Oh, God! Carol! She lay there just out of his reach. He couldn't see her face, but the position she fell in did not seem natural, did not seem as if a body could lay that way without injury.I'm coming, Carol. Isaac tried. He really did try, but his body did not respond, He lay on the floor as well, and willed his body to motion, but he made no real progress. His hand stretched out, grasping at carpet fibers but he lacked the strength to even pull himself along the floor.
What happened? We were talking, and then I was on the floor. Isaac opened his mouth, to yell at her, to find out if she were okay, but only a strained gurgle came out of his mouth. Fingers that had grasped the carpet began to feel numb, and the rest of his body felt detached and . . . cold.
What's . . . my hand. Why am I . . . ? No answer came, but he ran numb fingers over his body. They felt like sausage, thick and clumsy, but only vague sensation registered in his chest, too. Wait. Wet. He felt something wet. He wanted to panic, but instead he just felt tired, so very tired.
He brought his hand up to see fingers slick and dripping red. He remembered the sharp report of a gun just before he fell. His body was going cold. He stretched out his hand again to the fallen woman, hoping that he might at least reach her legs.
Dancing. Carol always loved to dance. I should've taken her dancing more. Always had so much fun dancing, and she seemed so alive. Carol? We should go dancing tomorrow night. Just the two of us . . . cold . . . no, what? Dancing. Should . . . go . . . Carol.