Author's Note:
Hello, everyone! I am so excited to share this story with you! If you are someone that prefers a more detailed account, this story is not for you. But if you're a fan of my other stories and are ready for something different (and a little longer)— please, please enjoy! I've had many different versions of this story in my head for years, and after finally getting the inspiration I needed to finish it, I'm so pleased with how it turned out. As the title suggest this will probably be my last FanFiction— finding the time can be difficult anyway, but I'll be entering a timeconsuming
program in the fall that will only add to my busy schedule.
Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this fun adventure and for encouraging me in my writing. Your comments brightened my days! I'm so glad I was able to present these characters that I hold so dear to my heart in a fun, creative, and hopefully authentic way. Can't wait to hear from you all. — Reags
This story uses flashbacks throughout its entirety*
Fight on Counselor: The Case of the Final FanFiction
Chapter 1
"Perry, please be careful!" Della said almost frantically as she grabbed his arm.
"Della," he said taking her hand. "I'll be alright."
"But you don't have to do this! Someone else can do this! You ca—"
"Della," he was stern now. But he saw the fear on her face and he softened his tone. He searched to find her downcast eyes as he said, "I will be okay." He smiled. He gave her hand a tight squeeze. Then he was gone.
That was just one of the moments that kept replaying in Della Street's head. "What if I could have stopped him? I could have talked him out of it? I—" She began to grimace at her thoughts. They were painful. Besides, there was nothing she could do now, except keep herself busy. She tidied the office and arranged Perry's papers. She finished the jobs that she had so often been called away from: typing a letter refusing a case, organizing case files- all of the things a lawyer's secretary should be doing.
As she was carrying out secretarial duties, Paul Drake walked into the office. She was startled at his sudden entrance. She didn't say a word. Paul saw the question in her eyes and said, "No change, beautiful."
Disappointment was written all over face. "Della, why don't you go home? You've been up since—"
"Oh, Paul, I'm alright. You know me, I thrive on no sleep." She laughed nervously as she began to rearrange papers on Perry's desk that she had already arranged two times before.
He came and stood in front of her, and she rearranged the papers a fourth time. Her eyes were downcast as he said, "Della, there is nothing you can do for him here."
"I just want to have everything in order for him when he gets back on his feet," she gave a halfhearted smile.
Paul tried to look into her eyes, but she refused to meet his. Rather than trying to press her, he sat down in the chair where he usually made himself comfortable as he gave Perry case details. Because if he was being honest, he had been doing the same thing she had. Empty tasks- chasing leads that weren't necessary- that weren't even there. Trying to help, when this time, there was nothing he could do for his friend. He rubbed his tired face. He too, had details of the last few days swirling in his head. He had endless questions, just as Della did. But he always came back to the same answer- "Della, it was personal. Perry wouldn't have backed down...he wouldn't have backed down, no matter how hard we tried to persuade him." He made the last statement with frustration in his voice.
She knew it was true. It was all true. Her mind wandered to the day that started this whole nightmare.
"Perry," she paused before she spoke again. "Perry, are you alright?"
The lawyer stood looking out the office window. He was lost deep in thought, and his eyes were intense. He hadn't heard Della's voice- he didn't even know she was in the room. The only thing he heard was his thoughts and the questions swirling around in his mind. Della approached him and placed her hand on his arm. He turned abruptly as he felt the touch of her hand. He smiled at her briefly, and then turned back to the busy Los Angeles streets and his thoughts.
"Perry," she paused trying to think of something to say. She couldn't. "Perry, I'm
sorry. I—"
"I'll be alright, Della," he said abruptly as if he didn't want to talk about it. He smiled at her. He was grateful for her concern- he really was. He took her hand and began to examine it. "But he left behind a wife. He had two children-- both under the age of 10." His voice was filled with passion and conviction- almost as if he were cross examining a witness on the stand trying to reach a confession. He abruptly let go of her hand and turned toward his desk. "Della, I just wish--" he pounded his fist on the desk. He looked back at Della. He tried a smile, "I guess wishing can't get me anywhere, can it?"
She took his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. He smiled and patted her hand. She let him talk. She knew he needed someone to hear his thoughts- they had been burning within him all afternoon.
