She doesn’t say anything. She stares at me for a moment and then looks away. She’s quiet for a few, long minutes, then she picks up her drink, downs it in one, and slams the glass back down on the bar.
She takes a few deep breaths and then looks back at me. “I want answers. I need to understand what’s happened that could lead me here, to this moment, sat with you.”
If she was anyone else, I have no doubt she would’ve crumbled under the pressure of this long before now. I guess it’s her training as a therapist that’s given her the ability to remain mentally strong and focused, almost detached… despite the dire circumstances she’s in.
I nod. “I know you do, and I promise, I’ll tell you everything. But now isn’t the time. What I will say, is that I’ve never lied to you. I admit I… substituted certain elements of the things we discussed with metaphors to gloss over the more morally questionable parts, but I never lied. And I never will.”
She looks away and catches the eye of the barman. She holds a hand up to signal she wants a drink, and then points to her empty glass. The barman nods and sets about preparing another for her. He walks over and places a full glass of red wine in front of her, with a small napkin beneath it. She picks it up and empties it in another, quite impressive, gulp. She slams it down again and pushes it away.
Man, this woman can drink! Josh would love her.
Goddammit. There I go again!
I silently curse myself for the observation and re-focus on Kaitlyn. She’s staring at the surface of the bar, and I can see her trying to control her breathing. After a few moments, she finally looks back at me. “Okay. So, what’s our next move?”
I smile. “As much as I hate to admit it, I could do with getting to a hospital. I’m worried about my hand, and I’ve not even thought about the state my back’s probably in from all that glass. Plus, it’ll be somewhere we can rest and be relatively safe, at least for a little while. It’ll give us chance to get you up to speed and think about what comes next.”
She stands and looks across at the barman again. He smiles and moves over to us. “Yes, ma’am?”
He’s a well-dressed, well-groomed man with impeccable English.
Kaitlyn smiles. “Can you please call us a cab?”
He nods. “But of course.”
He disappears around a corner that leads into the back, presumably where the kitchen is.
Kaitlyn looks back at me and nods to my beer. “C’mon, drink up.”
I raise an eyebrow and smile.
One of the benefits of unlimited wealth is that you rarely have to wait around for anything. Money will always buy priority.
The cab dropped us at the main entrance to Rumailah Hospital, which is a short walk from the semicircular bay that makes up the coastline of Qatar, overlooking Old Palm Tree Island. It’s a large, low building made of clean, beige brick, and reminds me of something from the seventies.
However, despite its somewhat humble exterior, inside tells a very different story. It’s actually a state-of-the-art facility, clinically immaculate and mostly white throughout. The front desk that faces the entrance looks as if it belongs on the deck of the USS Enterprise. There’s a large screen hanging behind it, displaying information about the hospital. On the desk itself, there’s an array of monitors and touchscreen equipment.
To the left of the entrance is a waiting area, which was mostly deserted, given the time we got here. Opposite, on the right, the area was blocked off. I think this place has undergone some major transformations in the last six months, and a lot of the work seems to be still ongoing.
Another shining example of what can be done by the governments of the world that found themselves thriving in the aftermath of 4/17. Over here in the East, they’ve invested heavily in transportation and healthcare, which is creating jobs and, ultimately, a better way of life for not only the people who already live here, but also the people seeking refuge.
I acted out the part of a victim a little, figuring my injuries were of the extent that, if I looked as if there was nothing wrong with me, it would probably raise more questions than I would like. But I soon realized any acting was unnecessary — I’m actually in a lot of pain! The act had been me ignoring it all night, but getting to the hospital allowed me to relax a little, and the agony had quickly taken over.
The woman behind the counter took one look at me as Kaitlyn and I approached and immediately called for two orderlies to come and assist. I refused the wheelchair they offered, and they walked me through the facility and straight into my own room, which was one of many lining both sides of a wide hallway.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and asked Kaitlyn to take the cover off the bottom pillow. We were each carrying a handgun with two spare mags, so we stashed them in the pillowcase and hid it under the bed. About thirty seconds later, a doctor appeared. He was probably no more than a couple years my senior, but because his long beard was mostly gray, it made him look much older.
He had closed the door behind him and set about asking me a whole bunch of routine questions about how I sustained my injuries. Kaitlyn had taken a seat in one of the chairs facing the bed and remained quiet as I explained what had happened to me, using as many facts as I could without implicating myself in anything.
I then peeled my T-shirt off to show the doctor my back, which was an unpleasant experience. I just figured, with everything that had happened, and the climate being what it was anyway, the fact my T-shirt was sticking to me was just sweat.
It wasn’t.
Prior to getting here, I had no idea what the extent of the damage was after absorbing most of the RPG blast, but my first clue came when the doctor took one look at my injuries and muttered “Holy mother of God…” under his breath.
You don’t need a medical degree to know that’s never a good sign!
He patched up as many of the wounds as he could, carried out a full assessment to see if I had any other injuries, and then arranged an x-ray for my right hand. I was in and out and back in bed within thirty minutes, and he advised me a surgical consult would come and look at my right hand soon.
That was almost two hours ago, so I’m hoping they’ll be here any time now.
The meds he gave me have kicked in, and right now, I’m sitting up in bed enjoying the reprieve from the pain that’s been coursing through my upper body for half the goddamn day.
Kaitlyn’s asleep on the chair, curled up in a ball. I don’t think I’ll be getting any rest anytime soon, despite being in dire need of a few hours’ sleep. My mind’s far too busy trying to figure out how to stop Lily without killing her.
I know, I know…
But I don’t like being manipulated, and that’s exactly what Horizon’s doing, which makes me not want to kill her just to piss him off. That’s not the only reason, obviously, but it helps.
Don’t get me wrong, I get why The Order’s pissed at Lily, and despite everything that’s happened — everything I’ve done… I kind of agree with them, to a point. I mean, I’ve been doing the whole ‘killer for hire’ thing for a long time. I know what it takes to survive in this world, and I know what it takes to be the best. There’s no way I would’ve made the mistakes Lily did, and the fact she made them at all makes me wonder what it was she brought to the table in the first place that made The Order interested in her.