Episode 9 (work in progress)
It had been nearly six hours since the shots fired at Tower Bridge and the Thames, and nearly as long since the cold had settled deep into Eve’s bones. The curtains were drawn shut and the lighting in the hotel room was dimmed. Quiet. A contrast to recent frenzied activity.
Two hours ago, Yusuf had carried Eve in, half-dead, and wrapped in a blanket. Wet and freezing. Sluggishly bleeding and more worryingly, in shock and not shivering. You’re not dead unless you’re warm and dead.
He got to work dispassionately and efficiently, cutting off clothes, extracting the bullet, and covering her with as many blankets as he could find in the cupboards, and from the bed. The three or four thermal flasks from the van were also filled with hot water and placed between layers, and he refreshed them every twenty minutes. He peeled back the blankets to inspect the bullet wound. He’d cleaned it and stitched it, (grateful she was unconscious for that part), and eventually the skin around the bullet wound pinked up, traces of blood seeping through the small stitches.
He was still now, sat next to the bed on an uncomfortable chair and tiredly rubbing the stubble on his face with one hand. With the other he rolled the extracted bullet between his fingertips. A small caliber rifle round. Must have been straight on target, fairly close by, with very little yaw now he’d had a chance to review the damage. Not that he fully knew who the target was. Was it Eve? He doubted it. She hadn’t said much of anything that made sense on the phone, delirious from the freezing waters and loss of blood.
He nearly hadn’t answered when it rang, not recognising the number and half asleep – and when he did, he nearly hung up, not recognising the voice that first spoke to him, accompanied by the hysterics in the background, emanating from what seemed like a large bunch of drunkards. After some rustling, he could make out Eve’s voice, gasping and fragile. They’re dead! Someone shot her! I couldn’t….sh…she’s gone! Oh god…she’s gone! She can’t be gone! More rustling, then someone else telling him the location, voicing concern and saying they’d called an ambulance. He moved quickly to get there first then, but all the while thinking that Eve had made her choice after all, and it sounded like it was the wrong one.
She was cold all over. She couldn’t stop shivering, and her teeth were clattering so loudly it was giving her a headache. Her shoulder and chest were throbbing, and it hurt to breathe.
Where was she? What was happening? Eve groaned, shifting a bit, then stopped again as even that small movement hurt. She slumped, feeling exhausted but unable to breathe deeply enough to counter it.
She sensed a slight leaning on the side of the bed, and a shadow fell over her. Eve blinked her eyes open slowly, her vision fuzzy and unsure. Yusuf’s worried face floated into focus.
“Eve? Can you hear me?” She felt his fingers at her wrist, and the back of his hand against her forehead. She closed her eyes again and struggled to make sense of things.
Why was she here with Yusuf? Something was clearly wrong with her, but the situation itself also felt wrong. Seeing Yusuf seemed wrong, like they were not meant to be in each other’s orbit.
“Eve.” Yusuf’s voice seemed less questioning now, like he was satisfied with his inspection. “You’re ok. You’re safe. You’ve been shot in the shoulder and you’re suffering from hypothermia.” Switching to reassuring words now. “Some rest and you should be ok. You were lucky.”
Eve opened her eyes again and squinted at the familiar face. “Lucky?” She croaked and tried to clear her throat. At that, Yusuf leaned even closer and wrapped a large arm very gently around the back of her shoulders and lifted her gently onto more pillows to prop her up. It hurt, but Eve appreciated the extra view of the room it gave her. A bottle of water with a straw was held in front of her and she took a tiny sip, coughing and wincing.
Yusuf brushed her hair out of her face. “Yes, lucky. You could have been caught in the tidal waters and drowned. The Thames was probably around 10 degrees last night, and it’s filthy. Wouldn’t let my dog swim in it.” He tilted his head. “If I had a dog. We’ll need to keep an eye on your shoulder to make sure it stays free of infection.”
