It was enough to force him awake. His torso sprung up from the hospital bed, sending a sharp pain through his wounded leg. He groaned and clutched at his bandage.
The room was dark, with only a tiny bit of light coming through the crack of the curtain. A hand touched his shoulder. He turned suddenly and saw her, the doctor who had put him under.
“Shh,” she said, raising her index finger to her mouth. “Be quiet.”
Frederich tried to fix his gaze on her, drowsy from the morphine, still shook up by his nightmare. He took a deep breath and finally managed to make out the details of her face in the dark. His mouth and lips were parched, his body felt frail.
“Can I—”
“Keep your voice down,” she interjected with a heavy French accent. “They can hear.”
Frederich shook his head and blinked multiple times.
“Can I have water?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
She reached over to the table by the side.
“Lie down,” she whispered. “If the door opens, close your eyes.”
“Why?” he said, lowering his head to the pillow again.
“They want to take you from here. I told them you have an infection which threatens your life, and that I need to stay with you.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I believe they want to harm you.”
“Is that why you put me to sleep again?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. They were outside. If they saw you awake, they may have taken you.”
Frederich thought hard. They? If The League had sent them, then she was wasting her time. This woman seemed savvy enough to sense danger, however, and he decided he would trust her. He nodded his acceptance.
She put a plastic cup to his mouth. He reached his hands up and took it, slowly drinking all of the water, then handed the cup back. She turned her ears to the door briefly, then turned back to Frederich, seeming satisfied that there was no immediate danger outside. She gave Frederich a weary smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”
She nodded, looking pale and exhausted. Frederich had important questions for her, but could not ignore the look on her face.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
“Hmm?” she said. “Yes. It’s been a hard day.”
“What happened?”
She pursed her lips and shook her head dismissively. Frederich kept his eyes on her and waited.
“A man came in yesterday with serious head trauma,” she said. “He was severely beaten. We stabilised him. I don’t know what went wrong. He was fine when I left. We lost him some hours ago.”
Frederich silently watched her fighting with her anguish, as she alternated between near tears to stiff resistance. He had no idea how to respond. A lump emerged in his throat, and his stomach began turning. He thought for a moment. The man was probably one of The League’s targets. If so, then good riddance.
She exhaled loudly.
“There was just too much death,” she said.
Frederich’s stomach continued to turn. He cleared his throat, but it remained lumpy.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
She gave him a blank stare, as though not knowing how to answer the question.
“They told you why they arrested me?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You committed murder,” she said.
When the police turned up, Vidrik was already out of sight. All they had was a trail of dead bodies and Frederich sitting metres away in a police car with a gun. He had not killed the people they would be accusing him of. But she was still right. He had committed murder before.
“Why are you helping me?” he said again, growing more uneasy.
“The Paris police are very angry with you. You killed their friends. I don’t know what they would do if I let them take you.”
“If I did kill their friends, why does it matter?”
She tilted her head as though confused by his logic.
“You are speaking of an eye for an eye?”
He nodded.
“You don’t value your life?” she said. “You don’t value the life of others?”
Her question was like a jolt of high-voltage electricity which hit Frederich in the gut. Her grave stare cut through the darkness and penetrated him. He felt his face burn up and he turned away. There were no simple answers. Of course it was her job to blindly save lives. Did she not understand that evil did not negotiate? That it was evil which did not value the lives of others. Idealist. She can’t help it.
“What do they look like?” he asked, turning back with newly-found defiance.
“Who?”
“The policemen who want to take me.”
“They have brown hair. One has a moustache. They take turns guarding the room. Do you want to kill them?”
Frederich bit his lower lip. He shook his head.
“I just want to know who’s after me.”
“There is another man. He came asking questions. He claimed to be your brother. I didn’t trust him. I told him that we moved you to another hospital.”
Frederich frowned and stared expectantly at the doctor.
“He had a round face, strange eyes.”
Vidrik.
“And long black hair,” she added.
Frederich tilted his head.
“The hair is a disguise,” he said.
“You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Very.”
They had gone down a rabbit hole for which the doctor was not prepared. She now looked ten years older, the stress finally getting the better of her.
“You’ve done too much for me,” said Frederich. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No,” she said, opening her eyes again. “This is my unit. And you are my patient.”
Frederich snickered and shook his head. Definitely an idealist.
She moved back into the dark, returning to
