Free An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel by Netta Newbound Page B

and fastened to the chair within minutes. The wet gurgling sounds coming from him were terrible—it was obvious to me the stick had punctured his lung. Blood dripped noisily, landing in a puddle on the floorboards.
    I stuffed the towel around the wound as much as I could, but he was losing a lot of blood.
    I rolled the hand-knotted wool rug to the side of the room before the blood could reach it.
    Satisfied I’d tied Shane properly, I ran to Frank’s side.
    “Frank?”
    His eyes flickered but stayed shut.
    “Frank, can you hear me? I’m going to call an ambulance.”
    “No, lass, no ambulance,” he said in a whisper. His eyes flickering open. A small trickle of blood ran from his mouth.
    “Are you all right? Where are you hurt?” I said, my teeth chattering.
    He shook his head and tried to lift himself up onto his good elbow.
    “Help me up, lass,” he said, seeming a little more with it.
    “Here you go, after three. “One—two—three.” I’d forgotten how solid he was. We managed to get him up and sitting on the sofa.
    “Get dressed, lass,” Frank said softly.
    I looked down and crossed my arms about my nakedness before I sped from the room to the laundry where I threw on a sweatshirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. I winced as the fabric touched the bite mark on my chest.
    When I got back Shane’s mouth was moving, as if having a full on conversation without sound. I couldn’t understand a word of it.
    “I’d better call an ambulance, Frank. Not that I want to. The bastard doesn’t deserve anyone saving him.” I couldn’t stand still my legs shook so much and my voice warbled. “If you hadn’t come in, God knows what he’d have gone on to do.” I turned to leave. “I’ll call the police too.”
    “Wait,” Frank said. He was lying back on the sofa, trying to catch his breath. “How old is he?”
    “I dunno, nineteen, twenty, but he won’t see twenty-one if I don’t do something quick.”
    “Can you fix him?”
    I paused in the doorway. “Eh?”
    “Can you fix his wound, temporarily?”
    “Yes, but he still needs a doctor.”
    “No, you don’t get me. If you can fix him for now, he’s the right age … You know … to be a donor.”
    His intention hit home. I considered what he was saying for a split second. “We can’t do that, Frank. It’ll kill him. We’ll be locked up for life.”
    “Who would know? We could feed him to the pigs, or even make use of Jon’s offal pit.”
    “Although I’m tempted at the prospect of turning this sack of shit into pig chow, I’m not a murderer, and neither are you,” I said, my voice sharp and to the point.
    “What’s our alternative?”
    “Call the ambulance and the police. Like I was going to.” I shrugged.
    “Think about it for a second, lass. What will happen if you call the police?”
    I shook my head.
    “I’ll tell you, shall I? They’ll get him fixed up and he’ll claim damages, probably bankrupt you if this country’s law system is anything to go by. You‘ll be charged with attempted murder and he’ll get off scot free with a pocket full of your cash. And Emily will still die.”
    His last sentence hit me like a smack in the face. I plonked down beside him on the sofa, my eyes glued to Shane. Gurgling noises came from his chest, and although he looked unconscious with his head lolling backwards, his mouth still moved.
    “Can you do the transplant? Frank grasped my wrist with both of his hands, his eyes large and hopeful.
    “If we got him to the clinic, perhaps, but I’d struggle alone,” I said quietly.
    “You’re not alone, I can help. What about putting it into Emily safely?”
    I nodded, “That’s the easy part. It’s just an injection.”
    I couldn’t believe we were really discussing this.
    Shane’s breathing was becoming even shallower.
    “He needs help now or he’ll be dead.”
    I tipped Shane’s chair back onto two legs and dragged him down the hallway to the front door, leaving a trail of blood