Sorry this took so long. I spent the last few days digging out from 14" of snow -- the highest snowfall in the state! BRRRRRRRRRRRR.
The sound of knocking on the cabin's front door drew Hunter out of a light sleep, not sound enough to even classify it as a nap. It was around 9 p.m., and he had just laid down on the couch, hoping to get a few winks in before McCall went another round with the nightmares that kept her from restful slumber.
Night terrors were, perhaps, a more appropriate term. Throughout the day and into the night, McCall had been plagued with seemingly real episodes playing through her head like movies. Tortured wails came from her lips as he found her crouched in a corner of the bedroom, seeing someone who wasn't there.
"Please, don't," she begged, her arms flailing as she tried to warn off her imaginary attacker. While she never uttered a name, he knew it was Raoul Mariano who had chosen to haunt her dreams as she dealt with what Hunter hoped were the final symptoms of narcotics withdrawal.
Surely, he prayed, God would have mercy on her and end her suffering soon.
Even worse, as he carefully tried to approach her, to comfort her, his face turned into Mariano's in her eyes. It killed him to have to wrestle her down, holding her arms and legs down tightly so that she didn't hurt herself -- or him, for that matter -- as he unsuccessfully tried to reassure her it was only a dream.
Hours upon hours throughout the day, he fought Raoul Mariano again and again. She had to be exhausted, he reasoned with himself. Her food intake had been minimal, actually nonexistent for the past four days. Sometimes he was able to get her to sip water or juice from a straw, but usually she fell asleep as soon as the nightmare left her, entering into another realm of unconsciousness where only the demons of her past could reach her.
How much longer she could physically fight him, he didn't know. But he was worried. She had become extremely thin, her high cheekbones more prominent than ever. Her dark hair was limp, the curls becoming straight and lifeless.
Hunter opened the door to Charlie Devane, the only one who knew where he was -- and why -- who arrived with a couple of bags of groceries in his arms. Hunter took one of the bags and Charlie wordlessly followed him into the kitchen.
"You look like hell, Hunter," he observed. "What's with the wood pile? Did you cut all that?" he asked.
Hunter chuckled to himself. There was enough wood cut to last his uncle the next few years.
"Yeah, well I look ten times better than McCall," Hunter retorted. "Thanks, Charlie, for bringing this. I thought I'd be able to leave her and get to the store myself at some point, but . . ."
"It's been harder than you thought, huh?"
Hunter only nodded. It was the understatement of the century. He took a box of laundry detergent out of the bag -- thankful he remembered the brand that McCall swore by when he dictated his list to Charlie -- and ventured into the small laundry room where piles and piles were sorted on the counter and floor. One glance at the apartment-size washer and dryer told him it was going to take quite some time to get it all done.
He figured underwear was the biggest necessity so he threw in a load of McCall's whites, remembering to turn the washing machine on gentle cycle.
"How's she doing?" Charlie asked when Hunter returned, noticing the tall sergeant's tired eyes and prominent lines in his craggy face.
"Well, I think she's over the biggest hurdles," he said confidently. "She's sleeping an awful lot right now."
"Looks like you could use some, too."
"Yeah. In due time."
"How much longer do you think you'll be here? Not that I'm rushing you, but I just need to know so I can plan things."
"At least another week. She's a mess, Charlie."
"That bad?"
"It's gonna take me at least that long to get her healthy again. I don't want to bring her back until she's back to her normal self. Less questions that way."
"Well, good luck. Tell McCall I said to get better. And get some sleep, Hunter."
Hunter closed the door behind him and collapsed on the couch, where he remained all night, undisturbed.
*****************
McCall opened her eyes hesitantly after lying still in the serenity of wherever she was. Log walls surrounded her and sounds of birds chirping were at her ears. The bed she was lying in was soft and warm, but she was met by a late autumn chill when she cautiously pushed the covers back and sat up to greet the dawn that was just beginning to creep in through the windows.
Waves of dizziness passed over her as she sat up and placed both feet on the cold wooden floor. She closed her eyes and willed it to stop as she tried to remember where in God's name she was.
