A/N: Oooh! Some really good responses! I hope the next couple of chapters makes you feel just as strongly!
He could have stopped her if she hadn't already begun to throw herself backward even as she stole his knife. She would have gotten further, but the coat he'd draped over her shoulders caught beneath one heel and tripped her as it was pulled off and crumpled in her path as an even greater obstacle. Her brief and clumsy fall was more of a hindrance than the mere attempt to throw her body out of his reach.
Erik could only manage an inarticulate sound of objection as he whirled back toward Arabella, hand outstretched and seizing nothing but air and the tiniest scrap of her skirt between two fingertips. It slipped through his tenuous grasp easily, and he watched as she fell onto her back, scrambling after her even as she struck at herself from a strange side angle. Had she tried for a better aim, he might have been fast and lucky enough to stop her, but it was clear Arabella wasn't willing to chance being stopped.
"Tsifia!" he roared as he saw the blade sink in deep, the hilt coming to rest almost against the wound itself, but at such an odd angle to her apparent target that it bobbed obscenely over her belly. She'd sunk the blade in so deep beneath the skin that it was firmly anchored, unable to be pulled out by the weight of the hilt alone. Immediately, a dark stain began spreading from the site of her wound, although it wasn't nearly as rapidly growing as he'd feared.
Apparently, however horrible the injury, the knife might be keeping massive blood loss at bay.
He could hear Arabella's grandmother returning at a run with an inarticulate cry of her own, as he made it to Arabella's side and lifted her beneath the shoulders, clamping his hand immediately over the wound so that his fingers encircled what little blade remained outside of her body. Her eyes were enormous, mouth agape as she struggled to take in a breath. He had no doubt whatsoever she was trying to take in enough air to scream, but the pain was simply too much for her.
She was no longer crying. It was as though the force of her shock had frozen the tears that glazed over her eyes. Slowly, her eyes rolled in his direction; as though looking to him for an explanation for the self-inflicted agony.
"Don't take it out!" Tsifia barked as she sank to the ground opposite him, her black shawl already off her shoulders and bundled into what seemed a far too clumsy bandage as she began pressing it over Erik's desperate hand and around the knife. "Don't take it out! She'll only bleed more!"
"Erik…" Arabella moaned, finally able to take in breath as her hands came up from the helpless fluttering they'd been doing on either side of his grasping hand. One hand slipped under the shawl and covered his; which was already moist with her blood. The other blindly sought out the hilt her grandmother's hid almost completely.
"Don't you dare!" he hissed at her, yanking his hand from beneath hers and displacing the nearly useless giant bandage Tsifia had provided. To him it looked more like a sponge meant to keep Arabella's blood from making a mess. It certainly wasn't going to stop the bleeding! He grabbed her wrist, smearing her own blood on her skin and staring down in horror at what looked like nearly black ink. "Bella – don't you dare touch it! I won't let you do this to yourself!"
She stared up at him and managed a tiny pained smile.
"Isn't it… too late for stopping me?" she asked with an attempt at humor.
Erik growled and tossed her hand away from the knife, shifting until he could get a knee beneath her for support. Then, slowly, he began to climb to his feet. With each jolt, Arabella whimpered in further pain.
"She needs a doctor." He stated simply to Tsifia as she tried to rise with him. Her hands had taken over where his had been, pressing the shawl down against Arabella's bloody stomach around the blade. The hilt was at such an odd angle that the web of skin beneath her thumb and forefinger looked pinned to her granddaughter's stomach, but Erik knew it was nowhere near so solidly planted. It might be buried deep in his friend, but the angle was beyond bizarre, and the slightest movement could create damage beyond measure.
"You can't carry her all the way to town!" the grandmother objected, although she immediately began moving along with Erik.
"The coat." He told her quickly before they could go far. He paused and glanced at the heavy material crumpled over the rocky ground. "Lay it over her. It's heavy enough to help keep the shawl in place and keep the knife immobile."
The old woman obeyed, carefully arranging the heaviest part over Arabella's stomach so that the collar was bunched beneath her breasts, the shoulders and sleeves created the illusion of a fat belly, and the long bottom served as a blanket over her legs. Once that was done, Erik began walking rapidly again with Tsifia right at his side.
