Forced to be His

Part Thirty Six

ANGELICA

Previously

A large man stood over Greg, who laid on the floor, blood oozing out of his arm, leg and shoulder. He was struggling to reach for his gun.

Just as he did, the man kicked away his weapon and stepped on Greg's wrist, causing it to break. The man began to smile sickeningly, and bent down towards Greg, placing a knife at his throat. 

Time seemed to be passing in slow motion. Behind Angelica lay a young boy in her own bedroom that she had shot, and in front of her lay a nearly old man with a knife to his throat, struggling to compose himself. She had seen that look before in someone's eyes when she had been on medical placement. 

The look of pain yet solace. The person who shared the same look was suffering in agony, yet they were very ready to let go of their life, as if they had seen everything and everyone they had needed to. The look of letting go. 

Greg stopped struggling to reach for any form of weaponry and stared up into the mans eyes above him, almost making sure that the man could stare at his kill.  But what would that do? The man above Greg seemed enthralled by the idea, and his smile seemed to have become more menacing. Angelica was stuck. Frozen to her core. 

A father figure laid before her about to have his life taken away, only a week after he found his family. Angelica began shaking, gripping the gun in her hand tighter. Closing her eyes tightly, she spun around from behind the door and held the gun up, flinching as she pulled the trigger. 

Waiting for a few seconds she open her eyes, and began to shake violently. The man she had been aiming for had collapsed over Greg, blood oozing from the top of his back and behind his head. Whimpering, she tried to rush over and through the injured and fighting men. Getting onto her knees, she began to push the heavy male off Greg as fast as she could, dirtying her body with blood. Adrenaline rushed through her body, pushing and heaving the man. 

Finally moving him, she saw Greg. Bruises and cuts adorned his body, with multiple wounds and broken bones. Angelica began to panic. She knew she wasn't supposed to move him, but she had no choice. Picking up her gun, she pushed it into the next dark hallway, heaving Greg's injured body with her. With all her might she managed to get his body moving, not being able to stop the trail of blood that followed after her. Opening up the door to an empty bedroom, Angelica pulled Greg's body inside and shut the door.

Turning around, she realised Greg wasn't moving. In her moment of paranoia and panic, she didn't check how he was. She only wished to bring him to a safer place. Running to him, she set her gun by the side and checked his pulse. 

Minutes went by as she struggled to find Greg's pulse, her own blood rushing through her veins. Calming her harsh breathing down momentarily, she felt the faint beat of a radial pulse. Sighing loudly, Angelica got up and rushed to the bathroom. 

If there was on thing she knew, it was that every room in her husbands house was fully equipped with a first aid kit that also held extra instruments for removing debris, and more specifically, bullet wounds. Running back to Greg, nearly tripping in the process, Angelica grabbed the small flashlight from the kit and opened Greg's eyelids to assess his consciousness levels and shock. He appeared to be fine. She smiled slightly. She knew he was strong. But for now, she had to try and erase emotion from her core. She needed to act professional and quickly, in order to ensure he wouldn't bleed out to death on the cream carpet. 

Using basic questions, she began to ask Greg to do things is he was able to. Putting her finger in his non-injured hand, she began to muster out actions.

"If you can hear me, open your eyes". 

No response.

"What is your name?".

No response.

"If you can hear me, or feel me, squeeze my finger". 

That was it. She felt her finger being squeezed, feather like. Greg was weak. 

Wasting no time, Angelica cut through his clothing and assessed his wounds. Wiping his body clean with alcohol, she began to hear Greg groan. Although she didn't want to see him in pain, it was a good sign. It meant he was able to feel things, and that was a positive sign. Working on his leg first, Angelica began to get out her tools in a rushed daze. He was losing much blood from his leg, which was a bad sign. Wrapping a small towel into a roll, she opened Greg's mouth and asked him to bite down on it.

"I am sorry Uncle Greg, I have no morphine and no pain killers. This is going to hurt", she mustered out. 

Wiping the wound clean once more, she grabbed a set of small tweezers. Holding his leg down, she dug into Greg's leg and tried to fish out the bullet that he was hit with. After some while, she managed to dislodge the bullet and discard it on the floor. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The sound of the clock was heavy, hanging over Angelica's head. As she helped Greg with his wounds, she began to think about her family. She had noticed that the movie door was no longer where it had been, which meant her family was locked away and safe. But that didn't mean everyone. Greg lay under her hand, and Daniel and Gabriel were nowhere to be seen or found. Who knew what state they would be in. 

Did they know that the house was under attack?

Had they encountered some sort of ambush?

Were they safe? Were they injured?

Thoughts ran through her head like lightening bolts. Her mind was stormed by the negative. She had seen enough. She had heard enough. She had killed enough. That man over Greg had deserved it, but the young boy she injured? She had no idea, and all she felt for him was remorse. A young boy growing up in a world full of violence and chaos. 

"Uncle Greg, I am so sorry", Angelica began to cry. Greg moved his hand slightly, as if he was about to wipe away her tears.

"What?". He moved again. His finger seemed to be out, as if he was trying to alert her of something. 

"What wa-", Angelica let out a shrill scream, making the whole house reside into silence.

A searing pain through the side of her stomach and in the top of her shoulder. Slumping forward, Angelica moved her blood covered hand to her shoulder, feeling the handle of a knife sticking out of it. Nearly falling to the floor, she felt a harsh blow to her head, making her dizzier than before. Someone began to grab her hair tightly, lifting her up, almost making her scream again from the feeling of her hair being pulled from their roots. 

Angelica was turned around roughly, and came face to face with a man she had never hoped to meet.