Hope I didn't make you feel too ill with that last one. I've come up with a method to divide the scenes up a bit better, hope that helps when reading. Again, there are a few gross scenes, but nothing you can't handle if you're age-appropriate. Please keep the reviews coming, you've all been so nice and I'm a flattery-whore! As always, me no own, you no sue.
Susan was sprawled on the floor of the bathroom next to the lavatory, her face a deathly white and her face scrunched up in pain. She had fainted. The room smelled sharply of bile, but far worse was the patch of dark blood which was slowly seeping through Susan's nightdress.
Frantically, Lucy tore off a length of tissue paper from the roll and with no trace of embarrassment pressed the wad between her sister's legs, hoping to staunch the bleeding.
Peter collapsed to his knees beside them: "Su! Wake up! Can you hear me? Wake up, damn you!" and hating himself, he smacked his sister sharply across the cheek.
Her eyes fluttered but she was not awake; she moved fitfully and moaned in her unnatural sleep. Lucy laid a sweaty, bloodied hand on Susan's forehead – her sister was burning up. Peter and Lucy exchanged frightened glances, but not a word passed between them. There was nothing they could do now but wait and pray.
Susan fidgeted, and a sound escaped her lips. It could have been delirious nonsense, but it sounded to Peter and Lucy like: "Aslan."
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Edmund sprinted down the deserted street, not really knowing where he was going but unable to stop. It was just starting to get light. His heart pounded fearfully in his chest as he rounded the corner and skidded to a halt at the recreation ground.
In the thin, pale light of the dawn he could dimly make out the swings, the slide, the climbing frame… and then beyond that, the dark patch of scrubby bushes and low trees where he had discovered his sister the night before.
Scrunching his eyes shut, Edmund tried in vain to banish the ugly pictures that sprang into his head, but before he could prevent it, tears were spilling down his cheeks. The rage seemed unendurable, but he knew that his suffering was utterly insignificant when compared to the torment that Susan was facing. Susan. What was he doing? He had to find help.
And help came. A low voice, warm and full of love entered his mind and dried his tears:
"Courage, Son of Adam. Courage… and a cool head. Think clearly now. I am never far away."
And Edmund knew at once where he had to go.
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Doctor Steadman lived two streets away from the Pevensies. Edmund knew of him because the physician was a member of his father's club, and he knew exactly where he lived because Susan had often admired the house as she passed.
"I should so love to live in a house like that, Ed," she had sighed, one summer evening, six months ago. "Maybe I'll marry a rich doctor one day, who knows?"
He had been walking her home from her dance class, as the sun was setting over the roofs of the tall brick houses. She had laughed then, and shook her head squeezing his arm. He had laughed too.
Now, as he stood in front of the house his sister had so coveted, Edmund had to admit – it was an attractive building, tall and gracious. The door was painted black, and the knocker was in the shape of a lion's head. As he took hold of the brass ring, a shaft of early morning sunlight peeped through the clouds making the bright metallic face gleam.
Comforted, Edmund knocked vigorously and without pause until the door was wrenched open to reveal a dishevelled young woman in a starched apron and cap.
"Who are you? What do you need?" she questioned him abruptly, obviously not entirely unused to this type of visit.
"If you please Miss, I'm Edmund… My father is David Pevensie. I need to see the doctor straight away. Please, is he here? It's my sister…" Edmund implored.
"Of course he's here! Where else would he be at six 'o' clock in the morning? You wait there; I'll go and fetch him," and with that, the maid turned and hurried away.
Edmund stood in the hall and fidgeted nervously, looking all about him. It really was a nice house. He could imagine Susan living somewhere like this - She should have a home this beautiful, one day - He just hoped he would get to see that day arrive. He soothed his nerves by trying to commit as much of his surroundings to memory as possible, promising himself that he would tell Susan all about the chequered marble floor and the elegant velvet curtains… once she was better.
A few moments later, Doctor Steadman came hurrying down the stairs. He looked a little unkempt, but he was the most wonderful sight to Edmund's swollen eyes. The maid followed close behind, carrying the doctor's bag and his overcoat, which she helped him efficiently into. Straightening his tie while simultaneously moving towards the front door, the doctor finally turned his attention to Edmund.
"Right-o son. Lead the way."
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"Peter! Lucy, he's here!"
Edmund fell through his own front door, closely followed by the physician, and hollered up the stairs. In an instant, Peter was standing at the top, looking slightly green.
"Thank you for coming, sir. Please hurry, she's in there."
Doctor Steadman took the stairs two at a time, with Edmund a step behind him. As he passed, Peter pointed the way, then grabbed his brother's arm and nodded his silent thanks. Both boys followed the older man along the landing to her bedroom where Susan now lay.
The doctor's practiced eye took in the situation in a moment. He nodded his greeting to Lucy and pushed her gently away from the bedside. Susan was conscious now, but not really aware. Her face was flushed, and she writhed a little in apparent pain – her eyes were glossy with tears. Little bundles of bloodied tissue paper lay on the bedside table and on the floor, but if the doctor was in any way shocked, he did not show it.
"Right, I see. Has the bleeding stopped?"
"Pretty much," Lucy whispered, and she looked down at herself, noticing as if for the first time the dark stains on her hands and dress.
"You've done well, young lady. Good instincts. Now clear everyone out of here please, I need to attend to your sister."
Reluctantly, the three Pevensies left the room, shutting the door softly behind them. As one, they headed for the room next door, which belonged to the two boys. Lucy sat down next to Peter on his bed; Edmund sat opposite them on his own divan.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Then all of a sudden, Peter had leapt up and was punching the wall, again and again.
"Peter, stop it!" Lucy shrieked, catching hold of his arm as it swung back in preparation for another blow. Immediately at his sister's touch he ceased fighting and went limp. His whole body sagged and his pressed his now bloodied hands to his eyes.
The pain in his fist helped somewhat to lessen the pain in his heart, but it seemed that nothing could block out the accusatory voice which was screaming in his head. Eventually he could contain it no longer, and the tears came flooding out as he wailed:
"This is all my fault!"