"Erik, you aren't strong enough to-"
"Do you expect me to just leave her in the woods while I search for help?" he demanded. "I can get her at least to camp. Once we get there, I can go on alone or get Mikael to carry her."
He chafed at the thought of letting their resident 'strong man' lay a finger on Arabella. He knew damn well she didn't particularly trust him because their history together wasn't entirely pleasant… but he couldn't let Arabella's past discomfort get in the way of saving her life. He doubted if Mikael was going to try and molest her in any way while she was bleeding to death with a knife sticking from her belly.
Arabella's head fell against his shoulder as he all but jogged through the woods; her eyes closed most of the way but still peering up at him through her lashes. Most of the sounds she made were soft moans or slightly more vocal whimpers of pain. She moved very little except to try and lay her hands near her knife – but both Tsifia and Erik had been careful to make sure she wouldn't have easy access to the hilt. With his heavy coat covering it - along with the black shawl - she wasn't going to be pulling it free or sinking it deeper.
"I'm sorry…" she offered again, just as she had before sinking the blade into her skin.
"Quiet, Bella." Erik panted, glancing down at her with an unaccustomed scowl before concentrating on the ground ahead once more. "Save your strength."
There was a long moment of virtual silence as they worked their way back toward camp. Erik was terrified for Arabella but also felt surprisingly infuriated with her. He couldn't bring himself to actively blame what she'd done, but he deplored her inability to believe in his love enough to reconsider what she was about to do.
Maybe it was his fault for not loving her better… but he couldn't control the pace she'd chosen for them.
"Don't hate me…" Arabella finally pleaded quietly with a slight whine to her voice. "I know you're disgusted, but-"
"Se taire, Bella!" he commanded with a winded huff of frustration. "I don't hate you. Now stop wasting your strength – and mine!"
His arms were aching by the time he reached camp. He crouched at the edge of the wood and shifted his coat and Tsifia's shawl to see how bad the bleeding was. He didn't even remove the shawl entirely, his hand coming into contact with even more sticky wetness before he could find it. Instantly his palm pressed down around the wound and his eyes lifted to Tsifia as she crouched beside him and looked on.
"The doctor…" he panted. "I need to find him – now."
"No doctors…" Arabella sighed; her voice barely audible.
Tsifia pressed her lips together crossly as she looked with tear glazed eyes at her granddaughter.
"If I have to remind you to be quiet one more time…" Erik began with true irritation. "I will gag you with a bloody piece of this shawl."
With a fresh grunt, he lifted Arabella into his arms once more and began running on the finally reasonably flat and clear ground. He didn't bother searching for Mikael. He couldn't waste the time. Instead, leaving Tsifia struggling behind him, he began moving as fast as his body would carry him, back screaming and arms trembling from his effort.
Arabella hadn't been perfectly still or quiet the entire trip through the forest. At time she would try to talk to Erik, or even lament aloud to herself as though expecting him to pay attention to points she'd already tried to make earlier. She would shift and wriggle not only in pain but in feeble attempts to escape him or grab the knife. The efforts seemed to have exhausted her, because his warning actually worked as he headed into town. She was very still and quiet, and he found himself continually glancing down at her, pulling her face up as close to his throat as possible to be certain she was still breathing. Each time he felt the soft movement of her breath on his neck, he sighed in sheer relief.
The festivities had drawn to a close by the time he half-stumbled and half-ran into the square; but there were still plenty of people scattered about. He opened his mouth to bellow for help, but only a wheeze escaped. Glancing once more down at Arabella, he felt his entire body go once more still in the briefest of panic at her unconscious state. He wanted to stop and check on her, but he knew he couldn't. All he could do was slow to a walk and force himself to breath heavily.
"Help me!" he cried to a group he saw loitering by an alleyway. The group as a whole turned toward him, and he picked up his pace to reach them even faster, despite the trouble he was having breathing. He was shaking from head to toe, his back was in agony, and his feet were forming blisters.
"What's wrong?" someone demanded, although it was much too dark to immediately make out their automatic spokesperson.
"A doctor!" he pleaded in a squeaky breath. "My friend needs a doctor!"
