SO COLD
The phone call was a foggy memory to recall and the wait for help was almost unbearable. Time was a throttling hand, and Cole's faint pulse only seemed to get weaker. Panic made me see the worst, the world was discoloured, stained scarlet. Moving him was a mistake, it was common sense not to move – especially not drag – an injured crash victim, but I had no other choice, leaving him in the smoking car was not going to be an option and neither was out in the open. At least here amongst the thick, grimy layer of dirt and scurrying red-eyed rats, he had coverage behind crumbling bricks. He was safe from firing guns and determined men, and yet at risk from dying from his injuries. I wasn't a doctor and I wasn't about to make the situation worse by diagnosing him, however that didn't stop my mind from envisaging the very worst: if not death, then spinal injury, internal bleeding, brain damage. The possibilities were endless, torturous.
The revolver rested on the ground beside my knee, I was crouched beside him, twitchy, fearful, attempting to hold pressure onto his wounds and keep a clear head while throwing frequent glances over my shoulder, searching the shades and the now-menacing foliage for any sign of a threat. My body was wound up, chest tight, terrified. The sound of my breathing was deafening in comparison to Cole's, I wanted to slap a hand over my own mouth, forcefully silence myself, fingers digging into skin... What the hell was I thinking? I was going insane.
The blare of a doctor's siren, and soon the flashing green lights through the gaps between the trees were heaven sent. I rushed out, relieved, climbing up the steep hill, almost tripping once or twice, cursing frantically, desperately back up and bursting out onto the road. James was exiting his car. Other men followed. "Shay," he gripped my arms. "Where is he?" He wore his worry on his face and while it had been months since I had last seen him, he was unchanged. A short, plump man in a far too fitting suit instructed Cole's men to gather his equipment from his vehicle.
"This way, come," I led the way and the doctor pushed us out of his way once we reached, stooping down to Cole's level, checking his vitals, and making sure his airway was clear. "He's going to be alright, isn't he?" I didn't realise I was tapping the revolver against my thigh like a bad habit until James forced it from my hand. My fingernails scraped against the blood on my arm, a returning problem from my past.
"We'll strap him to the gurney and I'll take him back to my home. The light is awful here and it's unsanitary. I take it you moved him?" he had hazel coloured eyes, a thick moustache, and a large nose.
"I had to, if they came back they could've shot him–"
He held up his hand, his voice sympathetic. "I'm asking, not accusing. Be careful!" he snapped to one of the men hoisting Cole up on the gurney. "Are you going to follow me?"
James walked with the doctor. "Yes," he raised his voice. "Dorito! Get here. I'll need you to clean up. Strip the area. Make sure you get the house and the trail up the hill. I want this area spotless. Do whatever you need to do to get rid of every speck of blood."
"Got it, man." The Italian slapped James on the arm reassuringly and glanced at me and gave a half-smile, half-grimace, it felt awkward on his face and he let it drop. He then picked off names, men that were to stay behind and don maid outfits.
We left the men to it. James offered me a lift back in his car and it was the two of us and Trevor who sat in the passenger seat. His eyes widened when he noticed the cherry smears on my skin. "What's up?" he twisted around as James began to tail the doctor.
"Where do I begin?" I rubbed my forehead and winced as I felt the aches of the injury. "It's a long story."
"We've got time."
"Let her rest." James said. "We'll need to get you checked out, too. You're bleeding."
"I'll be fine." I felt like shit, there wasn't a part of me that didn't thrum with pain. I wanted to sink into a bathtub of pain relief gel. Anything really. If someone were to offer me a glass of ice-cold bourbon, I'd swallow it in a heartbeat, 7 months of going cold turkey be damned. "I don't know who those men were. I've never seen them before in my life." I told the pair everything that had happened. Trevor was keen on the killings, asking for explicit detail.
James shot him a dark look. "Shut your mouth, boy. Continue, Shay."
What was the difference between Trevor and the rest of us? Not much. Trevor was out-spoken. He celebrated his work, he was prideful. Murdering was an art form to him, one he jerked off to every night. The sight of blood got him drunk. We thought it was twisted, and it was, but that didn't make us any better than him. We've killed. We may not wish to showcase it in museums like he did but that didn't mean shit. We held our noses high and looked down on him like he was a creep (and he was, there's no denying that) and maybe I was exhausted or I didn't care anymore but I entertained him much to the disdain of James. I spoke of the ear-splitting sounds and the heads jerking back upon impact and then the slow collapse of bodies. The splatter of blood and the cry from the man, the plea, the desperation to live and the refusal. James watched me from the rear-view mirror with his brow furrowed. "What?" I asked after I finished.
