I am sorry for making you wait for this chapter. I actually really wanted to write this, but it was a tough one. I do hope that you enjoy.
Amy moved so quickly that in her haste she pushed her chair over and it crashed to floor. The noise drew the attention of the rest of patrons, but since it was late, the number was mercifully small and once they glanced over, thy all went back to their meals.
Amy managed to catch Pendergast before he slipped out of the chair. He appeared to only be semi-conscious at best; his eyes were closed, his head lolled to the side and his lips moved as if he was trying to speak, but all Amy heard where soft moans. Amy grabbed one of the crisp, pristine napkins from a neighboring table and doused it with ice water from Pendergast's goblet. She applied to cold compress to his face and neck trying to rouse him. "Aloysius," Amy whispered, "please wake up. Please tell me what's wrong? What happened?"
Eventually, her ministrations had the desired effect. Pendergast's eyes fluttered open as he tried to focus on the face in front of him. Finally, with what appeared to be super human efforts, Pendergast was able to focus on Amy. "Poison," he whispered so quietly that Amy had to bend closer to him to hear. Amy did not know why, but something in her FBI instincts told her to take Pendergast's wine glass. She wrapped it in another clean napkin trying not to break it and slipped it into a pocket of Pendergast's jacket.
Just then the Maître d' arrived. He bustled and babbled in worry. "I do hope that it was not something Mr. Pendergast ate," he whined in his most ingratiating voice.
Amy turned to face the little man, shielding Pendergast as best as she could with her own body. "Mr. Pendergast has been ill. I think perhaps this outing was a bit too much for him," she lied smoothly watching relief bathe the other man's features. "If you could please have Mr. Pendergast's car brought, I believe, we will settle up the bill and get Mr. Pendergast home." Then almost as an afterthought. "Is there perhaps a back or side exit. You know how Mr. Pendergast hates a scene and how much he values his privacy."
The florid little man nodded. "We can put this on Mr. Pendergast's tab. And I will have the car brought to the side. It is also much closer so Mr. Pendergast will not need to….," a pause to search for the word,"…exert himself as much."
"Thank you," Amy said and turned back toward Pendergast, effectively dismissing the other man. She looked Pendergast over again finding that he had not improved. If anything, he looked worse. As she watched, he closed his eyes and his whole body tensed in a spasm of pain as his hands clutched the edge of the table. Amy watched helplessly as Pendergast struggled to get himself under control. Finally, when the pain subsided, he looked at her. Amy stepped forward and allowed Pendergast, to lean on her as she slowly made her way to the exit that the Maître d' had indicated.
With Maurice's help, she loaded Pendergast into the car and as the Silver Wraith sped off into the Louisiana night, she watched Pendergast carefully. His breathing appeared to be shallow, his eyes were closed again, and every so often she would see his body stiffen and lips tighten as if in pain. These incidents seemed to be coming more frequently and be increasing in severity as time progressed. "We should go to the hospital," she said in what she hoped was a decisive voice.
"No," gasped Pendergast, who appeared to be in the throes of an attack – a bad one. "Maurice will call my physician who will attend to me at Penumbra." With that, Pendergast's head fell back on the headrest as he struggled to maintain an outward composure.
Somehow Maurice and Amy managed to help Pendergast out of the car. By now the spasms of pain were coming frequently and were so severe that several times Pendergast actually doubled over while crying out in pain. Amy and Maurice were able to guide him into the house, but they knew that they would not be able to get him up the stairs to the Master Suite.
"There is a guest suite just off the main hallway," Maurice gasped as he half walked, half carried his employer. Amy nodded and bore her portion of Pendergast's considerable weight.
They had finally managed to get Pendergast to the guest suite and had helped him lie down. Amy watched as the man lay on the bed, writhing in pain. His hands clutched at the covers and his body curled and contorted in visible agony. Amy carefully approached the suffering man. It seemed so wrong and impersonal to leave him as he was. During one of the rare, quiescent periods, she leaned over him and undid his tie. She unbuttoned and removed his shirt. A ghost of a smile crossed her face when she saw a portion of a tattoo on Pendergast's right bicep. It looked to be one for the Army Rangers and listed his platoon and their motto.
