“No, go right ahead!” Hektor sat up straighter. “The guest room is the first door on the left.”
“Thanks.” Charlotte dragged Arthur down the hallway and into the first room she saw. The door was shut and the lights were on before Arthur had quite registered that he was no longer on the couch. Charlotte released her grip above his elbow and faced him.
“Um,” he managed.
“Even if our host messes up, you shouldn’t be so blatantly rude towards him.” She crossed her arms. “What’s gotten into you?”
He took a step back. “Um… I have?”
She sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Honestly, Arthur. I can’t understand this. Do you just feel like he’s a threat?”
“Romantically?” Putting his hands in his pockets, he looked at the atrocious morning glory wallpaper. “N—Should I?” He glanced at her.
“What?” Her eyebrows pulled together. “No.”
“Right, no, I don’t.” He cleared his throat. “I’m just, uh, you know, acting like I act.”
She squinted at him. “No, you’re not. You’re acting like you’re upset. Listen, if this is still about the date, don’t worry about it. I’m not mad at you.”
“I’m not upset. I just—” he kicked at the carpet “—I just act like this. I’m”—he scratched the back on his neck—”not a nice person, Charlotte.”
She raised a finger and then put it down. “I’m sorry, what?”
He watched his knuckles as he popped them. “I’m not a nice person.”
After checking behind her, she leaned back against the doorframe. “Maybe you’ve been snapping at people a bit, but—”
“That’s what I do, okay?” Exhaling, he sat down on an unmade bed that screeched in protest. “That’s how I act. I’ve just been a stammering idiot trying to get used to the idea of being around you, and—I don’t know. All of a sudden I stumbled upon the real me again.” He inhaled to say something else but let the breath go, shrugging his shoulders and staring at the wall to his right.
“Okay.” She crossed her arms. “So, who was it that ran around toting and heating water all night so I could have a bath?”
“Well, me, but…” He hunched, watching the outlines of his toes press against the tops of his shoes. “That wasn’t…” He scowled. “That wasn’t normal for me, either.”
“So you wouldn’t do it again?”
He looked up in a snap. “Do you want me to?” He stopped. “I mean, um, no. Er, only if I had nothing better to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like, I don’t know, um…” He crossed his legs one way, then the other. “Something.”
“Uh-huh.” She raised an eyebrow, unable to keep from smiling. “Come on, Arthur. You’re a nice person. How about you talk like one?”
Mumbling something to himself, he crossed his legs again. “That would make me sound more like a naïve idiot. Which may be close to reality, but—” he pushed his fingers back through his bangs “—I like to feel a bit better about myself.”
“By pretending you’re a total jerk?”
He struggled for an answer for a minute before scowling harder. “Yes.”
She sighed, leaning back onto her feet. “Fine, fine. Just tone it down, okay? You don’t need to make everyone your enemy.” She offered him a hand and helped him up. Turning to the door, she cranked the knob and paused.
“And just so you know,” she said, “you’re a lot cuter when you’re smiling.”
She turned back around just in time to miss the furious blush spreading across his face.
~*~
Hektor managed to keep their attention for a while longer playing an old guitar, but, once the sun had run most of its course, Charlotte was readying her bags. The other travelers took the cue to load up as well.
“Thanks a lot for entertaining us, Hektor,” she started.
“No, it’s no problem.” He stood and walked towards her. “You’re not trying to leave already, are you?”
After hanging up her borrowed jacket, she put the last bag strap across her shoulder. “I have to get going, sorry. You’ve been a great host, and I wouldn’t mind staying longer, but—”
“Then go ahead and stay!” He laughed. “It’s getting close to dinnertime; surely you could join me for one more meal?”
“No, no. We’ve taken enough of your food, and we have plenty for tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Oh, but it’s already so late! You can’t walk far before sundown. Where will you end up? I have enough beds here for all of you, and I promise it’s safe. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you stayed a little while?” He looked to the other men for agreement, but both glared at him.
