by JD Nixon
“I’ll let you think about that before I start on the other one,” she offered as I sobbed silently.
She sauntered into my kitchen to my fridge and took out a bottle of wine, pouring herself a generous glass. She sipped from it while her eyes roamed around my flat.
“Nice place you have here. Light and airy.”
I could barely hear through the intense pain. It consumed me, took over my senses – I could do nothing except hurt. I was faint with pain. It was all I could think about.
She finished her glass of wine and came back to me, untying my broken hand from the paddle. I wanted to punch her, but I couldn’t make my hand work properly and every slight flex of my fingers sent off fresh waves of agony. I let it dangle to my side.
She was about to untie my right hand when there was a soft knock on the door. She froze, before leaping up to retrieve her gun.
“Tilly?” I recognised Daniel’s voice. “What are you doing up so late? Do you want some company? I can’t sleep. Let me in.”
“Why is he here? It’s the middle of the night,” she hissed at me.
He knocked harder. “Tilly? Open up. Are you okay? Why is your light on?”
“He’s going to wake everyone up. I’ll have to let him in.”
Go away, Daniel! Go away! I begged him silently, hoping he could read my thoughts. She approached the door, gun primed. She hid behind the door and pulled it open.
Poor, unsuspecting Daniel walked in and spotted me. Horrified, he ran to me, his only thought being to help me. I desperately tried to warn him with my eyes, nodding frantically towards where she was hiding, shouting at him through the gag.
She stepped out from behind the door and cold-bloodedly shot him in the back. He crumpled to the floor, his blood pouring out on to my carpet. I struggled furiously against my bindings, upending my chair and landing on my side on the floor again. And that didn’t help either of us.
She dragged Daniel’s prone body to a wall, where she propped him up roughly, taking no notice of the blood that gushed from him. He slumped against the wall, unconscious, his skin growing paler as I watched, the pool of blood spreading. I watched it in desolation, knowing that all hope was gone for both of us. She righted me in the chair again, whacking me viciously across the face once more in punishment. My head span.
“Right. Where were we?” She looked around for the hammer and noticed her phone. “First though, another message to my Heller.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Daniel. He appeared dead to me, limp and gray. My darling, darling Danny, who I loved so much, dying without any help or care or comfort. All because of this bitch.
I flexed my muscles. Falling over a second time had loosened the bindings around my ankles and I decided that I was able to move my legs enough to support a half-crouching stand.
When she finished texting and returned to me, I summoned all my hate and all my anger and all my despair and launched myself up at her. It took her by surprise, and the impact forced her backwards, falling down onto the floor, the gun flying from her hand.
Still bound to the chair, I fell on top of her in an awkward move. She wriggled to sit up, hands against me to push me off her. So I headbutted her, cracking our foreheads together. Her head hit the ground hard. Blinking in pain, she moved to sit up again. I raised my left arm and crunched my elbow down hard on her nose, finding her howl of pain gratifying.
She was subdued for a moment, rolling on the floor clutching her face. I scrabbled like a hermit crab, chair on my back, black spots swimming in my eyes from the headbutt. I reached for the gun with my broken hand, tucking it into the waistband of my boxers.
Once I had that, I dragged myself into the kitchen and repeatedly pressed the panic button, part of me not really believing it would summon anyone.
Back on her feet, Violet staggered towards me. I was cornered in the kitchen, lying on the floor helplessly. I couldn’t shoot the gun with my broken hand, so moved it underneath my body, hoping that might slow her down for a few moments before she killed me.
My front door splintered open and Heller burst in, a gun in his hands.
“Heller!” said Violet, pure happiness on her face, turning towards him.
He strode over to her and punched her in the face, knocking her down and probably breaking her nose. Badly. Blood sprayed around the kitchen.
Clive and a couple of men exploded into the flat, all armed. And while Heller crouched next to me, cutting me free, Clive rang an ambulance and his men gave Daniel as much first aid as they could, pressing on his wound with wadded towels that they found in my linen cupboard.