Self-consciously, Amy undid Pendergast's belt. She took off his shoes and socks – she could not bring herself to remove his pants. She helped him under the covers where he lay shivering and exhausted. "Come in," she called out absently when she heard a slight knock on the door. She had expected Maurice, and was surprised when a beautiful, dark skinned woman entered the room.
"I am Dr. Derosiers," the woman said. "Mr. Pendergast's personal physician." Amy nodded. She could not take her eyes off of the woman's golden eyes.
"I'll wait outside," Amy said. Half an hour later, Dr. Derosiers opened the door so that Amy could come in. A quick look at the man in the bed, told her everything she needed to know as he lay there still in pain, but also apparently weakening. He had an IV with fluids, but that seemed to be the only change. Amy looked at the doctor. "Will he be alright?"
"He has been poisoned. That much you know," the doctor started, not answering Amy's question. "We do not know what poison it is, but given how much time passed, it probably does not matter as no antidote would now work."
"We can't give up," Amy cried, angrily.
"We aren't giving up, Miss…" Amy realized guiltily that she had never introduced herself.
"Amy. Amy Devereaux. I…," she hesitated. "I work with Agent Pendergast at the FBI."
The doctor nodded. "Agent Pendergast should by all rights already by dead. However, he had taken it upon himself a few years ago to start to develop a tolerance for a range of poisons. That meant that he started to ingest small quantities. I believe that this is why he is still alive and why he may actually have a chance." Amy looked at her in disbelief. Pendergast was taking poison on purpose. On the other hand, it looked like it was paying off.
"The next forty eight hours are crucial. If Mr. Pendergast survives, he has a good chance to make a full recovery. There is not much we can do in the interim. I am loathe to give him pain medication as it will depress his breathing and heart rate further and may mask symptoms that we may need to be aware of. We can support him with fluids and nutrition. A nurse will be available to do that." She handed Amy a container with something that looked like sludge. "This is activated charcoal paste. In the times that Mr. Pendergast is coherent, see if you can get him to take some. It may ease some of the symptoms." Amy nodded. "The nurse will be here, on call. Please feel free to ask her for any help you need." With that, the doctor took one more look at her patient, reached out to shake Amy's hand, and left, softly closing the door behind her.
Amy stood in the room, uncertain as to what to do. At the moment, Pendergast looked to be resting fairly comfortable, but just as soon as the thought crossed her mind, his whole body violently convulsed, as he cried out in pain. Biting her lip, Amy approached the prone form on the bed and gently placed her hand on Pendergast's shoulder. It felt like the least that she could do; to offer some human contact and what comfort she could. At her touch, Pendergast seemed to relax slightly. Amy remained still for a few more moments if only to offer the man some respite from his pain.
However, when she turned to leave and was about to remove her hand, she found that her wrist was now being held in a surprisingly strong grip. She looked down and saw that Pendergast's slender fingers were around her wrist and his eyes were open. She looked carefully at those strange eyes; they were clouded with pain and something else that she could not quite identify. Fear perhaps?
Pendergast looked into her eyes. "May I ask you a favor," he whispered. His voice was weak, but he was doing his utmost to hide the pain. Amy nodded. "Could you," he hesitated, "that is….would you be able to…," Pendergast trailed off, closing his eyes as he fought to regain control of himself. With a deep breath, that sounded more like a sob of pain, he continued. "What I mean to say is that, it would mean a great deal to me if you would please stay with me; even for just a little while?"
Amy gasped as her heart twisted in sympathy. Extricating her wrist from Pendergast's now relaxed grip, she took his hand in both of hers. "Of course I will, Aloysius," she said, settling down on the bed. "For as long as you need."
"Thank you," Pendergast managed to breathe out before another paroxysm of pain over took him.
Whew. That was difficult to write. What do you think? Poor Pendergast. Did one of his many enemies find him in New Orleans? It looks like whether or not he wants to, he will need to rely on and trust Amy. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Your thoughts and reviews are so very much appreciated.