We Always Had A Thing, Meg Evans [books for 6 year olds to read themselves TXT] 📗

That goddamn brain scooper hook thing, protruded sickeningly from Peter's abdomen. Megan cradled him in her arms, willing him to be okay. 
'Peter? Peter, can you hear me?' 
She grasped his face, straightening his line of sight toward herself. 
'Peter, goddamnit! Why the hell did you come back for me?!' She exclaimed as she placed him gently on the balcony. 
'I'm going to get help. I'll be right back. Right back. Stay here...' She trailed off as she realised how utterly stupid she sounded. She ran as fast as her heels would allow, through her office, glass twinkling like an array of stars upon the floor. She didn't know where she was running to, she just needed to find someone, to find help. She was surprised at how disorientated she felt. She rifled through her pocket, searching for her phone. It was absent. She cursed as she recalled Wilson taking it away whilst tying her up. It would waste too much time to go back and retrieve it; time that she knew for well did not side greatly with Peter at this time.
'Help! Somebody!' There was no reply. In her disoriented state, Megan hadn't noticed she had reached the elevator down the hall from her office. Whenshe saw it, she jabbed repeatedly at the button. 
'Hurry up!' When the doors slid open to reveal Bud, he beamed, but it vaporized when he filtered the shocked, desperate expression plastered upon Megan's face. 
With the familiar face and the promise of help, Megan found herself beginning to cry - not just tear, but began shaking, tears flooding her face and when she tried to talk, it came out as a strangled wail. 
Bud thought she might faint - and if this was any other time, he may have laughed the thought of Megan fainting, but now all he felt was the need to protect. He grasped her shoulders, firmly but without pain. 
'Megan, what is it? Is someone in trouble?'
She hardly collected herself before blubbing, 'Peter!' 
Bud didn't need to be told twice. He took out his phone, dialled 911, asked for an ambulance crew immediately. Megan, now reassured help was coming, rushed back to Peter. He lay there, pale, blood pooling on his shirt and the concrete. 
'Peter, Peter. Help's coming, it's coming sweetie.' 
She removed her jacket, scrunched it into a loose ball, and forced it on the wound. She did not remove the weapon, knowing that it was stopping some of the blood loss, and removing it would probably cause the bleeding to worsen. Peter groaned, Megan whimpered. 
'I'm sorry, this is my fault. I'm sorry.' She grasped his hand. It chilled her to feel how cold, how stony, his flesh had become. However, when he squeezed her hand, this confident sign of life made her smile, gave her hope. She placed her lips to his hand. 
'All this..all this crying...over me, Megan? You feeling okay?' 
Peter Dunlop, beautiful Peter Dunlop, still found this a brilliant time to be sarcastic. Her laugh was a whimper, and if this hadn't been such a serious occasion, she might of lightly punched him on the shoulder. 
'I'm just thinking, if you kick the bucket, who'll help me on cases? You wouldn't seriously consider leaving me to work with Kate more often would you?' She joked back, her voice shaky. His shoulders shook, the best sign of laughter he could muster. 
'Thought you said you wouldn't have my back anymore?' she questioned.
'Well, if I didn't, who would?' he said. 'And where would you be right now if I wasn't?'
'You wouldn't have been stabbed,' Megan replied quietly. They stared into each other's eyes. Then rustles of clothing announced the ambulence crew. They placed him on the stretcher, Peter moaning in pain as the hook shifted position slightly with the manouver. Megan didn't release his hand, just as he didn't attempt to release hers, until the ambulence crew ripped them apart. She stayed, and their eyes remained locked onto each other until he rounded a corner. 
Megan had reigned in the crazed shakes as well as the manic sobbing, but a multitude of tears still rolled down her cheeks. Stood statue-like upon the balcony, she scrutinised her office. A mess. The table was overturned, as were the chairs. Ornaments and pens were splayed across the floor, and small diamonds of glass layered everything. She recalled the conversation she'd had with Wilson on the phone, as he strode into the hall, eyes burning with murderous intent. She had never been so terrified in her life, but even when he waved the hook threateningly in front of her face, she never showed it. But now, after the events, she could show her fear and wanted nothing more than to curl up, somewhere safe, cradled in the arms of someone who would protect her. 
She flinched when Bud's hand rested on her shoulder. 
'You look like you could do with a hug,' Bud stated, opening his arms and embracing her. She fell limply, weeping into his shoulder. 
A few minutes passed, and Bud finally stepped out of the embrace, his hand placed on Megan's shoulders. 
'Megan? What happened?'
'Wilson. It was Wilson.'
'Where is he now?'
'Dead. I shot him, then Peter threw him over the balcony. Peter got stabbed. Peter got stabbed because he was protecting me.'
'What was Wilson doing to you? Did he hurt you?'
'No, no,' she answered absentmindedly. 'He came in, I locked the door. Obviously, as you can see, glass doesn't hinder a crazed murderer. Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair, gagged. He was going to kill me, like he did with the other girls, but he was going to take my brain out while I was still alive.' Megan took some breaths, Bud waited patiently. 'Peter came, um, punched him I think. They fought, I tried to escape the chair. By the time I had, they were at the balcony and Wilson was about to push Peter over the edge. Gun - there was a gun on the floor. One of them might of dropped it. Anyway, I took it and fired. The bullet hit Wilson in the shoulder. I think he was more shocked than fatally wounded, but Peter shoved him off.' Megan trailed off, Bud nodded. 