As soon as Heller freed me, he helped me to my feet. After checking me over, assessing my injuries, he gathered me tightly in his arms, gently pressing my head down onto his shoulder with his hand at the back of my neck. And I didn’t mean to, because I wanted to be with Daniel, but I leant against him and began to cry, huge gulping sobs of relief, fear and pain. When the tears subsided, I started trembling, my legs suddenly deciding that they didn’t want to support me any more.
He swept me up in his arms and carried me to the lounge, where he carefully deposited me and asked one of the men to fetch an icepack for my hand and to help stem the bleeding from my neck. There was so much blood everywhere, most of it from Daniel. Where was that ambulance?
Shooting a quick glance into the kitchen to make sure Violet was still down, Heller kneeled next to Daniel, checking his vital signs.
“How long did they say the ambulance would take?” he asked Clive.
“Ten minutes.”
He placed one palm against Daniel’s gray cheek and grasped Daniel’s bloodied hand with his other.
“My Daniel,” he said, his voice cracking with deep anguish. He pressed his lips on Daniel’s hand.
Clive dragged Violet by her ponytail out of the kitchen and dumped her in the lounge room. She struggled to sit up, her face bloodied, but Clive pushed her back to the ground with his foot on her chest.
Heller stood and looked down at her with rage-filled eyes. “You did this to my Daniel.”
“It was an accident. I –” she choked through her blood.
“That’s a lie! It wasn’t an accident,” I protested tearfully. “She shot him on purpose.”
Heller kicked her hard in the ribs. She groaned loudly and tried to roll over, but Clive’s foot kept her still. He looked at Clive, his face full of intense anger. “Take care of her for me for a while. But don’t . . . finish . . . until I’m there.”
The glance the two men exchanged held a thousand words. Clive nodded.
“No,” I interrupted. “Call the police. I don’t want you to . . . take care . . . of her yourself. I want the police to do it. I want her to go to jail. I want her to suffer for years and years for what she did to Daniel.” I started crying again and stumbled my way to Daniel, resting his head on my lap and stroking his hair with my good hand.
Heller sighed, but his tone was gentle enough. “Matilda, that will tie me up for hours here and I want to go to the hospital with you and Daniel.”
I wiped away tears with the heel of my palm. “Call Dr Kincaid. He can treat me while the police are here and then we can join the others at the hospital.”
“No, my sweet. Your hand is badly broken. I can tell that by looking at it and it needs to be x-rayed. I will join you there afterwards.” And he reluctantly pulled out his mobile and rang the police, as I wished.
We waited impatiently for the ambulance to arrive. My eyes were riveted on Daniel, bleakly observing his increasingly pale and clammy skin. Rivers of tears flowed down my face and splashed onto his. It wasn’t fair. So many terrible things had happened to him already in his life. He deserved nothing but happiness – not to be lying on my carpet, his life force draining out of him, all because some nut had fallen hard for Heller. I couldn’t stop crying.
Heller crouched next to me, clasping Daniel’s hand.
“I love him so much,” I cried.
“He knows that,” Heller said quietly. “He knows we all love him.”
The paramedics arrived, ushered upstairs by one of the men. They were efficient and professional. The police arrived not long afterwards, also ushered by one of the men.
Clive, Sid and I prepared to follow the ambulance, leaving Heller behind to deal with the police. I grabbed Niq on the way after spotting his small, frightened face in the hallway, tears in his eyes when he saw Daniel and me.
Niq and I held hands in the back seat all the way to the hospital, as I repeatedly assured him that Daniel was going to be all right, even though I wasn’t sure about that at all. Daniel was rushed into emergency where he was quickly assessed and prepped for operating. I didn’t need to be a doctor to know that he’d lost a lot of blood. It was spilled all over my carpet and all over our clothes.
