Women of Balnain - Chapter 15
The beams of their flashlights crisscrossed as the walked into the cannery, a mere husk of what it once was. The sun had began to set when they arrived but the deeper they went into the abandoned building, the sun might as well have been nonexistent. There was a hollow silence as the light breeze from the nearby coast hummed through the building’s skeleton. No glass adorned the windows, pieces of broken off metal conveyor belt scattered the floor and graffiti lined the walls from what the local sheriff had called the teenagers of the small island’s rites of passage. Everything from who could brave the spooky building’s haunting aura, to high-school raves, the cannery had seen it all.
Their flashlights crisscrossed again as they scanned the main level. For a moment, the only sound was that of the howling wind and the distant lapping of the ocean, but the deeper they got, an agitated and furious voice began to rise. They got to the centre of the large atrium where a large spiral staircase led to yet more lower levels and peered down to see Geillis holding a knife to the throat of a terrified young woman.
“They have desecrated sacred land!” Geillis bellowed. “They have defiled something precious and ancient!”
Claire and Jamie made their way down the crumbling staircase, Geillis too irate to notice their descent or the light of their flashlights. They both noted the gun in Geillis’ belt at the same time.
Geillis finally spotted them when they’d cleared the last step, coming level with her. She drew the gun, cocking it as she did so, but continued her tirade as if she’d been speaking to them all along.
“They have stripped it of its power!” she screamed at them, waving the gun at the ground. “It’s been diluted. I can hear but the faintest hum! Nothing of the well of power that should be!” In her wrath she brought the knife’s tip down so violently into the crook of the young woman’s neck, it took her moment to register she’d even been stabbed at all.
Claire’s eyes flashed. Within a millisecond her mind had assessed the injury - minimal bleeding, the knife creating enough pressure within the wound itself to prevent her from bleeding out. Despite being in clear pain, so long as the girl didn’t move and Geillis didn’t pull out the blade, Claire could save her.
From the corner of his eye, Jamie saw Claire point the muzzle of her gun at the ceiling, her hands splaying in surrender.
“I hear it too,” Claire said, trying to get Geillis’ attention. “Like the buzzing of a swarm of bees, only here… It’s muffled. Diminished, somehow.”
Geillis paused. Her ranting momentarily forgotten as she looked at Claire properly for the first time. “You… hear it too?” she asked.
“Yes,” Claire replied, taking a step forward. One eye on Geillis, the other on the knife in the girl’s neck. “I heard it on Tryon’s Ridge too.”
“Then ye ken!” Geillis perked up. “Ye ken what power we possess. The power they have desecrated!”
Jamie took the opportunity to slowly begin circling round Geillis while Claire had her distracted.
Feed the delusion, Claire’s diagnostic mind screamed, even though she knew now it was more than just delusion. Give Jamie time!
“I do,” Claire said, stepping forward and to the opposite side of where Jamie slowly crept. “A power both frightening… and fascinating. The power of possibility.”
A manic softness stole into Geillis’ gaze. “We can do anything. Make kings of fools. Bend history to our will. We can be Gods.”
“But that hasn’t been the case, has it?” Jamie spoke up, much to Claire’s surprise. “You haven’t managed to change a damn thing, have you?”
Without breaking eye contact with Claire, Geillis raised her gun and pointed it at Jamie. “Tell yon wee fox cub that’s far enough.”
“But he isn’t wrong, is he Gillian?” Claire retorted, gaining back Geillis’ attention by using her real name. Anger and disgust flashed across Geillis’ face at its mention.
The sound of distant fireworks echoed through the night.
“I can’t expect ye to understand. Ye canna understand unless ye’ve felt the unparalleled power that comes from crossing over,” Geillis said, tightening her grip on her pistol and taking hold of the knife’s handle in the girl’s neck. “But one day… one day I may just show you what it feels like.”
“That’s never going to happen,” Claire spat back, gripping her gun more tightly and taking aim at Geillis once more.
A devilish sneer crossed Geillis’ face, head tilting to one side. “Never say never, Claire,” she said. And before either Claire or Jamie could react, Geillis yanked the knife from the girl’s neck, sending a spray of blood and screams of agony into the air.
Claire’s own scream ripped through Jamie’s insides, but as he took a step forward to grab Geillis, a bang went off and a sharp, searing pain went through his left thigh. A few more pops rang in his ears as he blinked furiously to try and clear his vision. He lost balance and landed heavily on his right knee, his left hand pressing down on the gushing wound, but managed to quickly regain his faculties long enough to see Claire kneeling down and applying pressure to the panicking girl’s injury, as she let off a couple more shots towards one of the doors leading out of the building. He got up and made to run after Geillis who was nowhere in sight now.
“No!” Claire screamed again, as she saw him hobble away. “Jamie! Get back here!”
But he ignored her. Pushing through the pain he made his way to the exit and out into the night.
Claire frantically dropped her gun, hand sticky and shaking, still holding firmly down on the girl’s wound, she fumbled for her phone and dialed 911, putting it on speaker as she did so.