Flitting images of Hunter taking care of her randomly surfed her memories. She remembered being violently ill, but nothing else. She stood up slowly and breathed heavily to warn off the pain of severe muscle soreness. She felt as if she had been beaten within an inch of her life. Every muscle in her body seemed to be tight, cramped and painful. Even her insides her, she realized.
McCall found the bathroom and was surprised to see all of her own personal toiletries sitting neatly on the counter or in her bag. She went to the sink and gasped as she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked sunken, with big, dark circles shadowing them. Her skin had an unhealthy, grey pallor to it. And it was when she put her hand up to her face that she noticed the wounds on it and her forearm, as if she had been attacked with a switchblade.
Images of shattering glass and being held down against her will flooded her brain. And so did memories of Hunter's voice, murmuring softly to her at intermittent periods of time. Strangely enough, instinct told her he was near, and while she couldn't remember much, she assumed he was there with her, somewhere.
The big clawfoot bathtub beckoned her, overriding her other desire to find Hunter and get her questions answered. She felt absolutely wretched, and a long, hot bath was screaming her name.
She ran the water and poured her favorite bubble bath into the stream of steaming hot water. Slowly, she unwrapped her robe and pulled her nightgown over her head before sinking into the depths of the water. After a long soak, she reached for her bag and rummaged through it, thrilled to find a pink disposable razor. Judging from the growth of soft, dark hair on her legs, she figured she had been out of commission for quite some time.
She felt slightly better after her bath, at least partially human anyway, and dug through her suitcase that was sitting on a small table, opened, her clothing folded neatly inside of it. The clock in the room told her it was early, barely before 7 a.m. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean turtleneck and ski sweater, thick socks and a pair of shoes. Her stomach rumbled, hunger gnawing at her insides. And from the way her jeans were falling down her hips, she figured she probably hadn't eaten in days.
And as she slowly weaved her way through the small cabin, holding on to the walls for support and guidance, she found Hunter, snoring like a freight train on the couch by the fireplace. She smiled inwardly, seeing the Hunter very few knew. The man with the boyish grin and chiseled jaw, with a gentle heart covered by a hardened toughness required by the LAPD.
Slowly and quietly, she boiled some water on top of the stove and poured herself a cup of steaming tea. She was also inwardly pleased with herself at finding an old coffee pot, which she filled with ice cold mountain spring water and a generous helping of coffee grounds. After she put the pot on the stove to perk, further investigation yielded a honey & oat granola bar which she grabbed along with her mug of hot tea and slipped out the front door.
A brisk country morning enveloped in rising sunshine greeted her, along with piles and piles of freshly chopped wood, some neatly banked against the cabin wall and the rest in a haphazard pile. One pile in particular caught her eye, as it was sitting directly in the rising sun.
***********
Hunter heard the screen door open and close. He woke with a snort, realizing he had been sound asleep. He could also smell the beginnings of perked coffee. And that meant McCall was among the living.
He glanced outside and saw no sign of her, but seeing the Monaco still in its place, knew she hadn't eluded him. Her seemingly restful, uneventful night's sleep told him she was on the mend. He took the opportunity to take a quick shower, and afterward donned a pair of Levis and a t-shirt, along with one of his favorite flannel shirts to ward off the morning's autumn chill. By then, the coffee was finished and after pouring himself a mug, walked out to the cabin's front porch in search of his partner.
After a few glances around the property, he found her, sitting on top of the largest, neatest woodpile -- the one he was most proud of -- her face tilted toward the sun. Sunlight danced around her dark hair, bringing out auburn highlights.
He walked toward her, and at hearing his footsteps, she looked down at him, a hint of a smile at her lips. "You shouldn't be sitting up there," he warned her. "If one of those pieces move, the whole pile is gonna go."
"Then help me down," she ordered, sitting her mug down on piece of wood. She had realized once she had climbed to the top that getting down would be tricky. But the warmth of the sun beckoned to her, and she was happy to just sit there with her eyes closed as the sun warmed her aching body.
He lifted his arms up toward her and she fell into them, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her, a most welcome feeling. But the feeling was short-lived when her knees buckled underneath her as he set her on her feet, dizziness returning with a vengeance.
