Chapter Thirty-Three: The Bat
It was at the same time they settled into the car.
In the driver's seat, the doctor was silent with the barrel inches from his chest. At this distance, she could read his nametag.
...Terrence Wynn…
The car had yet to move.
"You look sickly," he said. "You've lost a dangerous amount of…."
The end of his statement muted as though her head had been dunked into a tank of water.
She consciously worked her vocals...wondering if they produced a sound.
I'm fine...
His face slid out of focus as Carmen angled her attention to the front window. Splatters of heavy rain hit the glass.
She felt heat convecting from her limbs. By the time her body was shivering, the barrel of the gun was swaying from side to side — her hand was acting out of harmony with her mind.
"Carmie…"
Her eyes fluttered back open, alert. She looked up at him. Dr. Wynn was sharpened back into focus for a moment.
"What?" She hissed.
His brow creased and he gave a meek sniff. "What?"
"You said... "Carmie"..."
He was keen to show her his sneer.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
But, either out of impulse or a split second lapse in attention, his glare shifted down and for some reason, the malice burning in his eyes vanished.
"Oh dear Jesus!" he exclaimed, shaking Carmen awake again.
She turned her head slightly to view the backseat from the corner of her eye. Lightning cracked and she saw the glint of metal. Cylindrical. About a yard long…
A bat.
But, that's not what frightened Dr. Wynn, and she only began to see it when he uttered,
"At least we know how he got into your room…" His initial fright was beginning to subside.
The white uniform looked grey in the darkness. From her angle, she saw stockings modestly covering thin legs, the hem of her long white skirt, black work shoes— the ones hospitals enforced for their employees to wear.
"Poor Miriam…" Dr. Wynn murmured.
Caught up in her shock, she didn't notice the slanted glance he sent her. The one which immediately fixed onto the lowered barrel of the gun.
She wouldn't have known any better, had her skin not prickled the instant his hand shot out, wrenching her armed hand away from his chest. The muscles in her fingers tensed reflexively from the punch. And, her world spiralled out of control as the gun fired.