She heard gunshots coming from outside and was barely able to hold back the sob that threatened to undo her, just as the operator’s voice chimed, “911, what’s your emergency?”
Just then, Claire heard Jamie bellow “Ifrinn!” moments before coming back through the door he’d run out of, leaning heavily on the door frame.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator repeated.
“My name is special agent Claire Beauchamp,” she replied, watching Jamie slowly slide down onto his backside, pulling his belt free as he did and tying it tightly around his thigh. “And I need immediate medical assistance…”
Claire, arms crossed, paced while the EMT put the finally touches to Jamie’s bandaged leg. The stubborn Scot had adamantly refused to be taken to the hospital.
“It isna serious, Sassenach,” he said, shifting his weight where he sat at the back of the ambulance. “Ye said it yerself, it’s a through and through.”
“She’s right though, detective,” the EMT put in, “you should get it checked by a doctor.” When he’d finished up, made his way back to the front of the rig.
They were quiet for a while, the sounds and lights of the police cars and ambulances blaring around them. Jamie could see by the tightness of her pursed lips how annoyed she was.
“Claire…” he said quietly. “How’s the girl?”
Claire let out a deep sigh, running a hand through her mass of messy curls. “Pollyanne Cameron. She was stable when we got her into the helicopter. I think she’ll be alright, but you can never be sure with those kinds of injuries.”
A harried looking officer approached them, bursts of crackling sound coming from her radio. “We’ve found the small get-away speedboat detective Fraser described, run aground a few miles down the coast - which was registered to the victim,” she said without preamble. “No sign of the suspect. We did find spots of blood in it, though.”
Claire nodded. “I think I caught her with one of my rounds as she fled.”
“Bad enough to need a doctor?” Jamie asked.
“No,” Claire replied, “she was still pretty mobile after the hit.” She turned to the officer and said, “Still, have all the hospitals and clinics from here to the mainland on high alert, and have officers canvas any and all stores that carry any kind of first aid supplies.”
The officer nodded and hurried off, relaying Claire’s orders over the radio.
Claire resumed her pacing, Jamie quietly watching on. He breathed out forlornly as the silence stretched between them.
“Mo nighean donn,” he finally said when he couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry I didna heed ye earlier.”
Claire whipped round to look at him, a look of confused surprise on her face. “Heed me…?” she repeated. Then it dawned on her what he meant. “You think I’m mad at you for—?” she asked, incredulous.
“Jamie…” she said, taking a step towards him. “I was - am - angry. But not with you. Exasperated, maybe,” she joked, “but not angry.” It was his turn to look at her confused. She smiled and carefully stood between his knees. “I’m angry we couldn’t get to Geillis sooner and that girl got hurt. I’m angry she got away,” she cupped his face in her hands and brought his forehead to hers, “but most of all, I am livid you got hurt - again. That’s the second time that bitch has shot you, Jamie, and I’ll be damned if I let her ever get the opportunity to do so again!” she finished fiercely.
His arms came around her waist pulling her closer, and with a cheeky look around, kissed her quickly but thoroughly.
“Is that all then, Sassenach?” he asked, sensing that it wasn’t.
“It’s just…” Claire began, “what Geillis said. About showing me what it’s like to go through…” she said, not meeting his eye.
Jamie’s hands tightened around her instinctively. “Ye’ve been skeptical this whole time, yet that ye choose to believe?” he asked her with a laugh.
“Don’t you laugh!” she said, playfully hitting his shoulder. “After everything we’ve seen, there’s some truth to it. I can’t keep denying it, even though I can’t explain it. She knew my name. How did she know my name?” she sounded more worried than he’d ever heard her be before, which made Jamie’s stomach toss uncomfortably. “The thought of being parted from you, Jamie… petrifies me.”
“All I ken is that yer wi’ me now, Claire. I dinna care what the fuck that whackadoodle has to say on the matter, I willna be parted from ye - or ye from me. Ever. D’ye hear me?” he added, giving her a small shake. He meant it, with every fibre of his being. She nodded but didn’t look all that convinced. Seeing her so genuinely worried, squeezed his heart painfully. He quickly searched for anything to say that would distract her away from thoughts of them being separated.
“You know, Sassenach, these were my favourite jeans, you didna need to butcher them so,” he said fingering the tattered pieces of torn, bloodied fabric around his exposed thigh. “Ye only ever need ask, and I’d drop them for ye anytime ye like,” he added cockily.
“Don’t get saucy with me, Fraser,” Claire said, pursing her lips trying - and failing - to stop herself from smiling. “Are you in pain?” she asked, concerned, hand pressing against his forehead checking for fever.
“Och, not so much,” he replied.
“You’ll need antibiotics, at the very least, and some painkillers—”
“Well then, it’s a very good thing I have a physician of my own at hand, aye?” he said, giving her bum a squeeze, making her whelp and whirl around to make sure no one was watching them.
“Christ, Jamie!” she breathed, but letting him pull her back between his legs. “You have got to be by far the most pig headed, stubborn—”
“—Scot, aye, I ken,” he smiled and buried his nose into the crook of her neck. “Now will ye take me back to our room and warm me?”
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