Shot At Combe Carey Hall

Precious

"Lucy your leg!" Lockwood exclaimed as she stepped into the kitchen, his laughter immediately died.

Now that she was in a well lit room she glanced down at her leg to assess the damage. The gauze was soaked and falling at an angle where it had ripped and two thin rivers of blood rolled down her leg.

"What on Earth were you doing down there?" George took the donuts from her and set them aside. "Sit down." He commanded leading her to her chair before leaving to grab their medical supplies.

"Seriously Lucy what happened? Are you alright?" Lockwood had stood from his chair and grabbed a clean wash cloth, wetting it in the sink he walked over to Lucy crouched next to her and gingery began wiping away the blood from her knee and thigh.

"I tripped over a box George left on the ground. I banged my leg into something, I. I also knocked into the ghost-jar with the skull in it."

"George you mustn't leave things lying around like that. Especially that stupid jar." Lockwood scolded and began unwrapping Lucy's leg as George re-entered the room with fresh gauze.

"Out of the way Lockwood your not being careful with that rag." George was wearing disposable gloves now, he snatched the wash cloth from Lockwood and began to clean the actual wound and rewrap it, Lucy winced in pain.

"Does it hurt bad? Should I grab your pain killers, you've gone paler than a ghost." Lockwood stood behind George watching Lucy intently while toying with his fingers.

"No. Well yes it hurts but that's not what's got me pale. It's my Talent."

"What's wrong with your Talent?" George applied a bit of pressure as he tapped the gauze down. "Now don't go bumping into anything again, you really scrapped that good. Don't know how long it's going to bleed like that for."

"My Talent is fine. Better than fine even, I heard him. The skull spoke to me."

George stood abruptly, he removed his gloves and tossed them in the trash. For a moment no one spoke. George rubbed his glasses on his shirt.

"It spoke? Full sentences?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"It's in the storeroom you say?" George couldn't contain a smile though he tried. He rushed to the basement and reemerged with the jar in hand, pushing the food aside he set it on the table. Then he began closing the blinds in the kitchen to darken the room. Lockwood watched these proceedings with a cautious curiosity.

The jar still glowed a very faint green, the face inside had faded and rotated sideways, he stuck his tongue out at Lucy his tounge was thin and long and forked like a lizards, it trailed behind the face.

"Please Lucy speak to it again." George encouraged picking up a pen and notepad preparing to write notes.

"Fine but he's probably cross with me for cutting him off earlier, and I already know he can't stand you two."

"Fine." Lockwood waved his hand dismissively. "Why should we care what a ghost thinks of us anyhow."

With a deep breath Lucy reached over and twisted the yellow tap, there was a sudden faint connection as the face stirred a little, like a slow building pressure in her mind.

"Hello. I'm sorry I cut you off earlier, I was startled. And bleeding."

"Yes... How is your leg?"

"What has he said?" Lockwood leaned in, he'd felt something but heard nothing.

"He asked how my leg is. It's fine thank you."