❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ iii.vii

Act Three, Scene Seven

→ ❝ where the fuck is my husband! ❞

             Carol felt like she had been stabbed straight through the heart. Her breathing faltered as her grip loosened and sent her teacup smashing to the ground. The only thing that was stopping her from falling to her knees was Tommy's firm grip on her arms, his fingers digging into her pale flesh.

             "What?" she gasped, unable to breathe. Her whole world was crashing down around her and, in the chaos, she couldn't remember how to get oxygen into her lungs.

             "This is happening, Carol," Tommy said sharply, drawing her into reality, "This is fucking real and it's happening right now. John is dead and Michael has been shot."

             "Tommy, no," she swallowed deeply as she shook her head, unable to look him in the eye. She wasn't crying – she was much too concerned to be crying. She began to scream as the threat of losing her husband and the news of the Shelby brother's death finally hit her like a car crash, "No! No! No!"

             The Shelby pulled her into him, holding her as she punched his chest with as much power and aggression as she could. He stroked the back of her head as he waited for her breathing to catch up with her and her heart to calm down. Carol shook in his arms, with Tommy's actions reminding her of how gentle Michael was with her. This couldn't be happening.

             "Take me to him," she pushed Tommy away from her, vacantly stumbling to grab her coat from the stand beside the door. She pulled it around her shoulders as she pushed the front door wide open and made towards Tommy's car, "You fucking take me to him right now."

             Tommy ran his hand across his face, sighing. He didn't want Carol to see him in such a bloodied, half-alive state, but knew there was little he could do to sway her stubborn mind, "Alright," he decided after thinking for a moment (Carol was already sitting in the passenger side of his car, and he knew that if he didn't respond within the next five seconds then she would attempt to find the hospital alone), "All-fucking-right. Let's go."

             On the journey, Carol and Tommy sat in silence. Carol stared out of the window, twisting her fingers and chewing on her lip while trying to slow her racing mind – to no avail. Her heeled foot tapped rapidly on the floor of the car (she had managed to wipe the dirty water from the leather but had failed to remove the stain from her stockings) and her knee bobbed up and down at a brisk pace. Nothing was making sense.

             Upon arriving at the hospital, Carol couldn't wait for the car to stop rolling completely before she swung the door open and jumped out, heading straight for the front door.

             "What the fuck, Carol?" she heard Tommy swear incredulously behind her, but she was far too focused to turn around and apologise. There was something much more important than Tommy's car on the line.

             "Where is he?" she screamed, pushing through doors and past whichever unfortunate doctor managed to get in her way, "Where is he? Where the fuck is my husband?"

             Reaching the end of a corridor after following a vague trail of blood droplets on the otherwise pristinely polished floor, Carol noticed a commotion happening in the end room. From her standing, she could just about make out a freshly bloodied body writhing on a hospital bed as numerous doctors and nurses flitted about him, bustling between themselves. Another woman was in the room, one that looked about as useless as Carol felt, and was evidently getting in the way of the professionals.