97. weird, USA.
JUNE 8TH, 2011 (WASHINGTON) -- CONTINUED
Olivia pressed her face to his chest. Breathed in the smell of his soap through the clean t-shirt. Rose and fell gently with the rhythm of his breathing. Another tear slid down her already damp cheek-she couldn’t seem to stop them. She was a dripping faucet, a leaking cup. Her tears dotted his shirt and she knew it was silly, pointless, because he was whole and safe and breathing. She was grateful and relieved and she couldn’t stop crying.
The hand against her back moved in a soft circle, rubbing at the tight knot between her shoulderblades. She relaxed slowly with a sigh; the sound made his heart twist. “I know,” he murmured in the half light of the room. The rumble of his voice as it resonated beneath his ribs made her hands tighten around the fabric of his shirt. “I know.”
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “That it’s over. That Danny…”
His hand slid up and through her tangled hair, still damp from her shower, until it curled around the back of her neck. His thumb brushed the cord of muscle behind her ear. The body was such a delicate, powerful thing when you looked at it piece by piece; humans were a contradiction in almost every aspect. “It doesn’t feel the same, without him.”
“Was he happy, just before?”
“Yes. I think so. He smiled before he stepped through.”
“He went believing he’d killed Robbie.”
“He knows better now. He knows. He’s wherever Harry is. He can still see us. Somehow.”
“I wish I could have said goodbye,” Olivia said, another tear sparkling on her cheek. “I was sitting right there and I couldn’t even see him or say goodbye.”
Ben said nothing because there was nothing to say. He just pressed his fingertips against her skin, drew warm lines down her shoulders.
“It’s over,” Olivia said. “It’s over. The worst has come and we’re still here. You’re still here. We still have a future. God, Ben, if I’d lost you…”
His arm tightened around her. The other, bandaged in white gauze, slipped around her waist. He held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe, but she was clinging just as fiercely to him as she let the tears fall unchecked. As she cried she felt something loosen within her, come unmoored, and drift away. The oppressive weight of waiting was finally gone and in its place was a dizzying relief coupled with a peace of mind that she had not known for months. It felt like a new beginning, a second chance, and she would be damned before she wasted it.
Olivia pushed herself up and kissed him, one hand fisted around his shirt and the other catching in his hair. She kissed him until her lips ached from the pressure of her need, until she had to break for breath before she fainted from lack of air. She drew her body against his, bruising his hips with her bones, and trembled as his hands tightened around her thighs.
“I love you, I love you,” she whispered breathlessly, pulling at his shirt. He lifted his arms obediently, let her draw it up and over his head.
She looked down at the fresh mark, unfamiliar enough to be distracting.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he assured, as she laid a tentative hand over the burn-like scar just over his heart. The skin was shiny and smooth to the touch unlike the raised, faded marks of the Boo Hag’s claws, a perfect dragonfly stamped above that older tissue.
She bent to press a soft kiss to the spot. He shivered, breath catching in his throat.
“Is it true, then?” Ben asked, a smile quirking his lips.
“Is what?”
“That old cliché about chicks digging guys with scars?”
“Depends on the guy,” Olivia said. “…Just don’t get any more, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised, pulling her closer and kissing her. “I love you, Liv.”
Clothes were discarded. Sheets kicked awry. They lost themselves in the rhythm and pull. She laid claim to every inch of him anew, to reassure herself that this was real and no mere dream. He set out to prove that nothing had been lost, that they had more than mere hours, that he was still there for her. She pushed herself to the brink, marveling in the way breath caught in his mouth and sweat gathered above his scars; he couldn’t stop the giddy laugh that overcame him as he rolled her over and she squeaked with surprise.
When they had exhausted themselves and had to lie still as their bodies rode the aftershocks, he slid his fingers through hers and held on for dear life. They drifted in and out of consciousness, sleep beckoning and yet strangely elusive. When he finally woke fully the clock beside the bed read 6:35 AM in neon green. Olivia had curled herself closer, their joined hands between them. He kissed her cheek-she stirred with a soft moan.
“We should go to the hospital,” he whispered. “Check on Charlie and Robbie.”
“Alright,” she murmured, eyes still closed, her eyelashes dark fans against her pale skin. A second ticked by before she looked at him. “…He’s going to wake up. There’s no reason for him not to.”
“Absolutely. Rob’s strong. He’ll pull through.”
She bridged the inches between them and kissed him again. Her kiss said everything words couldn’t, and he returned it in equal measure. Then she pulled away, slipped her hand from his, and grabbed at the clothes draped over the chair. “I’ll be quick,” she said, stepping towards the bathroom, her body a pale outline in the curtained gloom.
