Chapter 4

The aged doctor knew that this was completely wrong in the back of his mind. His colleagues had told him specifically that the girl was dangerous and disruptive to the other patients. The protocol demanded that he continued with his duties – he had done this but there was a nagging. The voice within him screamed to him that this was unethical and wrong in many ways. But his childish instinct was often wrong about emotional matters, he wasn't about to start trusting it due to fear of the unknown.

Everyone had become afraid. Mostly of each other – chaos and ugly lies roamed the streets freely nowadays. But also because of a deadly Shadow that took lives like they were twigs; whatever it was it harmed everyone and anyone. A serial killer - the police were useless, they thought of nothing to stop it. Whatever it was it had become unstoppable.

But the aged doctor was insistent still on doing his job. Everyone demanded he do it most at this time; the one time that only the selfish would survive. When the sick were left to die because they couldn't handle themselves. He would not perish, he swore this as a vain man, but he didn't wish his patients to die; to get a black tarnish on his spotless record.

Anne Poart was no exception to the rule - even though it would've been kinder if she hadn't woken up at all. His time wouldn't be wasted with her.

He wasn't going to tell her about her father. He didn't wish to tell her anything at all about the horrors of the recent events. How could he even consider it? She was fragile – had a little amnesia but that would go away soon, he was certain – but still able to break down completely.

He had a choice to try to argue that the case wasn't lost with her - but why would he do that? She got herself into a dangerous situation, got shot and nearly died. He couldn't do anything about it now. She was attacked and had become an inconvenience that everyone had to deal with. If he had argued then he knew the consequences; probably leading to him getting sacked. Would he really waste what he had for this girl? She was beautiful, but his wife was more so.

He couldn't lose his job and what he had with Flora – he just couldn't. That was why the foolish Poart girl was now lying with a constant supply of nutrients and drugs keeping her under. It appeared like a coma and it was hoped she would maintain it without disturbing other patients until a place was found for her. Anne Poart had no family now and needed to be kept securely. He didn't feel guilty or remorse of this horrible situation. Even though he knew that everyone wanted her not to wake at all, she had no place in the world anymore.

She would not wake up – he didn't consider it any fault of his even though he suggested having her stay under the fake coma. Permanently.

From his consideration of this he did not dare speak. But a man did arouse him from the silence that he surrounded himself with.

"Excuse me, doctor?" The doctor looked down upon him through his spectacles. The brown haired man before him wore blue scrubs and a nametag that called him William. He carried a backpack on his shoulder and looked youthful in the way he composed himself. "I'm on call tonight – can you tell me where the coma patients are?"

"Very well, I assume you are here for Miss Poart," the aged doctor led him to the stairs, speaking as he walked. "But you must be careful of this patient. She is one we must keep a close eye on."

"What happened to her?"

They proceeded down a long set of stairs leading into the depths of the hospital. Few were brought there, Anne Poart the first one in a long time, she was held there like a prisoner. A sleeping prisoner in a place where guards do not roam. "Miss Anne Poart – don't you listen to the news, boy? She used to be upstairs but we brought her down here when her father was murdered." he stopped himself before he went any further.

"Why?"

The aged doctor sighed and spoke hushed tones to the on-call stranger. Protocol told him not to but it was better if the youngling was aware. "She woke up. A coma patient for barely a few months and she just started screaming days ago. Ridiculous – I know – days after her father's death. We must make sure she doesn't wake up so she screams the place down again."

The stranger's pace quickened and his breathing intensified. Excitement was poorly hidden from his voice as he spoke but the doctor didn't notice this. "But still - why did you bring her here? Doesn't she need treatment, or something?"

"She is getting treatment." The doctor was very precise in his words; making sure each one stung. To question his authority was unheard of, the poor boy must be new, he concluded. "Miss Poart is being sedated until the head doctor knows what to do with her."

"What will he do?"

They arrived at the door. The doctor opened it calmly and closed it firmly behind the stranger, and he held nothing back now. He wished to tell out loud what he wished most of all from Anne Poart. The girl with nothing more to do in this world.

