The Doctor's Return

Elara's POV.

I couldn't breathe.

It began raining, making the moment cinematic. I wasn't even a week in, yet my life is currently hanging on a thin thread.

​"Dante," I whispered, my voice caught in my throat.

​"I said don't move," Dante hissed. He was tense, his own weapon raised, but he couldn't see the shooter neither could I.

The sniper was high up, hidden among the gargoyles and HVAC units.

​"Dante, the dot," I said, my knees shaking. "It's not moving."

​"Relax."

​Suddenly, a shadow appeared from the darkness.

​"Elara!"

​It was Lorenzo. He was running toward us.

​"Lorenzo, stay back!" Dante shouted.

He lunged forward, his body colliding with mine just as a loud bomb-like sound echoed through the alley.

​The force of his tackle sent us both sprawling into the wet pavement. I felt the cold water soak into my gown.

​"Lorenzo?" I gasped, trying to push myself up.

​He didn't answer.

He was slumped against me, his weight heavy and limp. I reached out and felt something warm and thick. Even in the dim light, I knew it was blood.

​"He's hit!" I screamed.

​Dante fired four shots toward the roof of the building across the street. A muffled cry came from above, followed by the sound of a body hitting a metal dumpster further down the block.

​Dante scrambled over to us, his face a mask of fury and panic. He grabbed Lorenzo by the shoulder and flipped him over.

​"Enzo! Talk to me!" Dante demanded.

​Lorenzo groaned, his eyes fluttering open. The bullet had caught him in the fleshy part of his shoulder, near the collarbone. It was a messy wound, and the blood was pumping out fast.

​"Did... did I get it?" Lorenzo rasped, a weak grin spread across his face.

​"You're an idiot," Dante snapped. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket and pressed it hard against the wound.

​"A 'thank you' would be nice, brother," Lorenzo winced, his face twisting in pain.

"I just saved your wife. You're welcome."

​"I didn't ask you to do that," Dante growled, his jaw set tight. "I had it under control."

​"You had nothing under control!" Lorenzo shot back, his voice rising despite his weakness. "She was a second away from a hole in her chest!"

​"Shut up and hold this," Dante ordered, forcing Lorenzo's own hand onto the jacket. "We need to move. Now."

​I scrambled to my feet, my ruined dress clinging to my legs. "We need an ambulance. He's losing too much blood. It might have hit the subclavian artery."

​Dante pulled out his phone. "No signal. They're jamming the block."

​"The street," I said, pointing toward the main road. "We have to get to the street. Someone will pass by."

​"Grab his other side," Dante told me.

​We hauled Lorenzo up. He was a tall man, and even with both of us supporting him, it was a struggle. We dragged him toward the road, our shoes splashing through deep puddles.

​"You're getting blood on your pretty dress, Elara," Lorenzo joked, though his voice was becoming faint.

​"Don't talk," I said. "Save your energy."

​"Is he still bickering?" Dante muttered, his eyes scanning the rooftops and the street corners. "He's dying and he's still trying to be the center of attention."

​"At least I'm not a cold-hearted bastard," Lorenzo coughed. "Are you even worried about her, Dante?"

​"I said shut up, Enzo!" Dante's voice was like a whip. "Focus on walking."

​We reached the edge of the sidewalk.

The street was eerily empty.

​"There!" I shouted.

​A black sedan was idling at the red light half a block down. It wasn't one of Dante's SUVs, but at this point, it didn't matter.

​"Hey! Stop!" I waved my arms.

​The car accelerated toward us and screeched to a halt. The windows were heavily tinted.

​"Help us!" I cried, reaching for the rear door handle. "He's been shot!"

​The door unlocked instantly.

​"Get in," Dante said, shoving Lorenzo into the backseat first. I climbed in after him, and Dante followed, slamming the door shut.

​"Hospital," Dante told the driver. "New York Presbyterian. Move!"

​"Lorenzo, stay with me," I said, keeping pressure on his shoulder. I looked out the window, expecting to see the familiar turns toward the hospital.

​But the car didn't turn. It kept going straight, heading toward the industrial district near the piers.

​"Hey," Dante said, leaning forward. "You missed the turn. I said to the hospital."

​The driver remained silent. He reached out and pressed a button on the dashboard.

​"Dante," I said, my voice rising in alarm. "Where is he going?"

​"Turn this car around now!" Dante reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. "The locks are on."

​Suddenly, a faint hissing sound filled the cabin. It was coming from the vents.

​"What is that?" I asked, sniffing the air.

​Dante's eyes went wide. "Gas. Elara, don't breathe it in!"

​"I'm trying!" I pulled the collar of my dress over my nose, but the air was already thick with it. My head began to spin. "Lorenzo, are you okay?"

​I looked down at Lorenzo. His head had fallen back against the seat. His eyes were rolled back, and his hand had slipped from his wound.

​"Lorenzo?" I shook him, but he didn't move.

​"Dante... I can't..." My vision was blurring. The car seemed to be stretching and folding.

​"Hold on, Elara," Dante gasped. He was fighting it, his hand clawing at the window glass, trying to break it. But his movements were slow, like he was moving through water.

​"Lorenzo!" I screamed one last time, but my voice was just a whisper.

​Dante's head slumped forward against the front seat.

My own body felt like lead.

I looked at the back of the driver's head, he hadn't flinched.

He was wearing an oxygen mask.

​The last thing I saw was the silver of my dress as everything turned pitch black.