There was a moment of silence. He was trying to unscramble the storm clouds in his mind. "Grant and I met in law school." Della looked up at him now. "He was smart. Intelligent. Wise. He had everything going for him. He would have been brilliant in court." He smiled thinking about it.
"Would have?"
"He dropped out 2 years before he was finished."
"Why?"
"His little brother was robbed. The assailants left him for dead. They weren't sure he was going to pull through. Somehow he did- although it left him with a limp in his right leg. I still remember what he said, 'Perry, I couldn't prevent it from happening, I could only help him afterward. We help the victims, but we can't prevent them from being victimized."
"That's not always the case," said Della.
"I know that. But I still understood what he meant. He dropped out a week later. He left for police academy." He chuckled as he said, "Graduated top of his class. He could do anything he set his mind to."
His eyes became wistful, "It only took him a a few years to be promoted to detective. I think he could have been promoted higher if he wanted. But he loved his position. That's just the kind of guy he was."
As quickly as the smile on his face came talking about Grant Rogers, it left the moment he thought about his death. His eyes became hard. He turned to Della and said, "How could anyone be such a coward, Della?"
"Perry, what do you mean?"
"To drive by, and just shoot a man, and then to just drive away." He paused. The more he let his thoughts accumulate, the more the anger he felt swallowed the expression on his face. "A senseless, cruel death." His voice was full of frustration now.
Just then Lieutenant Tragg walked in. "Perry, it wasn't a senseless death."
Perry and Della looked back at the lieutenant. Della let go of Perry's arm as they stood to face him.
"What do you mean, Tragg?" His voice was a mixture of curiosity and frustration.
"It was revenge."
"Revenge?" said Della Street.
"Richard Greene," said Perry. His face became heavy with understanding.
"That's right," Tragg said.
Della remained silent now, she saw his mind was working fast, as questions began to be answered and new ones formed. But Perry saw the question in her eyes and began to explain, "Richard Greene. He was the leader of many serial robbings and killings. He always left behind sure evidence that he was the killer- notes, specific articles of clothing, anything. He was proud of it. He was always the perpetrator, but was never caught. He was always one step ahead somehow."
"Until Grant Rogers got the case?" said Della Street.
"That's right. No one could catch him, until 10 years ago. Greene had headed up the robbery and attack on his brother. Grant had studied his brother's case through and through, hoping one day to give his brother the justice he deserved. With the knowledge derived from his brother's case, he hunted Greene down day and night for 5 years. Once he got caught Greene, everyone else in his gang soon followed. Greene was the mastermind, his team just followed his orders. After he left, their work was sloppy. It was easy for the department to track them down." He paused and smiled as he remembered his friend. "Grant Rogers was a hero to this city. Once Greene and his gang were behind bars, the crime rate dropped drastically, the morale of the department had been revived, and when they had a banquet honoring Grant all he said was, 'For my brother, for my family, for my boys in blue, and for the City of Los Angeles.'" Perry's eyes twinkled at those words and he gave a small chuckle. He paused for a moment before saying, "Grant Rogers was a hero to me... and a darn good friend." He sat on the corner of his desk and cast his eyes out the window again. Della didn't move a muscle. She just watched him as understanding filled his face, and the truth weighed on his heart.
Chapter 2
The office was deadly quiet. Paul and Della both lost in thought. "Understanding couldn't lift the weight of loss off of his shoulders," said Della thinking out loud. She was emotionless as she said, "Nothing could. Nothing would. Except throwing himself into the fight."
The conversation of Tragg and Mason echoed in her mind.
"Let me help," said Perry as he stared coldly out the office window.
"We're having a meeting in 30 minutes, Hamilton Burger has asked that you be in attendance," said Tragg as if he had been anticipating Perry's response.
With that, Perry stood up, took his coat, and walked out with Lieutenant Tragg.
Now, here she was, in the quiet office with Paul Drake. Questions swirling in their heads and heaviness in their hearts. "What if?" That was a recurring question, but it would lead them no where. Della was seated at the edge of the desk, the same spot Perry had frequented, fidgeting with her necklace. Paul had made his way to the window, trying to find clarity in the chaotic city streets. He rubbed his face, took a deep breath, and lit a cigarette.
