Inferno

By Divamercury

I don't own any character in my story except Ciara and Luke. They are all mine, although I'd much rather trade Luke for Ian:) Enjoy Chapter 7!

Chapter 7

I looked up to see Sara thrashing around furiously in her bed. I glanced at the watch on my left wrist. It read 3:00 in the morning. I drew nearer to the window so I could get a better view, and then I watched Sara roll over on her right arm. She screamed bloody murder, springing awake instantly, and that tore it for me. I opened the window and sprang into the apartment. I turned on a dim light and my gaze fell on Sara, her face twisted with pain and her body seeming so small in that enormous bed she slept it. Her frame was wracked with shivers, and I drew nearer to her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Sara?" I whispered. "Sara, it's Ian."

She opened her eyes slightly. "Ian?" she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

"Yes, Sara, it's me. Are you all right?" I asked.

"I haven't been "all right" for a long time. And most certainly not in the last few days," she said, her voice still hardly audible.

"How do you feel?"

"My head seems to be between a mortar and pestle, my right arm is on fire, and I can barely move anything else. I'm incredibly stiff. Ian, what's wrong with me?" she asked desperately.

"I don't know. I wish I did." For once I removed one of my gloves and I brushed my hand against her forehead. I recoiled.

"Sara, you're burning up!" I said, replacing my hand. I had never encountered a fever of that intensity before.

Sara, who had been sitting up slightly, leaned back. "No wonder I feel like I got hit by a truck," she said tiredly.

"You need to go to the hospital." There was no response. "Sara?" I asked again. I came closer. She had passed out cold. I jumped off of Sara's bed and entered her kitchen, getting some cool water in a bowl and finding a clean washcloth in a drawer. I removed my trench coat (it was getting in my way) and then returned to Sara's side and started bathing her forehead with the cloth. A few minutes later, when she came to, she hissed at the feeling of the cold water on her forehead.

"Shh, Sara, it's all right," I said soothingly, and she relaxed. I continued to try to lower her fever, hoping that whatever this mysterious ailment was, it would go away soon for her sake. She wasn't in good shape, and I wasn't about to leave her side.

Sara's condition continued to worsen. She fell into a frightening delirium not long after I arrived and started shouting things that I had no hope of comprehending. I kept my silent vigil willingly, thankful that Irons hadn't called to demand to know where I was.

He must still be asleep or else he would have called already,' I thought. But I dismissed the thoughts about Irons. At this point nothing was more important than Sara. Mixed into the bouts of delirium she had periods of lucidity and during one of these I asked her if she would take something to reduce her fever.

"I would take something if I had something to take," she remarked weakly (and circularly). "I think I'm out of aspirin, though. That last headache that didn't go away drained the bottle."

I continued to bathe her forehead. Then Sara made a request that surprised me.

"Ian? Could you call Gabriel for me? I was supposed to meet him last night but it slipped my mind and I think he's probably kind of worried about me," she said.

Gabriel Bowman was a good friend of Sara's. He was a young man in his early twenties that had started his own dot.com business by the name of Talismaniac.com that specialized in rare and unusual trinkets. She had asked him to look up information on the Witchblade for her and through this they became friends. She thought of him almost like a younger brother. Knowing him, I believed that Sara was correct in her assumption that he was probably rather worried.

"I don't know his number," I replied.

"Get my cell. It's on speed dial, button 3. That should get him," she said. "You will do that for me, right?"

"Anything for you, Sara," I said. Especially now,' I thought. "Now get some rest."

She nodded, laying back and closing her eyes. I began walking toward the coffee table where the phone was.

"Oh, and Ian?" she asked. I stopped mid-stride and looked back at her.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

I smiled, and then went off to make the call. I picked up the phone and followed Sara's instructions. Less than a second after the first ring sounded I heard, "Chief?" on the other end of the wire. Gabriel had Caller ID and I was using Sara's phone, I realized. He must have been anxious for the call.

"I apologize for disappointing you, Gabriel, but this is Ian Nottingham," I said. I wished I could have been anyone else for just a moment.

Silence.

"What are you doing with Sara's phone?" Gabriel asked, a mixture of anger and nervousness in his voice.

"Sara is ill and she wanted me to call you on her behalf. She said she had scheduled a meeting with you last night but was unable to attend because of her condition."

"Uh-huh. Right. Why should I believe you? The last few times I've talked to you haven't exactly been too friendly on your part. You threatened to kill me. Hell, you could have killed Sara and you could be trying to trap me somehow."

His words stung but I continued undaunted. I had threatened Gabriel on Irons's orders because Irons wanted to be Sara's sole informant on the subject of the Witchblade. Egotistical bastard. Unfortunately this plan backfired and Gabriel, either unaware of or not caring about the danger, continued to inform Sara on whatever he could find on the Internet.

"Yes, I did threaten you. But Sara is fond of you and I will never do anything to hurt her, so you can rest assured."

"Well, that's incredibly sweet and everything, but let me talk to her or I'll call the cops."

I looked back at the half-asleep Sara. "All right. Fine. Have it your way."