A Match for Celia

The telephone was on a small walnut writing desk at the far side of the room. Damien approached it slowly. He laid his hand on the instrument without picking it up. “Mark,” he said, his expression beseeching. “You have to know this is foolish. Give yourself up now, before something tragic happens.”

“As far as I’m concerned, something tragic has already happened. I’ve failed.” Mark spoke with bitter self-recrimination.

Damien started to say something else, but a muffled sound from outside made Mark jerk in that direction, swinging Celia with him. The movement twisted her arm even higher behind her. She cried out and instinctively bent to ease the pressure, pulling downward on Mark’s hand.

“Damn it, stand up!” he snapped, and the panic was more evident now. “Make the call, Damien.”

Celia tried to cooperate, but her awkward position, combined with the shooting pain from her arm, made her clumsy. She stumbled again.

His control slipping rapidly, Mark hit her with the back of his gun hand, almost snapping her neck backward. “Stand up!” he bellowed.

Still reeling from the blow, Celia tried to regain her balance, but her vision was clouded, her ears ringing. She could feel her knees buckling. She slumped against Mark’s arm, pulling him off balance with her.

“Damn it!” He pulled back his other hand to hit her again.

Damien threw himself forward. He hit them with his full weight just as Celia opened her mouth to warn him away.

The three of them went down in a tangle of flailing limbs. Celia heard the door burst open, heard Reed shouting something, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.

And then she heard the shot.

Someone landed solidly, heavily on top of her. And then there seemed to be people everywhere, shouting, running, grappling.

Celia opened her eyes. She couldn’t even remember when she’d closed them. And she saw who lay across her, his eyes closed, his skin deathly pale.

“Damien?” She pushed at him, frantically trying to get him to respond. “Damien!”

Large, strong hands helped her free herself. “Celia.” Reed’s voice sounded strange, hoarse as he ran his hands over her. “Are you all right? Have you been hit?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head quickly, ignoring the various aches and pains throughout her body. Her attention now was all for Damien, who lay crumpled beside her, his left shoulder covered with blood. She stared at that spreading stain in horror. “Oh, Reed, he’s been shot. Please. Help him.”

Reed dropped his hand from her arm. Unencumbered, she reached out to her wounded friend. “Damien? Damien, can you hear me? Oh, please, say something.”

She couldn’t bear it if Damien died because of her.

Reed was on his feet now. “Get an ambulance,” he shouted to someone. “Now!”

Some distant part of Celia’s mind noted the innate command in his voice, and the way everyone else in the room seemed to snap to attention in response to it.

“It’s going to be all right, Damien,” she whispered, her hand on his clammy, pale cheek. “Reed’s taking care of everything now.”

She didn’t know if Damien could hear her, but the words gave her courage.

The emergency medical technicians arrived with admirable speed. Celia was pulled out of the way as they bent over Damien, who was partially awake and groaning now. The front of her shirt was stained with his blood, and there was a trickle of something warm and sticky from a lump on the side of her head. But they were alive, she reminded herself. Mark had been taken away, and she and Damien would be all right.

She said a quick prayer of thanks, adding a plea that Damien would recover quickly. She wouldn’t even allow herself to consider the possibility that he might not recover at all.

The EMTs briskly, efficiently lifted Damien onto a gurney. They were moving toward the door when he spoke. “Celia?”

She rushed to his side and took his hand. “I’m here, Damien.”

“You’re all right?” His voice was weak, his lips stiff and rather blue, but his eyes looked clear, coherent, giving her hope that his injuries weren’t immediately life-threatening.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “And you will be, too. Let them take care of you now, Damien.”

His eyelids drooped. “Tell that cop—”

She bent closer, straining to hear. “What?”