Spoopy Scary
Cyadical
ButtsnBalls
DamyclesShay never came.
An hour or more had passed, she didn't know the exact time, to be certain, and Shay made no sign of coming to her rescue. Overcome with worry, and wondering if something terrible had happened to him, Vera decided to take a chance and break her cover. She needed no further coaxing to go in search of him, for her fingers were red, and stiff with the first stage of frostbite, while her teeth clattered noisily as she struggled to retain any warmth; the effects of the wine had dissipated, and now the full force of the biting wind mixed with wet snow convinced her that she would be better off searching for him that staying put.
Stumbling through the eerie stillness that hung over the park, Vera retraced her steps, trying her best to stick to the shadows in case the Adders were waiting for her to appear. For some reason, this reminded her of the night that Shay had saved her life. But was he still alive? That pressing question repeated itself through her thoughts as it brought her to the corner where the restaurant stood. In the blanket of white that was the snow, shards of the broken window glinted in the street light, they shone like a beacon, and held a foreboding frame of blood splatter. Her stomach turned, someone had been injured in the fray. Turning away from the scene, as several officers had now arrived to gather information, Vera followed the path of blood splatter, keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Shay, or the Adders. After all, she had no idea who the blood belonged to.
Her eyes were glued to the trail as she walked with her hands shoved in her armpits, a vain attempt to bring feeling back to her hands. Vera came to an abrupt halt, as the crimson droplets came to an end near an alleyway, there trampled in the snow were several shoe prints, evidence that the Adders had pursued Shay this far. Turning slowly to survey the area around her, her eyes noted the lack of tire tracks in the snow-covered street, the Adders hadn't kidnapped Shay in the least. Then, she spotted it. No. Him. Vera sprang upon a set of trash barrels, she had spotted a hand poking between the barrels. Mortified that the Adders had left him for dead, Vera descended on him, confirming that it was Shay as she thrust the barrels aside.
“Shay!” She whispered through a tightening throat, as she knelt in the snow beside him. His face was pale, and as her eyes swept over him, she noted a wretched gunshot wound to the shoulder. Her fingers brushed against his neck , searching for a pulse, to which she found one, but just faintly. Then, she pulled his head into her lap and smoothed his eyebrows tenderly, her hands even caressing his scruffy cheeks.
“Oh god no! This is all my fault! Shay…” Her voice cracked as anguished tears ran down the tip of her nose, dropping onto his shirt in large splashes.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” An agonizing moan escaped as it slowly turned into a cry of failure. Vera remained in her troubled state for several minutes before she shook herself from her misery. She needed to get him somewhere safe. Thinking she could carry him, Vera slipped her hands underneath his armpits and tried to haul him up. He was too heavy, and being dead weight, she wouldn't be able to take him anywhere, not without some help.
There she spotted a man strolling down the sidewalk, with a briefcase in hand, on his way home from a late night at work. He looked like a respectable man, one that you could find in an accounting firm, or lawyer’s office .
“Sir! Sir! Please! I need your help!” She shouted, her voice splitting through the night. Startled, the man stopped, and made sure that she was addressing him before he crossed the street with hesitation.
“Is everything okay miss? What seems to be the problem?” He asked, eyes widening at the sight of blood splatter in the snow, and the blood on her hands.
“You have to help me! My fiancé, he was in a fight at the restaurant up the road, and he chased away the goons that bothered us. They knocked him out! Can you help me carry him back to my flat?” Vera pleaded as a torrent of grieved tears ran down her reddened face. The man couldn't say no. Not to a woman like her.
Apartment # 538
Arriving at the flat, Vera instructed the Good Samaritan to kindly lay Shay out on her bed, while she set to work building up a fire in the fireplace. After he finished doing as she asked, she thanked the man by fishing out the money from Shay’s wallet, and handed him 20£, more than enough to keep him quiet in regards to the peculiar incident. With a warm hearth fire blazing, Vera set to attending Shay.
Inside her bedroom, he lay motionless save for shallow breathing. With hands trembling, she rushed with haste to unbutton the buttons that now seemed like an impossible puzzle to solve. Tugging free the tailored shirt, she cast it aside on the floor, and sucked her teeth at the sight of the wound. While it didn't appear a serious wound, she couldn't be certain to how much blood he had already lost.