“Olivia?”
She hesitated in the doorway, hand on the light switch, and looked back over one shoulder. “Hmm?”
“Marry me.”
The smile she flashed was as brilliant as a shooting star. “Absolutely.”
*****
One more minute. That was all she was going to give him.
And then she was picking up this chair and smashing that fucking machine to bits of useless motherboard and plastic slivers. That beeping was driving her batshit.
“I’m serious,” she told him. “So you better open your goddamned eyes before I cause thousands of dollars worth of property damage. I don’t especially want to make friends with Kruger, but that’s what it’s going to come down to. If you don’t open your eyes and stop me.”
Nothing. Not even an eye-twitch. Just the steady and incessant beeping of the heart monitor. After eight hours of that noise, even the most level-headed and rational person was liable to indulge in a murder spree. The fact that Charlie had restrained herself this long was nothing shy of a miracle.
The door opened with a soft squeak. Charlie looked up expecting yet another nurse, or perhaps a new patient for the second and as-yet-unclaimed bed. The woman that stood in the doorway was obviously not a doctor, dressed as she was in a tailored gray suit. She had an incredible amount of curly blonde hair and tasteful jewelry, and was looking at Robbie’s bed with a terrible mix of worry and relief.
Charlie stood quickly, the legs of her chair skidding against the linoleum floor. “Are you…?”
The woman looked at her as if just noticing her presence. It took another second for her gaze to sharpen, for the light to click on in her eyes. “You must be Charlie.” She stepped forward, hand outstretched. Charlie shook it awkwardly, her usual confidence failing her. “I’m Tilda. Robin’s mother.”
“I’m-”
“I know who you are,” Tilda said quickly. Her tone was blunt but not unkind, which matched the mental image Charlie had drawn of her. “He’s told me about you. In his phone calls and emails. I’m glad to meet you. Though, obviously, I would have rather it been under different circumstances. The doctors can’t explain it sufficiently. Can you?”
It was the sort of look and tone that was impossible to argue with. Tilda Beechum was not a woman to be quibbled with, and in this aspect they were identical. Charlie squared her shoulders.
“Robbie’s like this because my brother was in danger. A possessed woman was going to kill him. Danny saved him, but doing it took too much of Robbie’s energy.”
“And Danny?” Tilda glanced around the room as if he would suddenly present himself.
“…He passed on. He finished his unfinished business.”
Tilda nodded slowly, looking down at Robbie’s bed, reaching out to brush her hand against the wrist that lay over the bedclothes. “It’s good,” she said to herself. “I’m glad. I just…” She stopped herself, cleared her throat firmly. “I’ve already spoken with the police. They explained that Robin is no longer a person of interest in their case; that they’d caught the killer. He’s been cleared of all suspicion. There won’t be any charges.”
Charlie nodded silently, sinking back into her chair.
“Though one officer did recommend that I have him committed to a mental health facility to have him treated for his ‘hallucinations’,” Tilda added wryly.
“That’ll be Deputy Kruger,” Charlie said, fighting back a furious yawn.
“Have you been here all night?” Tilda asked, fixing her with a piercing look.
“Most of it. With Danny gone, I didn’t want him to be alone when he woke up.”
Tilda smiled, a fleeting but sincere gesture. “Robin cares about you a great deal. I could see that, in the way he talked about you.”
Charlie chewed the inside of her lip.
“My son,” Tilda said slowly, haltingly. “Doesn’t make deep connections easily. In that aspect, he takes after me rather than his father. He’s very sociable, and makes friends easily, but there are few he truly takes into his heart. You must be a singular woman to have earned a place in that heart. I hope you appreciate that gravity.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Charlie said quietly. “…I don’t really deserve him, to be honest.”
“Whether you do or not is irrelevant,” Tilda said sharply. “He thinks you do. If you’re so uncertain, I recommend you endeavor to change that.”
She reached over to brush his unruly bangs back and for one small moment she was the gentle mother tending to her child. Then she straightened stiffly, all business again. “After my eight hour flight, I am in dire need of some coffee. Can I bring you back a cup?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Tilda closed the door quietly behind her before striding purposefully down the hall to the row of vending machines. Ben and Olivia rounded the corner and passed her just as Deputy Kruger turned from the opposite aisle.
“Hello, deputy,” Ben said politely. “…Is everything alright? I thought we were unquestionably cleared.”