The leads. The breakthroughs of the case. The argument...
"Paul, I have to do this." Perry said adamantly.
"Perry, you've gotten close enough. This is the department's job, let them handle this." Paul's voice was raised now.
"I have spent weeks on this case, Paul. I'm not going to quit now." He was stern.
"Perry, you're not worried about how much time you've spent on this darn case!"
"Then why precisely am I doing this, Paul?" he shouted in frustration.
"Because justice isn't enough, Perry!" Paul was yelling now. His angered face suddenly softened, his loud voice lowered, "You want revenge."
"Not revenge, Paul!" he shouted. His face was twisted with anger, his fist clenched in frustration. But then he saw the concern that flooded his friend's face, and he softened. His tone became low, and his face wasn't angry anymore. It was serious and sorrowful. "Paul, I want to see justice through," he paused before adding, "That's what Grant Rogers did 10 years ago... I can't let that man die in vain, Paul. I just can't."
The worry on Paul's face mingled with understanding. He approached the lawyer, held out his hand, and said "Be careful out there, Perry." The lawyer took the detective's hand grasping it tightly as he shook it. They didn't say another word. They let the emotion on their faces, their firm grasps, and the heaviness in the room do the talking. As they shook hands, Paul breathed a silent prayer, hoping these brief moments would not be their last.
Chapter 3
The lieutenant sat in the waiting room. His face hard, yet weary. He held his hat and let his eyes study the brim, but his mind was preoccupied. He had been sitting in silence for almost an hour when Hamilton Burger walked in and sat down beside him.
"I thought you weren't coming," said Tragg dryly.
"I wasn't."
"What changed?"
"When I went into the meeting they said I seemed very preoccupied."
"And?"
"And they were right. They knew I was closely connected to the case and told me I could leave if I chose to." He smiled cheekily, "That was their way of saying I was being no help, and kindly booting me out."
Tragg grinned.
"And I was no help," he chuckled, "so I left." His face became solemn, "My mind was somewhere else."
"Still is, isn't it?" Tragg said. His eyes studying the brim of his hat yet again.
"Yes, lieutenant. It still is."
They sat in silence. They both understood what the other was feeling and thinking. No words had to be spoken. A doctor walked into the waiting room and they both stood up abruptly, with expectation on their faces.
"Any change?" Tragg asked quickly.
"I'm afraid not, gentlemen." He saw their faces drop and quickly added, "But he is still stable."
The two men looked at each other in silence. The doctor turned to leave but looked back at the sound of Hamilton's voice. "Doctor," he paused for a moment before saying, "is there any way we could see him?"
The doctor thought about it for only a moment, "Yes, I suppose for a few minutes." Then, he smiled as he said, "Follow me."
He led them to the small room and opened the door. They walked inside the room and stopped in their tracks at the sight of the man on the bed.
"I'll send a nurse for you soon, gentlemen."
Without removing his eyes from the patient, Hamilton Burger said, "Thank you, doctor."
Tragg moved closer to the lawyer. Hamilton stayed where he was. He was still taking in the image of the Perry Mason on the bed. He was pale and motionless. The only sign of life was the sound of his shallow breathing, and the faint movement of his chest. The strong, resilient man looked weak. His integrity and passion, seemed now, only a memory. Hamilton moved slowly to the foot of the bed, and Tragg was by the lawyer's side.
"It wasn't supposed to catch up with him," said Tragg breaking the thick silence.
"What do you mean, Tragg?" said Hamilton never taking his eyes off of Perry.
"The risks he took, stakes he raised, the choices he made... the man fought like a dog for truth. For justice. He is supposed to win!" There was frustration in the lieutenants voice.
"He won, Tragg. He got justice for Grant Rogers."
"Oh, no." said Tragg. Great hope began to raise in his voice and lift the wrinkles on his face. "When Perry Mason goes down, he goes down fighting," he paused and laughed before he added, "and somehow he comes out on top."
Hamilton chuckled.
