look like someone just died?”

Sheila flinches and looks up, her face unusually pale. “Because someone did just die.” A pregnant pause ensues, leaving us both to process what she’s just said.

Elodie is the first to break it, “What?”

“They say it was just an accident.” Damn, girls and their cryptic ways. Why can’t she just tell us what happened straight?

Elodie seems to think this too, “Are you going to tell us what happened?”

A troubled expression veils Sheila’s features and her gaze, unnervingly sharp, lands on me. “It was a man in his late forties, his job was to maintain the simulators. Some colleagues of his stated that he started acting odd sometime after the clocks were changed. He went and did some supposedly unnecessary repairs on all of the simulators, then left. Two hours later, they found him in the girls' bathroom. Dead.”

As soon as Sheila says this, something clicks. And I can’t help but have the urge to ask Quentin if this was the thing he was trying to protect me from. Had the man who died been infected? Did the virus really kill him off that fast? Am I going to die?

“They’re going to perform an autopsy,” Sheila continues, “but they’re already pretty sure that he died because of his head injuries. The standing theory is that he slipped and hit his head on the side of a sink.” The now familiar pressure builds in my head, You’re asking all the right questions. So, at least I can be assured you’re not a complete moron.

Me: Well, was he infected?

Quentin: Yes.

Me: So, they’ll find this out in the autopsy, right? That he was infected? That he didn’t just slip and die? They’ll try to prevent it from spreading, they’ll find a cure?

Quentin: No, they will never even know.

Already, I feel his presence fading as the pressure in my head releases. Quentin, what do you mean?! I get no answer.

Hours later, the results from the autopsy show the cause of his death. He hit his head hard, causing an almost instant death. No further investigation would be required.

***

Authors Note:

So, what do you guys think about Elie’s POV? Yes? No? If you liked the chapter, maybe consider voting? Finally, have a WONDERFUL rest of your winter break. I’m literally crying at the thought of having to go back to school . . . .