Chapter 4

It was race day, and in a bar in Savannah, a black haired, green eyed man was watching his friend and favorite driver race from Chicago to Aurora, Illinois.

"It's gotta be Peter," said one of the patrons.

"Alex is gonna take this race and you know it, the man argued. "I was his crew chief back in his Nascar days you know."

"You're Victor Drake? No way! Alex used to talk about you all over the TV!"

Victor nodded. "Same guy," he said. "Ooh, commercial!" He stood up. "I'm gonna grab some air… stuffy in here.

He headed outside and leaned against the bar, smiling. Alex would win, and he knew it! He was thinking of how Alex would whip Dastardly like a bad mule when he saw a blonde woman, and a rather attractive one at that, staggering towards him, using the building for support. She was wearing a sleeveless blue dress and matching heels. The only problem was, Victor didn't think that red splotch just under her collarbone was supposed to be there. Her hand was over it, and her ruby lips looked as though she was trying to say something. Victor ran over, gently catching her as she started to fall.

"I've got you, sweetheart," he said softly, cradling her in his arms. "Stay awake, keep pressure on it."

She gasped and let out a pained moan.

"It's okay honey, I'm here."

She cupped his cheek in her hand.

He got his phone out. "I'm gonna get help… what's your name honey?"

She gasped softly. "Petunia," she managed to say weakly. "My daughters have gotta…"

"I know where they are, Petunia, shhh… it's okay." He pressed his phone to his ear.

"Yeah… I've got a lady here, she… her name's Petunia, she's got a penetrating wound to the chest, it seems bad… no. No, she's awake but shortness of breath. Yeah… yeah send an ambulance. Ah, the Wolf's Head, Savannah."

Petunia gasped again.

"Shhh… They're coming," he whispered, comfortingly stroking her cheek. He kissed her forehead. "You're doing great, Petunia… just stay awake." He smiled. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He felt her hand on his cheek again as he placed two fingers on her neck, feeling a slow, weak pulse.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, her eyes closing.

"Sweetie… hey!" He said softly, shaking her gently, "Petunia, look at me! Hey!"

She moaned as her eyes closed. "Tell… I…"

"You're gonna tell 'em yourself, honey, keep your eyes open… honey!"

He set her down gently, feeling for breathing and a pulse. Finding nothing, but undeterred, he tilted her head back. "Alright," he said softly, interlocking his hands. "Here we go, sweetheart."

He compressed her chest several times before pinching her nose and opening her mouth and breathing for her twice, genuinely afraid she had died in his arms.

"Petunia…" he said softly as he kept going. "Come on, Petunia… come on sweetheart!"

His mind became laser-focused on keeping this woman alive. She couldn't die… she looked so young! He started to think with his hands now. It had been two minutes, and he was starting to get winded, but he didn't, and couldn't afford to care.

Breathe…

Compressions…

Breathe…

Compressions…

He was still trying to revive Petunia a minute later when he heard sirens. Suddenly, she took a gulp of air, coughed weakly, and started breathing.

"That's right," he said, relieved. "They're here. Keep breathing!"

"Let me in there," said a soft voice. They'd arrived.

Victor kissed her hand gently and moved, letting the paramedics work.

Petunia was alive. Unconscious… but alive.

Victor could barely hear the chatter of the crowd which had gathered. He didn't notice them. He didn't care.

"Where are you taking her?" He said breathlessly.

"Saint Luke's Hospital," said a paramedic before they drove off.

Victor was tired, out of breath, and his mind and heart were racing. He simply had too much adrenaline to function. He knew exactly who to call next… because he swore Petunia looked familiar. She couldn't be… but he was sure she was Paul Pitstop's widow!

"Alex? You ain't gonna fuckin' believe this."