Nick Stephenson - Panic

Jerome and Stark resumed their battle as Leopold spotted one of the handguns lying a few feet away. He forced the pain to the back of his mind and wrenched himself up on to his knees, wincing as his swollen knuckles protested and the pain in his ribs resurfaced. Eyes streaming, he forced himself to crawl in the direction of the fallen weapon, his progress agonizingly slow and clumsy.

“Leopold, get back!” shouted Jerome, recoiling from a vicious blow to the ribs.

Leopold flattened himself to the floorboards as Stark pushed the bodyguard backward into the wall and dove for the gun. The colonel rolled as he hit the floor, snatching the gun away before Leopold could reach it.

Jerome recovered fast, and hurtled across the room before Stark could bring the gun around properly, knocking the firearm out of his hand once again. The colonel snarled in frustration and lashed out with a roundhouse punch which landed hard to the bodyguard’s jaw, knocking him off balance. Stark followed with a kick to the chest, landing squarely in the solar plexus, and sent Jerome crashing backward. He hit the wall hard and gasped for breath as his opponent came at him again.

Leopold swore under his breath as he realized the handgun was too far away for him to reach in his current state. The pain in his shoulder and ribs had become so intense he was having trouble concentrating. Without medical attention, he knew the loss of blood would make him pass out before much longer.

He struggled over to the edge of the room and leaned up against the wall, clutching his shoulder, and tried to focus on staying awake. Christina was lying a few feet away in the corner, knees up to her chest and head down. Leopold felt a momentary wave of relief as he saw her lift her face to look at him, before he turned his attention back to Stark and Jerome. If the bodyguard failed to protect them, Leopold knew they wouldn’t last long. The sound of the storm outside grew louder as the heavy rain lashed against the roof like an endless hail of bullets.

Across the room, Stark slammed Jerome against the desk and aimed several blows to the ribs, throwing his punches with enough force to make the bodyguard tense his body in pain. Jerome adjusted his stance, grabbed his opponent by the collar, and pulled him forward, bringing his knee up fast to the stomach. Stark stumbled backward and Jerome tackled him, sending them both to the floor.

The bodyguard rolled away as they hit the floorboards and used the distance he had created between them to get to his feet and catch his breath. Stark followed, swaying slightly from the impact. Jerome charged again, lowering his shoulder and slamming the black ops colonel against the large bay window that overlooked the garden. The impact was enough to shatter the glass and frame, sending Stark toppling through the empty space to the ground below as the noise of the storm outside flooded into the room.

Leopold saw him disappear from view, sucked into the blackness, and heard two loud thunks , as Stark’s body hit the roof and then the ground a few seconds later. Jerome peered out of the window before limping over to where Leopold lay on the floor.

“Stark’s down,” said the bodyguard, his breath heavy. “Can you walk?”

Leopold wasn’t sure he could even breathe, let alone walk, as the pain in his shoulder peaked. It felt like his entire body was on fire, but he grunted and nodded anyway. Jerome helped him to his feet and turned to Christina.

“It’s safe now,” said Jerome. “You can come with us. We need to get you to a hospital.”

Christina sat in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked a second away from passing out, but nodded and took the bodyguard’s free arm for support as she stood. As they made their way across the room, Leopold heard Mary groan as she regained consciousness.

“Where’d that bastard go?” said Mary. “I’m not finished with him yet.”

Mary stood up shakily, swaying slightly, and noticed the broken window. She walked over and leant over the edge.

“So, where is he?” she asked.

Leopold grunted as he let go of Jerome and stumbled over to the window. He looked over the edge onto the garden below. The wind had picked up and was whipping the tree branches in a frenzy, casting contorted shadows over the grass where the streetlights cast their muted hue. The lawn was slick with rainfall, but empty. Stark had vanished.

“I heard him hit the ground,” said Leopold. “Nobody could get up from that kind of fall.”

“Stark’s not a normal guy,” said Jerome. “It take more than a short fall to stop someone like him.”

Leopold saw Jerome register the panic in Christina’s eyes.

“It’s just a figure of speech,” the bodyguard added, quickly. “He’s not coming back any time soon, don’t worry.”

“You’re safe now,” said Mary. “The police and ambulance are on their way. We’ll make sure you’re looked after, don’t worry.”

Christina smiled weakly and held on to Jerome’s arm as they walked. Leopold eventually managed to stumble downstairs with minimal help from Jerome, wincing in pain at each step. As they reached the kitchen, the sound of sirens cut through the howl of the storm outside, and Leopold sat down in the dining room to wait for the medical team to arrive. He felt the last reserves of his energy seep out of his body as he settled into the cushion; and he closed his eyes, letting the darkness and pain wash over him.

Leopold knew he was about to wake up when he dreamed that he was dreaming. He understood that he was lying on a bed, that he was on his back and that he couldn’t move. For what seemed like days he had slept in a state of near-consciousness, dreams flickering in and out in a procession of terrifying scenes and painful memories. He did nothing to disturb them, made no effort to stir until the sound of a familiar voice washed over him.

“Leopold? It’s time to wake up now.”

He knew Mary’s voice. It always surprised him how soft she could be at times. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and concentrated instead on pulling himself back to the waking world. He felt his eyes slowly grind open – they felt a little stuck – and then the light hit him.

He was in the hospital; that much was obvious. He was in a private room, but he wasn’t alone; there were four other people there. Leopold squinted and the room came back into focus. Standing beside his bed were Mary, Jerome, and Christina. At the other end of the room, inspecting the contents of the bookshelves, was Albert. He turned and grinned before bounding over to the bed.

“Leopold! Thank God you’re okay. You had us worried there for a moment!” said Albert, practically bouncing up and down.

“Speak for yourself,” said Mary, smiling. “I knew he was tougher than he was making out. All those tears were just for dramatic effect.”

“Good to have you back,” said Jerome, his face as imperceptible as ever.

Leopold grunted and sat up in the bed, wincing slightly as he felt his shoulder. The pain was subdued, but most definitely there.

“The doctors stitched you up,” said Jerome. “The bullet went straight through and didn’t catch the bone, so there shouldn’t be any complications.”

Leopold nodded and looked over at Christina. She was wearing a hospital nightgown that covered her arms and legs. She smiled back at him, but it was forced.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” said Christina. “At least physically, anyway. Jerome told me about my dad.”

Judging by the redness of her eyes, she had been crying for a long time.

“The doctors said my injuries were only superficial,” she continued. “They said the cuts were clean and the stitching was professional, so they decided to leave them alone. Just gave me some painkillers. They said I had traces of morphine in my system, so they couldn’t give me anything stronger. Still itches like hell, though.”