"No, Hamilton. He's still fighting, he wouldn't be alive right now if he wasn't-- he doesn't win unless he pulls through." He gave a smirk, and patted the lawyer's hand. "Fight on, Counsellor. Fight on." He turned and left the room.
Hamilton moved slowly to the bedside of Perry Mason. His mind was flooded with memories of his passionate questioning in the court room, emotional confessions from those he questioned, his brilliant court demonstrations, and hard evidence he brought to the table. He thought of the man that fought for the underdog. The man who wouldn't stop until a verdict had been reached or a confession had been made— even if it had caused frustration within his own prosecuting career. He chuckled at that thought. It was funny how they all seemed like distant memories now, with the lawyer lying almost lifeless in a hospital bed. Hamilton placed his hand on the shoulder of Perry Mason and smiled. The words of Lieutenant Tragg echoed in his mind and came to his own lips— "Fight on, Counselor. Fight on."
Chapter 4
The office telephone rang. "Yes, Gertie?" said Della. She had anxiety in her voice, but tried her best to hide it.
"Lieutenant Tragg is on the phone, Ms. Street. Shall I--"
"Yes, Gertie. Put him on." She placed her hand over the mouth piece and said, "Paul, it's Tragg!"
Paul raised an eyebrow and sat on the edge of his seat.
"Hello, Lieutenant Tragg?"
"Yes, Della. I'm here."
"What can I do you for you?" she said trying to sound collected on the phone. Perhaps, he needed more case information.
"Actually, Della, I was just at the hospital. I'm calling to give you some news on Perry."
"Paul! He's calling to give some news on Perry!" She didn't bother to cover the mouth piece this time. Her heart stopped. Paul rose to his feet at the sound of his name and quickly walked over to Della, as she listened for Tragg over the phone.
"Della, there's still no change."
Her heart sank. She didn't say a word. The lieutenant heard her silence and added, "Della, he's alive. He's fighting. He'll pull through."
"Yes, lieutenant," Della said. She was fighting tears. Tragg heard the hope in her voice change to despair.
"Della, are you alright?"
"Yes, lieutenant. I'm fine." Her voice quivered.
"Della, if you need anything let me know."
"Thank you, lieutenant." The cry was beginning to catch in her throat, and tears were threatening to spill from her eyes.
"He's a fighter, Della. He'll pull through." Again, there was silence on the other end of the line. "I'll call you if I hear anything else."
"Yes, lieutenant. Goodbye." She quickly crashed the phone onto the receiver, and fought her tears. Paul took her shoulders. "Della, what is it?" She had forgotten Paul was standing there. His face looked grave.
"No change, Paul." She said still fighting back the sob in her throat, trying to brush off the matter.
His face showed relief, but hers was fighting to hide the wave of emotion that had overtaken her. He let his hands slip down to hers. "Della, are you alright?"
She gave a teary smile, and then shrugged. She then looked to the ground as she turned to look out of the office window, "I'll be fine, Paul."
He took a deep breath. He rubbed his face and sat down again. As quickly as they both were pulled out of their troubled thoughts, they were deeply entangled in them once more. The silence took Della back in.
Chapter 5
They stood in the shadows awaiting the next move- the final move. Greene wanted to meet with Perry. Alone. He wanted to talk to the man who had matched wits with him— but his next move was uncertain. With that fact burning in their minds, Perry and Della stood together waiting for Hamilton Burger to give Perry the signal to make his move. The mood was tense, Perry Mason and Della Street had faced the unknown many times, but this time the stakes seemed higher. The risk felt greater.
"Tragg and his men will be positioned all around me. Paul is among them. Hamilton will be listening in back here with you and—"
"Perry," said Della trying to hide her worry. "What will you do if he tries to escape?"
"Tragg will be listening in, Della. He and his men will come through." But really, they didn't have a plan. Richard Greene was unpredictable. He worked with precise calculation or on complete impulse— there was no on between.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Perry stood watching for Hamilton to make his appearance as he said, "Now, Della, I want you to stay back here with Hamilton until you know for sure that Greene has been taken into custody. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Perry." Her face was blank, her body was motionless, her voice expressionless.
"I don't care what you hear being said, I don't want you to make a move until you know it's safe."
"Yes, Perry." This time tears began to well up her eyes.
