The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

43

The doors to the apartment building swing open into the night before I've even pulled up. Rain slaps against the windows of the Bentley. I'm still shaking and slam on the brakes, a fitting conclusion to my erratic driving — primarily because I'm fighting to keep Jonathan conscious.

Harleen flings open the passenger door, assessing Jonathan momentarily before beginning to lift him, straining, rain soaking her through. "How long's he been unconscious?" She asks me.

I stumble out of the car and run around to help. "Since we got off the phone," I tell her. "He drifts in and out."

His eyelids flicker open at the sound of my voice. He murmurs, "Sienna?"

"I'm here, sweetie." I take his legs and Harleen takes his arms and we carry him into the building. I hit my shoulder against the elevator button and it opens instantly.

Revealing a janitor ready to depart.

He glances at us. Harleen and I, unconscious man lifted between us.

This looks really suspicious.

Harleen bears her teeth in a grin. "How ya doing?"

Thankfully, he wastes no time in scarpering, and we half lift, half drag Jonathan into the elevator while he groans in pain.

"How much blood has he lost?"

"Not much," I say. Pray it's true. "It soaked through his blazer but then eased up..."

We muscle him in through the door to the apartment and Harleen runs into the bathroom. I lift Jonathan onto the sofa, trying to make him comfortable. Every muscle of my body burns from the weight.

"Let me have a look." Harleen pauses, medical kit in hand, biting her lip and glancing at me guiltily. She clears her throat. "Doctor Crane, do you mind if I... remove your pants?"

He's silent. Unconscious once more.

I clear my throat. "I appreciate the respect, Harleen, but I doubt he'll have any words of protest."

"Right."

She quickly gets to work, peeling clothing from his thigh. I can barely look, and then once I do, I can't bear to tear my gaze away. He's soaked in blood. Harleen presses wads of gauze into the wound and he sucks in air through his teeth, momentarily conscious again. I take his hand in my own, kneeling beside him on the floor. Push his hair back from where it's slick with sweat across his forehead.

"I need more saline solution. Fetch me some from the bathroom cabinet. I've got the big bottle to refill my contacts."

I do as Harleen asks, and when I get back, she's got his leg elevated and is still pressing gauze down.

She grimaces. "There's no bullet. It was only a graze. Didn't even hit the muscle. Thank god, or he'd be..." She swallows. Decides not to finish the sentence. Takes the saline solution and checks on the wound beneath the gauze. "Lift his head for me, would you? We need to reduce intracranial pressure. You know how to check vitals?"

"Only... Only what they taught us in first aid."

"Okay. I need you to check his pulse."

My fingers find Jonathan's wrist and, once again, the leather band of his watch. I hold my breath as I stare at his watch and count.

"Eighty per minute."

Harleen releases a sigh. "Thank god. Okay, he won't need a blood transfusion. We should be able to treat him here." She begins weaving dental floss through a needle. "Check his breathing. Count how many times his chest rises in one minute."