He'd just about reached them. Their eyes scanned over him and Arabella briefly, but their faces held the most quizzical expressions.
He realized he'd been babbling in French.
"Please… a doctor…" He forced himself to slow down and speak Spanish, although the correct accentuation of each word came out uncharacteristically clumsy. "My friend… needs a doctor."
They looked to Arabella again as realization dawned, and one of them straightened immediately; whether in fear or determination he couldn't be certain.
"I know you!" one of them cried suddenly from the back of their small crowd. "You're the freak from the gypsy clan!"
His eyes instantly narrowed, and it felt like fire flashed through his blood… but his hold on Arabella only tightened.
"My friend is dying." He said as coolly as possible. "Please…"
"That's a gypsy…" another group member murmured, both fascination and disgust in his voice.
Frustrated further, Erik lurched into the center of the crowd and growled loudly.
"She needs help now!" he bellowed, his volume finally returning as one hand gripped Arabella so tightly she actually whimpered in her sleep.
His voice took most of them off guard, but not for long or in the desired way. They all stiffened, squaring their shoulders and slowly falling into formation for a fight. Only one of them remained still and reasonably calm as Erik scuttled backward; more worried about keeping Arabella safe in his arms than what this group might do to him.
He was saved by a firm voice behind him.
"What's going on? What's wrong?"
He whirled halfway round, taking steps to carefully keep the new intruder in sight while still able to see the group he'd just been antagonizing. An older man and woman stood arm in arm by the nearest lamp post, looking exhausted and a little shaky on their feet from drink – but still sober enough to interfere.
"Please…" he implored again, despising the begging tone in his voice. "My friend is dying. She's been stabbed. I need a doctor."
The woman of the two had cringed from the sight of his mask, but the man seemed utterly unsurprised. Erik wondered briefly if the man recognized him from performances at camp or from the square earlier that evening. Maybe it was simple as having seen Erik run past with Arabella in his arms moments before.
The man looked him up and down briefly, and then stepped forward to examine Arabella with more thoroughness. He reached out to touch the coat over her injury, but Erik jolted back.
"If she wakes up she'll pull it out." He explained quickly. "She did this to herself. It's holding the knife in place."
He winced briefly at his backward sentences, but the man clearly understood. He gave one hard nod and then glared over Erik's shoulder at his group of would-be enemies.
"Go home." He commanded.
The man motioned shortly for Erik to follow him, so he fell immediately into line. The woman continued to crane her body away from him, eyeing him from the corner of her vision the entire time; but she said absolutely nothing – not even to her gentleman friend.
"Who are you?" Erik asked with forced curiosity.
"I'm the doctor's son." He stated simply. "Eva, please run ahead and wake Father. Tell him what I'm bringing him."
As the woman ardently obeyed – no doubt hoping to get as far away from Erik as humanly possible – Erik sighed in relief.
"Thank you, Signor." He offered.
The man made another curt motion as though to tell him not to bother with his gratitude but continued walking.
They were just reaching a small but handsome two-story house when Arabella jerked violently in Erik's arms and he nearly lost his hold on her. He looked down into her face desperately, thinking she'd awoken with renewed fight, but that wasn't the issue. Her face was again twisted in pain as she tried to curl up into herself around the knife in her stomach. She was groaning and gasping in pain far worse than when she'd sunk the blade into herself.
The man turned to see what had happened, and his eyes went enormous at the sight of Erik holding his friend barely inches off the ground as her hands fought for purchase over her stomach in a blind action of obvious agony. He rushed back down the steps from the door he'd been oh-so-politely knocking on and swept Arabella right out of his tentative hold and hoisted her into his own. Erik tried clinging to her; but only briefly in his desperation to keep her where he knew she was relatively safe.
It was Eva who opened the door as they hurried back up the stairs. Neither Erik nor the man were particularly concerned with politeness; brushing past her as she made room for their entrance, and striding down a short hallway into a back room. The couple exchanged short words, but Erik was beyond paying attention by then. His senses were entirely locked on the gypsy girl in the Spaniard's arms as she fought weakly but like a tiger due to her pain – and no doubt fear.
