Vuil Bloed

Prologue

Bloody Hell... what is that?

It was the smell of the place: that terrible and recognizable odor. As if someone had used every bottle of air freshener and hand sanitizer in the world and emptied them into every hallway in a desperate attempt to overpower the smell of death and urine. Then the food: that cheap garbage that even the dogs wouldn't eat. The only good thing to come out of a fridge in this place was a bloody Popsicle, and even then it just tasted like frozen Kool Aid. And then there were those constant "beeps" and other annoying sounds. Machines all around, ticking and clicking with every beat of her heart. Sleep was going to be impossible tonight.

...Oh do I ever hate hospitals...

It was a gun wound to the back. A dirty bastard blew a hole right through her left kidney and at least five ribs. And God damn did it hurt. It had happened so quickly that she didn't realize it at first. She saw the man take aim, and even though she knew the bullet was coming, the shock hadn't kicked in until ten to fifteen seconds after the bullet struck her. Then excruciating pain burst throughout her entire body. She remembered screaming until her lungs gave out, she remembered digging her nails into a man's hand only to shove and slap at him until he finally backed away.

Get away from me! Don't touch the wound! Don't touch my blood! Get away from me!

She tried to remember other voices, and other people. She tried to remember what had happened after she was gunned down. Unfortunately nothing was coming to mind other than the familiar sound of ambulance sirens and screaming civilians. Then there was that noisy, shaky ride to the hospital: so many people talking all at once over the blaring sirens and screeching tires. Yet apart from those sounds, she could not remember just how she got to this room. How long had it been? Was she here for a few hours, or had it been days?

Beep... beep... beep... more beeping... I hate this machine... I hate hospitals...

She tried to move but even the slightest movement caused her excruciating pain. Her eyes watered for a moment before she relaxed against the hospital bed, waiting for the pain to fade away.

...Christ I could use a cigarette...

"Holly..."

A familiar voice. Her eyes slipped open but her vision was blurred. It took a moment for them to focus completely, but even before then, she had already recognized the dark face of the man standing over her.

Abrahem...

His voice was strained. It sounded as though he had been crying and was struggling to hold back more sobs. He took her small hand into his and kneeled down at her bedside.

"...You are all over the news." he whispered to her. His deep South African accent never failed to put her at ease, but his words caused her eyes to widen. "They keep..." he choked for a moment, but then continued. "...they keep showing you... saving the queen."

She was too tired to speak. Her eyes stared back into his as he spoke before they faded out of focus.

The Queen...

Yes, it was coming back to her now. She had attended the public funeral of the late Princess Diana, along with the other officers. She had made her way through the crowd, which was growing far more hostile with every passing minute. And then it struck her: that cold, stressful feeling within the pit of her stomach, warning her, screaming at her that something horrible was about to happen.

Her behavior was considered suspicious and unprofessional, but she found herself shoving her way through the crowd, making her way towards the Queen. And just as she reached her…

"When I saw you there…" Abrahem's voice returned her to the present. "When I saw you take that bullet for her, I thought that you had…" his voice broke, and she watched him lower his head onto her hand. She felt his tears on her skin and his lips kissing her fingers. He did not finish his sentence, and instead had moved on to a new one.

"She is talking about you. She is, Holly. It is all over the news," he whispered. "And there are even rumors that you might be knighted…"

It struck her then. Knighted… it was the highest honor anybody in Great Britain could possibly achieve. With it came a great deal of respect. And by saving the life of the Queen, perhaps she could…

…No. That isn't right. You don't save a woman's life and then take advantage of her gratitude.

She took a very deep breath and then released a heavy sigh. Abrahem's words were supposed to bring her comfort, but now the horrible reality was beginning to dawn on her. If this wound was as bad as she thought, it was certainly career ending. She would no longer work on the field as a detective. Despite her age, her endurance had always been exceptional. Now she was injured… now those days were over…

"No, no, don't cry, Holly…" she felt Abrahem lean towards the bed. His long arms reached out to embrace her and his head leaned against hers. Tears weld up within her large eyes and poured down her pale face, and Abrahem took the liberty of wiping them away.

"Do not cry. Things will be different now, but you are alive. In a week, you'll come home to our beautiful daughters, and we will take care of you." He turned his head slightly and kissed her on her cheek. "You will get back on your feet again soon enough…"

…But how soon will that be…? What am I going to do…?

"Abrahem…" her voice was dry and low. He moved back just to get a better look at her face, awaiting her next words. "…Please tell me you have a bloody cigarette…"