This was not the first time that Wesley had rushed to the theater to save Lola from what he thought was potential danger. It seemed their whole relationship was based on this. In the early days, he had found it exciting; romantic even. These days, he was tired.
He and Lola had based their whole relationship on not living a normal life; but he wished for it these days.
Not that he could ever convince Lola otherwise. He knew he would never pull her off the stage, not while she still drew breath.
He also knew that her still drawing breath was questionable at this very moment.
“Can't you go any faster?” he asked the driver, who turned around to look at him in disbelief.
“Not without killing someone or the horses,” he replied. “Settle back, sir, we will be there soon enough. I'm sure Miss Lola is fine.”
“I doubt it,” Wesley answered, but leaned back all the same.
He had his sword at his waist, and his gun on the other side, and he was prepared to use them. He was a different person from the young boy who had rushed in to save her the first time.
When they got to the theater, he made for the stage door, prepared for anything to happen.
When he got in though, nothing seemed out of normal. The matinee show was in progress, and from the lines, Wesley could hear that they had just started. The audience in matinee performances were often quieter, a more subdued version of the 8pm crowd. Lola often said that she could read an apple pie recipe and the audience would appreciate it at a matinee.
“Sir?” a confused stage hand nearly ran into him as he carried costumes. “Earl Rippon?”
“Yes,” Wesley said, a little disorientated. He expected chaos to be well underway. “Is everything...normal? It's a bit early for a matinee.”
“It's not a matinee, sir.” the stage hand said. “It's a private group who has booked a performance. Are you looking for your wife?”
“I am...” he said. “She's alright?”
“She's on stage, currently. Can I pass on a message for her? Is everything alright? You shouldn't be back here, with all due to respect, sir.”
“I...” he tried to think of what to say that wouldn't arouse suspicion. “I would like to stay, and watch her. We have an engagement right after; we must be off following the show.”
“There's a show tonight?” the stage hand said.
“I'm aware,” Wesley replied. “Of the schedule of my actress wife.”
“Of course, sir,” he said. “If you want to stay here, against this wall, through that curtain, you should have a good vantage point.”
“Thank you,” Wesley said, knowing the way. He tried to stay quiet, but everyone who came by was suspicious to him. Every stage hand made him wonder if they were in league with Tannoy. Every actor who came off stage and gave him a startled look caused him to worry about an alliance.
His heart was hammering out of his chest, but it did slow down as the performance went on.
It had been a long while since he watched Lola on stage, and he had forgotten how enchanting she was. Lola found performing as easy as breathing, and even when someone jumped a line, she handled it as if it was her own conversation, and not the broken character she was playing.
He hadn't seen her do this role at all, except at home running her lines. Every mannerism was different, the sparkle of her eyes, the way she moved her hips. She was a master of disguise, and he didn't want to break her focus.
She turned to the side, and he realized that she had seen him. No one else noticed, but he saw a quirk in her eyebrow, a question.
Their eyes were locked when he heard the gunshot. It silenced the rest of the crowd, and one could hear a pin drop.
A pin drop would have been quieter than Lola's squeak as she dropped to the floor.
Wesley launched himself off the wall and onto the stage before he fully registered what had happened. He knew that this wasn't proper training; you never threw yourself in front of an active gunman. However, in this moment, he couldn't care less. All he wanted was Lola to be alive.
Please God, he prayed, something he hadn't done in years. Please, take me instead of her.
She wasn't dead, that much was clear as he approached. Although she was losing so much blood that he couldn't tell where it was coming from.
“Lola, Lola!” He cried, sliding to the floor. Her eyes were wide, but she was silent, as if she hadn't quite processed what had happened.
Behind him, people were running, screaming. They were tearing out of the theater; off the stage and through the aisles, trying to get away from the gunman.
Wesley heard the click of a gun and dove flat just in time, covering Lola's body. He felt the squish of her blood, and heard the wind break as the bullet whizzed overhead.
They were the targets, that much was clear. He had to get them both to safety.
He saw the wings of the stage open as the actors flew through the curtain, and memorized the location. It was getting darker by the moment; the candles extinguishing. If he was still here in darkness, he was going to lose this battle.
