Registry's Secrets (The Mengliad Series Book 2)

by Jana Janeway

  “She’s been shot!”

  Craddock’s outcry confirmed Marcy’s suspicions, a quick scan of their surroundings indicated the details; the helpful guard and Steve were at the edge of the parking lot, scuffling with one another. Beyond them, she noticed a dozen agents pouring from the building.

  With no more time to waste, Marcy threw herself into the driver’s seat and got them the hell out of there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shea’s body was turned in his seat, rigid and tense, as he watched over his sister. “So much for nonviolence!”

  “It should’ve been a warning shot. He broke protocol.” But was it a rookie mistake, bad aim, or something more sinister? Marcy had no way of knowing, so she kept that question to herself.

  “My wife has a bullet inside of her! She’s bleeding!” Craddock wasn’t just panicking; he was well on his way to becoming completely unhinged. “I don’t care about what should have been! I only care about what is!”

  She maintained absolute calm. “Where is the wound?”

  “Her leg! She’s losing a lot of blood! And she’s losing consciousness! I can feel her losing consciousness!”

  “Craddock!” It was time for tough love. “Pull yourself together! Take off your shirt, rip it long ways, and use it as a tourniquet. One above the wound, one on the wound.”

  Craddock threw his ugly old man sweater to the side and quickly whipped off his shirt. The hems were solid and well sewn, so he shoved his hand into his pants pocket to get his keys.

  ‘Jess, baby, stay with me.’

  ‘It… I can’t... Craddock?’

  ‘I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be okay.’

  ‘I’m… sorry…’

  The darkness that consumed her as she slipped into nothingness was terrifying.

  “I’ve lost her!”

  “What?!” Shea screeched. “She’s dead?!”

  “No,” Craddock was only a little calmer, though his tears still flowed freely, “she’s not dead, but her mind just went completely blank!”

  Marcy was worried, it’s not that she wasn’t, but she knew it was up to her to retain order. The men were about to lose it. “It’s not like when she’s sleeping, Doc. When unconscious, the mind doesn’t think or dream. Did you tie the tourniquets?”

  She was hoping to preoccupy him with the task, but he had already done so.

  “Yes. I did that.”

  “Good. Check her heart rate. Check her breathing. Are they strong and rhythmic?”

  He monitored both for several moments. “Yes. That’s a good sign, right?”

  He was grasping at straws, and Marcy knew it, but she also knew that Jessica was going to be okay. It was more than just a hunch; back when she was a nurse in training, she had seen her fair share of injuries while interning at the emergency room.

  “Yes, Doc, it is. I know you’re worried, but try not to be, okay? We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, maybe less, and then I can take a look at her.”

  “Look at her now!” Shea barked, almost as if ordering her to. “I’ll drive!”

  “You don’t know the route,” she replied, then said, and it was an order, “Calm down! Cooler heads will prevail.”

  “My sister is dying! How the hell am I supposed to calm down?!”

  “She’s not dying,” Marcy insisted, “and you flying off the handle won’t change anything.”

  Craddock was somewhat comforted by Marcy’s assuredness that Jessica wouldn’t die – he couldn’t live on this Earth if she did – but her health wasn’t his only concern.

  His hand dropped to her abdomen, where it remained for the entirety of car ride back to the safe house.

  ****

  It had been the longest fifteen minutes of his life, and though he was as discreet as he could be, Craddock did little else but cry for the whole of that time. Except for when he was checking her vitals, he remained hunched over her, his head resting on her chest near her shoulder as he sat beside her, him on the floorboards of the backseat, her on the seat itself.

  “We’ll be there in two minutes,” Marcy informed. “How is she doing?”

  “Her vitals are still strong,” unlike his voice when answering her, “but I still can’t feel her.”

  “Do the tourniquets seem to be working?”

  “I’m not sure.” He inspected them, trying to see if he could tell, but he couldn’t be certain. “Maybe, but she’s still lost a lot of blood, Marcy. What if she needs a transfusion?”

