Here we go, chickadees! Second chapter! Thank you to the three reviews I've already gotten… I can always use more J Remember, I love love love criticism!
Chapter II: Sympathy
"Mummy! Mummy! Come look!"
Mrs. Neilson looked up, surprised, from her novel. She sighed, carefully replaced the bookmark, and did her best to acquire an inquisitive expression.
"All right, Pen," she smiled. The child was ecstatic at the attention. She pulled her mother's arm hurriedly, pointing towards the site of the discovery.
"Penny," her mother inquired, laughing a bit at the urgency of the situation, "What is it you've found?"
Penelope's eyes widened with anxiety. She was a small child, but her perseverance was astounding. "Mummy," she breathed, excited. "He's right over there. Hurry, quick, we have no time to lose!"
Mrs. Neilson scooped up Katherine May, her second daughter in her arms and grasped Penny's hand, eyes twinkling in mock enthusiasm. They set off across the park, mother at a quick stride, Penny beside her at a running gallop. It was a cold day for an outing in the park, but their Saturday morning strolls were a tradition, however simple. At least the rain had stopped, Mrs. Neilson thought gratefully. Penelope didn't mind the rain, but the mud and grass stains it accompanied made for extra laundry. With two young daughters, extra laundry was the last thing she needed.
"Pen," she breathed, "Where are we going?"
"Right over there, Mummy," the girl replied.
She pointed into a secluded hollow near the central lake. Here, the landscape was dotted with trees and bushes, still dripping from the early rain. The trio struggled down a slippery hillside to the sunken circle, and Mrs. Neilson was surprised to find how little light penetrated here. The evergreen trees were lush and grand, their stoic silence lending a still, hushed atmosphere to the place. Mrs. Neilson suppressed an unexpected shiver, pushing the morbid thoughts from her mind. The hollow felt like a tomb.
"There he is, Mummy! A fallen angel."
Mrs. Neilson stifled a gasp; she clasped Penny's hand tightly in fear of the gruesome sight before her. A figure lay collapsed in the center of the hollow, huddled in the fetal position on the sodden grass. Even from this distance, she could see the smears of a thick, dark liquid on the ground.
Penny was babbling, "I saw his skin and how pale it looks. He must be an angel, but he doesn't have wings. I suppose he lost them and that's why he fell! We must help him get them back…"
"Stay here!" her mother hissed, carefully setting Katherine in Penny's arms. "Watch your sister!"
Mrs. Neilson approached the figure in shock; discovering a bloody body in the grass was not an experience she wished to repeat. It was probably male, judging from the size of the body and the blurred facial features. Whichever it was had worn a sodden, ragged wool robe that wrapped tightly around the still frame. Mrs. Neilson glimpsed his face and stifled an exclamation of fear. The face was an sallow paper white, tiny veins showing blue on the thin eyelids and ears. The hair was cropped short, a simple cut, but was nearly as white as the sallow skin. Both hair and face were damp, streaked with a mixture of mud, rainwater, and blood.
Definitely male, she concluded, biting back unexpected tears. Mind racing, she placed a trembling hand on his cheekbone. The tear-streaked face was raging with fever.
"Dear God!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand back as if from a furnace. Whoever it was still lived. Carefully, Mrs. Neilson heaved the body over, allowing the face to gaze, unseeing, to the gray sky. One of his hands clasped, rather tightly, at his side, pinching the blood soaked robe in a sort of morbid, living rigormortis.
Mrs. Neilson gritted her teeth, drawing back the robe to glimpse the wound underneath. She could not see it for the blood. Panic seized her as she looked back to her daughters.
"Girls, help! Find someone!"
Penny suddenly grasped the seriousness of the situation. She bit her lip, still holding Katherine May. "Help! Someone help us!"
Slowly, but surely, people came. A burly jogger in sweats puffed over first, then a middle-aged woman and her schnauzer. They were soon joined by a teenage couple, then more.
Mrs. Neilson didn't look up from the man. Instead, frightened, she felt for a pulse, covered his wounds, and grasped his icy hand in her own.
"Er… is there somethin' oi can do, Ma'am?" the jogger had approached her, an expression of genuine worry on his face.
"He… he's hurt. We need help," Mrs. Neilson whispered.
"Oy! You 'eard 'er! Some bloke call an ambulence!"
She found her voice quickly, though it sounded weak and tremulous.
"Someone give me something to stop the bleeding. And a coat or something - he's freezing."
The jogger restated her message, much louder and in his accent. Mrs. Neilson didn't move; she exhaled in dread of the man's fate. It was not like her to care so much, but the sheer drama of the scene somehow moved her. She was not a Godly woman, but she found herself in prayer, begging for the man's safety. Biting back tears, she gave the pale hand a firm squeeze. It didn't respond.