Chapter 131: Chapter 131: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Forty-Seven

BETH We return again a couple of hours later with Ross’ meal. Miracle-wise, in the short time, he’s put together a hot casserole, salad, fruit and cheese, juice and coffee; all in picnic-style containers, for easy eating in difficult conditions.

We hover at the room door. Michael isn’t there, but Charlotte is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to us, holding the unconscious James’ hand, kissing his fingers.

She’s talking to him, and even though I can’t see her face, I hear the tears in her words.

“…. I know you always worried about being older than I am…. But I still thought we were going to have years and years together…. Now…. What am I supposed to do? With you like this? I love Michael too, but it’s supposed to be the three of us. Don’t leave me, Master. Please don’t leave me….”

She starts sobbing. It’s a gut-rending, heart-broken sound. Richard and I exchange glances. Even his eyes are filling.

We sit either side of her on the bed. I wrap my arms around her. Richard holds her hand.

Where’s Michael?

He appears at the door, towelling damp hair, sees us, with Charlotte, and visibly curses under his breath.

“Oh, Charlotte. I thought you were asleep….” Then to me. “Gotta use the bathroom sometime….”

“We brought food for you.”

“That’s great, thanks. Charlotte. C’mon, eat.”

“Ross cooked it. It’s his mother’s recipe chicken-casserole….” I say.

Her voice is numb. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are.” insists Michael. “You just think you’re not.”

She makes no move towards the food, which even I, accustomed as I am to Ross’ good cooking, have to admit smells wonderful.

Charlotte won’t look at it. Her face works, as though she’s suppressing the urge to vomit.

Michael pushes the casserole at her insistently. “Charlotte, eat.” Still, she doesn’t make a move.

“Charlotte. James would want you to eat it.”

That finally does it. She picks up a fork and takes a small mouthful, chewing endlessly, forcing it down.

Richard catches Michael’s eye, gesturing him out into the corridor. Michael looks across at me. “I’ll stay here,” I say.

He nods, following Richard.

After a few minutes, they’ve not returned, but Charlotte is drooping. “You should sleep.” She nods but doesn’t speak.

“Let me get you into bed. You’re right next to him. You can watch him from there.” She nods again.

I help her into bed, fully clothed still, tucking her in like a little girl. Almost instantly, she drops off. I wait for a minute or two, to be sure she’s asleep, then look out into the corridor. Michael and Richard are there, talking quietly.

“You think we should get her sedated?” asks Richard. “Or perhaps away from here? It can’t be doing her any good, seeing him like that.”

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t think sedation is the answer. Whatever happens, she’s going to have to deal with it. I think it’s better just to have the people she loves around her. As for taking her away; I don’t think you’d get her out of there with a bulldozer…. Beth! You’ve left her alone?”

“She’s asleep.”

He looks angry, pushing past me, back into the room.

Charlotte is still there, sleeping, but is now in James’ bed, lying next to him, one hand resting against his face.

A doctor arrives, white-coated and efficient looking. He spots Charlotte in the bed, and for a moment, surprise, then disapproval, washes across his face.

“You want us to get her out of there?” asks Michael.

The doctor hesitates, then shrugs. “Strictly, I should say yes, but on the other hand, if he can feel or hear anything, I don’t know of a better way to remind a man what he has to live for.”

*****

CHARLOTTE I’m trying to sleep but can’t. Michael has his arms around me and drifts between sleeping and waking.

From his breathing, I’d say he’s sleeping right now.

Blurry-eyed, my head aching from too much crying, I watch my Master. He’s close, all but next to me after Michael pushed the two single beds together.

His eyes blink open.

He’s not focussed, his stare glazed, not fixing on anything.

But he’s waking.

I push back to my sleeping lover. “Michael! Michael!”

Michael’s voice is confused, groggy. “What? Charlotte? What was that?”

“He opened his eyes. He’s waking up.”

But as I look back, and Michael sits up to see, my Master’s eyes are closed again.

