The next morning...
He woke up to the loud sound of a vacuum cleaner downstairs.
He checked the clock beside his bed and saw that it was a few minutes past ten.
"Is she cleaning?"
He went downstairs after freshening up.
On reaching the sitting room he found someone that was not Anaya.
She stopped on sighting him and switched the vacuum off.
"Good morning sir" she greeted nervously.
Her hands were kneading against each other nervously, and her head hung low.
He nodded.
"What's wrong, Roberta, why are you still cleaning? You're usually done and would have left by now"
She bit her lips.
"I'm sorry, sir, I came late. I promise it won't repeat..."
He held up his hand to stop her.
"As long as you don't do it again," he said sharply and went to the kitchen while she continued vacuuming.
By the time he had made breakfast and had finished eating it, it was already minutes after eleven.
"Strange!" he muttered as he stared at the clock.
He already knew Anaya was a late riser, but she was up before eleven, sometimes even once he started cooking.
"Maybe she was still mad," he thought.
He sighed and decided to give her more time.
If anything would bring her down, it would be hunger.
******************************************
He checked the time again and found it to be almost 1 p.m.
Now he was anxious.
"Roberta!" he called.
In an instant, she appeared in front of him.
"Have you seen my wife since you came?"
"Since I came this morning or..." "Yes, this morning"
"No, I haven't. You were the first person to come down today"
"You can go!" she curtsied and left.
He went up the stairs and to her room.
He knocked on the door but there was no answer.
"Love?" still no answer.
"You can't stay inside the room forever, you'll eventually come out. Save yourself the trouble and come out now!" still no answer.
His eyebrows knitted together.
'What the fuck is wrong with her?'
"Love, this isn't funny anymore. I know you can hear me. Come out now!"
Still an eerie silence.
Something didn't feel right!
He twisted the knob. Thankfully she didn't lock the door.
Once he entered he found her curled up in a ball, still asleep.
He tapped her, but she didn't move or respond in any way.
"Wake up, Love!" he shook her, but she still didn't move.
"Anaya this isn't funny anymore, stand up!" he turned her over, but there wasn't a single sign or response.
His heart began pounding insanely fast.
Aside from the unusual paleness that she was covered in, he couldn't see anything wrong.
Was that sweat on her forehead?
He drew a finger down her forehead and assessed the dampness on his finger.
It was sweat indeed which was strange because the night and even that morning were cold.
As he took her wrist, her hand was cold despite the beads of sweat that glistened her forehead.
At this point, he was already thinking the worst.
He was hesitant, but with summoned courage, he pressed two fingers on her wrist and concentrated on a pulse.
He froze and had his eyes dilated in shock.
He could barely feel anything.
Even when he caught one, it was weak and faint.
He should have been excited about that one because the next one was even weaker.
He didn't want to admit it, but it almost seemed like she was... dying.
"If this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny. Open your eyes love, open them!"
Now he seemed like he was begging.
Okay, he actually was but so what?
He shook her with urgency and desperation this time, maybe hope flew in somewhere along the line as well.
He didn't want to believe it or give in to his negative thoughts, but she didn't move, didn't budge, didn't blink...
He was sucked into a myriad of emotions.
Panic filled him instantly.
He was stuck in place with a heart beating as hard as an aggressive creature locked in a cage... hell he could hear it loud in his ear.
He had never been so confused as to what to do.
Should he wait to see if all this was some kind of sick joke?
Should he call an ambulance?
Or should he take her to the hospital himself?
Ah, hell! He couldn't think straight with all the thoughts and emotions running directionlessly in his head.
This was why he used his head to think and not his heart.
She couldn't die,
How was she even dying?
She was fine the previous night, how the fuck does someone go from energy, giddiness, and excitement to weak, unresponsive, and dying in a matter of hours?
'Save her, smartass!' a voice chided him.
He immediately scooped her from the bed and into his arms and went downstairs.
"Roberta! Roberta" he called.
She came rushing out to meet him with a stunned expression.
"You called, sir... Oh my, what happened to Miss?"
"Get my keys and open the back door of my car for me, now!" he ordered.
She flinched at his loud and powerful voice but still did as he said.
He placed her in his car's backseat and then slid into the driver's side.
He collected the keys from her and drove out of the house's yard.
He knew he was speeding at a dangerous and unhealthy rate, but he didn't care.
He had to make sure nothing happened to her.
*COUGH*COUGH*
He looked in the mirror to see her eyes slowly fleeting open.
"I feel cold and numb," she said in a raspy voice that was an inch away from being a whisper.
Even though she was still weak, he was excited that she opened her eyes.
Luck was being generous to him.
"Listen to me, Love. You have to keep your eyes open, understood? Love?"
She wasn't responding. She seemed to be going off again.
"I can't. My eyes are heavy"
"No, fight it! Don't close your eyes, don't give..." and with that, she went back into her peaceful, undisturbed unconsciousness.
"Damn it!" he cursed and banged angrily on his steering wheel.
He would do all he could to make sure she was fine. He didn't care what it was going to take.
He would make sure of it.