"And Della, I want you to be sure—" he stopped short when he looked at his secretary. "Della?"
The question in his voice caused her to look up. His face was serious. He took her hand. They were close and talking in whispers now. "Della, I have to do this."
She knew he didn't have to do it— the responsibility he felt had been placed on him by him. And yet she still answered softly, "I know."
He shifted his gaze from her face to her hands now. "Della," he paused, "Della, I—"
Hamilton Burger interrupted the conversation, "Perry, it's time."
"Perry, please be careful!" Della said almost frantically as she grabbed his arm.
"Della," he said taking her hand. "I'll be alright."
"But you don't have to do this! Someone else can do this! You ca—"
"Della," he was stern now. But he saw the fear on her face and he softened his tone. He searched to find her downcast eyes as he said, "I will be okay." He smiled. He gave her hand a tight squeeze. Then he was gone.
Perry was standing in the dark alley now.
"Greene!" he shouted. It echoed off the walls of the alley.
"I'm here, Mason." The voice was mild. He stepped out from the shadows. Standing before Mason was a short, bald man wearing eyeglasses. He looked relatively harmless— but his record would prove otherwise.
"Did you bring back-up?" said Greene.
"No— as was promised." said Mason shortly.
"Come on, Mason. I know you have back-up here. Don't lie to me."
"If you knew I brought back up then why did you come?" Perry let a smirk inch across his face.
"The same reason you did, Mason."
The lawyer allowed question to mark his face.
In answer to his expression Greene said, "People like you and I— we play to win. Others don't understand it but I know you do. We'll cross any line to say 'checkmate.'"
"I play for justice," said Perry with some resentment in his tone.
"Oh, but I've studied your cases, Mason. You're clever— I'd even say you're brilliant. You'll do anything for a victory."
"I fight for my clients, Mr. Greene—not for myself."
"Call it what you will, Mr. Mason. What I want to know is this: how'd you beat me?"
Perry studied the man a moment before answering. Should he call Tragg and let this all be over or should he play the game? He chose the latter. "At first I thought you were a coward—driving by and shooting a man. But after studying your cases, I realized you were shrewd."
A smirk crossed the criminals face.
"The difference between you and I, Mr. Greene, is that you don't just play the game. You see it all as a game. You wanted to see if the LAPD could catch the notorious criminal one more time."
"You've yet to answer my question, Mr. Mason," said Greene dryly.
"You were finishing the score with Grant Rogers. Your assault on his brother, Andrew, led to your demise— so it only made sense that the crime that was your downfall be your last victory. It was brilliant— it really was. Using old clues, sending us to old places, aligning your escape with the details of Andrew Rogers' case that didn't relate to this one at all. I studied that file for weeks. It finally made sense— you're a sentimental man. Everything else was a distraction. You wanted to end everything where all the trouble started."
"Isn't it lovely when everything comes full circle?" said Greene pleased with himself.
"A filling station. We found the car you drove to kill Grant Rogers at a filling station— the exact one where the assault of Andrew Rogers took place. We'd done circles around that place until we realized your scheme was considerably less elaborate than your previous ones. So now the question is why? Why did you want to get caught? I tossed and turned last night with that question laying on my mind— then I realized it's because that's the way you win. Losing isn't so bad when you hide behind the criminal justice system—your verdict of life in prison was still waiting on you even though you left to play your 'game,'" The counselors voice was filled with disgust now, "It was a win for us. It was a win for you. You played the game, Mr. Greene— and you won."
"Checkmate," said Greene. "There was just one piece of the chess board you forgot, Mason."
"What would that be, Mr. Greene." His voice now booming with passion.
"You," said Greene grimly as he pulled a gun from his side. He pointed it at Mason's chest, "If my game's over, yours is too, Mason. That will be my final victory."
"I'd put that away Greene. My guys are watching."
"As you said, I have the criminal justice system on my side, Mr. Mason. Th justice you fight so hard for has failed you."
"Drop the gun, Greene," said Tragg who appeared out of he shadows standing behind Mason. His gun was pointed at the very heart of the criminal.
"I'm afraid I can't lieutenant. I've raised my stakes, and I'm willing to fall with them."
