Dave takes my phone and slides it across the floor to me. It stops at my legs. ‘Call for help,’ he says. ‘It’ll take the nearest station about fifteen minutes to get people here.’ Then I watch helplessly as he takes the knife, holds it up to his neck and closes his eyes. ‘No,’ I gasp, both transfixed and dumbstruck. After three deep breaths, he howls as he uses both hands to push the blade into his skin and, in one swift movement, slits his own throat.
