Moonstruck
A Moonless Knight
"Let her go," he demanded.
"Who's going to make me?" the well built man who held her close taunted to the smaller man standing in front of him, "you?"
"Don't push me. For I should warn you, I am not in the best of moods tonight," The smaller man challenged back.
The man threw her roughly to the ground below. "You can have the bitch."
The smaller man extended his hand out to her. "Are you alright?"
Before she could answer, a scream escaped her mouth as she saw the man, her knight in shining armor, struck in the back of the head with a tire iron.
He first crumpled to his knees, than he fell-unconscious-in her lap, face first.
Before she could react, he was pulled up by his hair. Two other men, each taking an arm, held him up, where upon her knight was unmercifully beaten right before her eyes.
Though it was hardly a contest, three-against-one.
Many a time she attempted to get up and run for help. But her fear paralyzed her.
Sirens, screaming and wailing from a few alleys away made the two men holding him retreat and scatter in different directions.
She mentally whispered a "thank you" to whatever higher power might be listening.
Undaunted, the leader (and the man who had held her) had some unfinished business to take care of-all of which was personal.
He bent down on one knee to her knight, who was now nothing more than a crumpled, bloodied heap. He picked the man up by his hair and taunted and teased in a hiss:
"I'm not through with you." And with that, he slammed the man face down onto the unforgiving pavement.
He let out a bone-chilling laugh and before running off, gave his beating victim another couple swift kicks in the ribs.
"Hey doll," he warned her, "don't even think about calling the cops."
Finally, after several long minutes, which seemed like eternity to the woman, she carefully got up and made her way over to her knight.
Out of Service
Normally by this time Martin Crane would be grumbling, and his stomach would be doing the same thing. Telling him that he was "starving"... but not this evening.
Instead, for the fourth time in the last five minutes, he nervously asked,
"Hey Frase, what time do you got?" Whether it was to belie his own rising fears, or to humor his father, he checked his watch again.
"7:45."
Finally, Martin spoke what was on both their minds, but both were afraid to say out loud for the past hour and a half.
"I'm worried about him. He should have signed those papers hours ago. It's not like your brother to be this late and not call…maybe you should try him on his cell phone again."
Frasier, Martin's oldest son, agreed, and picked up the phone and dialed his younger brother's cell phone.
Carefully, she rolled the severely beaten man over and assessed his injuries.
He was violently shivering due to both shock and the chilly damp air. She ripped off her own coat and covered his thin, frail frame with it. He was drifting in and out of consciousness and bleeding from both his mouth and nose. His left eye was already swollen shut and both his cheeks were turning a bluish-purple.
He was having great difficulty breathing most likely due to cracked ribs and, possibly a punctured lung.
She picked up his wallet that was lying on the ground beside him and rummaged through it. Not surprisingly, it had been cleared out of both his cash and credit cards, taken by one of his assailants.
"Still says out of service," Frasier said has he hung up the phone.
"Do you think we should call Donny?" Martin suggested.
"What good would that do?" Frasier asked.
"Well, we could see if your brother at least signed the papers, and if he did, what time he left there."
"Good idea. I'll call Roz for his number."
"Roz?" Martin asked, confused. "Why would she have his number?"
"Did you forget Dad? Roz and Donny used to date," Frasier reminded has he punched in his producer's home phone number into his phone.
"Hello? Roz? It's Frasier," he said into the answering machine. "I know it's a Friday night and I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but if you're there, please pick up…"
There is a Doctor in the house, but only, he's the one who needs the Doctor
"M-Maris?" her knight cried out, barely audible as she helped him up the stairs to her small apartment.
She pulled out her keys, unlocked the door, and kicked it open. She reached to her left for the light switch that was located on the wall by the door. When it failed to come on, she cursed.
"Oh, bloody hell! They promised it would be on by late this afternoon."
She cautiously maneuvered herself and the man around several boxes. Some of which were empty, others that were half full, and others that were not even opened yet. Having no electricity only made the task of getting to the couch that much more challenging. Finally, they reached their destination. She threw off some books and some other items with no homes yet, to the floor below.
