Author's Note: This wee story is a response to a challenge to include the words `Fear, Goodbye and Sniper' in a `ficlet' or `drabble'
DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own the Five-0 characters and am not making any money out of writing this, it is just for fun.
MOONLIGHT AND SIRENS
At seventeen minutes to one, ante meridiem, a telephone rang to a darkened room in an empty house. The rich, Koa wood paneling on the heavy hall table, black as ebony in the pre-dawn hours, trembled with the vibration its intrusive jangle caused.
Ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg…
The noise went on and on with mechanical regularity as if hoping that someone – some thing – would take pity on the tortured furniture and relieve it of its burden. But no one responded to the caller's persistent entreaty and so it continued.
Ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg…
The mournful bell resounded and shadows stared back at one another across the expanse of tiled floor with innocent neglect.
Ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg…
Yesterday's polish, applied with a strong hand, barely shone as the shifting glow of moonlight drifted slowly past etched windows framing an enormous pair of front doors. Partially open, they too beckoned.
Ring ringgg… it trailed off.
Suddenly all was silent, save the deafening sound of nothing. As abruptly as it had begun, all noise ceased to be.
Four times the hallway temporarily lost its gleam as clouds gathered across the lunar reflection, leaving pitch in its wake, but then the house began to move: breathing in and out as air shifted between its walls.
Perhaps not so empty after all, there came the faintest of scraping: like a cat scratching at woodwork, or fingernails scoring across fabric. The sound came closer, building in strength until there was no doubt left that it originated from inside. Something was being dragged, or dragging itself, across the flooring inch-by-hard-won-inch. Down the length of the hallway, shuffling towards the beams of light it came, and with it the accompanying force of fear that, whilst unable to move the dust, was still palpable. Smothering the groaning form, such fear was indefinable and unwitnessed but, like a sniper who remains unseen – just as dangerous, for it gripped the subject's heart and sent its pulse racing wildly.
An anguished cry echoed up the stairwell and movement stopped for the briefest of moments whilst gasps controlled excruciating pain. Air was slowly drawn into abused lungs in a bid to remain conscious and tears of disappointment trickled onto a fine wool carpet. This was the sound of human agony – all remaining strength, and hope, channeled into the piteous struggle for life.
Illuminated now, the figure was clear - it was a young man crawling on his stomach, washed out shirt saturated with something dark and sinister, and with each painful element of his battle, he became more fatigued and closer to expiring. His goal was clear now, he was headed for the telephone; the only lifeline in his bid for survival, but it may as well have been a mile away for the sluggish speed at which he progressed.
To his relief, the jarring sound of the instrument began once more, ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg…
He moved, and cried then slid from carpet pile to cold, clear stone, aided by the slick, growing pool beneath his heaving chest. Inside his head one tempo, one instruction: reach the phone, reach the phone, alongside his soulful plea of, please be there, please be there!
As he got closer to perceived salvation, one bloodied hand reached out to the cord, his grimacing face drawn and wet with perspiration that even the barest twitch of a sinew caused to bead upon his pate. Too far - his arm was heavy, weighted down by solid muscles that were beginning to refuse his command. Frustration clouded his mind and for the briefest of moments the temptation to give in became all-encompassing. But there was more at stake than just his life; he had to warn someone, tell them he was right. Stealing himself for more mind-numbing agony, he placed both palms on the floor and heaved his body forward, almost screaming as the gaping wound beneath him rubbed the material of his ruined shirt. Two more feet? Three more? He had no way to tell, but the mirage of the telephone receiver gripped in his hand floated in his vision and the ringing blocked out all else in his mind.
Ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg…
Must reach it…
This time, when he splayed his bloody fingers out and stretched forward, blindly waving them in the air until the ball of his shoulder threatened to part from the socket, he found the tips were touching the slender, covered wire. Got it!
Ringgg ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ring ringgg –– ringgg ringgg –– ringgg ringgg –– ringgg…
Be him, please be him!
He closed his eyes and pulled.
The clatter of the phone on the patterned tiles almost shattered its sturdy covering and the receiver bounced off the hook, landing yet further away from grasp. He pulled himself toward the precious object, vision clouding now as shock set in. Curling an index finger into the twisted connecting cord he gradually reeled it in, like a fisherman with a prize catch until finally, blessedly, the solid form of the plastic was in his grip and he almost died of relief.
He could hear a voice, close to him, strong and reassuringly urgent, "Danno?! Is that you? Why didn't you answer before? Is everything okay? Danno?"
Before he had a chance to answer the barrage of questions, the sound of footsteps advancing from behind instantly annihilated all moisture in Danny's dry throat. This was the end. "Steve! TRAP!" He barely managed to urge.
"I know, we found out he's our man ten minutes ago, don't worry about me. Is he in custody? Are you okay?"
No answer…answer in itself. Something was very wrong.
"Save your strength, we're almost there, hang on Danno, I'm coming to get you. I didn't think, didn't WANT to think…" A pause then, " How badly are you hurt?"
A hiss of breath between clenched teeth as a wave of nausea prevented Dan Williams from replying. At the end of the connection, Steve McGarrett urged his driver to move faster: like the wind if necessary.
A breeze tickled the curled hairs on the back of Danny's neck and raised bumps on his abused flesh, signaling he had company.