  He sounded distant, like he had exhausted himself with worry.

  “Then you and Shea can donate and we’ll give her one.”

  The car fell silent as she turned hastily onto the street and pushed over the posted speed limit towards the house. The moment she pulled into the driveway, she ordered Shea, “Go get help,” then threw the car in park, cut the engine, and jumped out.

  Rounding to the passenger’s side back door, she yanked it open and climbed inside. The amount of blood on the seat, Jessica’s clothes, and the tourniquets did look a bit much, but not to the point that she was worried.

  “I’ll have a better idea when we get her inside,” she told Craddock, “but I don’t think this is as bad as you think it is. Seeing this amount of blood can be unnerving, especially if coming from someone you love. Which is why doctors aren’t allowed to treat or operate on family members.”

  That was the last quiet moment for a while. A dozen people, Shea included, came flying out of the house and straight for the car, all showing their concern in various ways.

  Some were snapping about the fact that it had happened at all; the Registry was supposed to be nonviolent. Stacy and Bibi were crying, clinging to Shea and Wade respectively as they watched from a close but unobtrusive distance. Others, like Elsa and Marcy, were calling out orders to be followed.

  “Kiff, go get some sheets and towels and spread them out on the couch!”

  “I’m going to need a needle and strong thread! And possibly tweezers, or needle-nosed pliers!”

  “I have a sewing kit in the master bedroom, top dresser drawer farthest to the right!”

  “Jeramey, Josiah, help Craddock move her inside! But watch her leg! I don’t know if the bullet is still in there!”

  “Start with her head and bring her out slowly!” Wade interjected; the men helping did exactly that.

  Craddock climbed out of the car, standing on shaky legs due to crouching for so long, then gently took a hold of Jessica, under her arms, and began to slowly bring her out. Josiah and Jeramey were poised at the ready, scooping up under her back and legs as soon as they were able to.

  Being as careful as they could while still moving quickly, they got her inside and down on the couch, just as Kiffen finished laying out the sheets and towels.

  “I need you to ditch the car, Jeramey.” Marcy began to untie and unwrap the tourniquets. “Two guards, one helped us, but the other one shot Jessica. They both saw the car.”

  “How many miles?” Jeramey asked.

  “At least five, though I might go for ten.”

  Jeramey nodded once, agreeing, before giving Josiah a pat on the shoulder. “Follow me with the van? Ten miles is a hell of a hike.”

  He seemed reluctant to leave, but followed Jeramey out into the garage anyway, after Wade threw him the keys to the van.

  “Kiff, get your camera,” Elsa asked of her. “I want documentation.”

  As Kiffen ran off, complying, Marcy rendered her diagnosis. “This is just a really bad flesh wound. The bullet doesn’t appear to be in there. Which is good,” she added, mostly for Craddock’s benefit.

  He had begun pacing like a wild animal, though his eyes never left Jessica as he did.

  “I need some water. I want to clean this up a bit,” Marcy said, and Elsa was quick to assign herself to the task.

  “I’ll get it, but let’s not clean it until we take a few pictures.”

  “Why pictures?” Stacy’s tearful voice broke into the conversati
on.

  “Any and all documentation that shows what the Registry is really like helps us in the long run.”

  Immediately following Marcy’s answer, Kiffen stepped up with her camera. She snapped off a few shots, finishing right as Elsa reentered from the kitchen with the water.

  “Elsa,” Marcy turned, looking up at her, “I’m also going to need some saccharin. She’s unconscious now, but if she wakes up while I’m sewing the wound, it’ll be traumatizing—”

  “No. No saccharin.” Craddock was firm, absolute, and unapologetic for running over top of what she was saying.

  “Doc,” Marcy sighed, “if we don’t give her something first, and she wakes up—”

  “I said no!” he snapped, taking everyone in the room off guard.

  Assuming Craddock was just worried about Jessica becoming addicted, because he had dealt with that in the past with his father, Bibi spoke up.

