Responsible

Where the guard had been when needed, no one knew. But taking orders from Victoria, he did not question or balk. Doing as told, he kneels next to Garret and puts pressure on the wound as the blood pours forth.

"Get everybody out of here!" Medridge barks. "Clear the room. Secure the area! What kind of idiots do I have working here tonight?!"

Almost as quickly as the chaos had ensued, the room is cleared out and the guests taken to another area away from the gruesome scene. They would be dealt with later, and this whole incident would be explained away. That's how things like this were handled. Elaborate lies would be made up in order to cover anything that had gone on here.

Medridge's personal medics arrive on the scene. No one from the outside was ever welcome - doctor or not. Everything was handled here - that's how it always was. Placed on a stretcher, Garret's unconscious body is removed from the room, leaving a pool of blood to be cleaned up by the maids who worked quickly to remove all traces.

Medridge's face was twisted in confused anger as he places a hand on Victoria's shoulder. "Good thing I have one good bodyguard," he mutters. "Heads will roll for this when I find out who is responsible for allowing someone like that to come into our midst."


...The party was over. The guests had been calmed and reassured. A meeting had taken place. And now, in the early morning hours, the estate was once again quiet.

Halfway opening one eye, Garret's senses felt numb and lethargic. Where was he? Starting to turn, he groans in pain, putting a hand to his side where his hand meets bandages. Then he remembered. All he knew was that he had shot someone with a gun, then he'd experienced the worst kind of pain. After that... it was blank. He didn't know Medridge's personal doctor had removed the bullet and sewed him up. He didn't know several nurses were taking turns checking on him and changing his bandages.

Right now, the room he was in was dark and quiet. He was on the third floor and the window was open, a cool breeze playing with the curtains. A strange scent wafted in the air - a mix of lilacs and antiseptic. Garret's skin felt hot, and the breeze was soothing. Swallowing hard, he longed for a glass of water, but there was no one to ask. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he shifts uncomfortably in the bed.

"Victoria," he mumbles. Was she okay? Had she been harmed? He had to know. Had he been too late? Had there been more than one man? "Vic..."