FanFic - Holding On (Part 2)

*** RATED A VERY HARD "R" ***

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McCall's stomach was in knots as she went to her desk. Coming in from lunch, she was stopped in the hallway by Joe Baxter, a fellow officer in his early 40s who worked in robbery. She wouldn't describe him as cute or handsome, but not bad to look at. His hair was a light brown, and he had eyes the color of good scotch. He was pushing 6 feet tall, average, in her opinion, since most men towered over her 5'6" frame easily. Baxter touched her elbow as she emerged from the elevator and then shifted nervously from one foot to the other as she stopped and looked at him questioningly.

"Um, McCall? I mean, Dee Dee?" he asked. It was rare for someone to refer to her by first name, she had learned over the years. Everyone was reduced to last names or, God forbid, horrid nicknames.

"Yes?"

"Hey, I was wondering, would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?" Her heart fell. She was used to the come-ons, but this one seemed, well, genuine. Like a guy who really only wanted to take her to dinner.

But she had banished cops forever from her personal life. Granted, it had been a year almost to the day that Steve had died. But her heart and soul still ached for him.

But she was also lonely. And this guy seemed genuine. But, she felt like she was betraying Steve. Wasn't it too early?

She looked at the man waiting with baited breath and gave him her very best smile, the one that said "thanks, but no thanks."

"Joe, thank you for the invitation. But could I think about it first? Can I call you and let you know?" She realized as the words left her mouth that she sounded like she wasn't interested. Like she was giving him the shaft. "I just don't know if I'm ready for that yet." He nodded and then left, obviously hurt.

She wasn't ready to date. But would she ever be ready? She shook her head as she returned to her desk. Perhaps, someday, things would get a little brighter.

***************

McCall was unsuccessful at stifling a yawn. She squinted her eyes at the rising sun as she relaxed in her side of the '76 Dodge Monaco. Pulling an all-nighter was not on her list of favorite things, that was for certain. She didn't do it in college and she didn't like doing it now, regardless of the shift differential in her police officer's meager pay. The only good thing about working 11 to 7 surveillance was dressing down, she thought, as she looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt. She hated her blue uniform, too. She loved the perks of being a plain-clothes detective.

"Here, this'll help," Hunter's voice said to her as he handed her a thermos. She unscrewed the cap and peered into the bottom of the cylinder.

"It's cold, and it's like tar," she whined. But her voice didn't disguise the growl of hunger that came from her stomach, either. He shot her a grin.

"Yeah, but it'll take the hair off your chest," he teased.

She laughed at him while giving him her best roll-of-the-eyes. Hunter, her partner for six months, not to mention her record-breaker as far as partners went, was slowly leading her back into the world of the living. At first, it was weird. He never made a pass at her, never tried to get her into bed. And he rarely, if ever, mentioned Steve. Part of her was grateful, but the other part still craved talking about him. But as she and her mismatched partner grew to a larger comfort level, his teasing and occasional sexually-related banter brought a smile to her face and light into her heart.

He had become her friend.

Bob and Ron showed up in their brown police-issue Dodge, and she breathed a heavy sigh of happiness. Breakfast was now on her agenda. Hunter wasn't pleased to chauffeur her to Sid's, but she didn't care. She was hungry and dammit, she was going to eat.

Her 220-pound partner ate like a bird. And she ate like a truck driver. Unlike her friends growing up, her own metabolism seemed to be on the high end. She ate what she wanted, not caring to eat pizza with a boyfriend instead of eating only rabbit food like other girls. She finished her plate at their favorite greasy spoon and then watched her partner sitting across the booth from her, chewing absent-mindedly on a toothpick and nursing a cup of coffee.

Perhaps he could shed some light onto her dilemma. She respected his opinion -- most of the time.

"Do you think it has been long enough?" she asked. Immediately, she registered confusion on his rugged face.

"Long enough for what?"

"You know, long enough since Steve . . .," she began, unable to finish the sentence. She took a deep breath, knowing she wasn't making herself clear. Her conversation with Joe from yesterday afternoon was still bothering her. "Do you think Steve would hate me if I went out on a date?" she asked.

