Oxygen fic
Title: “Second Wind”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Timeline: over a year after the ending of ‘Oxygen’.
Summary: Harry told Madeline she was free. He was mistaken. Alcohol and problems are back in her life - and, oddly, so is Harry. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Property of Richard Shepard and Co. I don’t claim it as mine.
A/N: I don’t have much background on Madeline as well as other characters but I tried to deal with what I have. The idea came out of thin air. I don’t really like the ending of the movie. Harry is such a nice guy, he can’t really be dead, can he?
SECOND WIND
Oxygen (IPA: /ˈɒksidʒən/) is a chemical element with the chemical symbol O and atomic number 8. (…) The presence of large amounts of free oxygen in the atmosphere may have driven most of the organisms then living to extinction.
Wikipedia
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It’s funny how some people make promises and then repeatedly break them. Madeline had been making promises all her life, since before she could remember. And she had been breaking them. Not to touch a bottle or a pack of cigarettes for that matter, not to search for pleasures away from Tim, her dear husband Tim who would forgive her against all odds, who would always want her even when she didn’t want herself. Madeline should have felt happy. But she didn’t.
She tossed and turned in bed until the desire came that she could not fight any longer. She went to the bar and got drunk. So drunk she barely found strength to call the taxi driver her address when he took her home.
“I’ll quit,” she said, shifting under Tim’s heavy gaze.
“You know what, I’m not buying this shit anymore,” he replied in that deadly calm, reserved voice of his that clearly told her things had now gone terribly wrong. She rolled her sleeve and showed him her arms, two perfectly healthy pinkish stripes of skin, no marks, nothing, as if saying, ‘I’m not seeing him anymore.’ Tim snorted bitterly. “Maddy, you need help. We’ll get through this, you just need to do something.”
She looked away from him, tears burning in her eyes. ‘We,’ she wanted to shout at him, ‘are not getting anywhere! How many times has it been ‘we’? It’s always ‘me’ alone!’
She restrained herself. Tim was trying too hard to understand her, she could only be grateful for such patience. But the ground was slipping away from under her feet. It felt almost like being locked in a box, air melting away, dissolving - and then every breath, every inhale brought you closer to your doom.
Madeline took a shaky breath.
She was waiting for Tim to find a more plausible argument than ‘save yourself’. She knew she was slipping over the edge again, back to her demons that lay on the bottom of a bottle, but at least this time her consciousness was clear: she didn’t cheat anymore. Maybe that’s why she needed to drink again.
Tim hugged her. She probably should have wrapped her arms around him but she didn’t. She sobbed, took a step back and looked at him for a few minutes without saying a word.
“If you want me to go to the center, I’ll go, all right.”
“I want you to want it yourself,” Tim said. “You don’t have to do it for me, Maddy.”
“Tim, I’m fine, really.”
The next day Madeline kept her promise. Perhaps for the first time in the past few years. Tim swore not to make the treatment obligatory, and here she was sitting in the fourth row out of six in a room full of people with a problem, willing to get rid of that problem. How did it come to this? Madeline listened to the people’s stories, and they just kept talking, driving her insane with exasperation. Finally the session was over. The feeling of her duty fulfilled made Madeline’s heart flutter with something akin to joy.
She stood by the revolving doors of the rehab center, smoothing her hair, when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd. He looked back at her and disappeared behind a truck waiting at the crossroad for the semaphore signal to change. When the truck drove on, there was nobody behind it on the sidewalk.
Madeline squeezed her eyes shut. The door turned, letting her through.
She saw him again briefly after the next session. He leaned against the street torch and he looked at her again, looked her in the eye, she was sure of it. He gave no sign of recognition, but she knew that he saw her.
She knew that she saw him too. But he was not supposed to be there.
“Pinch me,” she said to Tim when she came home that day. “Cuz I’m either sleeping, or going stark mad. I’m seeing things.”
“Like what?”
“Tim… I saw Harry.”
He rubbed his eyes wearily. Must have been a difficult day at work. Madeline cocked her head and waited for him to react, trying not to blow up because of the tension building up steadily within her.
“Harry what? Harry who lives next door, or Harry Potter riding his broom? Maddy, I don’t quite-.”
“Harry Houdini.”
“The magician?”
“Right, a zombie of the magician!” she blurted out vehemently. “Rose from his grave and came to say hello. The kidnapper. Last year case, Hannon, remember?”