She knew little of proper wound care, but she knew that the wound needed to be sterilized, so she fetched a bottle of whiskey from the pantry cupboard, and started a pot of water to boil on the wood furnace stove. As the water boiled, Vera collected what clean linen she could, even going as far to remove the loose sheet on the spare bed. With that, and fresh towels, she cut the sheet into long strips, and dropped them in the now boiling water. Once those were deemed sterile, she brought the linen strips, whiskey, and towels to tend to Shay.
At his bedside, Vera knelt by his shoulder, dabbing carefully at the wound with a piece of towel soaked in whiskey. There, she cleaned it as best as she could, wiping the excess blood away. Finally, she began the painstaking process of binding his wound with the boiled linen, it had cooled significantly so as not to burn his flesh, but it was sterile nonetheless.
When his wound had been sterilized, and bound, Vera headed into the parlor room where she then called Sam.
“Ugh...hello?” He must have been sleeping, for he sounded groggy, or perhaps drunk.
“Sam… It's me.” Vera said, already she fought back another wave of tears as her voice shook.
“Vera?” He asked, both to clarify, and as a way to ask what was wrong.
“Yes, Sam, I need you to listen to me, and please don't interrupt.” She pressed, shutting her eyes tight as if trying to erase the memories of that night's horrific events. “Shay’s been shot.”
“What?”
“I said-”
“I heard what you said Vera, that's not what I asked. Who shot him? Where are you now? How bad is he?” Sam snapped, she could almost see him now, rigid with anger, maybe even fear.
“Sam, just listen!” Silence came over the line, and she knew she had his full attention now. “We were having dinner at a restaurant down the road from my flat. We wanted to have a good time, and we had just ordered dinner when the Adders walked in through the door. It was the head honcho, Donald Hayes, and some of his goons. They hadn't followed us, but came out for dinner themselves, but he saw us Sam. Donald saw us. He came over to our table, and caused a ruckus, and… and I said some things I shouldn't have.”
“Vera what did you say?”
“I can't repeat them.”
“I need you to tell me everything.”
She retold the story of their encounter with Hayes, and how Shay distracted the men to give her time to escape, even how she found Shay near the trash barrels, and how she enlisted the help of a stranger walking home from work to help carry Shay back to her flat.
“Vera… It’s going to be okay. Don't worry about anything. Call the pub if Shay gets worse and we’ll send someone over to you. I'm going to send for the doctor.” Then, Sam hung up the phone, leaving a shaken Vera alone to handle her coagulating emotions. She paced around in the parlor room, the fanciful furniture no longer held her eye, as her thoughts were with Shay. Knowing Sam, and the Rougher's, she knew that the doctor wouldn't be a medical professional, rather, the doctor would be a mystifying Romani woman, a gypsy as they called her kind. Sam didn't say when he would have her there, and so she took it upon herself to faithfully watch over Shay until someone arrived. Quitting herself from her manic pacing, she disappeared to check in on him.
Lingering in the doorway to her bedroom, she watched Shay, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip with great anxiety. Finally, after mustering enough courage, she ventured over to the edge of the bed and sat next to him. For what felt like an eternity, as she remained next to him, her eyes flickering between the wound, and then to his face. The pallidity of his skin had faded considerably since first arriving at the flat. Sighing in frustration that she couldn't do more to help him, Vera decided to lie next to him. If he woke, and needed anything, she would be right there beside him. With one hand, Vera held his hand in hers, her eyes studying the gentle rise and fall of his exposed chest. A peculiar thought came over her, one that brought a flush to her cheeks. She found that even though he was wounded, Shay was indeed strikingly handsome; she tried not to stare so adamantly at his exposed chest, but her eyes returned to study his torso over and over. Now she could see how well-muscled he was, the color of his nipples and even the dark hair on his chest that trickled down to the beginning of his pants. She forced the thoughts from her mind, forcing her to stay focused on his breathing. Eventually a grey light filled the room with the coming dawn, and then, did she allow sleep to take her.