“We're going to move,” he said to Lola. “And it's going to hurt, but you can't stay here.”
He heard another click and this time it made impact. Whoever was shooting wasn't aiming though, and Lola's co-star, Christina, fell beside them.
“Christina!” Lola found her voice again, and tried to sit up. It was in the movement that Wesley could see the bullet hole glisten. It was a clean shot through her shoulder, and the exit wound bled like the dickens. If he could get her to safety, and stop bleeding, she would be fine.
Christina, however, wouldn't be. She fell on her back, her eyes open and sightless, as she stared at the ceiling. There was a rapidly forming puddle of blood under her, and her chest wasn't rising.
“Wesley, let go of me!” Lola's energy came back. She slapped a hand on her shoulder, and Wesley yanked her around the waist, pulling her towards the curtain. “No, don't leave her! Wesley!”
“She's gone, Lola,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No!”
“Lola, she's gone,” Wesley insisted again. “There's no way to...”
Just as he said that, both of them saw Christina twitch. Wesley paused, just for a moment. He was almost sure it was a post Morton twitch, but Lola grew frantic, trying to move forward. Her shoulder was paralyzed, that much was clear, and he was worried about the way her side was no longer rigid.
“Lola, she's not...”
“Without her, we'd all be dead!” Lola screamed at him. “I don't think you understand. She risked her life to sit with Tannoy and find out his plans. She...”
Another gun shot came, and Wesley didn't care. He picked Lola up by the waist, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He could feel the hot blood running down his neck, and he tried not to shudder, moving through the curtains.
He had to get her to safety before he found Tannoy. He knew it was him and Gilles, or at least someone who worked for them.
Of course, this could all be for vain, Wesley knew, if Aaron and Harold didn't manage to stop the explosive attack that was imminent.
Once underground in the tunnels, he laid her onto the cool cement, keeping pressure on her wound.
Lola was past feeling pain, her face red and her eyes wild.
“How could you leave her?” she screamed. “How could you!”
“Lola, stop moving, you're going to make it worse,” he said, tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt and trying to tie it around her wound. He had never been skilled in medicine, and it showed as she yelled.
“Leave it, I can do it myself. Go and save her, Wesley.”
“Nothing can save her,” he said, through gritted teeth. “But as soon as you stop bleeding, I am going to find Tannoy or whoever has that gun and...”
“My life is not worth the life of others,” she snapped at him, managing to sit up. “Go! Now!”
“Lola...” this actually shocked him. She said many things in anger, but this was beyond anger. “That's not true.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Lola said. “I'm an actress, Wesley. I was not the sole carrier of a title, I don't have a tactical brain, I'm not a doctor and I'm not carrying a child. Go and do your job.”
“You are my one priority,” he told her and she met his eyes.
“Why?”
“Why?” he was so confused by this. “What do you mean, why? You're my wife.”
“Really?” her eyes flared. “After everything that has been happening, you still want to carry on with this?”
“With our marriage?”
“With our charade that this could last, ah!” she winced in pain as blood began flowing again. “Wesley, do something useful.”
“I am doing something useful,” he gritted his teeth, and picked her up again. She shrieked at him, because saving her was not what she had in mind. However, he couldn't picture anything else.
He knew the way to her dressing room blindly, his mind ruptured in memories of their courtship. The dressing room was their secret haven; away from the world; away from the public. The dressing room was when they thought they were invincible, when they thought love was enough.
He kicked open her dressing room door, placing her on the day bed inside.
“Stay here,” he said. “Lock the door and don't open it for anyone but me.”
“Where are you going?” she howled and he rolled his eyes.
“First you don't want me to save you,” he pointed out. “And then you don't want me to leave. You can't have it both ways. Don't move.”
He slammed the door behind him, trusting that the windy concrete hallways would keep him safe. Then, he rolled up his sleeves, facing the long dark corridor.
There was a good chance he wasn't coming back to her. Running head first into a situation in which he had none of the variables was dangerous and ill advised. However, he knew there was a good chance none of them would be alive if the explosives blew, whether he succeed or not in stopping the shooter. It was a risk he was going to have to take; for all of them.