“Oh, you are, Mr. Hawthorne. I was already here visiting a fellow officer; figured I’d swing by this ward and check on Beechum. How’s the arm?”
“Painful,” he said honestly. “Ten stitches seemed a bit excessive, to be honest. Even if they were tiny. How is Mel Bernstein doing?”
Kruger cocked her head at him and made no attempt to hide her confusion. “…The woman tried to stab you.”
“I know, officer: I was sort of there.”
She shook her head at him. “Well, the insanity plea looks pretty viable. The doctors say she’s suffering from a disorder called porphyria. Some rare blood disease that results in a lot of vampire-like symptoms. It could be the cause of her blindness. And since she woke up she’s been screaming about shadows whispering to her, making her commit the murders-”
“Deputy Kruger,” Olivia interrupted shortly, face grave and focused. “Don’t write it all off as madness or some sort of an act. You weren’t there when it happened. If you had been, you’d have seen that she was being controlled by something beyond her power. Mel Bernstein is a victim just as much as Ben or any of the others she killed.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll leave that to the defense attorney. I’m sure he’ll make quite the sympathetic case, an old blind woman like that.” But she glanced away uncertainly, thumb rubbing over the badge clipped to her belt. “There is something I wanted to ask you, though, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“What?”
“How did you know all that about my father?”
Ben met her eyes steadily and shrugged with a wry smile. “I don’t really know, deputy. Sometimes these things just happen to me.”
“You asked me why I followed in his footsteps, if I hated him so much?” She shifted from foot to foot, hands at her hips. “I did it because I felt like I needed to clear the family name. I wanted to prove that there could be a cop named Kruger who wasn’t a total dick or used excessive force and discriminated wildly. I had to make up for all of his lackings. Plus, I knew it would piss him off to no end if I got further on the job than he ever did.”
Ben’s smile widened. “That sounds like a pretty great reason to do a job, Deputy Kruger.”
“You know what I bought with my first paycheck from the department? One of Harry Hawthorne’s prints. A shot of a hawk skimming over a river with a fish in its talons. Hung it up in my living room right where the TV would have gone. Gives Dad indigestion every time he sees it-and heartburn when I mention how much I dropped for it. I mention that number a lot.” She grinned, flashing teeth. “Have a good day, Mr. Hawthorne. Ms. Nettles. I hope your friend recovers quickly.”
Kruger had just disappeared around the corner when a new voice addressed them from behind. “Excuse me?”
They turned to face Tilda Beechum, who stood with a cup of steaming coffee in each hand. “Are you Ben and Olivia?”
They nodded wordlessly.
“Tilda Beechum. Robin’s mother. I’d shake, but I’m indisposed at the moment, as you can see. Could we sit down here for just a moment and talk?”
*****
“Okay, I know I’m a pretty shit girlfriend,” Charlie said quietly. “All I do is push you away when you try to get close. I acknowledge that. And I’m not gonna promise that I’ll change, because we’d both know I’d be lying. But… I’ll make an effort. I’ll try to listen when you call me out on my bullshit. I’ll… Do my best to let you in more. I’ll try. But you’ve got to wake up for me to prove myself, okay?”
Nothing.
She sighed and leaned forward on the edge of her chair, planting her feet more firmly. “Robbie, I know I cock things up. That’s always been one of my special talents. But… I do want to learn how to fix things once I’ve fucked them up. And thus far you’re the only guy I’ve met who’s got the stamina to fight me to a standstill.”
Nothing.
Charlie slid her hand over the white sheets. Slipped her fingers through his, lying limp and half-curled. Pressed her palm to his and willed him to move, to speak, to do anything to let her know that he truly would be alright again.
“Christopher Robin Beechum, if you made me fall in love with you only to check out, I will be more than pressed,” she whispered, head bowed. “I have never begged anyone in my life for anything.”
The machine beeped.
The clock ticked.
“I love you. I want to be with you. I still don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do with my life but I want you to share it with me. I want all those stereotypical smooshy things that couples have-but only if it’s with you. Maybe I’ll even want a kid with your wonky-ass eyebrows someday. So don’t you dare give up on me, Robbie Beechum. Don’t you dare.”
She curved her free arm against the bed, leaned her head into the crook of it, and tried to breathe calmly through the steady buzz of fear. The incessant beeping slowly faded as her eyes closed, the dramatics of the past day and the weight of sleeplessness pressing down onto her shoulders. A long moment passed peacefully as she sank into silent unconsciousness.
The hand in hers moved slowly, fingers tightening around hers in a steady squeeze.