I Am Margaret (45 page)

This is nothing, nothing at all. Just something very minor.

Try not to feel it too much. Try
… But my thoughts were swallowed in a wave of searing pain as another sheet of skin was cut from my stomach. I struggled to open my eyes, to
see
, but my eyelids just wouldn’t move.

I’d never realized one couldn’t sob or scream without the use of one’s body. I’d always imagined there must be some sort of mental equivalent. But there wasn’t. I was trapped with the pain and no way to express it, no way to relieve it, no way to get it
out
.

The pain died down again, a little, and I went back to my self-admonitions.
This is nothing. Think what Our

Lord suffered for your sake. Much worse than this. No whimpering, Margo.
I
can’t
whimper! howled a little voice

I tried to ignore.
Hush. This is going to carry right on whatever, so there’s no point making a fuss.

In you, O Lord, I take refuge, do not forsake me
… I fell back on prayer, trying to bury myself in it, tried to return to it with all speed after each wave of agony had passed.

Lord, I know the martyrs of old wanted to die for You, they loved You so much. I’m sorry I’m so weak. Please watch over me now. And when I can bear it no longer, please be merciful and release me from this conscious state
…

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner now and at the hour of her dea… now, just pray for me now? Uncle Peter, pray for me. Angel Margaret, help me, please
…

“Look at the quality of this skin.” Doctor Richard’s voice. “See how elastic it is?”

“Very fine.” Sid. “You looking, you three?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s a good one, isn’t she?”

“
More solution
…” Doctor Richard. Again the cruel liquid washed over my open wounds.

“I’m looking forward to seeing that nose packed up. Someone’s going to be lucky.” One of the minions. “When my mother had a new one, all they had available was…”

“Yes, yes, concentrate on your work, now. Fit the eye clamps and get the eyeballs moisturized, ready for removal.”

“Yes, sir.”

Driven partly away by the pain, a fresh surge of terror twisted in my stomach as cold professional hands lifted my eyelids and hooked them in an open position. The thing they were hooked into seemed to be spraying mist into my eyes, but suddenly I could see again. I could even move my eyeballs, slowly and with great effort.

Enjoy them while you can
, said that little voice.

Slice
. Doctor Richard made another pass with the skin peeler—I saw the sheet of skin as he lifted it with a pair of tweezers and laid it on some sort of cling film covered tray proffered by a minion. Seeing didn’t make it hurt more—it seemed totally unreal, like it couldn’t be part of me. Nothing unreal about the pain...

A minion lifted a pipe with a spray nozzle and suddenly that solution was running over me again. Antiseptic. For the sake of the organs. Like being dipped in tar and set alight.

Jon said you wouldn’t be conscious for most of it, Margo. So you may not have to put up with this for much longer
…

He didn’t say
most
of it
, said the little voice.

Oh Lord, stay with me
…

Shouting in the passage... The door slammed open and Bane came hurtling in, something in his hand that gleamed silver in the Lab lights. Sid and the minions froze in alarm and Doctor Richard raised the scalpel in his hand… towards Bane?
No, please!
Or to finish the execution, however prematurely…

Bane lunged across the room, and whatever Doctor Richard’s intention, he changed it to a wild swipe in Bane’s direction. From the speed Bane moved, he reacted on pure instinct. His left hand flew out, knocking the scalpel away and the knife in his right hand moved in a vicious arc and slammed up into the doctor’s side, to the hilt.

For a moment the doctor remained standing, a look of incomprehension on his face, then Bane yanked the knife free and Doctor Richard slumped over my legs, his eyes blank and already very, very dead. Something burning hot poured over my raw flesh… If only I could
SCREAM
…

In a pain-wracked daze I saw Sid crumple, a minion turned towards the door, his mouth opening, and dropped from my sight as well. I dragged my eyeballs up a little and saw Father Mark, hatchet-faced as ever, a nonLee in his hand. He squeezed the trigger twice more—by the time I’d moved my eyes again, there were no minions left in sight.
Father Mark!
screamed that little voice.
How could you come here. Right in here? Are you
mad?

With a noise in his throat perilously close to a sob, Bane shoved Doctor Richard’s corpse off me and dropped the knife on the gurney with a clatter, his bloody hands hovering helplessly. I couldn’t see what I looked like, but I could see it reflected in his desperate eyes.

“
Is she all right? Oh God, have they
taken
anything? What do I
do
? Mark,
get over here
…”

Father Mark stalked over, apparently eyeing the minions to check they were properly unconscious. Tracing a perfunctory blessing over the corpse without pausing, he moved quickly to me, snatching up the pipe…
Ow, ow, ow
…

“Most of this blood is from the pig you stuck,” he declared, peering closely. “Hold this.” He handed the pipe to Bane and reached out, his fingers touching intact skin and sometimes raw flesh, probing and stretching.

“
The subcutaneous layer’s intact,” he announced at last, as
laudate Dominum
, he stopped his poking. “They haven’t taken anything but epidermis and some dermis—the top layers,” he explained, at Bane’s look of anxious bafflement.

“She’s all right? She’s going to be all right?”

“Yes, but we must get that skin back on before we move her or she’ll be in a bad way.”

“How long?”

“Five minutes?”

Bane pulled his phone out and dialed swiftly.