The memory came back to her. It felt like a dream for a split second. She and Villanelle, on the Dixie Queen, officiating the wedding, dancing with the wedding guests, the Twelve, being on deck afterwards. What happened next, the way Villanelle dragged her to the edge of the boat, pushing and leaping into the waters. No. That didn’t happen, that was a dream. It was obviously a dream.
Something else wrong now, her eyes were leaking. She couldn’t stop it, and despite the fact she was exhausted, and everything hurt, something was working its way up her aching chest, a dark gaping hole trying to spill out of her. She stared up at the ceiling, body tensing, mouth widening. “No! Villanelle!” A guttural sob of anguish as the unwanted memory of seeing two more bullets striking the blonde, the stillness of her face, played over and over as a loop in her mind. Eve thrashed her head from side to side, trying to rid herself of the vision, crying, crying, she couldn’t stop it.
Yusuf grabbed her hand on the uninjured side. Understanding now the target, and who the bullet must have travelled through first. Sorrowfully, he gripped her hand and tried to comfort the stricken woman on the bed.
Eve couldn’t hear him. She was lost in a world of pain. She cried on, her soul grieving, her body responding. More pain. Only pain. Nothing else now.
More hours passed. Yusuf was content enough with Eve’s progress that he left around lunchtime to pick up some additional supplies.
When he let himself back in an hour later, hands full, he saw she was awake and looking up at the ceiling again. Expressionless. Temporarily emptied of the initial emotion, he thought.
“You’re awake. I brought food.” He held up the hand holding the Tescos carrier bag.
“Nothing fancy. Selection of sandwiches, yoghurts, biscuits, crisps, some chocolate bars.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Eve. You need to eat something.”
Eve turned her head to him. “I need to pee.”
His lips twitched in amusement, and he helped her to remove most of the blankets, except the last one that he loosely tied around her naked body. “Do you need me to carry you?” She shook her head and gripped his shoulders hard as she pulled herself to her feet. A slight stumble and a blinding knife-like pain bloomed across her chest, until she was steady.
“I can do it.” She shuffled awkwardly to the bathroom.
Afterwards, she stood at the mirror and stared at herself. Pale faced, back hunched, white bandage wrapped around and under her left shoulder, mouth pinched, the lines across her face more pronounced. Her hair a complete state, knotted and wild. Eve blinked, barely recognising herself. This was the person that Villanelle sacrificed herself for? What on earth for?
And she knew, had been thinking about it non-stop – that Villanelle was only dead because of her. If she hadn’t gone to Feasgar Island, literally dragged her back to London with her, insistently pushing, pulling these last few months – she would still be alive. Fuck, what the hell had she been thinking, to just board the boat without a better plan than just ‘sic Villanelle on the bad guys’ and then expect that would be it?
It was unlike her. Eve knew she could be foolish, but she wasn’t a fool. Having no exit plan was literally because she didn’t believe they’d succeed and make it out alive. She’d convinced herself somewhere between electrifying kisses and her nihilistic mindset that there’d be a moment on that boat where guns would be blazing, whether from the Twelve or their security. The very last thing she’d expected was for Villanelle to appear on the edge of that dancefloor and declare she’d killed them all already. Mesmerising, smart, lethal Villanelle. God she’d wanted to watch. Or help. Or both.
She realised she was crying again. Eve clutched a fist to her aching chest and bent over the sink. Ugly tears and snot ran down her face.
“Eve. Are you ok? Can I come in?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m ok.” She wasn’t. She felt she’d never be again. But she bottled it up for the few moments it took to wash and wipe her face and brush through her hair with her fingers, doing the best she could.
She made her way back into the room, Yusuf watching her carefully. He offered the duffel bag in his hand. “You left some clothes in here from when we….from before. And some toiletries. I put them in the van. It’s all clean I think.”
Eve looked at him. Kind, loyal, Yusuf. She was grateful to know him – even if she found it hard to tell him. She took the bag and turned back to the bathroom.
“Is there anyone I can call for you? Your family?” He watched her turn slightly and shake her head.
“No. I don’t want to….no.”
