Richard
It feels unreal. It can’t possibly be real. The mind rejects such things. This isn’t reality. It is the stuff of nightmares.
The awful sight of James as the bullet impacts. His body jerking and jolting as he takes the shot intended for Charlotte. The agony and the shock when he cries out as he falls, unconscious, to lie in a pool of his own blood; a pool that spreads and grows, fed by the spurt of red where Corby’s bullet speared into his flesh.
Michael, gasping for breath, his blond hair dark with sweat, and eyes opaque with shock from the failure of his desperate attempt to bring Corby down before he could fire the shot.
And Charlotte, howling in horror and disbelief, on hands and knees, covered in blood, James’ blood, as she clutches and scrapes at his body.
Is he dead?
No….
The blood is pumping….