A short one, to keep the voices quiet.
I don't know - because Jim could have? She is a loose thread, after all. Unless she's one of them. That would also be kind of awesome.
But mostly because in my heart, Molly's a BAMF.
___
Desmond has his barrow in the market place…
The line keeps repeating in her head, like a broken record. He’d sung it to her, two weeks ago. Two weeks ago? Had it been two weeks ago? She’d laughed, delighted by the silly mood he’d been in. They’d danced around the flat, scaring the cat.
It didn’t hurt. She’d expected it to, but the truth is she doesn’t feel any pain. It was probably the shock. She concentrates on taking slow breaths.
I can taste rust, she thinks, and remembers when she was five, she licked a copper pan because she thought it was coated in shiny toffee.
She feels her eyes close but opens them immediately. So tired, she thinks, don’t sleep Molly. Just one more chapter. Exams are tomorrow and you need the grades.
You passed, Molly, she tells herself. Remember? You’re a doctor, Molly.
“Meow,” she hears. Poor little Toby, she thinks. He’s probably hungry by now.
How long will it take for anyone to find her? Will anyone wonder or even worry if she doesn’t come to work? Her supervisor will, of course. Only because there’s too much work and they’re already behind as it is. She still has to type up the Barrymore case.
She’s going to die here on the floor. She doesn’t care about the tatty shirt and the baggy track bottoms. It’s the granny pants, the one with the broken elastic, that’s bothering her.
“You can’t die like this,” she hears a voice say. It sounds very much like her mum’s.
“Shut-up, mum, you’re dead,” she whispers back.
“I’m still your mother,” the voice answers back.
She wonders how much blood she’s lost. She tilts her head, to check, but all she sees is the hilt of the knife. The crawl to get to the phone had been pointless. She looks at the wires again. The bastard had cut the line. He’s probably taken her mobile too.
“Meow.” Toby touches a paw to her face. Someone has to feed her cat.
Right. You’re a doctor, Molly. Think.
As long as the knife stays in the same position, you can probably keep the damage at minimum. Don’t contract your stomach muscles. Just breathe, shallow, breathe. Use your upper body strength. Yes, that’s it. Slow. It’s not that much further do the door. Yes, a little bit more. Just a little bit. There. You’re there.
Now. If you do this quickly, maybe they can save you too. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up. Steady now. Use your legs. Ignore the pain, Molly, the pain is all in your head. There is no knife. It’s all in your head.
You’ll still sing it with the band. Open the door. Yes. There you go. Well done. Aren’t you glad your neighbour works the nightshift? Never mind that he’s a weirdo.
Small steps. Yes, yes, left, right. Left. Right. There you go.
She hears a buzzing sound. Hears it again. And again. And then she collapses.
-
“Doctor Hooper? Can you hear me?”
“She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Obladi Oblada the sirens go.
But mostly because in my heart, Molly's a BAMF.
___
Desmond has his barrow in the market place…
The line keeps repeating in her head, like a broken record. He’d sung it to her, two weeks ago. Two weeks ago? Had it been two weeks ago? She’d laughed, delighted by the silly mood he’d been in. They’d danced around the flat, scaring the cat.
It didn’t hurt. She’d expected it to, but the truth is she doesn’t feel any pain. It was probably the shock. She concentrates on taking slow breaths.
I can taste rust, she thinks, and remembers when she was five, she licked a copper pan because she thought it was coated in shiny toffee.
She feels her eyes close but opens them immediately. So tired, she thinks, don’t sleep Molly. Just one more chapter. Exams are tomorrow and you need the grades.
You passed, Molly, she tells herself. Remember? You’re a doctor, Molly.
“Meow,” she hears. Poor little Toby, she thinks. He’s probably hungry by now.
How long will it take for anyone to find her? Will anyone wonder or even worry if she doesn’t come to work? Her supervisor will, of course. Only because there’s too much work and they’re already behind as it is. She still has to type up the Barrymore case.
She’s going to die here on the floor. She doesn’t care about the tatty shirt and the baggy track bottoms. It’s the granny pants, the one with the broken elastic, that’s bothering her.
“You can’t die like this,” she hears a voice say. It sounds very much like her mum’s.
“Shut-up, mum, you’re dead,” she whispers back.
“I’m still your mother,” the voice answers back.
She wonders how much blood she’s lost. She tilts her head, to check, but all she sees is the hilt of the knife. The crawl to get to the phone had been pointless. She looks at the wires again. The bastard had cut the line. He’s probably taken her mobile too.
“Meow.” Toby touches a paw to her face. Someone has to feed her cat.
Right. You’re a doctor, Molly. Think.
As long as the knife stays in the same position, you can probably keep the damage at minimum. Don’t contract your stomach muscles. Just breathe, shallow, breathe. Use your upper body strength. Yes, that’s it. Slow. It’s not that much further do the door. Yes, a little bit more. Just a little bit. There. You’re there.
Now. If you do this quickly, maybe they can save you too. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up. Steady now. Use your legs. Ignore the pain, Molly, the pain is all in your head. There is no knife. It’s all in your head.
You’ll still sing it with the band. Open the door. Yes. There you go. Well done. Aren’t you glad your neighbour works the nightshift? Never mind that he’s a weirdo.
Small steps. Yes, yes, left, right. Left. Right. There you go.
She hears a buzzing sound. Hears it again. And again. And then she collapses.
-
“Doctor Hooper? Can you hear me?”
“She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Obladi Oblada the sirens go.