"The girl that came out, she was dressed like you," the man who had spoken had now stepped forward and was speaking nervously. He was in his night clothes and was fidgeting with his bed cap in his hands. The look on his face suggested that he thought that I was some wild beast who might charge him if he said the wrong word,

"She was dressed like you, and she was bleeding fairly badly…"

I did charge, but not at the man; I dashed the small distance to the cab, not even noticing that the people around me were parting like the Red Sea.

I pulled open the cab door and jumped in. CJ was holding her shoulder, but I could see blood running through her fingers. The bullet which had missed me had hit her. Now she was pressing a cloth over the wound, trying to suppress the bleeding.

I pulled her hand away and moved her body so the wound was in the light of a gas lamp outside and I could see it better. It was a large, red hole in her shoulder. Feeling her shoulder blade, I found no exit wound; the bullet was still in her. It must have hurt like the devil; CJ tried to sit back and raise the cloth again to her wound, but she could barely even sit up.

Moving next to her, I wrapped one arm around her waist and let her lean back on me, then I held the cloth to her shoulder. Dumas returned to our cab and we started to move. Dumas stared at us,

"How does she feel?" Dumas asked,

"How the hell should I know?" I responded angrily, I hated to think that she could die,

When we arrived again at the house, CJ struggled to free herself from my arm and walk unaided to the basement; apparently she was just as stubborn as I had been about the glass in my hand. However, she swayed after several steps; the loss of blood making her dizzy.

I caught her as she began to fall, picking her up and carrying her to the basement room. Dumas said something about fetching a doctor, and I lay CJ down on the bed. It was completely dark in the room; but I could still see she was in pain. She was turning white, but it did seem that the bleeding was slowing.

As I watched her, I knew why it was I did not want her to die; she had saved my life, it would be my fault if she died; my fault because I had not been paying attention to the other entrance. I had been responsible for many deaths in my life, but I did not want to be responsible for hers; not for hers.

"This…is not…how I …imagined my night," CJ said with a small laugh,

"You should not have done that, you should have let the bullet hit me," I said angrily,

"That…is….all you…can say?" she whispered, "I saved you…again…and all you can…say…is you were wrong?"

I knew what she wanted me to say, "Thank you for saving my life," I said stonily, somehow even now I found it hard to thank her. I did not want to owe her anything, least of all my life.

Dumas did not return. Instead, a man carrying a doctor's bag and several candles entered our room. The man lit the candles and the darkness of the room slunk away from its fire. I studied the 'doctor.' He was mid height with dirty hands and lank greasy hair, he did not seem like a doctor at all. He placed the candles on the floor next to CJ's bed and moved over her; opening his bag and removing a long set of wicked looking tweezers.

In order to see the wound, the man removed CJ's shirt, CJ whimpered slightly, and I immediately averted my eyes; however looking at the 'doctor,' he did not share in my chivalry. The 'doctor' was looking unabashedly at her bare chest. Then, in a poorly executed attempt at appearing to need leverage to remove the bullet; the doctor pushed his palm down against her breast. I heard her cry out softly and I had had enough.

Grabbing the doctor by the shirt collar; I tossed him hard against the wall of the basement. I pulled the sheet from my bed and covered CJ with it, then I took the tweezers. Peering at her shoulder wound, I pushed the tweezers into it and felt the tip hit something metal. I turned them and grabbed hold of the bullet, then pulled it quickly out. CJ groaned, and looking at her face I could see her eyes where bright and filled with tears of pain.

In the doctors bag I found the makings for a bandage and hurriedly wrapped her shoulder, which had begun to bleed again. Stepping back to look at her, she seemed oddly helpless; unable to move, pale faced and half naked. I could still see her nipples, hard from the chill of the basement, through the thin sheet, and I picked her shirt up and placed it on her as well.

I spun around, I was ready to tell the 'doctor' exactly what a miserable, wicked, foul waste of human flesh he was, and also give him reason to see a real doctor himself; but the room was empty. That slimy, crude, lecherous creature had slipped out of the room while I had tended to CJ. Moving to the door, I tried to pull it open. It was locked; I banged my shoulder against it in an attempt to force it open, but it would not budge.

Walking over to CJ it was apparent that she had fallen asleep, or passed out from pain. There was nothing more I could do for her, so I fell into my own bed. It was with angry thoughts of what I would tell Dumas the next time I saw him that I passed into a fitful sleep.