And when I touched him and felt his cold hand I realized just how fond I had become of him and a wild, destructive rage swept through me. If I could have laid hands on the person who had done this I’d have killed without hesitation.
“Doc,” I said gently, scared to lift him, “what is it, Doc?”
He opened his eyes and blinked up at me, but no look of recognition came from him.
“It’s me… Millan,” I said, kneeling close to him. “What can I do? Are you badly hurt?” I knew the answer to that one before I said it. I didn’t think he’d last another two minutes.
He tried to speak, but couldn’t quite make it. I watched his lips move and I put my ear close to them, but I couldn’t hear what he was trying to say.
But he had to talk. He couldn’t go like that without telling me what had happened and who had done this. So I bolted to the sitting room and poured two Inches of Scotch into a glass and rushed back to him.
“Come on, Doc,” I said, lifting his head. “Get hold of yourself.”
The whisky did the trick, but I could see he was going fast. My only hope now was to keep him alive long enough to hear what had happened.
I could see he wanted to talk and I could see he was making a tremendous effort.
“You were right. She wasn’t Myra,” he whispered at last. “She attacked me soon after you left. I asked for It, I should have waited. Look out for her, Ross, she’s dangerous. Its the way I thought. She’s the bad one.” He closed his eyes and I thought he had gone, but he was only resting for a second or so.