Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

She put her hand over his heart, felt the faint, uneven beat, and choked back a sob of relief. He wasn’t dead! But unless she got help he might easily die. He was still bleeding, and that would have to be stopped.

She turned back to the Packard. In the back of the car, on the floor, she found two suitcases. Feverishly she opened one of them, found shirts and handkerchiefs, began ripping the shirts up for bandages.

‘Carol!’ Steve called faintly.

She gave a little cry, ran to him. He was blinking in the strong light of the spot-lamp, but he didn’t move: his eyes looked dull and lifeless.

‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, falling on her knees beside him. ‘What am I going to do? Does it hurt? I’m trying to stop the bleeding.’

‘Good kid,’ Steve muttered, and his face twisted with pain. ‘It’s pretty bad, Carol. Somewhere in my chest.’

For a moment she lost control of herself and sobbed wildly, hiding her face in her hands.

‘What am I going to do?’ she thought hysterically. ‘He mustn’t die... I couldn’t bear him to die... and I’m the only one who can save him...’

‘Come on, kid,’ Steve gasped. ‘Don’t get scared. I know how you feel. But don’t lose your nerve. See if you can stop the bleeding.’

‘Yes...’ she brushed her tears away, bit down on her lip. ‘I’ll stop it, darling. It’s... it’s just... Oh, my dear, I feel so helpless...’

She ran back to the car for the makeshift bandages, returned and undid his shirt. The caked blood and the feel of the soaked material sickened her, but her fear that he might die stiffened her nerve, but when she opened his shirt and looked at the two small black holes oozing blood in the centre of his chest, darkness came down on her and she sat hunched up, her head in her hands, shivering.

‘Don’t let it scare you,’ Steve said, raised his head with difficulty and looked at the wounds. His mouth tightened — it was worse than he thought. There was a cold feeling creeping up his legs, and pain, like white-hot wires, stabbed his chest. ‘Carol! Come on, sweet. Stop this bleeding.’

‘I can’t do it!’ she cried. ‘I’ve got to get help. Where can I go, Steve? Where can I take you?’

Steve lay still, tried to think. He felt the whole of his chest had been laid open and that a salt wind was blowing down on the exposed nerves and flesh.

‘Doc Fleming,’ he managed to say. Carol could scarcely hear his murmur. ‘Straight down the road through Point Breese, the second turning on the left. A small house off the road, stands by itself.’ He struggled against the faintness, forced it away, went on: ‘It’s a good twenty miles. There’s no one else.’

‘But twenty miles...’ Carol beat her clenched fists together. ‘It’ll take too long...’

‘There’s no one else,’ Steve said, and his mind swam away in a liquid pool of pain.

‘I’ll go,’ she said, ‘but first I’ll do what I can.’ Then she thought, ‘I must take him with me. Of course; I can’t leave him here. I should never have got him from the car.’ She bent over him. ‘We’ll go together, darling,’ she said. ‘If you can help yourself just a little. I’ll get you into the car.’

‘Better not,’ Steve said. He felt blood in his mouth. ‘I’m bleeding a bit inside. Better not move me now.’ And blood ran down his chin, although he tried to turn away, not wanting to frighten her.

Carol caught her breath in a sob.

‘All right, my dear,’ she said. ‘I’ll be quick.’ She began to make pads with the handkerchiefs. ‘And, Steve, if anything... I mean... oh, darling, I love you so. I want you to know. There’s no one but you, and I’m so frightened and lonely... Do try... don’t leave me...’

He made an effort, smiled, patted her hand.

‘I won’t... that’s a promise... only be quick...’

But when she lifted him to take off his coat, his face suddenly turned yellow and he cried out, his fingers gripping her arm, then he slumped back into unconsciousness.

She worked feverishly, strapping the pads tightly against the wounds. Then she ran to the car, found a rug, rolled shirts and pyjamas into a pillow and made him as comfortable as she could.

She hated leaving him, but there was nothing else to do. She bent over him, touched his lips with hers, then with one last look back she climbed into the car.

She never remembered much of the drive to Point Breese. She drove the car recklessly, her one thought was to get Doc Fleming back to Steve. The road was broad and good, and she was only conscious of the noise of the wind as the car flew along. At that hour in the morning — it was a little after two o’clock — the road was deserted and her speed seldom dropped below eighty. Once rounding a bend she narrowly missed another car (it was Magarth coming up to Larson’s place), but it all happened so quickly that she was only half aware that another car had passed her. She arrived at Point Breese as an outside clock chimed the half hour past two. The journey had taken her just under the half-hour.

She found Doc Fleming’s house easily enough, and brought the Packard to a stop outside. She ran up the garden path and hammered on the front door, and kept up the persistent hammering until the door was opened.

A middle-aged woman with a mean lined face and untidy hair stood in the doorway. She had on a drab dressing-gown which she held across her flat chest with a hand like a claw.

‘Making a noise like that,’ she said furiously. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Please,’ Carol said, trying to control her voice, ‘I want the doctor. Someone is very ill... hurt... where is the doctor?’

The woman ran her skinny fingers through the tangle of unwashed, greying hair.

‘It’s no use coming here,’ she said, preparing to slam the door. ‘The doctor’s ill. Banging and banging like that. Who do you think you are?’

‘But someone is hurt,’ Carol said, wringing her hands. ‘He’s dying. Please let me see the doctor. I have a car... it won’t take long.’

‘I can’t help that,’ the woman said, her face red with anger. ‘The doctor’s an old man and he’s got a cold. He’s not going out at this hour. You must go elsewhere.’

‘But someone’s bleeding to death. Don’t you understand? Dr. Fleming would come if you only told him. He’s bleeding...’ Carol began to cry, ‘and I love him so.’

‘Get off,’ the woman said harshly. ‘We can’t help you here. Go elsewhere.’

Carol controlled her rising panic.

‘But where?’ she asked, clenching her fists. ‘There’s no time... he’s bleeding.’

‘There’s a hospital at Waltonville and there’s Dr. Kober at Eastlake. He’ll turn out, He’s a Jew. They always turn out.’

‘I see,’ Carol said. ‘I’ll go to him. Where’s Eastlake? How do I get there?’

The woman was staring at the puckered scar on Carol’s left wrist, then she quickly averted her eyes.

‘It’s five miles,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you on a street map... perhaps you’d better come in.’

‘Oh, but please be quick,’ Carol said. ‘I shouldn’t have left him...’

‘Come in, come in,’ the woman said. ‘I can’t show you if you stand in the dark. Let me put on a light.’

She turned away and a moment later the dark little passage was dazzling with a hard naked light hanging from the ceiling.

Carol stood just inside the front door and faced the woman as she turned.

‘What lovely hair you have!’ the woman said, her small eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘Perhaps I could persuade the doctor to go with you. Come in, come in. He might if he... he’s not been very well. I’ll tell him if you’ll wait in here.’

The sudden shifty change of expression, the sudden false friendliness, frightened Carol, but there was nothing she could do. She had to save Steve. So she followed the woman into a small waiting-room, consisting of three chairs, a round table on which were tattered copies of old periodicals. There was an atmosphere of decay and neglect in the room.