It doesn’t matter. He’s waking up…. He’s getting better.

*****

I sit in the armchair by my Master’s side, reading to him.

“…. The way to live a long time—oh, a thousand years or more—is something between the way a child does it and the way a mature man does it. Give the future enough thought to be ready for it—but don’t worry about it. Live each day as if you were to die next sunrise. Then face each sunrise as a fresh creation and live for it, joyously. And never think about the past. No regrets, ever….”

His eyelids blink open, dark eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling. They close again, but a moment later, flick back.

I lean forward in my seat. “Master?” I whisper. “Master? Can you hear me?”

He blinks again, then his eyes slide sideways towards me. He tries to speak, and fails, mouth and lips dry. Quickly I dip fingers in the water jug, pat his lips damp. I pour a little into a glass, and supporting his head, holding the glass carefully, I help him sip a little, wet his mouth. “Master? Is that better?”

This time his eyes meet mine. “Charlotte?” His voice is so weak, but he’s speaking. He’s with me again.

I take his hand in mine. “Yes, it’s me. I’m here, Master.”

He smiles, still struggling to speak. “That’s good, Charlotte. That’s good.”

*****

“How are you feeling?” asks Michael.

My Master, lying flat on his back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “Err.… terrible, actually. I’ve never felt so knocked out.”

“Mmm…. That’s a good sign actually.”

My Master looks up at him doubtfully. “It is?”

“Ah-ha. It means you’re alive.”

*****

“How long have I been here? I feel dreadful.”

“Four days,” says Michael. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Um…. no, not really. I was blasting Charlotte for behaving like a maniac.” He frowns at me, but his lips are puckering to a smile. “Then…. er…. it’s a bit hazy after that.…”

“Corby was there, with a gun, aimed at Charlotte. I tried to get to him, to stop him from firing, but I couldn’t move fast enough. I only knocked his aim off. You grabbed Charlotte, and shielded her with your body; took the shot instead.”

My Master blinks. “I did?”

“You did. It was either the bravest or the most stupid thing I’ve ever seen. You dropped like a stone, and I think you were unconscious before you hit the ground. The bullet severed your femoral artery.

You lost a lot of blood. You’re very lucky to still be here, to be able to complain about how you feel.”

My Master swallows, digesting this. “But Charlotte wasn’t hit?” His eyes swing back to me.

“No Master. It didn’t touch me. I’m fine. And even if you don’t remember doing it, thank you. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you; for the two of you.”

*****

A day later, pumped with painkillers, my Master is much more himself. He is still very weak but is sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows. With me and Michael, Richard and Beth, sitting around him, he is happily talking, with the air of one giving court.

While he and Richard discuss plans, Michael sitting, silently watching, taking everything in, it all feels so much more normal….

Whatever that means….

“So where do we work from now, as a base?” asks my Master. “With the old offices burned out. What has actually been lost?”

“Oh, it’s by no means a disaster,” says Richard. “All the information that mattered was stored in the cloud anyway. And, as you know, it was always the plan that we would move to the new headquarters as part of the City Project. I’ve simply brought forward that phase of the works. The offices are going up as we speak. We should be in there within three months.”

“And until then?”

“Until then, I’ve rented out one of the old warehouse blocks down by the docks. It’s not ideal, but it will do as a temporary fix…”

Beth has brought some more of Ross’ delicious food. Ye gods, but I’m hungry!

I polish off a dish of chicken and vegetables and, without asking, Michael shovels more onto my plate. I down that too, and, with an air of satisfaction, he pushes an apple into my hand.

“On the subject of temporary fixes….” continues Richard. “I was going to suggest, that since the renovations are not complete in your own home yet, and.…” he nods to Michael, “…. you could do with a free hand to get on with the work, why don’t the three of you move back into the beach house for a few weeks. It will be much easier for you to complete your renovation works that way, and your mountain home really isn’t a suitable place for a recuperating man right now.”

“Thanks, that’d be great.”