"Tut…tut..tut…what have we here? Still alive I see, well so am I - your aim was wide, and you should recall that I'm a competent actor." A deep, masculine voice, dripping with sarcasm sounded close by. The man was lying, proof of that was seeping out from his wrecked guts, and Dan rarely missed.
Danny's head turned and there, just feet from his prone position, was the creature he had hoped was dead, that should – to all intents and purposes – be just a cooling corpse. He was sure he hadn't missed but how the man was still moving was beyond his ability to grasp; perhaps he had more in common with Rasputin than just his Russian heritage. All he could see was a large shadow, like a silhouette portrait that rose from the corner of his eye and separated from the wallpaper. No maggot-fodder this, but someone well and truly alive. He shuddered, feeling more afraid that he could ever recall.
"Danno can you hear me?"
Danny gripped the receiver, his tenuous and final link with his boss all that was keeping him from passing out, "He's here…God help me. Steve hurry!" was the last, shocking response McGarrett heard from his second-in-command.
The glint of metal: steel-blue evil, and the clang of a gun - the same one Danny had dropped when he was ruthlessly stabbed - disturbed the peace of the household as it was dragged menacingly across the decorative ironwork spindles on the elaborate staircase; the clanging sound a promise of devilment to come in the hands of the unhinged. The figure came closer, hunched over in the manner of a sewer rat. This time his aim wouldn't fail, the Five-0 officer was pinned like a butterfly under glass.
"Almost there! DANNO HOLD ON!"
Danny relinquished his hold on the phone, its reassuring warmth drifting away as it dropped to the floor. He curled in on himself and waited for the burning pain to happen again. Perhaps this time it would be mercifully quick, unlike experiencing the slice of the knife as it was thrust into his flesh and cruelly turned by a person he thought his ally. He reached down and grabbed his legs in a futile attempt to protect his injured abdomen…feeling his skin crawl with hatred and disappointment - perhaps for the last time.
Unless… How could he have forgotten?!
"It really IS goodbye now Danny, I'm sorry you had to find out this way, old friend, but I had no choice…my temptation proved your undoing and truly if you were faced with that much money I wonder if you wouldn't have done what I did? Aloha!"
The distant sound of sirens could be heard: it was now, or never.
Steve clasped the car's microphone in a trembling hand as aural witness to a betrayal of friendship and the perpetration of an unforgivable crime. He heard the report of a gunshot and jumped, shocked by what he heard. "Oh God NO! Danno?! DANNO!!!"
Nothing.
*****
It was the middle of the night, normally a time for resting and recharging, but death did not respect the lateness of the hour, it came creeping upon its victim like a lover caressing a mate. Silent and deft, it took the old, the young and all ages and types in between. Some were good, some were evil, some barely-born innocents, but death never discriminated.
The moon's waxy glow blended with the flashing blue of police cars as they surrounded the double-fronted beach mansion. The doors stood wide now and a pair of large Black Witch moths floated in and out of the portal, confused by the brightness of the interior. They danced unseen above the officers securing the scene. Fitting pallbearers for the soul of the recently deceased, they waltzed like large bats, beating their wings against the silk lampshades as if announcing their presence to everyone.
Amid the activity, both humanoid and entomological, a tall, lean figure crouched over a bloody form in the entrance. No stranger to death there was, nevertheless, something hard to bear about the face of someone familiar to you lying lifeless, surrounded by streaks of ruby gore. This man had been a friend and now he was gone. Where did it all go wrong? He chastised himself for not believing the signs sooner, perhaps if he had, he could have been saved. If only reversing time was as simple as winding back the hands of a clock. But time could never be erased, nor reverted and he had to deal with consequences of the here and now.
Shaking his head in wonderment, Steve McGarrett paused only briefly to survey the carnage that had taken place in such a short evening, he had other, more pressing, concerns. As he stood, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Such a waste." Was his only comment before turning back to another, warmer and more welcome, body.
This one was was alive, but only just. McGarrett's heart beat rapidly as he knelt in a sticky pool and slipped a gentle hand into the smaller one that had closed tightly around the silver .22 caliber gun. He released the near-death grip and pocketed the weapon.
If Danny Williams hadn't carried his back-up piece with him that night it was him the Five-0 Chief would be mourning now and not the man who had deceived them both.
He brushed a finger over the unconscious form, tenderly tracing the curve of a pallid cheek, as the medics worked on his grave injuries, "You did well Danno, I'm so sorry I let you down my friend, you said he was trouble…," But Williams was beyond hearing him, his last molecule of energy had been stolen away when he loosed the shot that saved his life.
Having heard the parting gunfire, McGarrett had been so very afraid he had lost him this time, that Danny would be taken from this life and he would never get to hear him apologize or tell him how much he was truly valued both as a man, and a colleague. He could do nothing, say nothing, that would salve the hurt Williams would be feeling when he made it to daylight (he refused to consider any scenario other than that he would survive). How could he proved that one friend's devastating treachery didn't mean all friends were the same? All he could do was cleave to his partner's bedside and keep the Grim Reaper from setting its sights on one of the best cops in Hawaii, and a companion his heart would break to lose. Friendship like his was a gift to be valued, not thrown asunder when greed came calling with its gold-edged temptation.
He couldn't keep either one of them safe forever but when dull days wound down to dusk he truly hoped that Danno would still be walking at his side in the Tropical sun of the island they called home.
*****
PAU