“If she wants to go, she wants to go.” Arthur walked up next to her. “Step away from the door.”
Charlotte didn’t raise an elbow to nudge Arthur for that one. At this point, she needed to get out, and a little curtness wouldn’t hurt.
Staying here longer sounded splendid. After so much walking and so little food, the idea of resting for a while was tempting. But that’s what it was. A temptation. If she gave in, how long would she end up staying? How much longer could Blake wait?
“Please, just think about what I’m offering.” Hektor didn’t budge. “I only think it would be nice if you’d rest for a while before the next leg of your journey. Surely—”
“We realize what you’re offering.” Arthur’s crossed arms tensed. “We are somewhat intelligent, thank you.”
Hektor chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose. “I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re listening to what I’m saying. Especially since you two don’t seem that happy with me for some reason.”
“Some reason?” Arthur grumbled. “You’re a stranger trying to trap us in your house. In my book, that’s grounds for suspicion.”
“I’m not trapping anyone. I’m only inviting you to stay. It’ll be more fun for all of us.”
Arthur stepped up to be right in Hektor’s face. “Fine. If you’re not trapping us, kindly step away from the door.”
Hektor hesitated before turning his chin down and smiling at him. “Please don’t act so rude. I’m only being generous. Now go sit on the couch, and we can go back to enjoying ourselves.”
Arthur met his gaze with his teeth bared. “Our generous host is giving us orders now?”
“Guys,” Charlotte started, trying to pull Arthur back without much success, “calm down. Arthur, stop snarling and thank him for the offer. Hektor, please step aside so we can get moving.”
“Wait!” Hektor started, strengthening his stance. “I—”
Arthur nodded at her. “This idiot’s not moving.” Resuming his glare-off with Hektor, he continued, “Let’s find another door.”
Dalton had already taken a few steps away by the time Hektor started stammering.
“No, wait! There’s not another—This is the only door you’ll be able to get through?”
She followed Dalton away, while Arthur took a step back without breaking eye contact.
“Stop!” Hektor shouted, but it only made the others back away faster. “Please!” He took a step towards them before seeming to realize that would leave the front door unguarded. Another plead for them to freeze died in his throat as Arthur finally turned away, towards his companions. They had located the loosely boarded back door.
Hektor watched the only guests he’d had in years pull one end of a timber out from the wall before he gritted his teeth. “You will not”—he flashed out his hand before Arthur could get too far from him—”leave me alone here!”
Charlotte’s crowbar had barely pried away the plank by the time Arthur cried out. When she turned, Hektor was gripping a knife, its blade buried in Arthur’s side. The scene seemed as frozen as her limbs until Dalton’s staff struck the back of Hektor’s forearm. The knife dropped, and Dalton knocked Hektor back before he could regain his grip. After a few blows to the trunk, He
ktor’s shoulders crashed back into the door. Arthur stumbled away sideways, and Hektor hit the ground. Charlotte rushed over in time to keep Arthur’s head from smacking into a bookshelf.
With a hitched breath, Arthur got back to his feet, but the jostling sent the blade slipping. Dalton took him away from her to manage the knife; it was already letting blood spout. Charlotte stared at the wound for a while before remembering the assailant was still in the room. Rifle ready, she walked over to him.
Hektor was on the floor, gripping his left shoulder and straining to breathe. He had gone still and pale and was dumbly staring at the ceiling.
“Charlotte?” The voice was so small she wouldn’t have recognized it if she hadn’t seen Hektor’s lips move. “Am I going to die?”
Exhaling, she looked back at Arthur. Dalton was navigating the wound with the help of fresh surgical gloves and the flashlight gripped between his jaws. Arthur lay there straining, his chest heaving in short breaths.
“I don’t know, Hektor,” she muttered, looking down at the host’s feet. She had no idea what Dalton had hit, but he had to be capable of incapacitating a man. Or killing him.
