The Snow Lay....
Xmas Drabble by elfin
The street resembled a scene from 'A Christmas Carol'. Snow fell
steadily, sparkling under the streetlights, settling on the already cold,
white carpet.
At the end of the road, a Christmas tree still stood, its coloured bulbs
throwing rainbow streaks across the frosty pavement.
Jack Crawford stood outside one of the grand townhouses, trembling fingers
holding a rare cigarette between his lips as he drew heavily on the nicotine
stick. His smoky breath filled the air in front of him for a second
or two, warming his reddened face.
In the middle of the road, two ambulances and a collection of marked and
unmarked cars formed an untidy arc in front of the terrace. Red, amber
and blue lights to drown those pretty colours from the tree. The festivities
of the season were gone from Jack's mind, the pleasant memories of Christmas
dinner with his wife and New Year's Eve with friends.
Now, when he closed his eyes, he could see only the scene that had met
him when he'd stepped into Dr Lecter's study almost fifteen minutes ago.
The gruesome sight of the doctor, lying on his back across his desk with
three arrows jutting from his stomach.
Worse, the fresh, raw memory of Will lying on his side, on the floor, under
an ever-growing blanket of his own blood.
Crawford started, startled by sounds behind him; metal wheels on icy, stone.
He turned, and watched the paramedics carefully manoeuvre a gurney down
the steep steps. He stepped toward them, but when he looked he saw
that it was Lecter under the oxygen mask.
He caught the eyes of one of the men. "Will?"
"Still inside, the other crew are taking care of him." But there
was something in his tone, something so sad, that Crawford started up the
steps and back into the house at a run.
He stopped in the doorway of the study. Will was still lying on the
floor, surrounded by tubes and men and machines. One of the paramedics
was pressing on a sterile pad placed over the wound in his abdomen.
Another was leaning over the pale, still body, hands together, fingers linked
over Will's heart. He'd pressed so hard that one of his patient's
ribs had broken. A small price to pay if they could only get him to
breathe again.
Crawford couldn't take his eyes from the desperate scene. He said
a silent prayer and waited for what seemed like hours, before the medic sat
back.
"No! Don't...." But the application of an oxygen mask to Will's
face silenced him. They'd saved his life, this time. Jack took
a deep, shuddering breath and turned away. Only when they'd moved
Will would he start to go over the room, start to try and work out what
had happened here tonight.
Until then, he left the chilling warmth of the house and padded down the
steps again, watching the first ambulance vanish from the street, lights
and sirens cutting through the freezing dark.
It started to snow harder as Jack lit his second cigarette of the night.
Only the second he'd had in months. The nicotine didn't do much to
soothe his shot nerves, but it was the only comfort he could find.
A couple of minutes later, as he crushed the butt under his heel, the medics
brought a second gurney out of the house. All Crawford could see was
wires and tubes snaking under a red blanket. Will was under there
too, weak and fighting for his life. Crawford could only hope that
his young protege had the desire to live.
He didn't move until the ambulance had pulled away, another scream of sirens
to wake the usually quiet neighbourhood. Jack doubted it would be
quiet for a very long time.
"Happy New Year," he murmured to himself as he turned and walked towards
the crime scene that would make him famous.
fin
elfin
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