The four of us sat patiently in the emergency waiting room. It was hours before I received any medical attention myself although I was in a lot of pain and my neck wounds still bled. All the doctors were fully occupied with the victims of a serious multiple car accident who’d been rushed in straight after Daniel was brought in.
Eventually a tired young Irish doctor examined me. He stitched the wounds in my neck, doing a neat job that would leave minimal scarring. I’d already had an x-ray on my hand and he tutted over it before splinting it as well as three of my fingers individually. It was an awkward injury and the x-ray showed nine separate breaks. He explained that what he was doing was only a temporary solution and I should make an appointment with a doctor specialising in hand injuries to have a proper assessment. Some of the breaks might need pinning, he advised. Then he gave me some strong painkillers and sent me back out to the waiting room. But before he did any of that though, he took before and after photographs of my injuries for evidence.
We sat there for the rest of the night waiting for some news about Daniel. People stared at me curiously and I must have looked a fright, my blood-soaked pyjamas crusting up, my hand splinted, and bruising rapidly developing from the repeated hits to my head, not to mention the headbutt, bites all over my neck and shoulder and the stitches in my neck. I began to feel very self-conscious and a little underdressed for being in public.
At some point Heller stormed through the doors in a massively foul temper after his dealings with the police, demanding an update on Daniel’s progress from the cowed hospital staff. I imagine that he drew the attention of everyone in the waiting room, but I missed his dramatically impressive entrance because the painkillers had kicked in and I’d fallen asleep against Sid’s shoulder. Niq slept on my shoulder, still holding my good hand tightly.
When I groggily roused it was Heller I was leaning against, not Sid. He had his arm around my shoulder, his expression formidable. Niq was awake, watching the silent TV mounted from the ceiling and munching on a very rare packet of chips and cola soft drink with obvious enjoyment, feeling like a normal teenager for once. Sid drank some vending machine coffee with a grimace and Clive sprawled on a chair, his head thrown back, snoring loudly. I sat there, leaning against Heller, blinking sleepily for a while. My brain felt like fairy floss, the painkillers deadening all my functions.
“Sid?” Heller called, throwing him the keys to his 4WD. “I should have some spare clothes in a bag in the back of the car. Can you find something else for Matilda to wear, please?”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
He returned quickly with a Heller’s work shirt and a pair of black track pants.
Heller pushed them into my lap. “Go and change. You need to get out of those clothes.”
I blearily looked down at my formerly white singlet top. “That’s a lot of blood. I don’t know if it’s mine or Daniel’s,” I mumbled, as if it mattered. I stood slowly, swaying on my bare feet, clutching the clothes with my good hand.
He walked me to the ladies room and I spent an age in there trying to dress with one hand, my coordination not great. The clothes were miles too big for me and I had to pull the drawstring on the track pants as tightly as they would go to have even the slightest chance of keeping them up. I was about to throw my pyjamas into the bin, but realised they might be evidence. So I laid them next to the basin and stared at myself in the mirror with despair. I used some wet tissue paper to wipe as much blood from my face and neck as I could. I washed my hands and arms free of blood as best I could with one hand out of action and watched in a daze as the red-tinged water emptied from the basin.
A woman entered the bathroom, staring at me in horror. She gave me a wide berth as she went into a cubicle, locking it instantly behind her. That hurt. I felt like a freak. More tears dripped from my eyes as I left the bathroom, hand clamped around my bloody clothes. Heller waited for me, leaning against the wall yawning. He straightened when I approached and noticing the tears, held out his arms. I stepped into them and leaned against him, putting my head on his shoulder and letting the tears trickle down my face. He stroked my back and my hair and let my silent tears run their course. After a bit, he gently guided me back to the waiting room and sat me down. He went to the vending machines and came back with a coffee each and a sandwich to share.