"You've changed."
"Haven't we all?" I turned away from him and rested my head, staring out of the window, empty minded.
***
"I have great news. He's broken four ribs and he's severely bruised. His elbow is fractured and I'm guessing he landed harshly and the force of the blow caused a break between the bones running from his elbow to his wrist. His cuts will heal very quickly and I've stitched the wound on his head."
"Where is the great news, doctor?" I asked.
"That is the great news. It could've been a whole lot worse considering the airbags were never deployed. You're both lucky you survived the fall. It's short of a miracle," he instructed me to sit down and began wiping the blood smears on my face. "Stay still. He's in a lot of pain so I upped his anesthesia dosage and he's currently unconscious. I suspect he'll be awake and drowsy by the end of the day. He'll be bed-bound for a couple of weeks and under my care just to make sure he doesn't suddenly collapse and die."
"Your bed manner is awful."
"It is," he said slightly cheerfully. "It's why I went private. I could never stand to be sombre and inform sad parents their child has a month to live. They expect me to stand there and console them as they weep. It's ridiculous."
"The nerve of them," I remarked dryly and hissed as he attended a sore cut. "Watch it."
"Did I mention I have clumsy hands?"
"Doctor, please, my faith in you is dwindling."
"Call me Morris."
"Shay."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. Should I charge Mr. King for your treatment or would you like to take care of it yourself?"
"And here I thought you were doing this out of the kindness of your heart,"
"And let my wallet suffer? Never."
"Add it on. It's the least he can do after I saved his life."
"Technically–" the doctor tried.
"Let me have my moment," I stood, "thank you."
James called for me. "Irvin's asking to speak to you." He handed the phone over. I walked out into the hallway for privacy.
"Hey."
"Holy fucking shit. What the hell happened?"
"Car crash. Also attempted assassination. It sucks."
"Crap. Are you alright? You're not crippled, are you?"
"Thanks, Irvin, I love how tactful you are. But no, I'm not. I'm covered in bandages though. It's ruining my look."
"I'm sure you can still walk the runway." He laughed shortly and then said. "In all seriousness, you're good, right? James gave me the details. It's ...freaking mental. I haven't had my breakfast. It's not even 6 o' clock. What the h*ck are you doing with your life?"
"I ask myself that every day," I rubbed my face. "Can I borrow some clothes?"
"Sure. You wanna swing by or shall I come to you?"
"I'll be at the flat in an hour. The doctor is a cool guy and all but he keeps muttering to himself about unwanted guest. Cole is a popular guy."
"News spreads fast."
"Sure does. See you soon."
James was arguing with me. "Stay here. I'll get you your clothes."
"I can walk and drive. I'm capable of getting my own clothes."
"Write down everything you need and I'll shop for you. You need your rest. Morris will put up a spare room–"
"I forgot my home was a hotel." Morris had sharp ears and a sharp tongue.
"You'll stay here at least just for today. There'll be men outside the house. They won't need to come in unless you invite them and don't do that unless it's urgent. Cole would like to see you when he wakes up. You are his–"
"You suspect foul play. Is there a snake in your little group of friends?"
"We're certain."
"Then how am I supposed to trust any of them? I want the bag of Doritos and Trevor."
"They're busy. Don't leave this house, you'll be safe here."
"I got it." I held out my arms. "We didn't actually say hello to each other. Can I have a hug?" When we embraced, I whispered. "Can I have a gun?"
"Fat chance." He pulled back, and shut the front door behind him.
Morris looked at me and I looked at Morris. After a short silence, I asked. "Will you make me a cup of coffee?"
"No, go upstairs and take the third door on the left. If you can't sleep I'll give you a sleeping pill. If you're hungry, I'll heat up leftovers. And if you're in pain, tell me but no coffee." He added two sugar cubes to his watery tea and stirred.
I thought about it and asked for a sleeping pill. Maybe some rest will do me good.
***