Chapter 2

Ducky was worried...about more than just Tim's injuries. The four men were arguing and were shouting at each other. The one who had stabbed Tim now had Tim's gun...which was loaded.

"D-Ducky?"

Ducky looked back down at the injured young man. Tim was trembling from the pain and the knife had more than likely punctured a lung. Tim was wheezing slightly. One of his hands moved toward the knife.

"No, Timothy. Leave it where it is."

"It...hurts...Ducky."

"I'm sure it does, lad, but if you pull out the knife, there will be nothing to control the bleeding."

"What's...going on with...them?" he asked. The hand was still near the knife.

Ducky batted Tim's hand away.

"They're trying to decide what to do, but it's not looking good right now."

"Doesn't...look good from where I'm...sitting either."

Tim's eyes squeezed shut and a couple of tears escaped.

Ducky was worried, extremely worried. Without getting him to a hospital for treatment, Tim would die...but not quickly. It would be a pain-filled, long, drawn-out death. His pleural cavity would likely fill with blood from the puncture and he would suffocate...if he didn't die from the blood loss first.

There was nothing he could do here. If he pulled out the knife, it might reduce the pressure, but the blood flow would likely increase so much as to kill Tim more quickly. Ducky hated feeling helpless, unable to do anything.

Then, one of Tim's hands flailed around a little, looking for Ducky. Ducky took his hand and squeezed gently.

"Yes, lad?"

"Nothing...you can do?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"And...you're sure...that...you can't...pull out the knife?"

"Positive."

"Then..."

"What, lad?"

"Could you...just...talk...to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything...just...to...take my mind...off it?"

Tim's hand squeezed Ducky's tightly and a whimper escaped his lips. He opened his eyes slightly and tried to smile.

Ducky smiled back.

"Would you prefer real-life reminiscences or stories?"

"What are you talking about over here?"

The angry voice startled Tim and he jumped just enough to increase his pain. He moaned.

Ducky looked up at the man. He looked to be in his mid- to late-twenties. It was not the one who had stabbed Tim. In fact, he looked more frightened than angry.

"This man is badly injured. He needs medical attention that I cannot give. Please, let him go."

"No one's leaving...especially not him. What are you talking about?"

"I was about to tell him a story to take his mind off the pain he is feeling from being stabbed in the chest," Ducky said...and was rewarded by a slight wince.

"Don't try anything."

"What could I possibly try with my friend in danger of dying?"

The man withdrew to talk to his comrades, probably telling them that these two by themselves at the end of the car were not dangerous.

"Ducky?"

"It's all right, Timothy. He has gone again."

"I'm sorry...I can't...help."

"Don't worry about it. Nothing can be done at the moment. You know...I still remember the first time I rode the London Underground."

"Really?" Tim asked.

"Yes. I was a young lad, out with my parents for a trip to London. Getting around on the Underground is the most convenient method and I was actually afraid of it. Can you believe it? I was afraid of going down into the stations. I was frightened of the turnstiles. I was frightened of the trains themselves. They were so loud and so fast. I do believe that I may have even shed a tear or two in my fright."

Tim gave a smile...which then turned into a grimace of pain. The grip on Ducky's hand tightened still more. Ducky did not try to stop Tim's grip. He simply covered Tim's hand with his own free hand and continued his story.

"Then, my mother convinced me to get on board and I did so, reluctantly. We rode on the train and I was just starting to feel as though it was akin to a carnival ride when our stop came. I got off the train and I was shocked to discover that we were not in the same station...and that when we exited the station, we were in a completely different place. I was amazed that it was possible for something like that to happen."

"What...were...you seeing?"

"You know...I can't, for the life of me, remember where we were going. Strange."

Tim laughed and then began to pant. His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.

"...ow..." Then, he smiled.

"I realize that this will be a foolish question, Timothy, but try to answer it anyway. How are you feeling?"

"Like...I got...stabbed, Ducky."

"Be more specific."

"Feels like...every...time I take a breath...there's a skewer being twisted in my chest. It feels...like my lung is getting squeezed...harder to b-breathe."