“I don’t want to die.” His eyes were clouded with tears, and he looked more like a lost child than a man who would rather risk killing someone than watch him leave.
Charlotte inhaled shakily, trying to ignore the reek of blood. Although she could only smell Arthur’s, she doubted that Hektor was bleeding any less. “I’m sorry. But—” she looked at the carpet “—you wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, right?”
“But I don’t—I don’t want to…” His right arm slackened as he let his fingers loosen.
With an exhale, she sat down and lifted his head. He was sweating despite the cold. “You get to see your siblings again. You… get to stay with them now. Be together. Isn’t that… all right?”
He let out a sob as his arm slid to his side, but he nodded.
Exhaling, Charlotte stood up but froze at a strangled cry from Hektor.
“Please,” he whispered, struggling to reach after her with what strength he still had. “D-don’t lea…” His breathing was so quick and shallow he could barely speak. “J-just until I…”
His hand thumped down to his side, but she sat by him anyway, covering his fingers with hers.
With the the threat he had posed, someone had to have stopped him. Dalton’s attack had been the only way to keep Arthur from being harmed further. If Hektor wouldn’t stop, he had to die. But he didn’t have to die alone.
Controlling her breathing and trying not to let the tears blur her vision, she stayed next to him until his sobs went silent. A quick check told her his pulse was gone. Not taking the time to stand, she hurried on hands and knees to Arthur’s side and prayed she wasn’t going from one deathbed to another.
21
“How’s he doing?”
Dalton flicked his gaze up towards her, but his mouth was still occupied.
“Sorry,” Charlotte said, taking the flashlight from him but keeping the beam in place.
“Hopefully much better than I’m feeling,” Arthur said, voice strained, “or I’m screwed.”
Dalton moved his jaw around before glancing back at Charlotte. “The bleeding’s come under control, and he hasn’t gone into shock.”
Arthur exhaled jerkily. “If I do go into shock, will I stop feeling this? That sounds rather appealing.”
Dalton frowned. “You’d stop feeling everything. Not too appealing.” He glanced at Charlotte. “I think it’s safe to check this out some more. Can you get his shirt out of the way?”
“Sure.” She lifted the bottom of his shirt, pulling the torn threads away from the wound. Arthur still choked, shoulders scraping the carpet, but she couldn’t be much more careful. She didn’t get all the threads rolled under solid fabric until she reached the middle of his chest.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dalton pull something out of his medicine bag. Arthur didn’t look at the ad hoc surgeon, instead grinding his teeth harder and furthering his endeavor to rip out the carpet at his sides.
Charlotte still had a few painkillers in her bag, but they’d take a while to kick in. Dalton was sweating about the wound but hadn’t handed out a prescription yet, so he couldn’t have had anything better.
Returning the flashlight to Dalton’s mouth, she exhaled and leaned towards Arthur’s head. Since the stab wound was further towards his front than back, he was laying face-up, able to see her if he tried.
“Arthur?” she started, waiting to catch his eye. “You’re not approaching unconsciousness yet, are you?”
“No,” he groaned, a bit of color entering his face when he eyed the distance between her face and his.
“Okay,” she responded. “So you would still be able to tell what’s going on—” she bunched her hair behind her neck with one hand “—if I did this?” She dipped forward and locked her lips onto his before his brain had any time to process what she had said.
Mostly, he smelt and tasted of sweat. Beneath that hovered something more pleasant, like rain or leaves.
She pulled away. Arthur had stopped shaking from pain, and when she flicked his face he didn’t so much as twitch. Out cold.
“Figured that might work,” she hummed. She scooted over to where Dalton continued to operate.
“Need help with anything?” She took the flashlight back into her hands.
Dalton glanced at Arthur’s face. “I think you already helped.”
She giggled. “Yeah.”