I sipped on the acrid brew, splashing some on my pants as my hand was trembling uncontrollably, but could barely choke down a bite of the disgusting sandwich. Heller delicately pushed back the rat tails of my claggy, blood-stiffened hair from my neck and examined the stitches expressionlessly.
“Is that a ‘W’?” he asked.
I nodded, head down, ashamed.
“What’s it for?”
“Whore. Because I’m a man-stealing whore and I should never forget it.”
His expression remained neutral, but his fists clenched so tightly that his nails left imprints in his palms. “You should have let me deal with her myself. I would have enjoyed it. I would have made her suffer.”
“No.” I looked up at him. “She’s obsessed with you. She’s so in love with you that every day without you makes her suffer unbearably. Every day of every year for the rest of her life without you will be torture for her. And that’s what I want. I don’t ever want her punishment to finish.”
And at that moment, I didn’t know which one of us was less human in our anger. We sat quietly.
“Do you want to talk yet, my sweet?”
“No.” I never wanted to talk about it again.
“You were right about her.”
I stayed silent.
“I should have listened to you a long time ago.”
Silence.
“I’m so sorry, Matilda. I never imagined for a minute that she would take it out on you.”
“I always thought you would come when I needed you; that you would know when I was in trouble. But you didn’t know. Daniel came instead. He knew.” More unwanted tears ran down my cheek and dripped onto my lap. “My darling Daniel. He had no chance. He didn’t even see her. I tried to warn him.”
“I know you did. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about everything.” I glanced at him. His face was twisted with guilt and self-reproach. I looked away.
I finished my coffee and crumpled the plastic cup before throwing it in the nearest bin. I missed and it fell to the floor.
“Matilda. I feel as if we’re in danger of losing something between us.”
“Maybe I just need to be more realistic about my expectations of people. Maybe I’m not as important to some people as I thought I was.”
I suddenly needed to get away from him. I stood up and retrieved the litter from the floor, and placed it in the bin. Then I walked over to Niq, and sat next to him, sliding my right arm around his shoulder, turning my eyes to the flickering images on the TV screen. I stayed there, dozing, my head resting against Niq’s, until I was approached by a couple of detectives who were on the team investigating the assaults against Daniel and me. It would be a difficult case for the police to manage – a rogue cop always attracted media attention, and the sordid circumstances of this case would attract double interes
t. I expected it to be dealt with quickly to damp down speculation and awkward questions.
The detectives looked at me askance as they took in my dishevelled injured appearance, but assured me that Violet had been taken into custody and was currently being interviewed at the station. Heller silently moved to my side as they started asking me questions and they gave him the once-over, but let him stay.
I tried to stay calm and unemotional as I took them through my ordeal, but inevitably, tears spilled over and Heller handed me his hankie without a word. They didn’t ask Heller any questions and I presumed that was because he’d already given them a statement earlier. Instead they moved on to Clive. Then Sid and Niq, both of whom knew nothing, Sid having been tied up in a work problem and Niq thankfully fast asleep at Daniel’s place. I handed over my blood-soaked pyjamas. They advised us all that we’d be visited again by some detectives in the near future and I groaned inwardly. I was getting sick of talking to the police.
After they left, a surgeon approached us, heading straight to Heller. He knew an authority figure when he saw one. He let us know that Daniel was in intensive care for the night and that the operation had successfully removed a bullet that had lodged frighteningly close to his spine. He cautiously admitted that he expected Daniel to make a full, though slow, recovery. We were allowed to briefly visit him in intensive care in small groups.
Daniel was pale and thin in the hospital bed, tubes spilling from his body, machines beeping all around him, watchful nurses on duty. There’s no place quite like the ICU. It’s all sombre business in there – no windows and no fluffy toys or flowers or get well cards or laughing visitors casually coming and going.
I kissed and hugged his unconscious body, demanding with quiet tearfulness that he recover soon. We left Daniel to the care of the medical staff after Heller gave the attending doctor his phone number, demanding to know of any change in Daniel’s status, no matter how small.