Gilman held on for a bit longer than he needed to, but he had to be sure. He carefully eased her body onto the floor and sank to his knees, his hands loose and sitting on his thighs. His breath caught in his throat a sob wracked his body. Once, twice, and then he cut off the flood of emotion, tamping it down. He had work to do. Important work. If someone did come and knock on the door, Annie needed to be somewhere that wasn't sprawled out on the bathroom floor.
It took some doing, and he was completely out of breath by the end, but he managed to drag her dead weight out of the bathroom and up onto the bed. The smell from Eve's putrid corpse was starting to get a little overwhelming, but first things first. He dug around inside of the personal carryon he'd brough, withdrawing a small leather case that contained a vial of almost phosphorescent green liquid and some syringes. Gilman eyeballed her and withdrew a dose from the vial, and when he was happy with it, he plunged it into her heart. He repeated the process in a few places: pressure points, mostly, or wherever an organ might be reachable by a needle. Finally, he pressed one very gingerly in the corner of her eye and sank it in, as close to the brain as he could get without puncturing it.
Now he just had to wait. First things first, he treated his arms, pouring antiseptic over them in the end and binding them up with gauze. He checked the clock on the nightstand, but he had to wait a bit yet, and he hauled Eve's corpse out onto the balcony and closed the door, drawing the drapes. He did need to handle that, but Annie came first.
Gilman was excited, now. She was so fresh, still warm and full of vitality. The big question was: would she remember what happened?
Her eyes fluttered, and Gilman leaned forward eagerly, grasping her hand as he sat next to her on the bed.
"Annie? Do you remember me?"
When she opened her mouth to answer, she wouldn't stop screaming.