"You mean a real date? With a guy?" Hunter asked. Men could be such morons.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, a real date. A guy from the precinct asked me out to dinner the other day."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"Geez, McCall. You'd think about it? Nothing like making a guy feel good about himself."

"Well, it's been a while, y'know? I felt bad. It's not that I didn't like him enough to go out with him, I just felt, sorta . . . guilty." She felt her shoulders slump in defeat as she said the words. If she had been Catholic, she would have likened it to being like going to confession.

"Come on, McCall, let's get outta here," he said to her, plunking a ten-dollar bill on the table and grabbing her arm and leading her outside. She knew she was in for a serious discussion since he paid for the breakfast.

They walked together down the block in the early morning sunshine, and ended up at a small park. He was still chewing absent-mindedly on a toothpick. They found a secluded bench and they sat down on it. Hunter draped his arm over the back of the bench and around her shoulders. She'd never admit it publicly, but she savored the few and far between moments when his arm was around her. It was the very few times she felt safe and comforted.

"I need to tell you something, McCall."

"What?"

"The night Steve died, he told me something----something he wanted me to tell you, and I just never had the right opportunity," Hunter said.

Her eyes searched his. This, she was not expecting -- Steven's voice from beyond the grave. She knew Hunter was with Steve when he took his last breath, but she presumed that Steve had never been conscious. That he had never uttered a word.

"One of the last things he told me was to make sure I told you he loved you. He said not to die with him, but to go on. He wanted to make sure you knew that he wanted you to go on living, even if it was without him."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. In her mind, she could actually see Steve saying those words.

"Really? He really said that? Or are you just saying that so I'll let him go?"

"It's not about letting him go, Dee Dee. It's about moving on. Don't feel guilty about that. It's okay, McCall. Do it. Steve wouldn't want you to sit around. The last thing he'd want is for you to be lonely."

And that, in a nutshell, was the truth. She was horribly lonely. Overtime at the office, never noted on her time card, was spent out of sheer boredom and a yearn to be with other people. She spent some time with her mother, but that was limited by her own account. Her friends of old had sort of disappeared, all of them married, most with their own small children. She didn't have time for making new friendships, and other than with Hunter, spent very little of what free time she had with others.

She began to smile. Yes, this was what she needed. She needed to move on. She still loved Steve as much as ever, but it was true -- Steve was so loving and selfless. He would want her to be happy. They stood up and made their way to the car, neither one saying anything but communicating easily in their thoughts. He drove her home and left her off at the curb.

"Have a good weekend, McCall. Go easy on him!" he added with a grin. She turned and waved, planning to call Joe as soon as she got in. But she was suddenly puzzled.

Her partner's grin had quickly faded.

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McCall crossed her legs as she sat inside the ornately furnished room of the home of the Curaguayan Consulate. Her stomach was still reeling at the sight of the deceased -- half naked, beaten to death after being viciously raped. The bruises around her neck meant the killer had most likely strangled her, but it wouldn't be known for sure until the coroner finished his investigation.

No one saw anything. No one heard anything. McCall sighed with frustration. The next one on her list was Raoul Mariano, and no sooner had she read the name, she looked up into his dark eyes. Dressed like a gentleman in an expensive suit, he queried as to whom he should be speaking. McCall silently laughed. Once again, she was dismissed by a man as being a police officer because she was female.

Not only did the man in front of her answer her questions politely, he tried to charm her by inviting her out to dinner. Yet another situation she tried to avoid. She gave him a once-over, and felt a fleeting feeling of disappointment. He was certainly nice enough, and not bad to look at. But it was one rule she refused to break --- mixing business with pleasure.

He seemed to be understanding, even though it took more than once of her saying no, persuading him that he was pursuing a lost cause. Frankly, she didn't like being hit on, no matter how charming the man was. He left the room dejectedly, and she took the opportunity to compare notes with Hunter.

Chomping on his toothpick, he laughed as she complained about the ordeal with Mariano. She ran her hand through her short hair as she sighed with frustration. It was a pity, because the guy was actually nice. A real gentleman.

After being entertained by Carlos in the morgue, and being told officially what they had suspected all along, McCall smiled in the hallway as her partner began to loose his tie.

"So, who is it this weekend? Snookums? Pookums? Sweetie pie? What's her name?" she teased.

"Cindy."