  “Doc, I don’t think this is one of those times where you need to worry about addiction. She’s going to be in pain when she wakes up. Don’t you want her to be as comfortable as possible?”

  He couldn’t see a way out of it, and it was making his heart race. His vague opposition to their suggestion was obviously not enough to stop them trying. They all just continued to stare at him, like they were waiting for what else he would say so that they could counter those words as well.

  It wasn’t like he could ask or get permission from Jessica, either. She was still unconscious.

  Finally, nervously, he leaned in towards Marcy. “Does saccharin hurt fetuses?”

  Everyone startled, but Bibi’s reaction was the most noticeable. She nearly launched upright from the standing position she was in.

  “She’s pregnant?!”

  The moment Bibi screeched the question, Shea and Stacy asked it similarly, but Craddock didn’t answer any of them. He just stared back at Marcy, waiting.

  “Doc,” she sighed again, “I knew she was pregnant. I never would have suggested it, if I thought it would harm your child.”

  His shoulders slumped; his resolve had all but shattered.

  Seeing this and acting on it, Elsa excused herself. “I’ll go get some.”

  The barrage of questions that followed, all of them directed at Craddock, brought his anger, brought on by fear, back to the surface.

  “My wife is injured, lying here unconscious!” he snapped at them. “Leave me alone!”

  “Craddock,” Marcy’s tone teetered between soothing and stern, “she’s going to be okay.”

  Wanting more than anything to believe that, he dropped his head and nodded in response, but as soon as Elsa came back into the room, he lifted it to watch her.

  “How do you want to do this, Marcy?” she asked, though she seemed hesitant in her speech and approach.

  “About half a packet at a time,” Marcy answered, just then beginning to clean the wound. “She doesn’t have the sense to swallow, so we’ll have to wait till it dissolves. Two packets oughta do it.”

  Craddock, in response, took in a sharp breath, running his hand through his dyed hair manically.

  “John,” Elsa called to him, “why don’t you go help Craddock out of his makeup.”

  Before she was even done making the suggestion, Craddock refused.

  “I’m not leaving her,” he said firmly, as if the tone itself would stop them from pressing him to.

  It didn’t.

  “Doc, she’s in good hands,” Marcy assured him. “We’re going to take excellent care of her, okay? There’s nothing you can do for her now, and watching as she’s sewn up might be too unsettling for you.”

  John obviously agreed. Putting his arm around Craddock at the shoulder, he said a little bit jovially, “C’mon, kiddo! Let’s getcha back to black.”

  ****

  Craddock could hardly sit still, though it did ease his tension a little that Jessica wasn’t in any distress. She still seemed to be unconscious, which was good for now, but worried him for later. How long was too long to be unconscious?

  “I could get this done a lot quicker if you’d just settle a bit, son,” John said.

  Craddock fought to comply out of respect, but his whole body was shaking from the adrenalin comedown, and from his concern for Jessica and their baby. There was just no stopping it by will alone.

  Once the makeup was off, John proceeded to dye Craddock’s hair. Apparently, according to John, it wasn’t good to dye hair twice in one day, but Craddock didn’t care in the slightest. He only cared about Jessica being okay in that moment.

  “Doc?”

  He launched out of his seat, panic racing through him, when he saw Marcy standing in the doorway.

  “She’s fine,” she said quickly, noticing his fearful expression.

  He struggled to calm himself. “She’s still not conscious.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Marcy answered anyway. “That’s not a bad thing, Doc. The body is a remarkable thing. Well, Mengliads’ bodies,” she amended. “Humans aren’t so lucky.”

  “What do you mean?” He ignored John’s impatient foot-tapping.

  “When a trauma happens, the body sort of goes into something like hibernation,” she explained. “Like going into shock, in a way, but for the purpose of protecting us, and allowing us to heal. When her body feels it’s ready to, her mind will wake back up.”

  “Which is just fancy jargon for give it time.” John redirected Craddock back into the chair. “Sit still for me a few more minutes, then you can go on outta here.”

