Fourteen

Tintin jumped up and began to run towards the place he had last seen Jay as his friend had disappeared around the corner. He pushed himself, ignoring the shouts as he dodged through the policemen; over the fire hose; weaving his way through the industrious firemen; pushing himself even as his back and lungs burned from the effort of carrying Todd. He swung around the corner into the deserted side-street, the shops long since shut up for the night.

A dark shape lay in the middle of the road. He made his way to it at once, his heart beating wildly and his breath catching in his throat. It moved, a hand scrabbling in the dark pool of blood that had spread out around it.

"Don't try to move, Jay," Tintin heard his own voice saying through numbed lips. He dropped to his knees beside his friend and pushed the ridiculous robes out of the way. Jay was struggling to breathe and a dark stain had spread out from his belly, covering his white t-shirt as blood bubbled weakly from the wound in his stomach. Tintin quickly pressed his hands over the wound to stem the flow, ignoring Jay's soft whimper of pain.

"Stay with me, Jay," Tintin said grimly. He looked around: a solitary policeman had followed him. "Help me!" Tintin shouted. "My friend's been shot." The policeman picked up his pace, pulling his radio out and calling for a second ambulance at once.

"T-tin" – Jay said breathlessly.

"Hang on," Tintin begged. "Help's coming. Just… just hang on!"

"S-scared," Jay managed to say. He coughed, blood splattering from his lips over his cheek and chin. "Oh G-god!"

"Please, Jay; please. I'm so sorry."

One of Jay's hands moved spasmodically and came to rest on top of Tintin's hands, which were still pressed against the wound. He gasped, the air gurgling wetly in his throat. His body shuddered once, then twice, the locked up with tension. His eyes bulged and his mouth moved silently. Tintin leaned closer to hear what he was saying, trying not to relax his hold on the gunshot, but there was nothing. Then Jay's body relaxed and he was gone.

x

The rest of the night passed in a blur, and by the time Tintin had dragged himself home it was almost 6am.

They had no story prepared for the police and, still in shock from Jay's death and Todd's narrow escape, they ended up telling the truth: Todd had gone there alone for a story, they thought. They'd started a fire to cause a distraction, so that Todd could escape, and in the confusion that followed Jay had been shot. No, they hadn't seen who had done it; no, they didn't know who the men were; no, they hadn't gotten a good look at anyone.

Then the Thompsons had turned up and they'd had to go through it all again. Todd was taken to the hospital in one ambulance, and Jay's body was carted away in another. With a final caution from the Thompsons to go down to the station in the morning, they were allowed to leave.

Tintin lay on his bed, on his back, ignoring Snowy. The dog was snuffling around happily, drawn by the scent of the blood that had stained Tintin's yellow polo shirt. "Good boy," Tintin said absently. He was thinking everything over, replaying everything in his head. What could he have done differently? What could he do to make sure this never happened again? How the hell could Jay be dead?

His phone rang. Without checking the screen, he picked it up and answered it. "Hello," he said in a far-away voice.

"Tintin?" It was Jack. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Jay is dead."

"Who the fuck is Jay?"

"Jack, he worked with you for the last three years," Tintin admonished lazily.

"Oh. Whatever. Circle of life, and all that. I'm at the office. Get over here now."

"I don't think I can." His voice had taken on an almost dream-like quality. Everything seemed so unimportant now. Or maybe it was a dream after all, and this was just another strange part of it.

"Oh, I think you can, Shane."

Tintin felt his eyes widen. He snapped out of his lethargy and sat up. Snowy tumbled down from his chest, where he had been licking the blood stain, and landed in his lap. Gross! I can't believe I let my dog lick blood!

"What did you call me?" he asked carefully.

"It's your name, isn't it?" Jack said. "Get down here now." He hung up. Tintin listened to the beeps of the disconnected call for a few seconds before severing the connection completely. What was going on now?

Author's Note: Dogs will lick blood. It's gross but it happens. Females reading this that own a dog will know exactly what I'm talking about. (eeewwww!)