Tim’s hands lay heavily on her shoulders; that warm and fuzzy weight of comfort that should make her feel better and forget all her troubles at least until the morning arrived.
“That’s almost the same thing. You shot him. There’s no way he can be alive now.”
Madeline nodded stubbornly. They say if you believe something very-very strongly, it may one day come true. She tried to believe the clouds would disperse and the dark would go away, but faith was never one of her strong sides.
Madeline was grateful Tim hadn’t told anyone in the department about her sessions at Alcoholics Anonymous. She could have been dismissed but she was not. She raised the binocular to her eyes, keeping watch on the bar entrance where the object of the police surveillance was now lounging.
“I swear if this guy takes any more of our time I’m gonna go in there and drag him out myself,” Jesse remarked irritably.
Madeline chuckled. “That would totally ruin us, don’t you think?”
Jesse bumped his head into the window with a long theatrical sigh. The good thing about him was his sense of humour that would never give out.
“So how have you been, shooter?”
“I’ve… been busy,” shrugged Madeline. The code phrase that usually meant problems. She was glad Jess chose not to press her for a more detailed answer.
The surveillance went on. The night progressed, becoming colder. Madeline shut her window and kept the heating to a maximum. Jesse brought two plastic cups of coffee from the nearest coffee-shop. It felt too bitter for there wasn’t enough sugar, scalding but refreshing.
“Can I ask you something?” Madeline wanted to know. “Personal, if you don’t mind.” Jess nodded. “Do you ever see… dead people?”
“’Course I do,” he remarked nonchalantly. “Lots of them in a cemetery.”
Madeline laughed nervously. “Very funny!”
She kept drilling him with an inquiring look until he turned his attention back to her. His face became long with surprise for a moment as he realized she was being perfectly serious.
“All right, who did you see?”
“Remember the kidnapping a year ago? The guy who buried Frances Hannon alive-.”
“Madeline, are you fucking kidding me?” Jesse snickered. “Of all the people you should know better that he’s deader than dead. You killed him, after all!”
She shook her head in disbelief. Jesse who had always been such a huge support - he too thought she was hallucinating. Or worse, drunk.
“I don’t drink anymore,” she snarled. He gave her a blank face that was supposed to help her settle down. Instead it only made her angrier. Madeline banged the door open and got out of the car. She tapped on the roof of the car nervously. Her breath came out in puffs of steam. Jesse peeked out, and she repeated almost plaintively: “I really don’t. Tim made sure of it.”
Her partner wrapped his fingers around hers comfortingly. Madeline was close to tears and hated herself for it. She was a goddamn cop, after all. ‘Hold on, girl!’ she told herself. ‘It’ll be fine. Just a minor crisis, gotta be close to period. Gonna be all right.’
* * *
Several months without alcohol. Three months 16 days, to be more specific. Not even a drop, not even on Christmas. Just pop-corn, soda and TV, all night through. Madeline was beginning to think it wasn’t that hard to keep a promise, considering that this time she really wanted to kick the habit.
She carried on with her AA group, having grown more weary of it, but also more determined to finish what she had started. She wouldn’t let her concentration slacken, not now when she was beginning to actually triumph over her problems. Tim was all support and encouragement. Still the greatest mystery to her how that wonderful patient man could bear to remain with her even in the darkest of times.
She stopped ‘seeing things’ too. Perhaps that had been guilt, some unconscious silly pang of guilt for having shot a man just like that. He was still subject to gas camera, she told herself, he would have died anyway. Or that might have been a trick of mind, stress, hangover, whatever. The good thing was that the visions stopped bothering her.
‘Houdini’ was well and truly dead.
And he remained dead until one evening Madeline decided to have a late dinner in a café next to the rehab center. Slow music played somewhere in the background, beaten by voices and clanging of dishes. He took the seat opposite her and smiled innocently. Madeline reached for the gun but remembered having unstrapped the shoulder holster before she went to the meeting. Shit! She’d never done anything that stupid before. Not with a psycho on the loose. Or would ‘the ghost of a psycho’ be more appropriate, given the circumstances?
It was really him. His thin, pale face, his long nose, his dark eyes regarding her with scornful expression. And damn her if this guy wasn’t 100 per cent alive! She resisted the urge to poke him with her finger to make sure.
