Tuesday, 3 February 2015

Silent Scream: Part Twenty-Seven

[Parts 1-26 are here. Thanks so much for reading, and a special THANK YOU to all the people who are RTing my tweets about this and recommending this to your friends and followers! You guys are freaking incredible and I heart you all so big. Xo]

“James. James. James.”

He opens his eyes. Michael hovers over him.

“James,” he says again. “Can you hear me? Can you…” Michael takes a tiny breath in. “You’re okay,” he breathes. “You’re okay.”

Michael stands up and holds out his hand. James takes it and Michael pulls him to his feet.

“We have to go,” Michael says, peering through the shadows. “Grady’s gone. He’s got a gun. We have to go.” 

James looks down. There’s a dead woman at his feet.

“Michael,” he whispers. “Did you…Did you…”

Michael follows his line of sight and jumps back. “No. Not me. One of the other police officers. Come on; we need to get out of here!”

James’ brain clicks over. Everything has slowed down. His heart continues to pump sludge.

‘I was shot,” he says, looking down at his chest. His unmarred chest.

“What?” Michael whips around. “Oh God, you were?? Where??”

He grabs James’ arms, searching for bullet wounds.

“In my chest,” James says, running his hands over his body. “I felt it, right over my…”

White hot pain shoots through his chest, straight through his heart. He falls to his knees.

“James!” Michael screams. “Oh my God, James!”

The pain shoots through him again. And again. And again. His slow-motion brain ticks over.

Oh, he thinks. He is unnaturally calm. My heart is failing.

His heart stutters.

And stops.

The world seems to hit pause.

His eyes remain open. Seeing nothing and seeing everything at the same time. The darkness doesn’t come this time.

Light does.

No, he thinks. No.


Beat, he commands his heart. Beat.


“…three four five six seven eight…Is that, is it…” 
Michael’s hands freeze over James’ heart, still stacked and interlocked, still ready to keep his heart beating. His fingers search for his pulse. He closes his eyes, mumbling something. James can just make out what he is saying.

Please God. Please.

Michael opens his eyes. They are full of fear, but he smiles. Barely.

“You’re alive,” he whispers. “You’re alive.”

Michael turns his head to the side vomits, narrowly avoiding getting it on his shoes.

More shots are fired.

James springs to his feet, renewed.

“Don’t!” Michael screams, but it’s too late. James tears his way towards the sound. When he gets there, his heart threatens to stop again.

Or maybe it does.

Grady is standing in front of one of the boatsheds, pointing a gun at a cluster of police officers. He is holding someone in front of him like a shield.