It was her. Andrei sat down by her and rattled off questions. She looked confused. Her breath was uneven and rapid. She had her hands tucked between her knees.

“Where have you been? Are you drunk? Are you high?” Andrei was affecting a reprimanding tone.

She shrank in fear and trembled. She looked around agog and finally her gaze landed on the corner of the post office building. “I killed him,” she said, her voice cracking.

Andrei stood up and lightly slapped her cheek. She remained transfixed on the corner of the building and wept. Andrei went to lift her off the bench and carry her to the car. Maria appeared to be yielding and her expression softened for an instant, but her face twisted again into a plaintive grimace. She pulled away and sat back on the bench, her hands clasped between her knees. Andrei noticed that her left hand was twisted into a strange shape. He let her go. Her fingers, palm and wrist were sheathed in a thick layer of clear tape. He pulled the phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight to get a better look. Maria did not resist. The hand had turned white.

“What is this?” Andrei tried to sound calm. His tremulous voice betrayed his fear.

“It’s fine,” she replied.

“What are you talking about?”

She looked away mutely.

Andrei ran to the taxi and rapped at the window.

“Do you have a pair of scissors or a knife?”

“Scissors?”

The driver chuckled. A thug in a tracksuit. He deserved a slap for that smirk.

“Yes, or even a pocket-knife.”

The wipers were working away, clearing away condensation from the windshield. The driver paused and reached into the glove compartment. He fished out an old Stanley knife, snapped it open, checked the blade, and stuck his head out of the window.

“Everything alright there?”

Maria sat motionless on the bench.

“Couldn’t be better. Just wait here.”

Andrei was gripped by a clammy terror that wormed its way into his guts. He returned to her and started slashing at the scotch tape. She pulled away her hand and murmured: “It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s all fine.”

Andrei struggled to get a comfortable grip and keep her calm. He kept trying to cut, but then stopping, concerned that he would injure her. Had she lost her mind?

“What is this? Why did you do this?”

“There was a lot of blood,” she finally answered. He felt some slight relief. She must have cut herself. It must be shock from the pain. It would all be fine.

“Where is the blood?” he asked, examining her hands and neck.

He saw no blood on the ground or anywhere on her body. She groaned piteously, her eyes wandering, her hands wriggling, preventing him from cutting the tape. In the sticky tape, her palm looked creepy and inhuman. White and cold, like a penguin’s wing. Someone walked past them and gawped. Andrei felt the driver’s rapt stare at his back.