Redemption - Leon Uris [335]
“Sorry, General, I will not dance for you.”
“Well, we’ll see. We’ll see how close I can come to that lovely face of yours, before I blow it to pieces. You’ll notice my pistol is also what a lady would carry. I’ll put it in your hand after I split your head in half. When they find you…simple case of suicide…mother’s grief…”
“Brodhead!” a man’s voice boomed out.
The shock diverted him with its roaring suddenness. He turned about, looking, and in that instant Caroline was able to duck behind the stone fireplace.
Three shots boomed out from the direction of the staircase to the balcony. Brodhead fired back at a figure moving down the stairs. Rory was hit and tumbled down to the bottom of the steps.
Brodhead staggered up from his chair, screamed, then slipped to the floor, his pistol sliding out of reach and blood gushing from his chest.
Caroline came into the center of the room. Brodhead reached for his pistol. Caroline quickly picked up Rory’s and aimed. Her hand was solid as steel. As Brodhead’s fingers touched his pistol, Caroline fired, and she was dead true.
“Rory! Rory!”
He propped his back against the steps. “Listen up-no time for panic or discussions…ask only easy questions…move quickly…”
“Hit? Where?”
“Shoulder…neck…see if bullet passed through…”
She leaned him forward, ripped his shirt open, and felt his back. Blood and a hole. “Yes, it went through. There’s blood on your back.”
“He dead?”
“Very.”
“Get his pistol.”
He examined it and nodded. “Good. Small caliber. He meant to do your face in up close…. Vodka…poteen…”
“I’ve got it.”
Rory pointed to his own mouth and she fed him several large gulps. “Give me something to bite on…then pour vodka in wound….”
Caroline grabbed a towel, folded it, and slipped a corner of it into his mouth. He nodded and clamped down. In went the vodka. Rory bordered on fainting…his eyes rolled back, but he brought himself to bite down one or more time. Caroline filled a second towel with the remains of the vodka and sponged his face and tears and snot.
“Ice?” he groaned.
“Yes, there was some in the ice shed. I brought it in last night.”
“Pillow case, fill in ice…front…back…then wrap it on…immobilized arm.”
“Iodine first?”
“No…vodka is fine…bullet probably cauterized wound.”
Rory drank in great deep gulps while she quickly cut up sheets, packed the ice, and with his directions bandaged his arm against his body.
“Tighter…more booze…drink…watch bleeding…”
Calm, thank God. The blood color of the wound was lightening. Good.
“Are you going to go into shock?”
“Fuck no!”
“Oh, my baby, my baby,” she let herself go, “make it for me, baby.”
“Aye…do my best…the plan is fucked…we have to think smart.”
“The pain?”
“Bad…upstairs…balcony…medical kit…morphine.”
As Caroline found it she looked up to the rafter and saw where he had been hiding. God only knows, he might have been there for days.
“Easy on the morphine…about third of syringe…don’t want to go under…”
In good time the morphine took hold, and although woozy, he was comfortable. The bleeding slowed further. Shoulder blade, collarbone, dislocated? Jesus, what?
“I can talk better.”
“How long have you been hiding up there?”
“When I left you in Belfast, I reported to a hospital and private doctor in Scotland, then doubled back to Ireland. Almost four days in that crawlspace.”
“Oh my darling!” Caroline cried, holding his head to her. “I love you so, Rory. The moment you walked in my house and told me I’d find a path to take to make life worth living, I was already walking on it. You are my path to life, Rory. I asked God…I asked God…if it were wrong of me to start feeling