"I will shoot, Greene. Put the gun down." Tragg stressed every word.
Without flinching, Greene kept his gun on Mason, and said, "Checkmate" as he went to pull the trigger.
At the sound of the word Tragg shot him, and the sound of the bullet sealed Greene's fate. But as he fell, the sound of another bullet rang through the alley- a bullet from Greene's gun. Just as Richard Greene's lifeless body hit the ground, Perry Mason's began to fall.
"PERRY!" rang Della's voice as she ran to his side.
"GET A BUS," said Paul as he went towards his friend. "I SAID GET A BUS!"
"Perry! Perry! Don't move, Perry— let me—" she laid a hand on his chest, but quickly drew it back. Her face showed shock, even horror, at the sight of blood covering her hand. She stopped for the briefest moment but adrenaline quickly caused her to regain her composure. She wiped the blood off of her hand onto her dress and she quickly tore the fabric from the skirt to temporarily clot the flow of blood. She held the fabric to the wound as tears began to spill down her cheeks.
"Perry, don't move! Just lie still!" she said frantically.
"I got ya, Pal," said Paul as he rested the counselors head on his lap.
Sweat was beginning to pour down the lawyer's face, and his breathing became shallow.
"Della, I'm alright," he labored to say.
"Perry, please don't say anything! Save your strength."
"We got 'em, Paul," he smiled. He tried to look up at the detective but his smile quickly turned into a grimace.
"Hey, hey, take it easy, pal. We got him," said Paul as he worked to make the lawyer comfortable.
His breathing became more shallow. He began to look pale as the piece of fabric Della held in her hand became soaked with his blood. He began to struggle to keep his eyes open.
"Della, I—"
"Perry, please!" her voice quivered. "Don't say anything."
The lawyer was looking into her eyes and squeezed her hand as tightly as he could, "Della, I'm alright," he fought for air with every word, "Della, I—."
"Perry, stop. Just try to keep your eyes open please!" She was in tears again.
He tried once more, "Della, I—"
"I know, Perry. I know." Her voice took on a different tone now. Her cries nearly became a whisper, "Please." This time she was pleading for him to pull through— to make it.
The ambulance finally showed up. It only took moments but to everyone waiting it felt like hours. As he laid on the gurney waiting to be lifted into the vehicle, Della whispered one more time, "Please, Perry."
"I'll be alright, Della."
They loaded the lawyer into the vehicle and he yelled out to his friend, "Take care of her, Paul."
"You got it, Perry," said Paul with a crack in his voice.
Just as the ambulance doors closed, so did the lawyer's eyes. Everyone was silent. The only noise you heard was Della's tears as she cried into Paul's chest.
And that's how she came to herself again, crying in Paul's chest. This time in a quiet office, with rain hitting the window.
"Della, you haven't been slept for hours. Let's take you home," he said putting his arm around her shoulders. She didn't fight it. Instead she walked as she looked down at the floor to be reminded of the event all over again by her blood stained, torn dress.
Chapter 6
Della Street went home and washed the blood from under her nails. She threw away the dress, hoping to toss the memory far from her mind. She didn't realize how exhausted she was until her head hit the pillow. She fell asleep within seconds. She had only been asleep for a few hours when she heard Paul Drake knocking at the door. It was about 9:00 in the evening when they drove to the hospital. The car ride was mostly silent until Della said, "Paul?"
"Hm?" grunted the detective.
"What if," she paused, "what if he doesn't pull through?"
"He will, Beautiful," he paused before adding with utmost conviction, "He must!"
They rode in silence for a few more moments when Paul abruptly added, "He hasn't paid me for this job yet."
"Paul?" said Della confused at his comment.
"He knows if he leaves us now I will personally raise him from the dead for my check."
She laughed lifting the weight from her shoulders, even if it was only for a moment. She laid her head on his shoulder for the remainder of the ride.
Once they arrived at the hospital a nurse recognized them and led them to the lawyer's room. She opened the door and Paul led Della inside. She stopped abruptly. She hasn't seen the lawyer since the beginning of this nightmare. He was pale, his breathing was shallow— she had seen all of that before— but it was his lifelessness that caught her off-guard. Paul gave her a moment to process the man before her, and slowly led her to the chair at his bedside. He took a chair turning it at the end of the bed, resting his arms and chin on the back of it, watching every one of his friend's shallow breaths. Della studied the lawyer's face.
