Untamable Matriarch: The Witheridge Witches

Chapter 8

George

At this point, I wasn't sure if I was on a weird acid trip or if I was dead and had gone to purgatory because one moment I was in a parking garage about to have a last stand with the police and now I was in Dr. Witheridge's town home.

I jump off the bike and stumble, almost losing my balance, and begin edging my way to the front door, which was at least 10 to 20 feet behind me.

"It's okay. I promise. You're safe." she says as she whips off her mask and dark wig, exposing the face that belonged to that voice. Maggie?

"Explain. Or-" I demand as I continue making my way to her front door before I trip and manage to fall on my ass hard in the process with an oomph, causing the pictures on the walls to shake. It was at this point that I realized I might be going into shock. If not now, then if I didn't do anything about it, I would be soon. I reach for my arm and groan as I apply pressure on the gunshot wound. When I look at the ground next to me, I see that I'm making a mess of the floor. My blood is everywhere. Maggie's boots squelch as she leans down to help me up off the floor and on instinct I pull away at first, but that only earns me a stern look that tells me there is no room for debate in this. She rolls her eyes, which had turned back to their normal grey, and sighs out a frustrated breath.

"Come on, George. Do you want to bleed out?"

Her forehead creases deepen as she looks me over. She looked tired. Exhausted even. I certainly was. Who knew how long she had been scoping out those tunnels? I needed an explanation. Why was she helping me? She'd essentially snapped her fingers and fixed me back there. Or at least patched me up enough to get away. And it had hurt just as bad as getting shot had, if not worse. She has a good point, though. She was a doctor and whether I liked it or not, I needed her help. I'd lost a lot of blood tonight, and the adrenaline that held me together during the high-speed chase we just finished was quickly wearing off. And oddly enough, a part of me trusted her, however misguided and foolish I knew that was. I just did.

I relent and grimace as I let her pull my good arm around her neck to help me up and I follow her as she leads us into the kitchen, where she lays me down on her table.

"I'll explain, but first let's get you stable." she says as she leaves me for a minute going further into the kitchen. I hear her rifling through a drawer or two before she comes back with a shit ton of medical supplies she places down beside me. She fiddles with the metal box and quickly dons a pair of gloves before taking some shears and getting to work cutting my shirt off when I chuckle at her.

"What?" she asks as she pauses from her work.

"It's just that you're wearing gloves. Aren't we a little past that?"

Understanding washes across her face, and I watch as one of her cheeks hollows out as she nibbles on it. I wonder if she can still taste me in her mouth. My blood. I don't find it as disgusting as I probably should. But maybe that was the delirium talking.

She looks at me funny and responds," It's to protect you, you doofus. Do you want to get an infection?"

I guess she has a point there. Maggie makes a face at me that says, "Yeah. Didn't think so.", and continues to dive into doctor mode as she preps her supplies and looks my gunshot wound over.

"You got lucky. Just missed your brachial artery. Clean shot too. Went all the way through."

She grabs her small hand in mine and places gauze in my palm before guiding it to hold pressure on the exit wound and she begins to stitch me back together.

"Not trying to complain, but if you can teleport us places and stop bullets, why can't you snap your fingers and fix my arm?"

"It's not something that I'm particularly good at." she responds as she continues to dig the needle into my flesh, perhaps a little harder than necessary.