Left Behind

Chapter 11

Crawley had thought that the call he received was strange. Since the beginning, Jones had insisted that one of them had to be at Alex's side, and now she was the one calling him to meet her. He should have questioned it further.

"What do you need?" Crawley asked when he saw Jones in the reception area talking on the phone.

She looked at him and frowned. "I have to go," she said to whoever was on the phone before turning to him. "Crawley, what are you doing here?" she asked, and now it was Crawley's turn to frown.

"You called me. You said that you needed to talk right away," he explained.

She shook her head. "No, I've been on the phone for the last hour. I didn't call you."

Both of them understood the gravity of her words. "Shit," he said, turning back and running to the room he had just left. It had been a setup to get Alex alone, and Crawley fell right through it.

"Alex!" Jones called out as soon as they spotted Alex. He was out in the hallway, leaning against a wall, looking rather unstable on his feet.

The boy turned to them. He was pale, blood was running down his arm from where he had ripped out the IV, and the bandage on his leg was also slowly being stained red.

"Alex, what happened?" Mrs. Jones asked.

Crawley looked inside the room, eyes widening as he saw the bullet hole lodged in the medical equipment.

"There was a man. I saw him at Point Blanc."

"What did he look like?" Crawley asked.

"Uh, he had a scar down his face."

Crawley and Mrs. Jones looked at each other. They both knew who Alex was talking about.

"Go, call for backup," Mrs. Jones ordered Crawley, who was already running down the hallway.

"What is all this yelling in a hospital?" Alex's doctor suddenly appeared. "Alex, what are you doing out of bed? You shouldn't be on your feet," the doctor said, raising his voice when he noticed Alex's condition.

Alex was getting paler by the minute, the adrenaline clearly running out, the room starting to turn upside down.

"Let's get you into a bed," the doctor said, already predicting that the boy would pass out.

"Merde," Alex heard the man curse under his breath at spotting the bullet, or maybe he was mourning the broken equipment.

Alex was barely conscious by the time they got to the bed. His body hadn't been ready for that kind of activity.

"Prep him for transfer. We will leave as soon as the helicopter arrives," he heard Mrs. Jones say. He was going home then, back to Jack and Tom. He barely managed to fight a smile.

"What?" the doctor asked incredulously. Alex felt the hands leaving his body for a moment before returning. "He is highly unstable to get transferred. I won't allow it," the man said.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. The order is clear: stabilize him for the trip. It's too dangerous for him to stay any longer," Mrs. Jones said, and Alex could see her turn around to leave the room as more nurses entered.

"Mrs. Jones," he called out as the needle was inserted back into his arm.

She stopped and turned to him. "That man killed my uncle," he revealed. She didn't seem shocked. Did she know that? Did she know that man? Maybe they had played him from the beginning. He was not surprised.

His line of sight got obscured by someone strapping the oxygen mask back on. At least he was going home.

Despite the medic's disagreement with Mrs. Jones's order, an hour later he was already inside a medical helicopter, straps securing him to a stretcher around his chest and legs, trapping Alex. It seemed a little excessive and claustrophobic, but according to the doctor, he shouldn't be moved thanks to the fresh stitches on his leg.