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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
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His lips moved and a wheezing sound came out of his mouth. I heard him whisper, “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you .”
I could see now that the blood coming through his fingers was mixed with red froth, meaning it was a lung wound. Not good, but he could live… if he got to a hospital. I noticed, too, that there was blood on his penis, which was the least of his problems.
I went back to Susan, who was still sitting, staring at Anthony. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, never taking her eyes off Anthony.
I took her robe and panties off the floor and gave them to her. I said, “I’m going to call the police.”
She grabbed my arm. “No.”
“Susan. He needs an ambulance.”
“No! Not this time.”
I looked at her, then I said, “All right… get dressed.”
I helped her up, and she slipped on her robe, then walked toward her closet. On the way, she stopped and looked down at Anthony.
I could hear him try to say something, then Susan knelt beside him and put her head down close to him and listened. She shook her head and said to him, “No ambulance. You’re going to die.”
He grabbed at her, and she knocked his arm away, then stood and went into the closet.
I walked into my closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then I went back to Anthony and knelt beside him. His breathing was becoming more labored, and I could hear a wheezing sound coming from the hole in his chest. Also, the blood from the exit wound was soaking the carpet around him, and there was dark blood coming out of his mouth, which was not a good sign – at least not for him.
To treat a sucking chest wound you seal the entry and exit holes to keep the air in the lung from escaping, and you wrap the chest wound tightly to slow the bleeding. But did I want to do that?
Susan came out of the closet dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She glanced at Anthony and saw he was still breathing.
I took the roll of film out of the camera, then I gathered the carbine, the shotgun, and Anthony’s gun belt with the holster and the pistol. I took Susan’s arm, unlocked the door, and led her out of the room and down the stairs.
We went into the office, and I threw the weapons on the couch, then I sat her in the club chair. I went to the bar and poured each of us a brandy.
She took a long drink, and I did, too, then I sat at the desk and picked up the phone.
“John. Don’t.”
I ignored her and dialed 9-1- 1.
His lips moved and a wheezing sound came out of his mouth. I heard him whisper, “Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you .”
I could see now that the blood coming through his fingers was mixed with red froth, meaning it was a lung wound. Not good, but he could live… if he got to a hospital. I noticed, too, that there was blood on his penis, which was the least of his problems.
I went back to Susan, who was still sitting, staring at Anthony. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, never taking her eyes off Anthony.
I took her robe and panties off the floor and gave them to her. I said, “I’m going to call the police.”
She grabbed my arm. “No.”
“Susan. He needs an ambulance.”
“No! Not this time.”
I looked at her, then I said, “All right… get dressed.”
I helped her up, and she slipped on her robe, then walked toward her closet. On the way, she stopped and looked down at Anthony.
I could hear him try to say something, then Susan knelt beside him and put her head down close to him and listened. She shook her head and said to him, “No ambulance. You’re going to die.”
He grabbed at her, and she knocked his arm away, then stood and went into the closet.
I walked into my closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then I went back to Anthony and knelt beside him. His breathing was becoming more labored, and I could hear a wheezing sound coming from the hole in his chest. Also, the blood from the exit wound was soaking the carpet around him, and there was dark blood coming out of his mouth, which was not a good sign – at least not for him.
To treat a sucking chest wound you seal the entry and exit holes to keep the air in the lung from escaping, and you wrap the chest wound tightly to slow the bleeding. But did I want to do that?
Susan came out of the closet dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She glanced at Anthony and saw he was still breathing.
I took the roll of film out of the camera, then I gathered the carbine, the shotgun, and Anthony’s gun belt with the holster and the pistol. I took Susan’s arm, unlocked the door, and led her out of the room and down the stairs.
We went into the office, and I threw the weapons on the couch, then I sat her in the club chair. I went to the bar and poured each of us a brandy.
She took a long drink, and I did, too, then I sat at the desk and picked up the phone.
“John. Don’t.”
I ignored her and dialed 9-1- 1.