St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,36

she held her ground. As neutrally as she could, trying to keep a tremble out of her voice, she said, ‘Who are you looking for?’

‘Jason. He came in here.’ The boy raised his hand, and Melissa felt a stab of cold terror as she saw the harsh light glint off the blade protruding from his fist. ‘Got to finish the job.’

Melissa drew a deep breath, held it, and expelled it as evenly as she was able.

‘Put the knife down. Let’s talk about it.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it!’ The young man took a step forwards, his eyes wide, his mouth hooked in a snarl. He brandished the knife in front of him. Panic clutched at Melissa’s chest, and this time she did shuffle backwards a fraction.

‘What’s Jason done to make you so angry?’

She understood that Jason was the boy she’d just operated on. This must be a member of the rival gang, perhaps even the man who’d stabbed her patient in the first place. He jabbed the knife in Melissa’s direction, making her flinch.

‘Tell me where he is.’

‘I don’t know who –’

‘Tell me where he is!’ His voice rose to a yell and he lunged at her. Melissa yelled and leapt back, colliding with a small trolley table carrying a pile of empty metal bowls. The bowls crashed off the wall and scattered clanging on the floor.

The noise seemed to panic the young man, who roared with frustrated anger and made after Melissa as she slid along the wall, trying to put as much space as she could between her and her would-be attacker. She felt her hip meet the resistance of one of the basins and realised she couldn’t make any further progress.

Many doctors and nurses had been attacked in the course of their duties, but Melissa had always managed to avoid it. She stared into the man’s eyes, the whites showing all the way round the irises. He was on something, she supposed distantly; some drug. His mouth was wide open and panting, and he held the blade up in front of his face like the ophthalmoscope she used to examine a patient’s eyes.

She felt the urge to close her eyes, but didn’t; she couldn’t take them off him as he advanced. Desperately she tried to remember what she’d learned about breakaway techniques and self-defence. She’d have to use her knee, or her foot. Or would her nails in his face be more effective?

The door to the second theatre flew open and Fin came through at a run.

As if his senses were heightened by whatever psychoactive substance he’d taken, the young man whirled and shoved the wheeled table which had held the bowls towards Fin. At the same time the man made a dash for the door leading out of the scrub room into the main theatre reception area. Fin stepped sideways to dodge the table, and while he did so the boy reached the door and disappeared through. A male theatre nurse, who’d followed close on Fin’s heels, burst through the door after the knifeman.

Melissa cowered against the edge of the basin, half slumping. For an instant Fin looked as if he was going to set off in pursuit of the young man. Then he stared at Melissa, and the next moment he had reached her and folded her tightly in his arms.

‘My God, are you all right?’

She nodded against his chest, unable to force out words. For a few seconds they stood there, his warmth surrounding her and cocooning her, her nose pressed against his chest where it was exposed above his surgical scrubs (he’d taken off his gown, she noticed), inhaling the male smell of him. He rocked her gently, and she felt his hand move up and caress her hair.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured close to her ear. ‘He’s gone now.’

Melissa felt herself starting to tremble, uncontrollably, and as if he sensed this he wrapped his arms more tightly around her as though to relax his grip would be to allow her to shake herself apart. She whimpered, her voice muffled by his chest, as the realisation hit her of what a lucky escape she’d had.

No, not lucky. Fin had saved her.

She pulled her face away from his chest and gazed up at him. He looked down at her, his eyes grave with concern, scared even. As though he too was considering what might have happened.

‘I’d just finished up through there,’ he said. ‘Heard shouting. What was he doing in here?’

In a faltering voice,