Many, many thank yous to everyone who read and encouraged me on the last story. I promised a sequel and this is the first installment. I'm afraid it isn't exactly what many had in mind. You'll see why as you read. Once again, it isn't mine; well, except for one or two characters. No infringement intended.
Oh and one more thing... my computer seemes to have some issues right now. Hopefully it won't interfere too much with my writing and posting but just in case... be warned ;-)
On the Monday following his and Louisa's overnight in Trurto, Martin's day was going about as his days generally went; complaining patients who stupidly had ignored his instructions and now were presenting with more aches and pains or disease, a few with complications. He was just finishing with his first patient after the break for lunch, which had been very enjoyable as James was napping and he'd found Louisa upstairs. She hinted at more strenuous activities during his lunch break but he wasn't comfortable with the notion since they could be interrupted but a bit of snogging and cuddling on one's lunch break did wonders for one's attitude in the afternoon, especially after the weekend they'd shared. Consequently, he was almost in a good mood by the time a call came in about an accident down at the Platt. Grumbling under his breath, Martin grabbed his bag and headed to the village's latest disaster.
It was easy to find the patient as a gaggle of villagers was standing around gawking at the poor devil. Martin gagged as the sea of people parted and he caught sight of the fisherman who'd somehow managed to get entangled in the propellers of his boat. His mood worsening, he knelt beside the man, inspecting the injuries while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. The man was bleeding profusely and Martin knew there was only so much he would be able to do for the patient. He needed a hospital.
Working with fervor, Martin managed to slow the bleeding for various wounds but they were too deep and would need closing surgically. Still, using dressings from his bag and applying pressure to the worst one, he was satisfied that things were under control for the moment. Commanding one of the by standers to hold the dressing in place with the appropriate pressure, he inspected the lesser injuries and checked for anything broken.
The villagers who were watching were awed, as usual, by the skill and also the energy of the man they called Doc Martin as he methodically but quickly addressed each concern, between throwing up in a bag.. Finally the ambulance arrived and the fisherman was packed away into the back, a proper IV hung and a paramedic watching over the patient. Martin gathered his things into his bag and stood to leave, breaking away from the crowd to head back to his surgery when a truck came flying down the hill, crashing into a parked car and sending it straight for the Doc. Several cries went up as the villagers watched in horror as the car caught their doctor unawares, slamming into the back of him and rolling over him.
Joe Penhale was the first to reach Martin, who lay unconscious on the ground. Al Large was right behind him. "Oh god," Al breathed as he pulled his phone out to call Morwenna at the surgery. Penhale called the latest accident in, requesting a helicopter for an immediate pick up. To him and everyone else who could see Doc Martin on the ground, things looked bad.
Louisa came running down the hill, screaming his name, a sound that would echo in the villager's heads for a long time after. It was widely known that these two loved one another but theirs had been a tumultuous relationship and many wondered why Louisa wasn't done with the curmudgeon. . The sound of her wail as she saw her husband on the ground revealed the depth of her feelings for the ole grouch.
Two members of the rescue crew hustled to the doctor's side and began checking for vital signs and injuries. "Thready," one said to the other worriedly.
"This could be why," the second said as he pulled at Martin's sleeve to reveal blood pooling in the pebbly sand. The two worked to do what they could while Penhale watched the sky for signs of the helicopter. Finally it arrived and the paramedics prepared Portwenn's GP for transport. After assurances from Al that James would be looked after, Louisa climbed on board to ride with her husband to the hospital in Truro.
She sat perched near him, her hand firmly grasping his and her eyes on his face. "Martin, please…you have to be alright," she whispered, willing him to open his eyes and look at her. Oblivious of the work of the medics, she stared at him, willing him to live.
After a few minutes he groaned and his eyes opened, barely. They shifted to look at her, clear and trusting. "Louisa," he croaked softly.
"I'm here Martin. We're on our way to the hospital. You were…hurt."
