METANOIA

Forgotten Feeling

Sickening, sticky blood dripped down my cold hands and onto the wooden table. There was a musty smell of metal and moisture in the air, pressing heavily on my stomach and making me gag. Jensen fell silent, his movements no longer so abrupt, but his labored breathing echoed in my ears, squeezing my head; his whole body was covered in blood, and where Dante had searched for the bullet there were scalpel cuts where red flesh remained beneath the layer of skin. I refused to give my brother alcohol as a painkiller, despite the pity I felt every time I looked at his tortured face — by reducing his body's response to pain in this way, we risked damaging the wound and bones even more, and not even knowing it. De Rosso looked focused on the painstaking work of the tweezers — trying to minimise my brother's suffering by carefully withdrawing the needle and thread; focused on his work, he could barely breathe, concentrating on the stitching, and then there was the sharp sound of metal.

"It's done," Dante said as he finished bandaging the wound. My brother was breathing heavily, most likely he had already lost consciousness and would be tormented by a fever for the next few hours, "there is a bedroom on the first floor, you need to take him there and wash out the remaining blood." The man looked at the shaking Lynette and I shook my head.

"I'll do it," I gasped, grabbing Jensen's waist as De Rosso grabbed the other shoulder. Together we carried him to the bed and laid him down neatly. Now his life was only threatened by the risk of the wound festering. Lynette followed us.

She looked no better than Jensen at the moment — tired, tortured, covered in blood. Her eyes were like two large green orbs, staring terrified at everything around her. The girl's hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't hold anything in them.

I found a small bowl in the bathroom off the bedroom, emptied it of unnecessary supplies and poured water into it; after wetting a towel, I returned to my brother and began gently running the cloth over his skin, feeling him flinch at each touch. There were drops of sweat on his forehead, his forehead furrowed and his eyelids twitching, his chest heaving heavily as if an animal were sitting on it. The water had quickly turned red and the towel was tattered, but there was less blood on Jensen's face and body, which probably eased his condition.

I put the bowl on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed, my legs spread wide and my elbows on my hips. Tired, I lowered my head onto my palms and clutched the roots of my hair, trying to adjust my psyche to the situation — I had grown up in a murderous family and such encounters with my father were not uncommon, but to see my brother struggling with life was too much for me: weakness and hopelessness overwhelmed me, there was nothing I could do to take away his misery. A rustling sound was heard in the corner of the room and an amorphous silhouette dissolved into the shadows of the room, sobbing.

"Alana," Lynette whispered in a choked voice. Emerging from the darkness, I noticed the glare in her malachite glass eyes; the tip of her nose was trembling, as were her lips and fingers. She shuffled from foot to foot, turning her head across the room to avoid looking at the bed where Jensen lay. Her hair, clinging to her damp face, prevented Lynette from speaking or breathing, "what just...what is..." her tears almost made her gasp, "going on?"

Sighing heavily, I lifted my head and pressed my fingers to my face. I really didn't want to talk to the girl right now, to calm her down, let alone explain what had just happened. Lifting my heavy eyelids to the frightened girl, I stared at her for a long moment in silence; she gave in to the pressure of my gaze and stepped back, sitting on a chair against the wall and pressing her thighs together with her fingers, waiting for my answer. Dante stood silently by the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," I admitted honestly, nodding slowly. There was silence  —  Lynette was waiting for me to continue, and I was keeping the secrets of the illegal business as much as I could in this situation; she was unlikely to believe that the castle had been shot by accident.