"I see."

"What...does that mean, Ducky?"

"It means that I should perhaps try to persuade these men to let you go."

Ducky tried to get up, but Tim's grip tightened and he shook his head.

"No...you need to wait."

"For what?"

"For them to get a little less...chaotic. We don't want them...to start shooting in panic."

"Might it not be better while they are unorganized?"

"I think...they might be...on something. Logic won't work. Not yet."

"I should try," Ducky said and again tried to stand.

"No...Ducky...don't." Tim opened his eyes and using some of the energy he could scarcely stand to lose, he levered himself up briefly. "Don't...put yourself...in danger. I...don't want you...getting hurt. I can't...manage...on my own." Then, he fell back to the floor and let out a groan.

"Very well, Timothy. I will stay, but I don't like not being able help you. This is not a good situation."

"Yeah...I know." Tim's hand spasmed in Ducky's and Tim swallowed. "How long?"

"Until what?"

"Don't pretend...you don't know, Ducky."

Ducky sighed but decided not to hide it.

"Without treatment, a matter of hours I would guess, depending on how much blood is collecting in your pleural cavity."

"What does that...mean?"

"Hemothorax. The area surrounding your lung, your right lung, has been penetrated and that is why you are having trouble breathing. Blood is no doubt filling your pleural cavity even as we speak. What I don't know...and can't know is how much...and how quickly. All I know is that the pleural cavity can hold nearly half your blood volume...and you could easily die of blood loss even without much being found outside your body."

Tim looked at him, eyes frightened, and he nodded as he tried to keep breathing through his pain.

"Okay...tell me another story...Ducky," he said, breathlessly. "Let's...go with fiction, this time."

Ducky forced himself to smile.

"All right, lad." Ducky wracked his brain to find something to say...and then hit upon a story. "Did you know that there are striking similarities between myths found in ancient Japan and in ancient Greece?"

"No."

"You are familiar with Greek mythology?"

"Some...not all..."

"Very well. In Greek mythology, there is a story of Orpheus and Eurydice in which Eurydice was killed and Orpheus then traveled to Hades to get her back."

"I know...that one."

"Good. Well, there is an equivalent or rather a similar story in Japanese mythology."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is found in the tale of Izanagi and Izanami, the primal couple in Japanese mythology. They went down to earth to have children, but Izanami gave birth to the Fire God, Kagutsuchi, and he burned her body and she died. Izanagi went to Yomi, the Japanese underworld, to see if he could retrieve his wife. She met him at the entrance and told him not to look at her while she went to the gods to ask them. Izanagi wanted to see his beloved wife and so he went against her wishes and lit a torch. He saw that she was a rotting corpse. Izanami was angry that Izanagi had betrayed her and so she pursued him along with a number of other deities. Izanagi reached the earth once more and blocked the entrance to Yomi with a large stone. Through the stone, the two essentially got a divorce."

"That's...a little different...from the Greek."

"Yes, a bit different indeed, but remember these are still two separate cultures. It is by no means certain why there are such similarities."

"Fascinating."

Suddenly, Tim began to breathe faster again. Then, he curled inward, pressing his free hand against his chest.

"Help...Ducky..."

"I'm so sorry, lad. I can't."

The bout of pain lasted for about five of the longest minutes in Ducky's life and then Tim was able to relax slightly and go back to the pain-filled gasps.

"I'm here, Timothy. I'm still here."

Tim squeezed Ducky's hand.

"So...am I...Ducky."

More tears from Tim's eyes as he blinked at the ceiling.

"Ducky..."

"Yes, lad?"

"Tell me...another story...please."

"Of course. How about...some stories about Odin, the ruler of Asgard?"

"Sounds good."

"All right. Odin was a god of magic and of divination. He was also a military leader..."

Ducky continued to speak, but he couldn't help noticing that Tim was growing pale, a sure sign that the hemothorax was worsening. He looked back toward the center of the car where the men were still standing, all of them still armed...without any obvious goal in mind.

He feared that Tim would die before any help could arrive.