"Whoa, hold on," Hunter told her as he supported her. "You've had a rough few days, so take it easy."
He guided her back to the porch and joined her in sitting on the steps, each one leaning on a support beam. "I must say, you are looking a little better," he said honestly. "At least your eyes are clear."
McCall cleared her throat and looked at him intently. "Yeah, well, having Estee Lauder around helps," she said, a small grin creeping on her face. "God, Hunter, I feel like I've been through a war. What the hell happened? Why am I here? Why are we here?" she asked. He watched her try to straighten her legs, a pained grimace overshadowing her thin face.
"Do you hurt?"
She nodded her head. "My muscles just ache. They feel stiff, like I've been to boot camp, but boot camp won."
"That'll go away soon. How's the rest of you? How's your stomach feeling?"
He was met with a grin. "Hungry. I grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen but haven't gotten to it yet," she said, reaching into her pocket and handing it to him. She sighed and looked at him closer. He looked like he had been through the war himself. Signs of fatigue and worry showed in his face. "You still haven't answered my questions."
"What do you remember?"
"Pretty much nothing." She shook her dark head, squinting her eyes as she tried to recall something, anything.
"Tell ya what. Come inside and sit and I'll make breakfast. How's that? And we'll talk." He stood up and reached out to her, putting his arm around her shoulders to steady her as they walked inside together.
After she was seated at the small table, she watched him make breakfast as she sipped another cup of tea. "Was I in a hospital? I remember something about a hospital," she began, trying to force his hand. He was stalling, she knew. "And what happened to my hand?" she asked, looking at her mangled hand and wrist again.
"You punched a hole through the door, trying to get out of here," he informed her, pointing toward the front door. He watched her gaze at it, her wide-eyed expression amusing him. "Kenny Dunston would have been impressed."
"Hunter, what happened?"
She heard him sigh as he cracked eggs into a pan. "What is the last thing you remember?" He watched her dart her eyes around as she mentally pushed through the cobwebs in her brain.
"I don't know. I don't know if the memories are real or if I dreamed them," she said softly. And then her eyes lit up. "Sid's! I remember eating a danish at Sid's and finding a hair in it," she said, her nose crinkling in disgust.
Hunter frowned at her. "That was at least a month ago. Try again. You said you remember a hospital. What do you remember?"
A deep breath escaped her lips as she tried in earnest to remember. Her brow crinkled as she looked at him with new dawning. "I was in a lot of pain. I remember being held down, or someone holding on to me."
"That would have been me," he acknowledged, nodding his head as he handed her a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. She nibbled at the toast as she waited for him to fill his own plate and sat down across from her. He watched her, deep in thought.
"Oh my God," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Hunter looked up from his breakfast and watched as bits and pieces of the past few days' events came at her with full force.
"They wouldn't give me anything for the pain." Hunter nodded his head at her again. She closed her eyes as she remembered being in horrific pain. Her breakfast remained untouched as she realized the horrors of her actions. "I remember a doctor saying I was . . . addicted," she finally said.
She kept waiting for him to come to her defense, saying it was a mistake. That it was a lie. That the doctors had spoken untruths. That she had imagined it.
And it never came.
"Was I?" she finally demanded. "Hunter, tell me the truth."
"Yeah."
"And you . . ." she accused, pointing a finger at him. "You took me out of the hospital and brought me here, didn't you?"
"Yeah. I admitted you to Rick Hunter's Hospital for Broken Cops." She watched him eat another mouthful without interrupting his eye contact with her. "You were pretty sick, McCall."
She rested her forehead on her hands as she tried desperately to remember. She moaned quietly as intermittent memories floated through her head again.
"I threw up a lot, huh?"
"Oh yeah."
"And I said a lot of really awful things to you." His silence affirmed her question.
"Let's just say you can curse a blue streak when you're really, really pissed off. I told myself that if your head started to spin around, I was gonna call a priest."
"I don't remember much else," she admitted.
"Well, that's okay. What's important is that I think you're over the worst. Now eat, will ya? Eat all of it. I have plans for you later."