He didn’t see anyone at first and almost closed the door again, but then a small movement caught his attention. A young woman was sitting on the stairs. She had blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and blue eyes. She was pale beyond her complexion and looked weak. She was shivering.
“Hello there,” Samuel said. “Are you alright?”
“No,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “Please, I need help. I live next door. I wouldn’t bother you, but I have no one else I can ask.”
Her breathing was labored, and she paused for a moment, gathering strength. She had some sort of a foreign accent, but he couldn’t figure it out when she was so breathless and spoke so quietly.
“Please,” she said. “Can you please go to the pharmacy for me and get my medicine? And some food for my cat. Please. I’m too weak to go myself.”
She lifted her hand and offered him a piece of paper and some money. He took them, too surprised to figure out how to decline.
“Please,” she whispered. Her hand fell down like it was too heavy to hold up.
He looked at the note and the money, then back at her. Well. Why not? She looked truly pitiful, and as a loner himself he knew well enough how shitty it was to be sick alone. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything to do that night, or any night.
“Well, okay,” he said. “Need help getting back home?”
She tried to stand up, her legs trembling, and nodded. She seemed embarrassed to need the help, but too sick to decline. He stepped back inside to get his coat and keys, helped her up from the step, and supported her as they walked to the next door of the terrace house. She was shorter than him, and he held her by the arm when they covered the short distance slowly. Her door was ajar, but the inner door was closed, and he remembered about the cat. He opened the door carefully and helped her inside. She collapsed on the sofa with a sigh.
“I’ll be right back,” he said hesitantly.
“Take the key,” she whispered and gestured towards the hall. He picked up keys from the bowl on the table and tried it on the door. It fit. He put it in his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, hovering in the doorway. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine once I get my medicine,” she said and drew a few ragged breaths. “It’s just asthma, it just sounds awful.”
She closed her eyes and coughed, pulling a blanket over herself and curling up. He couldn’t think of anything more to say, so he left.
He didn’t have a car, so he walked towards the shopping center near the train station, eyeing her note. She wanted flu medicine, painkillers, and medication for her asthma. She had included the prescription and hand written consent for someone else to fetch them. He hoped that would be enough. She had also listed the cat food brands. There was no mention of anything for her to eat.
Johanna Åkerblom, he read from the prescription. So she was a foreigner. Johanna. He wondered how it was pronounced and if her friends called her Jo.
He went to the grocery store first as it was closer. He considered getting her some food, despite not being asked, and settled for chocolate. You probably couldn’t go wrong with chocolate. Varieties of heart-shaped Valentine’s Day assortments were on display, but he chose a regular chocolate bar with no nuts, in case she was allergic.
The pharmacy wasn’t as big of a success. He got everything else on the list but, as he’d suspected, her hand written consent wasn’t enough, because it didn’t appoint him specifically to be the one to fetch the medication. He received a form to fill out for her to sign. The pharmacist seemed sympathetic but didn’t budge in the requirement, so he decided to get her signature and come back right away. It felt a little tedious, but her breathing had been so pained he didn’t have a heart not to try. She probably really needed her asthma medication.
He walked back and let himself into her apartment, feeling uneasy.
She was still on the sofa, apparently asleep. He went into the kitchen. There were bowls for the cat, and he filled the dry food bowl up and changed the water. There was no sign of the cat. Maybe it was timid.
He put the flu medication on the kitchen table, and on a whim, peeked into her cupboards. There were a few cans of preserves, a box of crackers with only crumbs left at the bottom, a few portions of soup in a cup, and half a packet of rice. The fridge held only bottles of condiments. He thought she probably didn’t want to bother anyone and was hoping she could get to the store herself once she had her medicine. The thought that she had asked for her cat made him feel really bad. It made it sound like she knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to go and didn’t want her pet to go hungry. What about herself? She would only get weaker if she didn’t eat.
Right then: he needed her signature and her medication.
He searched for a pen and filled out the pharmacy form, checking the spelling of her name letter by letter. He filled up his own details and went to ask for her to sign it.
“Um…hi,” he said quietly, hovering awkwardly beside the sofa. She didn’t react.
She looked small in her sleep, curled up on her side. Her hair was a messy tangle of light yellowish strands. He didn’t remember ever seeing anyone with such fine hair. It looked sleek and slippery, silken. He thought of fairy tale princesses. Her ear was small and rosy red, like a piece of jewelry peeking out from her hair.
He shook his head and touched her shoulder carefully. She mumbled something.
“I need you to sign this, please,” he said and offered her the form. She fumbled for the pen and scribbled something to where he pointed. He felt immensely relieved.
“Do you need something now? Water? Painkillers?” he asked, but she had drifted off again.
He let himself out and hurried back to the pharmacy. The pharmacy form worked like a charm, and he felt a sense of accomplishment when he stepped out with her medicine.
His way back went past the grocery store, and he stepped in and bought all sorts of food one might like to eat while being sick: soup, yogurt, candy, salty crackers, more chocolate, different juices, tea and honey.
He let himself back into her place again, a little more sure of himself. There was still no sign of the cat, but some of the cat food had disappeared. He needed to use the bathroom, and while he was there, he noticed the cat box was filthy. He emptied it and put new litter in. There was a small pile of recyclable rubbish bags filled with dirty litter in the corner, and he scooped them up to take them to the outside bin.
He set her medicine, juice, and tea with a hefty dollop of honey on the coffee table, and started to wake her up.
“Hey,” he said and nudged her. “Johanna?” He hoped he pronounced it anything like it should be pronounced. “Come on, wake up, take your medicine.”