“
We’ve got her. Mark needs to do some first aid… No more than five minutes…
Of course we’ll bloody well hurry up!”

“Play nicely, Bane,” purred Father Mark. “Or they might not want to play any more.”

Bane’s jaw tightened.

“
Sorry
,” he ground into the phone. “Of course you’ll do your best. We’ll be out very soon.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “What, they think we’re going to stop for
tea?”

Father Mark didn’t bother to reply, so Bane stepped to my head, reached out towards my cheek, hesitated, grabbed a cloth from nearby and wiped his hands on it, leaving it stained with crimson. Reached out to touch my cheek again with exquisite tenderness.

“Is she awake?”

Father Mark had pulled a familiar looking tray from the chiller cabinet and picked up two pairs of tweezers, but he paused to direct one long look at my eyes.

“‘Fraid so. She’s looking at us.”

Bane’s fingers went to my hair, stroking it back from my face as though each strand were made of glass.

“Margo, it’s going to be okay, d’you understand? We’ll have you out of here very soon.”

He leaned and kissed me on the lips, feather light, as though any more pressure and I might break.

“While I’m sure that’s very effective pain relief…” Father Mark’s voice made him draw away again, alas… “You’d be better off looking for the anesthetic—it’s a white liquid. But first you need to find bottles, any size, any shape, empty them, rinse them, fill them with this stuff.” Father Mark jerked his head at the pipe, which mercifully wasn’t directed at me at that moment.

Bane straightened.

“What is it?”

“Antiseptic.”

“
Oh.
Right
. But I’d better find the anesthetic first, surely?”

“No. I hate to be so brutally practical, but she may well pass out from the pain by herself, and if we don’t have that antiseptic the wounds will get infected and she’ll die.”

Bane frowned, but just asked, “Do you need help?”

“Not right now.”

“
Do you even know what you’re
doing?”

“Yes.” When Bane still hesitated, looking agonized, he added, “Trust me. I trained as a dismantler when I was younger.”

Bane stared at him.

“
Those two remarks are
completely
incompatible with one another.” He shook off his disbelief. “Huh. S’pose you do know what you’re doing, then.
Antiseptic
… Right. Hang on, Margo, I’ll have the anesthetic before you know it!”

Clattering around, he started opening doors and ransacking cupboards, chucking plastic bottles into the sink and placing glass ones down more carefully.

Father Mark leaned over to meet my eyes.

“Margaret, I’m going to put your skin back on. It’s going to hurt like hell until we’re able to put you out, but we just can’t wait.”

He wasted no more words, nor time, and as he began to lay the sheets of skin onto my raw flesh, interspersed with copious amounts of the solution, I completely lost track of what was going on. Flames licking over my stomach and thighs...

“Bane, are you done? I need your help now.” Father Mark’s voice echoed down my ear canal and penetrated my brain.

“All full. I need to find something to carry them in…”

“In a minute. I need you to lift her so I can wrap this cling film stuff around. Gently as you can.”

“
Gently? Really!”

“Temper, Bane.”

“Trust me, this is not a good time to discuss my temper! Ready?”

“Yes. Lift.”

Oh, to be able to scream. Or—was this how Bane felt?—to pound a fist into a wall, anything, just to let the pain out…

The world steadied again after a while.

“Are you done? I’m done, but I can’t find the anesthetic!”

“Done. Put this in the bin bag with the rest.” Father Mark handed him what looked like a cling film dispenser and circled the room, searching rapidly through the mess Bane had left. He produced a familiar syringe, pressed the plunger a little, sniffed the emerging fluid and nodded in satisfaction.

“Margaret?” He was leaning over me now. “I’m going to get these eye things off and give you the anesthetic, okay?”

He lifted my first eyelid carefully from the hooks while Bane hovered on my other side, taking my limp hand and stroking it gently.

“
Don’t you worry about a thing, Margo,” he told me. “When you wake up again we’ll be safe. Oh, I found this to wrap you in,” he held up something like a plastic sheet, a hint of a blush touching his golden cheeks. “So you mustn’t worry about… y’know,
that
.”

Nakedness—a very long way down my list of concerns right now. Glad he’d thought of it for me. Before I was carried out starkers before the no doubt appreciative eyes of his not-my-friends.

Father Mark unhooked my other eyelid and sight was gone again as he lifted the device from my forehead. His fingers paused briefly, examining the cuts.

“That’s not serious,” he answered some nonverbal inquiry from Bane. “Margaret, I’m going to give you the anesthetic now. Just relax. Hmm. That was a stupid thing to say. I meant stay calm.”

I understood you
… The needle pricked my arm.

“Right, let’s go,” said Father Mark.

“
I’m
carrying her.”

“How surprising. I’ll carry the bags, then.”

“Carry the gun, stupid. Hang the bags over my shoulders.”

“That gun is about one shot from being a very expensive paper weight, same as yours, but you’re right. One of us should have our hands free. Give me your knife, then.”

“Would you use it?”

“Maybe not, but the other fellow won’t know that.”

“Huh. Here.”

The bloodstained knife presumably changed hands, but my head was swimming. Bane’s arms slipped underneath me, lifting me and gathering me to his chest. It caused great pain, but it was all receding from me. His warmth was suddenly welcome, rather than agony and his heart drummed under my ear, thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud, lulling me into the darkness…