𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒

𝐬𝐢𝐱 | 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

a.c.
Jackson raises an eyebrow, watching Frasier with an observant eye. Frasier looks nearly fifty years old, maybe even older. But, there's a certain composure that he keeps in his stance. Something quite different than what I imagined he would be like.
     "Come, dear. Let's get you all cleaned up." He says, taking my arm.
He walks arm in arm with me across the yard towards a Mother-In-Law Suite. I look down at my blood stained blouse then at my hands.
     "Mr. Crawford, sir, what's going to happen to Devin? He's not going to die, is he?" I ask.
     Frasier smiles at me, removing the cigarette from his lips. He blows a mouthful of smoke past his lips away from my face, then looks at me.
     "You like Devin, don't you?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
     My answer hitches in my throat—I can't like Devin. He's related to one of my students. That would be wrong. But, there's such a magnetic attraction towards him that I can't shake.
     "Dear, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Devin is strong, brave, attractive. He's independent." He says. "Don't worry. I won't say anything to him. That's for you to tell him."
     I shake my head, licking my chapped lip as I try to think of a way to phrase my answer.
     "No, I don't like him—Well... It's complicated. Extremely complicated." I say.
     He laughs, bringing his cigarette back to his lips.
     "Everything always is, my dear. Every single thing." He says. "Devin is in good hands. You don't need to worry. He'll be alright."
     We continue across the grass, walking past garden keepers and carpenters.
     "Frasier!" A woman exclaims, running through the front door of the Mother-In-Law Suite.
     She wears a pair of black and white pinstripe pants, a white chiffon blouse, and a white leather jacket with floral cutouts as well as a pair of white high heel leather boots. Her hair is curly and pulled up into a high ponytail.
"What the Hell is going on? Flynn called me at work and told me to head over right away." She says.
Jamie. Jamie is a clothing designer for Ralph Lauren who also specializes in her own line of maternity clothes sold here, in New York City. She's commonly flying to France or Venice for photo shoot starring her latest pieces.
"Jamie, dear, calm down. I will explain everything." Frasier says calmly. "Devin has been shot and couldn't pick up Alana today. Flynn had to call Jackson. I asked Flynn to call you here to help clean up our dear guest here. Make her look stunning for when she sees Devin later tonight."
     Jamie turns her head, our eyes meeting. Jamie is two years older than I am, yet, she has her whole life figured out. She's married, has a fantastic job, and a beautiful daughter. Her eyes trail down my bloody blouse then to my hands.
"Oh my goodness, Miss. Ayleigh, are you alright?" She asks, grabbing my hands, cupping then with her own.
I nod, the shock of the whole situation starting to kick in. Devin's blood begins to dry between my fingers, making a strange sticky noise as I pull my fingers apart.
"Yes, I'm quite fine, Jamie. Thank you for asking." I say, beginning to tremble as I think of Devin.
She places a hand on my cheek, her piercing blue eyes gazing into mine.
     "You're covered in blood, Ayleigh. It's all over you. Are you hurt?" She asks.
     I shake my head, pressing my lips together firmly as I think.
     "No, I'm alright. The blood isn't mine, it's Devin's." I say.

d.c.
     I lay on a cot in the back room of Frasier's house. Flynn stands in the hall, on the phone with someone. My head pounds loudly and all I can see is the shadow of a lamp on the ceiling. I can barely hear the men surrounding me over the throbbing of my head. The room spins and I groan out.
"Hand me that vial of Morphine." One man, Ryan Quinn, says, pointing at a syringe laying on a surgery pan.
     Another man, Richard Glasgow, on the opposite side of me reaches into the pan and grabs the syringe, handing it to Ryan. I feel a slight poke in my arm and it stings. I groan, trying to stop the room from spinning. Flynn enters the room, crouching down next to me.
"Buckle up, Devin. This is only the beginning of a very long ride." He says.
Frasier can't send his associates to the hospital for fear that they might be discovered, seeing as most of them are in need of a Doctor because they've been shot. Flynn walks over to the medical tray and grabs something, palming it. He returns to me, opening his hand.
     "Open your mouth and bite down on this." He says, placing a thick leather strip in between my teeth.
     I bite down on the leather, keeping it between my teeth. Flynn turns his head, looking at the door. Flynn goes down to my wrists and straps them down so I can't move, avoiding further injury. I can hear someone approaching the room.
     "Let's get started." Frasier says, entering the room.
     He approaches the head of the bed, standing over me. He pats my cheek twice and nods to Ryan. Ryan stands, approaching the head of the bed, our eyes meeting.
     "Because we can't take you to the hospital, you have to be awake for the procedure. This is going to hurt, Devin—a lot. Just focus on something else during the procedure and it'll be over before you know it." He says. "Just remember to breathe."
     I nod and he returns to my chest. He pulls a face mask over his mouth and nose, then sighs out.
     "Scalpel." He says, holding out a gloved palm for the blade.
     I can hear the plastic of his gloves crinkle as he receives the scalpel. There are probably fifteen men in the spacious room, all watching me, although only two or three of them are performing the surgery itself. The rest are just here for moral support. I've never been on this side of the knife before. I've been in the room during surgeries on the other associates. Hell, there's at least one surgery a month. I typically enjoy watching them. It's a break from collecting payments for an hour or two before Frasier sends everyone out. Jackson stands in the doorway, chewing on his thumbnail. Flynn stands near my head, looking down at my chest. A hot burning pain splits my chest in two. I can feel the scalpel cutting through the skin, then into the muscle. I groan into the leather, breathing out quickly through my nose. I try to move away from the scalpel by arching my back. I need to get away from the knife.
     "Devin, you've gotta stop. You're making it worse. You need to hold still. They've gotta get that bullet out." Flynn says.
     I try to hold still but the burning in my chest feels like hot coals.
     "Is there anything else you can give him?" Flynn asks, looking at Ryan and Richard.
I can feel the forceps pulling my skin and muscle in the opposite directions, creating a large open space in my chest to fish out the bullet. I scream, fighting them even more. I need them to stop. I can't take it.
"Not without killing him, Flynn. We've already given him the maximum dose of Morphine." Ryan says. "And I'm not equipped to do a Thoracic Spinal Epidural."
I scream again, pressing my teeth even deeper into the leather strip.
"I'm sorry, Devin. This'll be over soon." Flynn says.