Wordlessly, John and William grabbed Carrie by the arms. I held my breath. She continued making the motions of pawing at the window, as if the men’s grip on her were nothing more than some inanimate inconvenience.
Holding the syringe in my hand, I guided the needle in the direction of her neck. As quickly as I could, I jabbed the needle into her neck.
Fully expecting a wild roar from Carrie, every muscle in my body strained as I carefully plunged the syringe’s contents into her writhing, grey being.
Nothing. No reaction at all. John, William and I exchanged glances. If it didn’t have a pulse carrying blood to a human brain inside a skull, Carrie couldn’t see it. Nor, it appeared, could she feel it. Or if she could feel anything, she didn’t seem to care.
The men let go of her arms. Carrie continued to try and make her way through the glass. Gradually, though, her motions slowed down until suddenly, her knees buckled. Eleanor rushed to her side as Carrie slumped down to the floor.
Eleanor cradled Carrie’s head in her arms as the rest of us gathered around her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Carrie’s jaws slowly opened and closed one final time.
“Is she dead?” Eleanor asked me. Shaking my head, I answered honestly, “I don’t know.” I hoped she wasn’t. Otherwise, I was a murderer.