Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Fourteen (Pt. 1)

Chapter Fourteen

If Phil's reaction time was as slow as mine, both Tanya and I would've been dead by now, and there would not be any Chapter Fourteen. Fortunately, as a trained soldier, his acute survival instincts kicked in and did a great job of protecting us.

Phil knew there was no time to retaliate physically from where he was sitting in front of Tanya―ten feet away from the door. He too knew that, judging by the chauffeur's stance, he wasn't here to threaten or kidnap them. He was here to assassinate them, no questions asked.

And all these deductions happened in a mere fraction of a second. Then, Phil made a split-second decision.

Falling into a crouch, he hoisted the chair above his head, shielding both Tanya and himself. There was a loud ping as the metal chair deflected the first and second bullets. Without waiting for the third bullet to announce its arrival, Phil threw the chair towards the chauffeur/assassin.

The chair hit the guy square in the face. Mr Assassin stumbled backwards, his hands held up to protect his face. He didn't take long to recover; another split second later he was aiming his gun in our direction again.

But this time, Phil was ready for him. In the time Mr Assassin took to dispose of the furniture assault, Phil had slid swiftly over to the door. Hence, when the gun was up once more, Phil gave it a karate kick, sending the gun whizzing over to the other side of the room.

Unarmed, the assassin was unmatched for Phil's excellent close-quarters-combat skills. The two of them exchanged a few punches and kicks, but Phil soon subdued the fella.

With a swift parry to the guy's forearm, shocking and paralysing it, he followed up with an elbow strike to his face. Mr Assassin collapsed like a sack of potatoes, writhing and grabbing his face. Phil didn't waste any time restraining him in a headlock.

Then, I suppose, Phil underestimated his opponent by letting down his guard. Turning over to Tanya, he was about to check on her when he felt a sharp stinging sensation on his forearm.

Wincing in pain, Phil instinctively let go of the man. He clutched at his hand. It was bleeding profusely from a deep cut on his forearm. Glancing back up, Phil noticed the small vicious blade in the man's hand. He braced for another attack, but the man, knowing that this was a fight he probably couldn't win, turned tail and fled down the corridor.

Phil stumbled back into the room. Tanya was huddling at one side of the bed, her head buried in a pillow. She was trembling uncontrollably, her weeping muffled by the pillow in her face.

Phil ignored her. The countless years of experience at the battlefield taught him how to response to an injury, and that it must be done ASAP before excessive blood loss caught up and killed him.

Without hesitation, Phil tore off a long strip of the bed sheet. Splitting it into two, he folded one of them into a square that was just large enough to cover the wound. Tentatively, he placed the folded square cloth on the cut as direct pressure. Then, he grabbed the other strip of cloth and started winding it around the square cloth.

Oh, and did I forgot to mention that Phil was cursing all the way as he bandaged his arm?

"P―Phil?" Tanya whispered, peeping out from behind the pillow.

Phil tucked the remaining of the cloth into the makeshift bandage he'd made. "Tanny, hey, hey―" he wiped away the tears on Tanya's cheek. "It's fine, Tanny. He's gone. You're safe now."

With her body racking with sobs, Tanya collapsed into Phil's arms, and cried.

We decided to leave Chambers' Mental Institute the same way as I escaped from Redwood Hospital―through the emergency exit. Phil was smart enough to know that the elevator was definitely compromised; the gunshots just now must have attracted security by now.