"Ah, yes, Cindy, the astrophysicist." Hunter had a penchant for tall, big busted blondes -- who were conveniently not the sharpest tools in the shed. That's what she loved about her extra-tall partner. Every woman he dated was a distinct opposite from her own average stature and dark hair.

"So, you heading out on your religious retreat again?" he asked, returning the tease.

She laughed again. Okay, she admitted it. She was sort of on a dry spell . . . dateless for about a month. "No, I think I'll just sit at home and read a book. Real exciting."

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McCall finished cleaning her kitchen by 1 p.m. She looked around the cheerful room and smiled inwardly. After six months of living in the apartment complex next door to Mrs. Onderdung, she decided to buy another home. It was a small place on Bright Avenue in Studio City, not too far from the home she shared with Steve that she sold last year. She picked up the book on her end stand and settled into her wicker furniture. Everything about her little two-bedroom house was bright and airy.

A knock at her front door disturbed her quiet afternoon, and she was amazed at the armful of red roses handed to her by the florist's delivery boy. She found herself checking the card twice, making sure they were indeed for her. Roses, especially red ones, were her favorite flower. She inhaled the sweet scent of them as she carried them to her kitchen in search of a vase.

The smell reminded her of her wedding day and the huge bouquet of white roses that she carried down the aisle. It wasn't her birthday. And she wasn't dating anyone special. Who could the flowers be from? She opened the card and frowned. Raoul Mariano. But it was a nice gesture, she rationalized.

She answered another knock at her door as soon as she had sat down to read her book again. This time, the roses were twice the size of the last bunch. She shook her head and smiled. The man was certainly persistent.

And the third time, she found herself looking at Raoul Mariano in the flesh. Cheerful dark eyes greeted her behind another armful of roses.

"How did you find me?" she asked, laughing at how persistent he was. Her telephone number was unlisted.

"Police are not the only ones who can do detective work," he told her. He hesitated, almost shyly, and then asked her. "Today you are not working, correct?"

Well, he had her on that count. She didn't have the heart to turn him away. She shook her head. "Come on in."

She knew he was checking out her little house as she put the flowers into another vase. Her whole house smelled like roses. At first, she was flattered by his remark about her appearance, especially since she was certainly not dressed up. But as she looked at him closer, a feeling deep in her stomach made her take a step back. Something was wrong.

She was a firm believer in women's intuition. She had the uncanny ability to know when something was wrong. He was coming on way too strong. Perhaps this was the way it was done in Curaguay, but this is Los Angeles, USA, pal.

The hair on her arms prickled as she tried to remain calm. Something told her she was very close to danger. He wasn't ready to leave. He wanted more than she was prepared to give. She wasn't interested in a romantic relationship, certainly, but she knew she had to play her hand quietly, yet effectively.

She could tell he was disappointed, and she drew a deep sigh of relief as he turned to leave at her insistance. She couldn't wait for him to leave so she could lock the door. Something about him just wasn't . . .

Bam!

Her vision blurred as a slamming pain rushed from one side of her face to the other. She felt herself falling backward onto her living room floor, dazed from the blow from Mariano's right fist. Her unfocused eyes saw him coming at her again, and her police instinct kicked in. She kicked at his lower torso, aiming for his testicles as she rolled away from him, scrambling for the back door.

Pure terror raced through her, blood pumping. She could taste blood in her mouth as she tried to escape. She felt him grab her too-big shirt and pull her back into the kitchen, slamming her against the wall and punching her in the face again, and again. She gathered her strength and popped him in the jaw with every ounce of energy her 105 pound body possessed. McCall ducked under Mariano's arm and raced for the hallway, planning to lock the door and escape out of the window.

She felt him grab her shoulders from behind, pushing her toward her bedroom, pummeling her once again with his fist, knocking her down onto the bed. She weakened under the onslaught of his hands and arms as he continued to punish her. Blood trickled down her throat as black spots floated in front of her eyes. "Please, don't," she pleaded with him. "Please." Over and over, she begged him not to do what she knew was going to happen.

His hands squeezed her throat, cutting off the air to her lungs. She thought her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets as her lungs burned for air, and she silently closed her eyes and prayed. But God didn't show up to help her this time.