An hour or more had passed, she didn't know the exact time, to be certain, and Shay made no sign of coming to her rescue. Overcome with worry, and wondering if something terrible had happened to him, Vera decided to take a chance and break her cover. She needed no further coaxing to go in search of him, for her fingers were red, and stiff with the first stage of frostbite, while her teeth clattered noisily as she struggled to retain any warmth; the effects of the wine had dissipated, and now the full force of the biting wind mixed with wet snow convinced her that she would be better off searching for him that staying put.
Stumbling through the eerie stillness that hung over the park, Vera retraced her steps, trying her best to stick to the shadows in case the Adders were waiting for her to appear. For some reason, this reminded her of the night that Shay had saved her life. But was he still alive? That pressing question repeated itself through her thoughts as it brought her to the corner where the restaurant stood. In the blanket of white that was the snow, shards of the broken window glinted in the street light, they shone like a beacon, and held a foreboding frame of blood splatter. Her stomach turned, someone had been injured in the fray. Turning away from the scene, as several officers had now arrived to gather information, Vera followed the path of blood splatter, keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Shay, or the Adders. After all, she had no idea who the blood belonged to.
Her eyes were glued to the trail as she walked with her hands shoved in her armpits, a vain attempt to bring feeling back to her hands. Vera came to an abrupt halt, as the crimson droplets came to an end near an alleyway, there trampled in the snow were several shoe prints, evidence that the Adders had pursued Shay this far. Turning slowly to survey the area around her, her eyes noted the lack of tire tracks in the snow-covered street, the Adders hadn't kidnapped Shay in the least. Then, she spotted it. No. Him. Vera sprang upon a set of trash barrels, she had spotted a hand poking between the barrels. Mortified that the Adders had left him for dead, Vera descended on him, confirming that it was Shay as she thrust the barrels aside.
“Shay!” She whispered through a tightening throat, as she knelt in the snow beside him. His face was pale, and as her eyes swept over him, she noted a wretched gunshot wound to the shoulder. Her fingers brushed against his neck , searching for a pulse, to which she found one, but just faintly. Then, she pulled his head into her lap and smoothed his eyebrows tenderly, her hands even caressing his scruffy cheeks.
“Oh god no! This is all my fault! Shay…” Her voice cracked as anguished tears ran down the tip of her nose, dropping onto his shirt in large splashes.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” An agonizing moan escaped as it slowly turned into a cry of failure. Vera remained in her troubled state for several minutes before she shook herself from her misery. She needed to get him somewhere safe. Thinking she could carry him, Vera slipped her hands underneath his armpits and tried to haul him up. He was too heavy, and being dead weight, she wouldn't be able to take him anywhere, not without some help.
There she spotted a man strolling down the sidewalk, with a briefcase in hand, on his way home from a late night at work. He looked like a respectable man, one that you could find in an accounting firm, or lawyer’s office .
“Sir! Sir! Please! I need your help!” She shouted, her voice splitting through the night. Startled, the man stopped, and made sure that she was addressing him before he crossed the street with hesitation.
“Is everything okay miss? What seems to be the problem?” He asked, eyes widening at the sight of blood splatter in the snow, and the blood on her hands.
“You have to help me! My fiancé, he was in a fight at the restaurant up the road, and he chased away the goons that bothered us. They knocked him out! Can you help me carry him back to my flat?” Vera pleaded as a torrent of grieved tears ran down her reddened face. The man couldn't say no. Not to a woman like her.
Apartment # 538
Arriving at the flat, Vera instructed the Good Samaritan to kindly lay Shay out on her bed, while she set to work building up a fire in the fireplace. After he finished doing as she asked, she thanked the man by fishing out the money from Shay’s wallet, and handed him 20£, more than enough to keep him quiet in regards to the peculiar incident. With a warm hearth fire blazing, Vera set to attending Shay.
Inside her bedroom, he lay motionless save for shallow breathing. With hands trembling, she rushed with haste to unbutton the buttons that now seemed like an impossible puzzle to solve. Tugging free the tailored shirt, she cast it aside on the floor, and sucked her teeth at the sight of the wound. While it didn't appear a serious wound, she couldn't be certain to how much blood he had already lost.