"I'm here, mira kom!" he assured her in a loud but still hopefully soothing tone, pressing as close behind the helping mans' back as he dared. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. Don't be scared. I'm getting you help."
"Oh…" she moaned, her head falling back until she stared at the passing wall and blinked at the upside down imagery. "Hurts… something's wrong…"
Erik would have snorted under less dire circumstances. It was all too obvious that something was wrong. Maybe the knife had moved inside her in spite of his best efforts to keep it still. No doubt her sudden struggling had something to do with it as well.
They rushed into a back room where a far older gentleman in spectacles and dressing gown was busily preparing for their arrival. There were others in the room as well – two younger boys who looked much closer to Erik's own age, and a woman who could only have been the old mans' wife – or perhaps spinster sister. It didn't matter who they were, as long as the old man was the doctor.
The man who'd helped Erik placed Arabella on a high platform that looked more like a work bench than an operating table, and Erik stood right up by her head, taking one of her hands in his and feeling as she squeezed it with all her strength. She wasn't crying in her pain, but her eyes were glazed and she looked more frightened than he'd ever seen her before.
"Let's see…" the old man offered, approaching and pulling off Erik's coat. He hesitated when he saw the shawl also covering the wound. It was damp all the way through with blood, but not soaking wet except on the fabric closest to the injury. He was more cautious about removing the black material, but sighed in relief when he saw she wasn't utterly gushing. His eyes rose to Erik's and became hard. "How did this happen?"
"She did it to her-"
Erik broke off as the doctor removed the shawl entirely, which partially covered her upper legs and skirt due to all his running. It had displaced itself slightly since leaving the woods.
Arabella's skirt was wet with blood that had not come from her knife wound. There was enough of a trail to show that yes, some of the blood from her knife wound had managed to trickle beneath her blouse and down lower because of the position she'd been carried in… but this was distinctly separate from what little had gotten that far. There was a space between where her wound blood had stopped trickling, and where the fresh blood had clung to whatever material slipped between her thighs.
Erik tried to tell himself briefly that perhaps she'd actually urinated in her shock, pain, and unconsciousness… but he knew better. There was no hint of that kind of a smell surrounding her. Urine was far too pungent an odor to miss.
"What's happening?" he demanded in a high voice he didn't recognize at all as his own. Arabella was writhing on the table top in clear discomfort and pain, her head rolling aimlessly from side to side.
The doctor looked just as appalled as he felt.
"Dear God…" he breathed. "Get him out of here! Now!"
"What?" Erik fought instantaneously as hands clamped firmly around his forearms from behind. "Why? What did I do? What's happening? What's happening to her?"
The man who'd helped him so far wrestled Erik laboriously from the room, gaining help from the two younger boys he could only assume were brothers. They weren't gentle about it either – but neither was he. He kicked and tried to throw punches, snapping with his very teeth in attempt to remain near Arabella. The snarls that escaped were nothing less than animalistic in his desperation.
"Stop!" he implored as his feet crossed the threshold to the room. "She's my wife!"
The word simply slipped out of him, but the inspiration it created in all three boys made them hesitate in their shoving; before his renewed fight made them throw him against wall opposite the doorway. He recovered quickly, spinning to face the three men who had slammed the door behind them and left Arabella alone with the doctor and his wife. They stood with their hands to either side; apparently expecting another renewed fight but wary of what he'd just said.
"You said friend." The oldest man accused. "Earlier, you called her your friend. How do we know you didn't do this to her?"
"I didn't." Erik stated firmly. "I can't prove it… but I was trying to stop her. Please… she's pregnant…"
The boys looked between each other uneasily, but stood their ground. Only the elder of the three didn't seem surprised by this statement. No doubt he'd suspected as much based on the bleeding between Arabella's legs that could only have occurred for one reason.
"If that's true, then I'm sorry." The eldest spoke again. "But whether you did it or not, you'll only be in my father's way. You should go outside and wait."
Erik shook his head.
"No… I promised I wouldn't leave her."
"You don't have a choice." One of the younger brothers stated; and Erik rolled his eyes at the boy who thought he was as tough as his older brother.
"Until my father tells me otherwise, you need to go." The elder man took over once more, resting a hand of reprimand on his outspoken brothers' shoulder. "The police might need to be summoned if he thinks you caused this. If you cause trouble here, I'll call them myself."