'I'll call Todd and Lacey. I'll call your mother.' He took her arm and led her through the office. 
***
Megan sat in a hospital waiting room, her hands warming on the heat of a coffee that sat untouched. The night's events replayed over in her head, but Peter's stabbing still hit her with an agonizing shock - she would gasp, as if she hadn't been breathing, tears would swell, she'd begin to shake, struggle to breath; but Bud, or Sam, or Kate, or Curtis or Ethan would appear by her side, comforting her, forcing her to take control of her breathing. She felt like a child being constantly consoled by a parent after a recurring nightmare. 
Herself, Bud, Sam, Kate, Curtis and Ethan were sat outside Peter's room, waiting impatiently for news. 
A horrible, sickening thought flashed unwanted into Megan's mind. Another round of shakes and short breaths took hold. This time Sam hurried over, placing her arm warmly around Megan's shoulders. She murmured comforting words, reassured her, told her to breath slowly. When Megan replied, her voice seemed alien to her, she hadn't spoken again since the recollection of events for Bud. 
'What if...what if, he doesn't make it...' 
'He will.'
'...and ends up as one of my patients.' 
Sam looked at Megan sadly. 'And he'll be there. Because of me.'
'No, this wasn't your fault. This was the fault of a worthless bastard, and Peter chose to confront him. You didn't make him. He chose to, this is not on your shoulders.' Megan remained unconvinced, but was too tired to argue.  'Megan, I've called Lacey and your mother. She's bringing Lacey over now,' Bud informed, which was returned with a grateful nod. 
Megan noticed her coffee had gone cold.
'I'm going to get another coffee,' she declared. She wasn't going to drink it, but she liked the soothing feel that the warmth gave her. 
'I'll go,' Ethan offered kindly. 
'Thanks Ethan, I'll go. Need to keep myself busy.' She exited the room. 
Kate turned to the group, 'Megan seems to be taking this extremely badly. I mean, we're all upset, but she's more emotional than all of us put together. It's like it's Lacey in there, not one of her friends.'
'Well, she was nearly debrained by a Egyptian inspired psychopath,' Ethan reminded.
'Yeah, but she seems more cut up about Peter.' 
'You're overlooking your own clue there, Kate,' Bud interjected. 
'You mean...'
'But knowing Megan, she probably hasn't realised it herself yet.' 
***
Megan dragged her feet to the coffee machine. She inserted her change and pressed the correct buttons for the machine to produce a steaming cup of black coffee, two sugars. She picked it up, just as her hands decided to play up again. The cup clattered to the floor, some of the hot drink spraying upon her leg, scalding it cruelly. She didn't care. 'Shoot.' She massaged her hand. If this was a normal day in the morgue, Peter would have asked if her hands were playing up again. She'd deny it, and carry on. But he wasn't there, and she felt like there was something missing. Again for the hundredth or so time this night, her eyes welled up. 
She was totally to blame for Peter's condition, and if he left her now she would never forgive herself. She never realised how much Peter was an influence on her life; and now that she did, she was adament that he would be there to continue to do so.
She put another few coins in the machine, and when she'd retrieved her coffee, she returned lifelessly to te waiting room. 
When she returned her colleagues looked at her. It was obvious they knew she'd been crying, again, but there was something else in their stare; like some knowledge that she had been excluded from. 
'What? Has something happened? Is there news?' 
'No, not yet. Sorry,' Kate answered.
Bud observed the scalds blemishing Megan's shins. 
'Hey, what happened there?' he enquires, gesturing at her legs. 
'Oh, holding hot coffee and my hands played up,' Megan answered briskly, keen to get away from the subject. 
'They look painful, do you want an ice pack?' Kate asked. 
'No, no. I'm fine.' 
'But-'
'I said I'm fine! There's a guy in there, stabbed, maybe dying, and you're worrying about my burned shins? You know, I'm sure I can handle a few minor injuries.' 
The room quietened after Megan's snappy outburst. Then the door of Peter's room opened. 
'How is he? Is he going to be okay?' Kate queried. 
'He's stable. He'll be fine after a few days in recovery.' Megan breathed a sigh of relief, so deep it was, that she seemed to deflate into the chair, weeping with joy. The others smiled widely. 
'Can we see him?' Ethan said, ecstatic with the news. 
'I think we'll start with one visitor at a time for the moment; he's absolutely fine, but minimal stress will help him to recover quickly.' 
Every one of her colleagues turned to Megan. 
'Maybe you should go on in there first Megan,' Curtis offered. Megan stood and made her way through the doors, glancing over her shoulder, giving everyone a look of thanks. 
Peter lay on the gurney, wired up to machinery, that beeped contentedly. Megan felt allieviated with the noise; it brandished life. 
He still looked pale, but he managed a weak smile as she entered the