James
“What am I doing here?”
The nurse looks up from where she is fussing over something to do with my leg and over the top of her half-moon glasses. “You were shot, Mr Alexanders.”
Shot?
She straightens up, looking down at me. “You don’t remember?”
“No,” I say weakly. “I don’t”
I can still barely lift my head and can’t even consider sitting up. Michael stands over me, arms folded. “How are you feeling?”
My skull aches abominably and I still can’t think straight, thoughts dancing away If I try to concentrate on anything. As I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve the pressure a little, Charlotte strokes my fingers.
“Err.… terrible, actually,” I say. “I’ve never felt so knocked out.”
“Mmm….” Michael purses his lips. “That’s a good sign actually.”
“It is?”
“Ah-ha. It means you’re alive.”
I was shot?
I still can’t believe it.
“How long have I been here? I feel dreadful.”