“What’s up, Madeline?” Harry asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“How did you survive?” Madeline asked in turn.
Harry shrugged his lean shoulders. “I told you I’d escape, but you didn’t believe me, did you?”
“Escape from where? I shot you!”
“Temper, Madeline, I think there are yet some people outside New York that haven’t heard you.”
She brushed her hands over her face, trying to calm down. She could feel her pulse thudding against her neck and struggled to keep his attention away from it.
Harry smiled again, a full-fledged cheerful smile this time (the asshole was clearly enjoying himself); his teeth were clean and even.
“Where are your braces?” Madeline asked. Harry glanced at her arm, stretched out on the table surface, and smiled wryly.
“Where are your burns?”
“Fair enough.” She sighed wearily. It had been a tiresome evening. “You’re not gonna tell me how you survived, are you?”
“Not right now. But this could be a start of a beautiful relationship!”
Madeline’s gaze darted from a waitress balancing with two full trays to a company of students at the big table by the door. She was immobile, afraid that if she made any abrupt movement, reprisal would follow immediately. Harry might have a gun or a big knife, he might try to take a hostage. Hell, he was absolutely unpredictable!
“How’s ‘Mr Madeline’ doing?” Harry asked overpolitely. “I take it that you’re still together.”
“How very sharp of you.”
“What’s the matter, why are you so tense? Ooh, I get it!” ‘Houdini’ grinned again. Madeline’s skin crawled. “I’m flattered you deem me so dangerous, Detective Foster. But I’m not in the mood for doing anything stupid. Maybe a bit later.”
Madeline closed her eyes, almost hoping he’d turn out to be a mirage by the time she opened them.
“Are you gonna kill me?”
“Why would I? The thing is I like you, Madeline. I stand by what I said last time we met: we’re peas in a pod. Deny it if you will, though it’s really pointless. And now I’m gonna stand up and walk outta here. And you know what, Madeline?”
She wetted her lips, a small stream of sweat trickling down her temple.
“What?”
The word came out in one harsh, choked gasp. She had a rasping feeling in her throat. Harry leaned forward and whispered very clearly:
“I know you’re not gonna try to stop me, Madeline.”
“What the hell makes you think so?”
Harry skewed up at the people dining in the café. “I have faith in you, detective.”
He stood up and walked to the exit. A waiter passed by, blocking Madeline’s vision for an instant. When he was out of sight, she spotted Harry by the door, his hand on the doorknob. His lips curved into a smile. He made a ‘phonecall’ gesture, bringing his fingers up to his ear, and mouthed: ‘I’ll call you’.
And then he was gone.
Madeline slammed her hand flat on the table, palm down. She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. For a moment the sound of her heartbeat shut off all the noises of the café.
Madeline stormed out into the street, looking around agitatedly. He could not be far. Her hands, balled into fists, tugged at the flaps of her jacket. She turned round the corner and saw him walk in the alley. A few people scattered about stayed out of the fire range. That would matter if ‘Houdini’ planned to shoot.
Unarmed, Madeline had very limited choice. She grabbed a sharp chunk of iron that lay by the dump and followed him. If the guy had escaped death, he shouldn’t escape justice.
“Stop right there!” Madeline shouted, lifting the piece of iron. “Don’t move! You’re under arrest.”
The man froze, hands in the air. Madeline came closer, panting.
“What did I do?” he asked in a muffled voice.
“Turn around slowly.”
It wasn’t him.
Madeline bit her lip. The same height, the same constitution, even the same dark-green sports jacket. But a different face.
She dropped her improvised weapon and gestured him to lower his hands. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
She didn’t hear it if he said something. Her cheeks burnt. She wasn’t sure if she’d seen Harry at all. Headlights flashed in the dark, their light covered Madeline’s face in crooked streaks.
She came home, crashed on the bed and fell asleep in an instant, ignoring any of Tim’s questions.
When the phone rang, it brought back the memory of Harry’s promise. Strange that a man like that should always keep his promises. Madeline should have probably told Tim about that encounter. They would have taken the matter to the department; they could have had the police listening to their phone.
Madeline said nothing. ‘Giving in to the dark side’, Harry called it.
She reached for the tube, half-expecting to hear his voice.
“Maddy?”
A mixed sigh of relief and disappointment. Madeline swept her hair back and said in a business tone:
“Hi, Jess, what is it?”
April 8-9, 2007