"He doesn't look peaceful."
"Hm?" hummed the detective.
"Even when he's...'asleep'... he doesn't look at rest." She studied the "thinking lines" on his face. "He looks like he's still thinking, still working—"
"Still fighting," finished Paul Drake.
They both fell into silence lost in their own thoughts, and eventually fell asleep at the side of the lawyer.
Della woke up suddenly at 7:30 am the next morning. She looked quickly at the lawyer, wondering if he had finally began to rouse. She watched for a moment and nothing happened. She looked at the clock on the bedside table and rubbed her eyes. She started to leave the room to make the search for a cup of coffee but quickly sat down again when she heard rustling blankets. The brawny lawyer began to grimace as he stirred trying to make himself comfortable.
"Paul!" said Della as a cry of excitement rose in throat. "Paul, he's awake!"
Paul quickly rose out of his chair and rushed to the side of the secretary. They both watched on baited breath as the lawyer began to open his eyes. He struggled to peer up at them. Once his eyes focused on his co-workers he smiled and weakly declared, "Do you realize that this is the first break we've had in months?"
Paul and Della burst into laughter and sighs of relief. Della's eyes were filling with tears as Paul quickly (and ecstatically) walked to the door as he said, "I'm gonna go find the doctor!" He grinned and looked back into the hospital room as he said, "Welcome back, Perry!"
Paul then left the doorway leaving Perry and Della alone. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as they sat in silence. They both smiled as she clutched his hand.
"Della," he said, "I love—"
The tears no longer threatening to spill from her eyes ran down her cheeks, she wrapped her arms around the lawyer laying her head on his chest. The impact took his breath away momentarily, and he grimaced ever so slightly trying his best not to let Della know he was in pain.
He smiled as he took her hand on his chest. "You know?" he said.
"I know," she said.
Chapter 7
The news of the lawyer's recovery spread quickly. Newspaper articles were written, radio reports were given, and it was even being announced in the middle of courtroom trials! Lieutenant Tragg walked swiftly to Hamilton Burger's office and laid a newspaper on his desk that read "Mason Lives" in the heading.
"Checkmate!" said Tragg with delight.
"Checkmate!" said Burger laughing as he excitedly shook the lieutenant's hand.
Days went by and then weeks, and Della made sure Perry followed the doctor's orders for rest religiously. Until one morning she showed up to take care of the lawyer to find he wasn't there. She rushed to the office to find her trouble sitting in the chair at his desk, answering letters. He gave a boyish grin.
"I was wondering when you were going to show up," he said playfully.
"Perry Mason!" said Della putting her hands to her hips. "You know the doctor said to wait three months— three months— before you went back to work!" Her tone was that of a mother correcting her child.
"Della, if I had to sit in that apartment one more day— and look at all these letters i have to answer!" He raised his tone to match the volume of hers.
"You hate answering letters," she said in a superior manner.
"I love answering letters!" His lie was obvious, no matter how enthusiastic he attempted to sound. "And I will sit at this desk all day and night to keep answering letters, if that's what it takes for you to let me out of my own home!"
He continued to ramble with boyish giddy for a few minutes until he finally noticed Della still at the doorway hanging onto his every word— his eyes met hers and she simply smiled. His boyish grin softened to a smile that matched his secretary's. He understood.
"Della?" he said getting up to meet her.
"Perry," she paused as he came closer, "Perry, I love—"
Her statement was interrupted with a tender kiss.
"You know?" she whispered.
"I know," he answered, squeezing her hand.
The story ends with the dynamic duo heading to a desk stacked with letters, many of sympathy due to recent events, some sharing joy of the lawyer's recovery, and then the in-between of bills, people asking legal advice, and anything else you could imagine a lawyer would receive. Perry grunted discontentedly as he saw the number of replies he had to make, but it wasn't so bad, because Ms. Street was at his side dictating every word he spoke— and they both knew. And that's all that mattered.