She knew little of proper wound care, but she knew that the wound needed to be sterilized, so she fetched a bottle of whiskey from the pantry cupboard, and started a pot of water to boil on the wood furnace stove. As the water boiled, Vera collected what clean linen she could, even going as far to remove the loose sheet on the spare bed. With that, and fresh towels, she cut the sheet into long strips, and dropped them in the now boiling water. Once those were deemed sterile, she brought the linen strips, whiskey, and towels to tend to Shay.
At his bedside, Vera knelt by his shoulder, dabbing carefully at the wound with a piece of towel soaked in whiskey. There, she cleaned it as best as she could, wiping the excess blood away. Finally, she began the painstaking process of binding his wound with the boiled linen, it had cooled significantly so as not to burn his flesh, but it was sterile nonetheless.
When his wound had been sterilized, and bound, Vera headed into the parlor room where she then called Sam.
“Ugh...hello?” He must have been sleeping, for he sounded groggy, or perhaps drunk.
“Sam… It's me.” Vera said, already she fought back another wave of tears as her voice shook.
“Vera?” He asked, both to clarify, and as a way to ask what was wrong.
“Yes, Sam, I need you to listen to me, and please don't interrupt.” She pressed, shutting her eyes tight as if trying to erase the memories of that night's horrific events. “Shay’s been shot.”
“What?”
“I said-”
“I heard what you said Vera, that's not what I asked. Who shot him? Where are you now? How bad is he?” Sam snapped, she could almost see him now, rigid with anger, maybe even fear.
“Sam, just listen!” Silence came over the line, and she knew she had his full attention now. “We were having dinner at a restaurant down the road from my flat. We wanted to have a good time, and we had just ordered dinner when the Adders walked in through the door. It was the head honcho, Donald Hayes, and some of his goons. They hadn't followed us, but came out for dinner themselves, but he saw us Sam. Donald saw us. He came over to our table, and caused a ruckus, and… and I said some things I shouldn't have.”
“Vera what did you say?”
“I can't repeat them.”
“I need you to tell me everything.”
She retold the story of their encounter with Hayes, and how Shay distracted the men to give her time to escape, even how she found Shay near the trash barrels, and how she enlisted the help of a stranger walking home from work to help carry Shay back to her flat.
“Vera… It’s going to be okay. Don't worry about anything. Call the pub if Shay gets worse and we’ll send someone over to you. I'm going to send for the doctor.” Then, Sam hung up the phone, leaving a shaken Vera alone to handle her coagulating emotions. She paced around in the parlor room, the fanciful furniture no longer held her eye, as her thoughts were with Shay. Knowing Sam, and the Rougher's, she knew that the doctor wouldn't be a medical professional, rather, the doctor would be a mystifying Romani woman, a gypsy as they called her kind. Sam didn't say when he would have her there, and so she took it upon herself to faithfully watch over Shay until someone arrived. Quitting herself from her manic pacing, she disappeared to check in on him.
Lingering in the doorway to her bedroom, she watched Shay, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip with great anxiety. Finally, after mustering enough courage, she ventured over to the edge of the bed and sat next to him. For what felt like an eternity, as she remained next to him, her eyes flickering between the wound, and then to his face. The pallidity of his skin had faded considerably since first arriving at the flat. Sighing in frustration that she couldn't do more to help him, Vera decided to lie next to him. If he woke, and needed anything, she would be right there beside him. With one hand, Vera held his hand in hers, her eyes studying the gentle rise and fall of his exposed chest. A peculiar thought came over her, one that brought a flush to her cheeks. She found that even though he was wounded, Shay was indeed strikingly handsome; she tried not to stare so adamantly at his exposed chest, but her eyes returned to study his torso over and over. Now she could see how well-muscled he was, the color of his nipples and even the dark hair on his chest that trickled down to the beginning of his pants. She forced the thoughts from her mind, forcing her to stay focused on his breathing. Eventually a grey light filled the room with the coming dawn, and then, did she allow sleep to take her.
