The Attic (Completed)

Chapter 7

"Over here—" Lily screamed, running toward Ian's motionless body.

They'd been pounding the floor area between the pool and the tub when an opening had appeared in the wall across the room and Ian had fallen through.

Already blood was seeping and forming a puddle around his body. He lay on his back, propped up by the oxygen tank.

"Check him for wounds—" Mike shouted from behind her.

"Why was he in the tank?" she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. Mike reached her and followed suit.

"I don't know"—he said gruffly—"ask him later. For now, find out where all this blood is coming from. Help me take off this wetsuit and tank."

With trembling fingers, she pulled the wetsuit back off Ian's wet head and tugged the tank straps from each shoulder. She pulled his right arm through and scooted around to his other side to do the same with his left, slipping on the blood. The suit was shredded on this arm, spurting lacerations showing through.

Mike removed the tank delicately as Chris appeared and hurried toward them.

"Call an ambulance, Chris—" she shouted.

"No—" a female voice responded nearby.

Lily glanced over her shoulder. Hannah was standing a few feet away; a stern look on her face, hands on her hips.

"No?"

Hannah shook her head. "Auguste—your grandfather, told me that no doctor was ever to touch Ian. Even when he was found as a child . . . so ill . . . we nursed him back to health ourselves."

"What! But why? That's insane—Call a doctor now!"

"Stop wasting time," Hannah snapped, approaching them with an air of authority. "Mike—go find some scissors."

Mike took off and left the room by the east wing exit.

"But Hannah"—Lily cried—"we've got to call an ambulance!"

Hannah knelt down beside her and touched Ian's pale cheek tenderly. "No. He would have wanted it this way."

Ian's eyes were shut, hair soaked and plastered to his head.

"But—he'll die." She touched the glossy material covering his shoulder and quickly withdrew her hand. A tear slipped down her cheek, pulse pounding out of control. "He's bleeding all over the floor—" Already her hands and jeans were saturated with blood.

Ian's blood.

She could hardly breathe.

At the sound of footsteps on the nearby stone stairs, Mike burst into the room with scissors in one hand and a First Aid box in the other. Chris, who'd just been standing by like a lost puppy, joined Mike's side with a sudden look of determination and took the First Aid kit from him.

"Lily—hold the material off Ian's wounds while Mike cuts it," Hannah instructed, her white apron stained crimson.

Focusing on steadying her breathing, Lily held the sleeve as Mike sliced through it. Now that Ian's arm was free from the tightness of the suit, blood spurted violently from the ring of holes in his skin and muscle.

"Out of my way now, please." Hannah moved Lily aside. "Chris—gimme some disinfectant. And Mike—get Lily out of here."

Before she could even protest, Mike was helping Lily to her feet and hurrying her from the room, her skimmers slipping and sliding on the bloodied glass floor.