BBC Musketeers / Coast of dreams

Collison

Last time in chapter 7:

D'Artagnan took the curves as tightly as possible, managing to increase the distance. For a few seconds they were out of sight of their pursuers and he used the opportunity to pull into a little inlet, where thick shrubbery and hedges provided some cover. Branches and thorns scratched the paintwork of the car, but that was the least of their worries. D'Artagnan had barely turned off the engine and switched off the headlights, when not one, but two SUVs raced past their hiding place.

They both let out a relieved breath, when D'Artagnan started the car again a few seconds later. They had managed to fool their pursuers. However, that relief was very short-lived. Constance, who still had her hand pressed against D'Artagnan's wound, felt fresh blood well up against her palm. "D'Artagnan, please, we have to get back to the hotel."

Her beloved, who by now had turned ashy pale, nodded and put the car into gear. "Do you want me to drive?" Constance asked.

"No, it's okay, we'll be there soon," D'Artagnan ground out through clenched teeth. The adrenalin, that had fueled him for the last few minutes, was ebbing off. They had to get back to the hotel fast.

Later, he could barely remember the drive there. He had reduced their speed to a sedentary 80 km/h. Every now and then he blacked out for a second, but he forced himself to remain awake. Constance had kept one hand on the steering wheel, helping him, and fifteen minutes later the car stopped in front of the hotel.

The entrance to the hotel was empty, which was as expected. Who would hang around in the lobby at four o'clock in the morning. Constance got out of the car and hurried to the driver side. With great effort, D'Artagnan had opened the car door and tried to get out. Leaning heavily on Constance, he stumbled into the lobby. They bypassed the reception and went straight to the elevators. Constance pressed the button for their floor and the elevator started to rise. D'Artagnan's legs kept buckling and Constance had a hard time keeping him upright.

Somehow, they made it to the door of her room, and she managed to open it on the second try. Her junior suite consisted of one large room, with a small lounge area in the front furnished with cream and yellow furniture, and a large bed against the back wall, which was where they were headed now. By now, Constance was practically dragging D'Artagnan along. At the foot of the bed, she turned him around so that he could drop down onto the bed on his back.

She wasn't strong enough to hold him, so he landed not exactly gently on the bed. His short groan raised goosebumps on her skin. "Sorry, D'Artagnan. God, what am I supposed to do? I'll call a doctor." Constance went to the telephone on the nightstand, but before she could pick it up, D'Artagnan mumbled something.

"No, get Aramis. Get Aramis."

Constance's eyes went back and forth between the telephone and the man lying on her bed. Her first instinct was to call a doctor. A doctor would be able to help him. Or better yet, an ambulance. Why hadn't they gone straight to a hospital? But she couldn't despair now, she had to help him. He had to know what he was doing, and a doctor would only ask how he had managed to tear the stiches and re-open the wound, and why he was dressed like that. She couldn't risk that. She had gotten him into this trouble and she would get him out again, so she went to the door. With her hand on the door handle, she looked back at him once again.

He was lying half on the bed, with his legs still hanging over the edge. One arm rested on the bed, the other one lay protectively close to his wound. Constance took a deep breath and left the room. Since she had helped with the planning and booking of the hotel rooms, she knew Aramis' room number.

Not wanting to lose precious time, she decided not to use the elevator and took the stairs instead. She practically ran along the corridor until she came to the right door. When no one opened, although she more or less hammered on the door, she gave up. Apparently, Aramis wasn't in his room. Was he on guard duty? She had no way of knowing, or finding out quickly enough. However, she knew someone who most probably knew, where Aramis was.