Buying the Virgin

Chapter 130: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Forty-Six

BETH

Michael, still running, throws himself bodily at Corby, in a desperate bid to take him down, to prevent

the inevitable.

James and Charlotte both turn, see Corby. Charlotte’s eyes widen at the gunman as the pair turn,

looking for cover. But, framed against the blank wall at the end of the room, there is nowhere to go,

nowhere to hide.

James, almost calmly, seizes hold of Charlotte, swings and turns, places his body between her and

Corby.

As Michael tackles the gunman, bringing him down, the gun fires. Corby’s aim has been knocked, and

he fires low, but the bullet smashes into James and, crying out, agony on his face, he falls….

There is the hammer of bullets from all directions, and Corby drops, his body jerking and jumping, as

one round after another punches into him from police weapons. Lying still, blood pools around him.

Charlotte is on her knees by James, tears streaming, shrieking denial, screaming as, her hands

covered in blood, she scrabbles at him. But unconscious, he lies there, unmoving, blood spurting.

It’s a scene from a nightmare….

Corby fallen, lying in an expanding pool of blood, dead, under a hail of police bullets. Police in every

quarter fired at him, bringing him down, jerking and jumping as he fell, but too late….

Michael, blond hair plastered to his skull, chest heaving, eyes wide in shock; not having been able to

move fast enough to prevent Corby’s shot ….

My husband, Richard, yelling down his phone for urgent assistance….

James, protecting Charlotte with his body, deliberately taking the bullet meant for her, lying

unconscious on the ground, brought down by the single round Corby managed to fire. And his blood;

so much blood, spurting, even through the small bullet-hole in his clothes, to a pulse-beat from his

thigh.

And Charlotte…. dropped to her knees, besides James, her clothes soaked in his blood, more blood

splashed over her face, weeping and shrieking denial, scrabbling at him in utter, hysterical panic.

And now, Michael is there. “Charlotte, don’t fall apart now! This is not the time.”

She keeps screaming, tears streaming, drawing trails through her blood-spattered cheeks.

Michael slaps her, hard, across the face. “He’s just taken a bullet for you,” he says, his voice cold. “An

artery’s been cut. If we don’t stop the bleeding, he’s got minutes. Through everything that’s happened,

you’ve kept your head. Don’t lose it now. Keep thinking straight, for him.”

As though a curtain draws over her face, she calms, her breathing rapid, her stare, blank.

Face immobile, voice empty of expression, “What do I have to do?”

He takes her hand, pressing it against James’ thigh. “Press there, hard, and keep pressing.” He turns

to Richard. “We need medical help fast.”

My husband, phone still pressed to his ear, nods. “There’s an air ambulance on its way.…”

“He’s cold,” says Charlotte, touching James’ face with her free hand. “Clammy almost.”

Michael nods. “Shock,” he mutters, checking James’ pulse. “His heart’s racing…. and his breathing….

Jeez….” He swings back to my husband. “Richard, how long for that ambulance?”

“Five minutes. I’m talking with the medics on board. Talk to me. They’ve got questions. I’ll relay them.”

“Shoot…”

“They’re asking what medical training you have?”

“I’m a first-aider for a fitness centre. I’m not trained for this….”

The two keep talking, Michael tersely answering questions between instructions to Charlotte and

others.

Charlotte, normally pale, is white, her own breathing rapid and shallow. Michael strips off his shirt,

ripping it apart, folding the shreds and passing a pad of fabric to Charlotte. “When I say, lift your hand.

I’ll push this in there, and then press down again hard.”

She nods. “What is it I’m doing?”

“Blocking the flow of blood to the wound, from the side nearest his heart. One, two, three… now!”

She lifts her hand and he pushes the pad into place. “Press again, now. As hard as you can.”

Michael scans the room. “That chair. Yes, that one… bring it over.” I fetch the chair, and Michael lifts

the unconscious James’ feet up onto the seat….

“Two minutes,” says Richard.

A tension-ridden silence falls, the blood-ridden Charlotte staring at Michael. Her tears have dried, but

her voice is weeping. “Don’t let him die….”

His eyes meet hers. “He’s my friend too.”

And…. at last…. the sound of rotor blades outside.

Richard charges out, to guide in the medics. Two immediately attend James. One tries to fuss over

Charlotte, but she brushes him off irritably.

“It’s not her blood,” explains Michael, voice curt.

*****

CHARLOTTE

My Master, he just lies there, eyes closed, unconscious.

He’s normally so alive. Everything about him is alive. Even when he’s angry with me, I love it that he’s

always on the move, in motion; thinking, talking, being him. To see him like this, so reduced….

Please don’t leave me. Please….

I miss you.

Wake up, Master. Come back to me….

Please wake up.

*****

“Would it help to hear our voices?” I ask the doctor. “Can he hear our voices?”

The doctor shrugs. “We don’t know. Odd things happen in these cases. People who we believe are

deeply unconscious, later report hearing conversations around them.”

Perhaps I could read to him?

“It can’t do any harm.”

*****

I sit in the armchair by his side, reading aloud from …. I struggled to choose what book to read to him,

since it occurred to me, belatedly, that I have no idea what my Master reads for pleasure.

I try to choose something classic instead, something appropriate; but ‘Wuthering Heights’, with Cathy,

Heathcliff and Edgar, and their doomed love triangle, isn’t right. Neither is ‘Gone with the Wind’, with

Scarlett, Rhett and Ashley. ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Jane Eyre’, ‘Anna Karenina’, all dwell on the failure of

three lovers to make their situation work.

In the end, I choose something very different, ‘Time Enough for Love’, an old 1970’s Sci-fi novel, in

which the characters make their polyamorous family work.

Is it right? I don’t know, but it’s a long book and gives me something to read to my Master.

*****

MICHAEL

The couch is narrow; the kind that gets used in waiting areas and receptions, but she’s there;

positioned to watch James’ face, pale, red-eyed, exhausted.

She looks like a little child, sitting by him, crying, her face almost whiter than his, except where her

eyes are swollen and blotchy.

I wish I could wave a magic wand, Babe…. Make it right for you….

…. And him.

But this one is out of my hands.

Richard and Beth call by. “How is he? Any change?” she asks.

I can only shake my head. “The surgeon says they’ve done everything they can. Replaced the lost

blood. Repaired the artery. Found the bullet and removed it…. They say his chances are good, but we

have to wait.” Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

Beth is close to tears. Richard doesn’t look much better. He lays his hand on my shoulder. “I wish I

could help. There’s so little I can do. But…. don’t worry about medical bills. That’s all taken care of.

Whatever it needs….”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Never under-estimate self-interest,” he says. “I need my co-director back.” He’s joking of course, trying

to lighten the mood, and it shows in his eyes. “How’s Charlotte?”

“Not good. Cries half the time, and sits staring at him the rest. I don’t think she’s slept in the last two

days, and it doesn’t help that I can’t get her off that chair. If I could get her to lie down….”

“Ah.” Richard raises a finger. “On that then, I can help. Should have thought of it before. Let’s get a

couple of extra beds into the room for the pair of you.” He marches down the corridor. “Nurse!”

*****

BETH

We check back a few hours later, Richard wanting to see that his instructions have been carried out

and that the threesome are comfortable.

As we enter the room, the scene would make a statue weep: James, still unconscious. Michael and

Charlotte, both asleep on a single bed beside James’.

“We shouldn’t disturb them. They’ve had little enough rest. Let’s go and have a coffee. We can come

back in a while.” says Richard.

“Yes, and we should bring them something to eat.”

“Good idea. I’ll call Ross. Get him to put something together for them. They’ll need better than vending-

machine snacks at a time like this.”