Afraid of the Dark

Čhąptęr Ţ̷węĺ̶vę̷

"Oh my f***ing God, what the hell? What the hell!?" Wade stammered in shock, recoiling from where he was standing. Mark's face had paled to a sickly shade of white as he stared down at the unmoving PJ.

"Is he... is he...?" the younger American man couldn't get the words from his mouth. Wade swayed on the spot for a moment, before gritting his teeth and leaning down, placing two fingers underneath PJ's nose to feel for a movement of air, indicating that he was still breathing. He then moved his fingers to PJ's neck, and felt for a pulse. The seconds waiting in silence felt excruciatingly long.

"Barely..." Wade whispered, as if he wasn't trying to disturb PJ. "He's barely alive, Mark. The number for UK ambulances is nine-nine-nine, right?"

"Yeah, but didn't the security guy say that there were paramedics on sight? They've probably seen the message PJ sent, and should be coming, right?"

"I'm not taking any risks," the older man responded, turning off his torch and dialling the UK's emergency number, putting his phone to his ear. His face looked determined and focused, but after a few seconds it turned to confusion. "Uh... hello?" he asked uncertainly. "Hello...?" He looked down at his phone for a moment, then put it back up to his ear. "What the...?"

"What's wrong?" Mark questioned, walking closer to where his friend was crouching. Wade glanced up at him, before putting his phone on speaker, revealing the fuzzing noise of static. Mark felt his blood run cold.

"I must not have connection, we need to try yours," the older man instructed, hurrying to end the call and turn his torch back on. The younger man stood still. "Come on, Mark, we don't have time for this! You ring for an ambulance and I'll try and find out where the medical team are with the emergency phones. Also, can you try and clean up his head a bit?" Wade asked, taking off his black jacket and handing it Mark.

With a few moments of uncertain hesitation, Mark took the jacket and brought out his mobile while Wade began writing out a message on his ECS Phone. He dialled nine-nine-nine and waited as the call connection beeps played, leaning down towards PJ and gently began trying to wipe the streaks of blood from PJ's cheek, before moving up to the gash on his head. "Can you put it on speaker?" Wade asked. Mark complied, and together they listened to the steady beep of the dial tone.

"Hello," someone said in a monotone voice from it of the phone's speaker. It sounded strangely familiar, but neither man could quite place it.

"Hello?" Mark responded.

"Hello," the voice repeated.

"Umm... hi, we're at the NEC in Birmingham, and someone has been attacked and he's now unconscious. He needs help urgently. I think someone hit a bottle over his head, it's bleeding pretty badly."

"I know."

"You... know?" Mark asked with confusion. A low groan pulled his attention from the call, and he looked back down towards PJ. His eyelids were fluttering, as if he was trying to open them. His lips parted slightly and he began breathing heavily, moaning in pain every few seconds. Wade looked up from his ECS.

"PJ?" he asked calmly. "Can you hear me, PJ?" The British-Italian man practically whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes. He kept moving his lips but nothing but the same groans of pain were coming out. At some points, it did sound like he was trying to say the word 'help'. "We're getting you help, PJ, just stay with us, okay? You're going to be alright."

"Is he now?" the voice on the phone asked. Wade and Mark looked towards it with concern. Before they could say anything, it continued. "Does he know what happened to him?"

"Wh...ere...?" PJ mumbled through his agony. Wade placed a hand on the injured man's chest.

"PJ, can you tell us what happened?" he asked. "Do you remember who did this to you?"