"Mmmmm….yessssmmmm." He blinked before fixing his gaze on her again. "Love you."
"I know," she smiled. "I love you too."
"Ssssorry…" His eyes closed and he drifted away again.
"Martin!" she whispered loudly.
"He's passed out," one of the medic said. "Probably best; the pain and all…"
They made her let go of him at the hospital; made her wait in the waiting room. She saw that prick, Adrian Pitts walk through and she hoped he would have nothing to do with Martin's case…. Martin's case? So Martin was a patient now. She almost found it amusing, that turn of fate…almost. But it hurt too much to be amusing.
In that dark world that was the inside of Martin Ellingham's head, he was terrified. It was indeed dark and frightening. He tried to move, tried to cry out but…nothing. Once again he was locked in the cupboard, his mind surmised. But what had he done this time to deserve it? He couldn't remember. He had a vague impression of trying to help someone and then…there was a face, a smiling face. He tried to concentrate on the face; it was a beautiful face and the way she was looking at him… was she crying? It perplexed him; no one cried about him. He was unlovable, everyone and everything in his life pointed to that fact. But she said…she told him she loved him. No one had ever told him that before. It gave him comfort in the darkness, knowing that someone loved him. But he was still terrified; he wanted out of the cupboard.
Mentally he curled into the fetal position, pulling his long frame into a tight ball. He tried to think about the face, her lovely face, but his mind grew darker. Slowly, the image faded and he felt alone, more alone than he could ever remember. And even though he knew it would mean more time locked in the cupboard, he began to cry; he simply couldn't not do it. He wanted the woman with the beautiful face…he needed her.
Alone in the dark, his mind began to bring up other images, summer days as a boy at the farm, the faces of his tormentors at school, the look of horror of the girls if he tried to talk to them, his mother's cold glare…
He was chasing butterflies; Auntie Joan had given him a butterfly net that summer and now he was in the garden with it. There was a lovely one flitting around some bushes and he gleefully nabbed it in his net. It was such fun and he was excited. Carefully he transferred it from the net to a jar and quickly put the lid on it. So excited with his catch, he wanted to share his achievement with someone and remembered that his father was in his study. Running ecstatically through the hall, he burst into his father's office to share his find. But his father wasn't interested in the butterfly. Instead he was yelling about knocking and as he was intimidating and frightening, the jar slipped and smashed to the floor, killing the precious butterfly.
The darkness was enveloping him, the bleakness almost crushing him. He wanted out. Why wouldn't someone let him out?
"Farty Marty," the other boys chanted as he was made to change his bed. Soon it changed to "smarty Marty," until Garret Hobson laughed before asking, "why does smarty Marty keep wetting the bed?" The other boys giggled. "Because he's a baby," Hobson laughed.
He was glad of the dark, a place to hide away.
His father was explaining to him that he wouldn't be returning to Auntie Joan's farm this summer; he would do a summer term at school instead. "It will be good to get ahead in your studies, Martin," his father said. Martin sighed and nodded his acceptance. So, Auntie Joan didn't want him either.
Maybe he deserved the darkness….
But a voice whispered to him in the darkness, a soft gentle voice that said she loved him, that she and James were waiting for him when he was ready to wake up. It must belong to her, he thought. If only the smiling lady was real…
He fought to listen for her. Where did she go? Why wouldn't she talk to him anymore? Maybe it was just another person taunting him. But her voice sounded so nice; he liked her voice. He liked her smile even more. He tried again to remember her face but it wouldn't come to him…just the smile and the voice. So he tried to focus on that. It had a lilt, her voice that is. He liked the lilt; it wasn't like the voices he was used to…the voices in London and at school. Why did she leave? Things weren't quite as frightening when she was there. Mentally he sighed. He didn't understand what he had done to make her go away, but he must have done something. It was his fault; it was always his fault. There was something wrong with him; he just didn't know what it was.
Slowly his mind gave way to the darkness and he slipped even deeper into oblivion.