"Don't fight it," he told her, slowly relaxing his grip on her arms and neck. "If you fight, I'll kill you," he promised. And every cell in her body knew he meant every word of what he said.

Part of her fought to remain conscious, while the other part wanted to drift into oblivion, to a place where he couldn't find her. She heard him tear her pants and then her underwear from her body. She was too stunned and too frightened to fight. Her body wouldn't listen to her mind, which was silently screaming for help. She tried to keep her legs together in a last-ditch effort to fight him off, but she was no match for him as he squeezed her thighs, forcing her legs apart.

Tears streamed out of her eyes as she felt him force himself into her, her tender flesh giving way to his invasion, burning as he violently pushed himself in and out, holding her down at the same time. She could taste her own blood as she bit into her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You are so beautiful," he told her over and over. He released her arms and pushed her legs further apart, squeezing her thighs with his fingers until she screamed in pain. She heard him gasp, and then felt the hot rush of him inside of her as he finished. Suddenly, all was quiet. She lay there, dazed and unmoving, as Mariano got off of her, adjusting his clothes and zipping his fly. He grabbed her arms and pulled her up to meet his gaze, his chest still moving in and out in an effort to catch his own breath.

"Next time, you won't say no to Raoul Mariano," he seethed. He pulled her entire body off of the bed, sending her crashing against the furniture, where she landed in a heap on the floor. She curled up as far away from him as she could, her head throbbing, her body stinging in agony. She lay there, unmoving, as he left her. A few seconds after, she heard his car start and the gentle hum of the motor as he drove away.

Slowly, she opened her eyes as she sobbed. She could barely open her left eye, and she felt a huge lump of soft tissue growing on the back of her head. She didn't know how long she lay there, wondering if he was going to come back. Fear, plain and simple, overtook her senses again. She had to get out of there.

Hunter.

Her hands shook as she pushed herself up next to the bed, reaching blindly for the telephone. She could feel the hot, sticky remnants of him seeping between her legs, making her stomach want to revolt. On the third ring, Hunter's voice sent a flash of hope into her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hunter?" she choked out, not even recognizing her own panicked voice.

"Dee Dee?"

"Hunter?" she asked again, slowly losing what little was left of her conscious mind. "Help me," she pleaded.

"Dee Dee? What's wrong?" She could hear the panic in his voice. He knew something was wrong.

"Help me," she said again before dropping the phone, sobs emanating from deep within a part of her that she hadn't even known existed.

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She heard the siren, and then the squealing tires as Hunter laid rubber a block away. How much time had passed, she had no idea. Her body continued to shake as she slowly regained consciousness. She was still kneeling on the floor beside her bed, naked from the waist down. Blood continued to trickle from her nose, above her eye, and from her lip.

And then she heard him, cautiously prowling through her hallway.

"McCall?" he asked, in an attempt to find her.

"Oh my God," he said as he followed the cries involuntarily coming from her body, curled in a ball. She realized couldn't let him see her like this, and quick as a rabbit, she scrambled away from him. She curled herself tightly under the comforter, feeling his dazed expression take in the scene.

His voice calmed her slightly. She knew he wouldn't let Mariano hurt her. But she closed her eyes in shame. How could she have let this happen?

"Come on, Dee Dee, talk to me." Hunter's gentle words brought her out of her desolation only briefly. "Who did this?"

"Raoul," she heard herself say, her voice thick and raspy. "The guy . . . from the consulate."

"You're gonna be okay," he told her, not once, but many times. His words meant nothing, though. She heard him call for an ambulance. She heard the sirens approaching. Her eyes were open, but unseeing. She heard him get her robe from the hook on the bathroom door, and she felt him helping her sit up to put in on before the EMTs and other police got there.

She couldn't hold it together any longer, retching into the small waste basket that Hunter held in front of her with one hand as he caressed the back of her neck with the other. He waved the EMTs away, and tried to get her to walk, but to no avail. The pain throughout her body was more than she could bear, and the next thing she knew, Hunter had her in his arms, holding her protectively to his upper body.

She curled her arms around her neck, pressing her face into his shoulder, silently pleading with him not to let her go.

For the first time ever, she wished God had taken her to where Steve was. Because instead of seeing eternal, glorified rest, she was now living in hell.