The eye of the lion

The summer residence of Doctor Edward Cole, the now retired famous doctor, was situated about fifty miles south of London. It was a stunning Victorian house surrounded by beautiful British countryside.

Cole had bought it a decade before with the intention of spending his retirement there in the company of Sara, his wife, but things had turned out differently. Sara had died two years after they’d moved, and retirement had become unbearable for the good Doctor. Little by little, Dr. Cole’s country house turned into Dr. Cole’s summer clinic. The Doctor’s former clientèle, most of them retired businessmen, and the occasional famous artist, thought nothing of traveling to his house in order to place themselves in the hands of the old surgeon. His reputation was legendary.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I found myself looking at him beside my bed. His rosy face etched with wrinkles reminded me of the famous self-portrait of Norman Rockwell with his glasses on. He greeted me in his strong British accent.

“How are we feeling today, Mr. Harrigan?”

I looked at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out where I was. I was in a room of the clinic.

“I don’t know...” I murmured, surprised by how hoarse my voice sounded. “I’m thirsty.”

“You had a very high fever, sir,” said Jessica from the other side of the bed, approaching with a glass of water.

“You’ve been unconscious for two and a half days,” Cole informed me. “But your body has responded well to the antibiotics. I’m Doctor Cole, Jessica’s uncle. You’re in my clinic.”

Jessica brought the water to my lips and I drank thirstily.

“Easy does it,” advised Jessica.

I straightened myself a little in the bed and then I felt the pain return. I let out a cry. There was not one part of my body that didn’t hurt. Some places hurt a lot.

The Doctor looked at the saline drips hanging by my side and adjusted the flow of one of them.

“My uncle has patched you up as best he could, sir. You

were in a very bad state,” said Jessica.

I didn’t feel too good. I looked at my body beneath the sheet and saw with relief that my right leg was still in its place, only wrapped in a kind of plastic shell.

“How am I?” I asked the elderly Doctor.

“I’ll give you the run-down,” replied Cole.

“Three broken ribs and a splinter. A cracked hip and cracked wrist. Three broken toes and two ruptured vertebrae. A bullet wound and an impaled leg, both got infected and were very severe. Two serious blows and a whole load of contusions and bruises.”

I looked worriedly at my leg.

“You will walk again, but you’ll have to use a stick for several months,” clarified Cole, noticing my glance.

Jessica exchanged a strange look with the Doctor. Then she looked at me and I read it in her face.

“How’s Randall doing?” I asked.

Jessica looked at me, unable to answer my question. Cole shook his head.

“Mr. Randall passed away two days ago...”

I looked at the Doctor with a stupid expression.

“He had a serious injury to his brain,” explained Cole. “But it was his internal injuries that killed him. When he

arrived here, there was nothing we could do. I’m sorry...”

I let my head fall back on the pillow, crushed. Winded by the news. Scourged by a sudden feeling of blame.

Jessica approached and took my hand in hers.

“He didn’t suffer, sir. He was unconscious the whole time.”

I looked at her and saw her moist, sad eyes. It had hit her hard too. Randall was a good guy who hated conflicts within the team. He’d never argued with anyone. We all highly respected him.

“I’d like to see him,” I murmured.

“The former owners of this house had a small family cemetery on a lot not far from here. That’s where I buried my Sara, eight years ago. We buried Mr. Randall there. That’ll avoid having to answer a lot of annoying questions about his death,” explained the Doctor. “You can see him tomorrow if you like. We’ll take you there in a wheel-chair.”

I nodded and looked at the ceiling. I thought sadly that the team we’d been so proud of was being decimated, annihilated by forces we didn’t even know. I looked at Jessica.

“Mark?” I muttered.

“He’ll be fine,” answered the girl, nodding. “His wound isn’t serious. He’s resting now.”

“And you, how are you?”

Doctor Cole answered for her, smiling.

“She’ll be ready to run a marathon in a week.”

Jessica gave a sad smile. Then she looked at me.

“The girls we picked up on the road are here too. They were just shocked and a little beat up.”

I looked at Jessica and smiled. My thoughts still weren’t connecting very well, but an alarm-bell started to ring insistently in my brain. I took Jessica’s hand again.

“They’re still here?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “They’re pretty shaken up, the poor things. What’s more, one of them is pregnant...Marina.”