"She did this to herself." Erik swore in a strained, choked whisper. "She did this to herself…"
"Your wife stabbed herself in the stomach while pregnant?"
Again, it was the apparently obnoxious younger brother who spoke. Erik moved so quickly that he hadn't even decided to do it. One moment he was hearing the sneering doubt in his ears, and the next he'd shoved the boy against the door jamb behind him and had him pinned with one hand around his throat. His eyes were ablaze behind the mask; particularly since at that same moment he heard Arabella shrieking for him.
"What's going on out there?" the doctor demanded. "Boys! Get in here! I need your help!"
"My wife has suffered more abuse than any thousand women deserve." He growled as the boys' two brothers leaped on him and tried to pull their brother to safety. "Don't you ever accuse me of doing the same to her! Keep your ignorant comments to yourself!"
"Oh my God!"
It was the voice of the eldest brother's wife that kept him from doing more harm. In his frustration he only wanted to rend things to pieces, but he knew that doing so would hardly help Arabella. He turned to stare at the woman who stood at the end of the hall with her hands clasped over her mouth and nose, her eyes as wide as saucers.
There was a moment of quiet as he released the impertinent youth who'd dared question his love and devotion to Arabella after he'd run what felt like miles to reach help.
"Boys!" the doctor bellowed more impatiently. "Now!"
The two brothers defending their kin released him and hurried back into the doctor's secluded room as they were summoned; their fallen third brother following much more slowly. Erik could feel the glaring eyes on his back until the door closed behind him. He could only look at Eva as she continued standing in the hallway, gaping at him.
"I'm sorry, Signora." He offered with false meekness. "I'm not myself. I won't harm anyone here."
She didn't believe him. He could clearly see it in her eyes… but she didn't run or scream.
She had courage; that one. He could respect courage.
Even in his anger over what seemed like a selfish decision on Arabella's part, Erik could even respect the bravery it had taken her to seal his knife and sink it into her own skin. She thought she'd been doing it at least partly out of self-sacrifice, and that was one of the bravest acts any human could commit.
He turned back to what he assumed was properly considered a crude operating room, but the door had been locked against him. Moaning, he thumped a fist of frustration against the thick wood, leaning his forehead against it to get himself as close to Arabella as possible. Eva slowly lowered her hands to waist level, clasping them anxiously as she watched him.
"She'll… she'll be all right." The woman offered with surprising assurance. "My father-in-law is brilliant. He'll be able to save her – if anyone can."
Swallowing thickly, Erik nodded his thanks to her; but couldn't speak past the lump growing in his throat. He was listening too keenly to the sounds of four men talking over each other – and over Arabella's hysterical cries – as they sought to restrain her.
She had so much fight in her… he wished he could be in there at her side to calm her… He couldn't even begin to imagine why she was panicking so badly after what she'd knowingly set out to do. Was it the pain? Was it the fear of being so thoroughly soaked in blood? Even with a death wish, she had more than enough instinctive desire to survive that surely it could be the cause of her upset.
It wasn't until he considered what a frightened and wounded girl with her history might think of four men towering over her that he understood. Dread filled him.
"Let me in!" he bellowed again, pounding afresh on the door as Eva crept uneasily closer to him and reached out to tentatively soothe him without ever coming close to actually laying her hand on him.
"She'll be all right!" she insisted. "Please, Signor…"
"You don't understand!" Erik moaned miserably. "I don't think…"
But he couldn't share his Arabella's secrets with this woman… and he could never explain to her the signs he'd already witnessed in his beloved gypsy princess. Groaning, he thumped his head multiple times against the office door, slapped it with the flat of one hand, and then turned to slide down the wall and onto the floor. His fingers locked into a death grip on what existed of his hair.
Arabella stopped making any noise at all three minutes later; and when his demands to know what was happening went ignored, he listened as closely as he could to the nearly inaudible murmurings on the other side of the door. Tears pricked at his eyes but he refused to believe all his struggle had failed the girl he loved so dearly.
Don't die, Mira Kom. Please… don't die… don't die…
Se taire: Shut up