Series 1, episode 5. Tag.
Annie stands paralysed by indecision, half turned towards the door. Across the room, stammering out answers to the tinny voice in the telephone, George still has his imploring eyes on her, silently trying to push her through. The silence is deafening and underneath it all are the sounds of someone struggling to breathe through a throat full of blood. Her fingers brush the door handle and she feels again that odd foreign tingle promising something else beyond it, something unfathomable. She can't move, she's so torn that taking the tiniest step forward or backward seems like betrayal. George nods encouragingly at her.
"Annie..."
Mitchell's voice is quiet and hoarse, and he blurts out the word as though his lips can't quite form the shape of them, but it's clear enough. From here she can only see his legs, twitching convulsively, his heels grinding into the floorboards. She swallows and shakes her head. "I can't do this now, I can't..." she murmurs, her face crumbling with tears. She disappears.
She flickers back on her knees next to Mitchell. "What is it, what should I do?" He turns panicked eyes on her and opens his mouth to speak, but with a cry his body curls towards her and he chokes out blood which spatters across her grey leggings and slowly fades away. She gently takes him by the shoulders and rolls him back onto his back. "Should I take the stake out?" she asks, pleading with her eyes for a response. He grimaces mutely and moves his head slightly in what could be a nod. She's afraid of hurting him more and looks at George, who spreads his hands in helpless incomprehension.
Mitchell's eyelids have slid closed, hiding the unbearable mute panic in his hazel irises. Annie pushes his hair back with a distracted hand. "Mitchell? Listen to me Mitchell, open your eyes if I should take it out, okay? Please Mitchell I don't know what to do –"
She says his name again and again as if calling him can anchor him to this world...
Wearily, he opens his eyes and grunts wordlessly. He coughs again, weakly, and more blood joins the gory stream running down his cheek and neck. Annie wraps both shaky hands around the stake where it protrudes – surreally, ridiculously – from his chest. It's painted pastel blue like a child's chair, a doll's chair – oh God, what did Herrick do to the child who sat in this chair?
"Okay, okay... on three..." she mutters, but she's panicking too much to remember to count and just yanks it upwards and free. He gives a hideous hollow moan, arches up and collapses against her, pawing clumsily with one hand and finally seizing a fistful of her cardigan.
She glances at the sharpened bloody end and immediately feels sick and tosses it away from her. It skitters whimsically across the hard floor and settles next to the sofa. Mitchell gasps next to her and guilt swamps her; she bends to kiss his forehead in a gesture of poor, shallow comfort; seeking out his hand with her fingers and replacing the fabric with her fingers, squeezing tightly.
Opposite her, George skids to his knees on the tiles murmuring "ohmygod" under his breath at higher and higher pitch. "Well?" she demands, raising her face away from the vampire's clammy forehead.
"They'll be less than ten minutes. They just said to keep him... calm, and comfortable, and..." He trails off wretchedly, looking down at his friend. Fresh blood is welling up in the hole in his chest.
"Why is he bleeding so much? Isn't a vampire technically dead? If he isn't turning to dust does it mean he'll be alright? How does it work...?" Annie lets out the tide of questions, searching George's face for comfort.
"I don't know," he says, shaking his head. "I don't know."
"What about the hospital, I mean - if he goes there won't they know that he isn't normal...?"
"I don't know, Annie. I don't know what else to do."
"Can we stop the bleeding...?"
Mitchell's eyes slide open a crack and his gaze roams drunkenly across the ceiling.
"You alright, mate?" George asks redundantly.
Annie squeezes his hand even tighter, suddenly feeling, more vividly than she has since her death, every fibre of his fingerless gloves against her knuckles.
Mitchell murmurs something that sounds like "fuck". The blood on his face seems to stand out more and more angrily against his paling skin.
"It's going to be fine," Annie assures him. "I promise, you'll be fine..."
The door trembles under a barrage of knocking, interrupting her. George leaps up and has his hand on the lock before she can react.
"Wait!"
He spins round questioningly.
"What if he's back? What if it's Herrick?"
George stops abruptly. "It can't be. He can't get in, anyway..."
"He might come back with a bomb... then he could just chuck it through the door when you open it like a big mug, and..."
"Annie – a bomb? He's in the police, not the SAS..."
The knocking resumes, and someone shouts "Emergency services, open the door!"
"Right!" George squeaks, hastily pulling it open. Two paramedics hurry in. The first heads straight for Mitchell, forcing Annie to jump back out of the way. The second looks at George.
"What happened?"
"He just... opened the door and... some maniac... was waiting outside and attacked him."
The paramedic unpacks equipment with practised efficiency, eyeing the wooden stake on the floor. "With that... what is that, a chair leg?"
"Apparently," George agrees irritably. "There's a lot of weirdos..."
"I can't get a pulse!" the first paramedic interrupts. Annie feels a hot swoop of panic tear through her stomach. She scrambles to her feet and huddles next to George to watch them work.
"What... but he's moving...?"
"Is he breathing?"
"Where is all this blood coming from?"
George doesn't know what's normal for his friend and what he should panic about; how can he have lived with the guy for all this time and not have noticed if he has a sodding heartbeat....?
The first paramedic stands and addresses him. "We're having some trouble with our equipment. We need to get him to treatment immediately if he's going to live."
George nods, and follows mutely as they bundle the half-conscious Mitchell onto a stretcher and carry him out to the waiting ambulance. He barely sees the lingering crowd of neighbours when they troop outside. Annie hops into the ambulance, fidgeting. He turns back to close the door, eclipsing the red stains on the black and white tiles.