She grabbed a pillow that was sitting in the overstuffed chair beside the couch and carefully lifted his head, placed the pillow down, and laid his head down on top of it. "Just lay down," she soothed.
She carefully made her way to her kitchen. Thankfully, earlier in the day she had unpacked some candles and some matches. She lit a couple of the candles, which illuminated the small apartment with a warm, comforting glow. Before making her way back to her knight, she stopped in the bathroom to retrieve her first aid kit and a washcloth.
While wringing out the washcloth, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror. Aside from a few superficial scrapes and being scared out of her mind, she was okay. She pushed the few stray hairs that were out of place, back into place, and made her way back to her knight.
She set the candle and first aid kit down on the trunk that was serving as a temporary, make shift coffee table, and went back for the washcloth and small bowl of water.
When she returned, she sat next to him on the couch. He was unconscious again and was still violently shivering.
She first removed his overcoat, and with a great deal of tenderness, she unbuckled his suspenders, and smiled, thinking that she never met a chap that wore suspenders before. She loosened, and then untied his tie and silently hoped it would help ease his labored breathing. Cautiously, she started to unbutton his shirt.
Like his body, her own hands and fingers trembled. She reasoned her trembling was also partly due to shock, and partly due to nervousness at what she was doing.
She actually was undressing a complete stranger, in her new apartment, in a new city. She didn't even know his name. For all she knew, he could be a rapist and/or cold-blooded murderer. She knew nothing about the man.
Correction, she did know one thing about the man.
He risked his life to save her.
If anybody was a rapist and/or cold-blooded murderer it was the sleaze that this man she was now undressing, saved her from. So, no, this man was one of the good guys.
When she had finished unbuttoning his shirt, it revealed a very hairy chest. He was on the gaunt side, for all of his ribs could be clearly seen and counted (if one were so inclined). She quietly chuckled to herself, "Nothing that a few of me shepherd's pies couldn't fix."
She then lifted the candle and scanned it over his body to better assess the damage.
"Damn!" she quietly swore. His coat and shirt had belied the extent and seriousness of his injuries.
His chest revealed large and deep bruising. Chances are he did have a punctured lung. Even with his tie removed, his breathing was still very strained and labored. Her knight was in obvious need of medical attention. She snatched the homemade afghan that was draped loosely over the couch, and covered his shivering frame with it and sat down in the overstuffed chair next to him trying to figure out what to do next.
Pardon The Interruption
"Frasier? This better be important," she barked.
"I'm sorry Roz. I don't mean to interrupt, and normally I wouldn't but…"
Detecting both urgency and worry in her boss', but more like good friend's, voice, she apologized.
"I'm sorry Frasier, what's wrong?" she asked, this time sincerely.
"I need Donny Douglas' phone number."
"I don't have to give it to you…"
"Roz, please. I'm begging you. It's imperative that I have his number…" Frasier interrupted.
"No, no Frasier, you've misunderstood. I don't have to give you his number cause he's with me." She handed the phone over to Donny. "It's Frasier Crane, he seems upset."
"Hey Frase, what's up?"
She got up and went over to her phone, and with a shaky hand, started to dial and then slammed the receiver down in frustration.
"Bloody hell! They didn't turn on the phone either!"
"Truth be told…" she muttered to herself and to her semi-conscious knight, "I was kind of hoping the phone wouldn't work." For she remembered their attackers' warning about calling the cops and shuddered as a chill ran down her spine.
But she also knew better.
Chances are her knight wasn't going to get better without medical attention. She knew she would have to stay up with him all night and keep a very close eye on him.
It was his breathing that disturbed her the most. He could easily stop breathing at any time. Luckily, she knew both mouth-to-mouth and was CPR certified. Hopefully, she wouldn't have the opportunity to put those skills to the test.
She should keep him awake as well, he no doubt had a concussion, and she didn't want him slipping into a coma on her.
She went back to the chair and sat down, finding herself mesmerized by her knight.
She was surprised at herself and how drawn she seemed to be towards him.
Even though he was on the rather thin and pale side, he was still quite cute, especially the little cleft in his chin.
"So, what did Donny say?"
"He said that Niles signed the papers over three hours ago."
"Then where in the hell is he?"
To be continued…