She looked down to make sure she was still aiming the flashlight properly. The glowing spot shone on dark blood smearing the skin around the wound; glossy, pinkish tissue gleamed deeper in. None of it seemed to belong to the pale face a few feet away.
“Do you need sutures or something?” Upon locating the bag of medical supplies open by Dalton’s side, she reached over towards it.
“No,” he interjected. “Keep your grimy hands off the equipment. No offense.”
“Oh, sorry!” She stopped, putting her hand back on the flashlight. “Silly me. Is it better if I just hold the light?”
“That would be fine.” He withdrew a utensil-sized, thin rectangle of metal and snapped something onto one end. “This’ll take a while, so you may have to shake it up again.”
“Why? What are you doing?” She watched him slip the white cover off to reveal a scalpel head.
“Hopefully his intestines weren’t pierced, but, by the looks of the knife, I can’t be too optimistic.”
She glanced at the wound but couldn’t distinguish different tissues. “How bad would that be?”
“He would probably—” he wiped some disinfectant around the wound— “go into septic shock and die.”
She froze, her grip on the flashlight eliciting a faint cracking noise from the plastic. “What?”
He tossed the disinfected piece of cotton to the side without looking up at her. “I’ll clear out anything that’s fallen into the cavity, wash out to wound, suture whatever I need to. But I’m not a trained expert.” He rolled his shoulders back, mumbling. “I also have some antibiotics, but I don’t know if they’ll be enough.”
“I have some of those, too,” she offered.
“Good. Hopefully we won’t need all of them. Or, maybe, hopefully we will.” Exhaling, he drew the scalpel over his friend’s stomach.
~*~
By the time Charlotte put the flashlight down, her arms were shaking from the effort. The operation had definitely spanned hours. But she wasn’t sure how long a professional would take, and she chose to believe there couldn’t have been much of a difference. Stitched up and bandaged, the wound didn’t seem quite so bad, either. This would turn out fine.
Just as the thought went through her head, Arthur started screaming. Nearly screaming in reaction, she jumped and dropped the flashlight onto the carpet. Arthur tried to sit up, but he barely made a degree of progress before his shoulder blades smacked back against the ground.
Making hurried shooshing noises, she pressed down on his shoulders until he went rigid. His hollering quieted into choking breaths.
“What happened?” His voice was faint and riddled with odd halts. “What’s going on?” As he tried not to choke on air, he managed to rip some of the carpet out.
“It’s okay,” she said a few times, putting her hand between the sunlight and his eyes, in case it helped. “Hektor stabbed you, but Dalton fixed you up. Just calm down and—I’ll get you some painkillers, okay?” Getting up off her knees, she snatched her little medical kit off the top of her duffel. A check of the labels later, she started shaking out pills into her palm.
“I’ll take all of them, please,” Arthur wheezed.
“I don’t know about that.” She got out the recommended dose but paused, turning to Dalton to ask how much more was safe in this case. The towhead was sprawled across the couch, though, his eyes closed and chest moving slowly. He had just performed his first operation, over hours, on his best friend, without being entirely sure of what he was doing. That was enough stress to warrant a little rest.
She exhaled, only able to stand a glance of the strain in Arthur’s face before diverting her gaze to the pills. How many had she taken for the arrow wound? Or would that still be too little? This was a much wider opening, after actual surgery.
Swallowing, she shook out another pair of pills and closed up the bottle. “Here,” she said, unscrewing the lid from her water bottle. “Take these now, and then I’ll get some antibiotics out.”
Arthur managed to grasp the water bottle, but his arm was shaking enough to send liquid sloshing out the sides.
She wrapped a hand around his wrist to steady him. “Easy.”
“Ngh.” He craned his neck as she placed the pills in his other hand. Moving stiffly, he put the painkillers in his mouth and let her guide the water bottle to his lips. Wincing from the bitterness flooding his mouth, he sent water running down the sides of his face before getting a good swig.
Along the Winding Road Page 16