"You are young. You don't understand that sometimes it's better for patients to be sent away where they can sleep soundly. She'll be sent to a place like that, I'm sure, where she can stay in her coma. Miss Poart will not wake again because she has no need to. She will stay asleep for good. Away from the mad, mad world."

"For good." The stranger spat as he looked over the inert body of Anne Poart in the darkness of the cell. "How could anybody allow that? She deserves to live. She doesn't deserve to be passed around like some… some…" the word came to him but he couldn't say it. Too many gory images of her arm came to mind that he couldn't utter, instead he said: "Where are the flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"The flowers!" The on-call man attacked with such firmness in his voice that was nearing on shouting. "The flowers I gave her a week ago! They were right beside her as an apology. Because I failed to protect her – I failed to protect her from people like you!"

"Who-"

But it was too late – for the aged doctor was already on the ground. A precise fist striking him in the throat and causing him to buckle down in shock; where he struck was enough to cause the doctor unconsciousness in minutes. The man stood over Anne's body and smiled through the false teeth he wore.

"Anne?" he said, "It's Tintin, Anne, I'm getting you out of here."

Tintin didn't peel off the disguise he wore – he had to keep it on until they got out. That was the hard part of the entire espionage. He took out a body bag hidden within his backpack and went out the room to retrieve a moveable stretcher. Once both were in the room and ready he unplugged Anne from the tubes that pumped her with unnecessary drugs keeping her asleep; he moved robotically, time was precious and he daren't waste any.

Tintin did however take a moment to carefully raise her from the bed and place her in the lining of the bag. He treated her like precious glass, as if one knock would damage her perfection; he knew haste was essential. But he couldn't be fast when handling the last friend he had on Earth – she was awake and alive. He couldn't leave her here. Tintin covered her in darkness and zipped the body bag up; with the amount of drugs in her system it was unlikely that she would wake up any time soon.

He wheeled away Anne in the bag on the trolley – heading for the elevators upstairs and lowering his cap over his wig. This was his disguise; a false nose and set of teeth that were jagged and uncomfortable, his voice had changed a bit making it older and muskier due to the change, he wore a wig but the only trait that he couldn't change or hide was his limp. He had done his best to heal his broken leg alone but there was a noticeable limp in his gait; Tintin winced as he walked but that was enough to hide it for the time being.

He was close to the exit – nobody had even stopped to look who he was or what he was doing with a body bag, but he had an excuse that was crude but had to do. This was when he noticed people running around confused and disorientated – to his dismay he realised that they were looking around for suspicious characters, those who would be trying to smuggle patients out of the hospital. He couldn't care as to why they would care about a patient that nobody wished around anymore, so he quickened his pace slightly, allowing himself to let the panic around him ensue. He could taste the smog of London ahead, he could even see a little of the van that would ensure his escape – all he needed was to reach it.

It was surprising to him, for nobody even considered him until he was already out the door. He was standing with the body bag in tow and looking back to the mayhem he had inadvertently caused, it caused him to smile. Tintin was glad that he wasn't like them – like the aged cruel doctor he had knocked unconscious or these confused people who rushed around with nobody to retain order. Chaos was normal now – since the murders had begun everyone had been taking the law into their own hands, arresting those of high suspicions as if they were witches in an invisible coven.

He stood before the rush of bodies, but then his heart fell when he noticed one was pointing at him. Someone had at last noticed the stranger and the body bag at his side which was suspicious, Tintin moved quickly, putting Anne in the back calmly as he could and then himself in the front. The steering wheel beckoned him and he went to it, gripping it with both hands tightly and fired the engine in haste; others were being gathered in anticipation for a confrontation. Tintin pressed the accelerator and the tires screamed as he went backwards out of the parking space he had chosen.

The men and nurses that had noticed him filed out screaming him to stop but he did not, Tintin couldn't just stop when he had Anne in the back, unconscious and in need. He never abandoned his friends and furiously drove forward despite their cries, heartbeat in throat and sweating uncontrollably – to his dismay he knew the van had to be ditched somewhere. It was unfortunate but had to be done, because they would've seen his number plate, some would remember and he would need to be rid of it.

He escaped into the night with little pride; he was afraid of her words. What would the infamous Tintin look like in the eyes of the beautiful innocent Anne?