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Alex lifted her so he could move in behind her. He folded her arms up so he could clasp both hands in his right hand across her chest. His left arm wrapped around her hips. For a moment she felt safe. As his grip tightened, her heartbeat quickened. The stranger stood in front of her.
‘I am going to stitch the wound again. I will try and be quick so it is over sooner. Please do not move, it will only make it harder for us both.’ He held Alex’s belt in front of her face. ‘Bite down on this, it will help.’
He gently placed the belt into her mouth and she dutifully bit down. A moment later a needle pierced her skin and the thread pulled through, over and over, like a blunt razor grating against sensitive flesh. She bit harder, tears of pain and anger coursing silently down her cheeks. She grasped at her anger and held onto it, hissing at every pull of the thread.
Finally, the stranger completed his task. ‘I am going to bandage this now. It will be tight. Hard for you to move around. But the stitches must stay in.’ The stranger spoke as he worked.
Sarah nodded, all her energy and emotion spent. She didn’t know anything about wound care for bullet holes. She only knew she did not want to rip her stitches out again. Alex had released his hold and moved off the bed, resuming his place at the window.
‘You have the antibiotics?’ The question was directed to Alex.
‘Yes.’
‘Good, make sure she takes them. Starting now.’ The latches clicked shut on his bag. ‘You must rest for now,’ he spoke to Sarah. ‘Give your wounds time to heal, your body time to recover.’ He smiled kindly.
He strode to the door. ‘I’ll be back in two days to check the wound. Then you will need to leave this house, oui?’
The door shut behind the stranger.
Sarah lay in the bloodied sheets, feeling like she’d messed everything up. ‘I’m sorry, Alex.’
‘What? Why are you sorry?’ He came to sit beside her on the bed.
‘I managed to get myself shot, and then rip my stitches out.’
Alex brushed a lock of hair from her face. ‘Baby, you were amazing.’
She felt anything but amazing. ‘I nearly bled out under a hedge.’
‘And yet, here we are.’ He pressed his lips to her forehead.
Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed her. ‘So tired… ’
ChapterTwenty-Two
The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur of sleep and a dull, burning sensation that never quite abated. Alex was the cautious nursemaid, ensuring she took her antibiotics and remained hydrated, changing the bedding and helping her to and from the bathroom, and walked around the house as per doctor’s instructions. Occasionally she ate, but her appetite was not cooperating. They didn’t talk about anything important. Neither seemed to have the stamina for it.
He’d headed out once, for a few hours. She only knew this because she had woken minutes before he returned. His guilt at leaving her unattended was matched only by his guilt over her getting shot. Which was ironic, Alex feeling guilty for her getting shot. Sarah still felt that was her fault.
The doctor returned when he said he would, around mid-morning. He removed her bandages and commended her healing abilities. There was no sign of infection. She still needed to take it easy but she should be up and moving, carefully, around. Nothing too strenuous for the next two weeks and she should be fully recovered in six. The stitches would need to be removed in a week and the doctor gave Alex a quick tutorial on how to do this.
It took only a few minutes to pack. They’d left everything in Beaune. Alex had bought them both a fresh set of clothes to leave in. Her medication was all they had to carry. The doctor gave them a ride into the city. As they drove across the river, Sarah could see that, like Beaune, Avignon was also walled. Once inside the city, they traveled for a few more minutes until the car stopped by a small square.
A plaque readPlace St. Pierre.It was a charming cobblestone square full of creperies with lots of outdoor seating under wide, white umbrellas. The lunch time crowds were starting to gather. Sarah was stiff and sore after barely moving for three days and was grateful when Alex indicated they should take a seat under the gas heater at‘La Flourdiliz’.The menu was in French and had no photographs.
The seating area was shadowed by the side of a high gothic structure that Sarah figured was the namesake of the square, Basilica Saint Pierre. Gray stone rose into three triangular peaks, each with intricate stained-glass windows below. The spire stood majestically atop the main tower, reaching toward heaven.
The quiet cacophony of international accents suggested this was a popular tourist area. Sarah could see four narrow lanes and a wider thoroughfare leading people to and from the square. There were probably a number of hotels in the surrounding streets. A young man with light brown hair and a matching mustache appeared in the role of reluctant waiter. He seemed to have as much English as she and Alex had French. They managed to order crepes and coffee.
While they waited for their food, Sarah broke the silence and asked Alex what their next move was.
‘I’ve found an apartment for us to stay in, just down that road,’ he gestured toward the wider of the five streets. ‘It belongs to a business man who is out of town for a couple of months.’
‘Months? How long are we staying?’
‘Not that long. A few weeks, tops.’
‘Why Avignon?’