  He tried as best he could, but it was hard not to fidget. The process of removing the fake beard with spirit gum remover had been long and tedious, and he was simply strung too tight to put up with it easily.

  When the task was finally complete, after receiving instructions on washing the dye out of his hair, Craddock rushed off and into the house. He knew if he so much as glanced at Jessica, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going to her, so he averted his eyes as he ran past.

  Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror before sticking his head in the sink, under the water, confirmed that he looked as bad as he felt. The anguish from her as she collapsed, when she was shot, had haunted him since it happened. He desperately wanted to erase it from his memory, to replace it with something good.

  He avoided his reflection while towel-drying his hair, quick to throw his glasses back on and run out the door once he deemed it good enough.

  Approaching, he took in a shaky breath at the sight of her. She looked so frail, and much paler than usual, especially against the darker colored sheets she was laying on.

  At the couch, he slumped to his knees, taking her small hand in his as he stared at her helplessly.

  “When will she wake up?” he asked anyone, though he knew it would be Marcy who answered.

  She didn’t exactly know, but she felt giving him an answer was the best way to help him through his grief, so she offered a guess. “An hour, maybe, though it might be a bit longer. You need to be a little bit patient here.”

  “He loves her so much.”

  Craddock heard the whispered comment but ignored it. He didn’t recognize the voice anyway. “And how much blood did she lose? Does she need a transfusion?”

  “Not as much as you think,” Marcy answered. “And no, she doesn’t.”

  He forced the lump from his throat by swallowing hard. “And… the baby?”

  With this she was certain. “The baby is fine. Maybe if she had lost a lot of blood and did not get a transfusion… Maybe if the bullet had hit a vital organ, or the amniotic sac itself… But none of those things happened.”

  “How can we be sure?” He could not be swayed so easily. He trusted her judgment, but she couldn’t very well look into the womb to confirm what she was saying.

  “Craddock?” Elsa called his name almost timidly. “Would you like me to see if we can get our hands on a fetal heart monitor? Would that help put your mind at ease a little?”

>   He nodded in answer, whispering his gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Her mind set on the task ahead of her, Elsa started for the door, but not before announcing, “Okay people, let’s give them some space! Leave the man alone with his love.”

  Everyone left the room except for Shea, Stacy, Bibi, Wade, and Marcy, though she did step back to give them all some privacy.

  Stacy knelt to the floor, attempting to get a bit more comfortable, settling in for the long wait. “How far along is she?”

  “Please,” Craddock whispered, “ask me no questions. There’ll be time enough for answers later.”

  Resigned to that, everyone fell silent, though curiosity still burned in them.

  When Josiah and Jeramey arrived back at the house a short time later, Josiah immediately set up camp with the others while Jeramey sought Marcy, joining her at the back of the room.

  “What the hell happened out there?” Jeramey kept his voice low and quiet; the tension was palpable, at risk of exploding.

  “We were literally seconds away from escaping,” Marcy answered, “but then security started chasing us. One of the guards actually helped us pull it off, but the other one followed him out and pulled his gun.”

  “He probably wasn’t aiming for Jessica,” he surmised, “but he broke protocol anyway. He’ll be fired for sure.”

  She nodded in agreement. “So are we. The guard helping us overrode the system and gave my badge access to open the door they were locked behind. Once they figure that out…”

  Jeramey shrugged. “I’m done with them anyway. Bunch of fucktards on a power trip.” He broke the heavy pause that followed a few moments later. “Through all this, has anyone pulled Shea aside to talk to him? We need to know what happened. We need to know what was said.”

  As Marcy shook her head in answer, Jeramey caught sight of Shea in his peripheral vision, fidgeting. He gave her a nudge, throwing an upnod towards the squirming man once he had her attention.

  “Okay, Shea, out with it!” he demanded. “What happened? What did you tell them?”

  “I didn’t tell them anything!” Shea insisted, now more belligerent than edgy.

  “I’m gonna pound you into the ground if you gave up this location!” Jeramey advanced on him, but he didn’t get far before Marcy pulled him back.