Title: A Criminal Mind
Chapter 2 – Somewhere between Oblivion & Reality
A/N: THanks for the great reviews! So yes I will continue and I hope you continue to enjoy this adventure. Lots of tension and angst but don't worry some lovin' too. Hope you enjoy this chapter also.
Everything hurts, my body to move, my chest to breathe and my brain to think. My head is throbbing and my face is sore. My arms and legs refuse to cooperate and I feel a chill and am trembling all over. All I remember is darkness, panic, a bright light and then waking up in a dizzy fog, looking into a face I have never seen before and knowing nothing that I should.
The first time I woke up it was into thick haze and painful, my body was unable to move and something was over my mouth and I couldn't breathe very well; panic gripped me until I looked into the face of a person hovering over me, telling me he was going to help. I am strapped to a stretcher and he's a doctor going to take care of me, telling me I am breathing oxygen for my bruised lungs. I should take comfort in his help but for some reason I don't. Where am I really? What has happened to me to put me in such a state? Who am I? What is going on?
I ask questions but none of the answers make sense, my brain painful as I force myself to remember simple things that I should know – like my own name.
'What is my name?'
XXXXXXXX
I finally wander back to the truck with Flack at my side, my heart heavy and my mind in anguish. "I'll not sleep tonight and you know it," I mention as another cruiser finally pulls up and Jessica gets out and rushes toward us; offering Flack a quick hug and me a look of concern.
"Stella, anything?" She dares to ask and I nod my head 'no' in sorrow.
"I am told I have to quit," I offer Flack in anger; forcing him to look at me in remorse.
"Stella…" he starts.
"I can stay with you, if you'd like," Jessica tells me and Flack's eyes move from me to her. "Trust me if it was you, I wouldn't be going home to sleep either," she insists and Flack just shakes his head. "Now go and get some dry clothes and then come back," she instructs him and then looks at me before taking his leave and we finally push ourselves into the front cabin of the truck; closing out the raging storm.
"We found his watch," I mumble in a numb tone. "By a branch, looks like he might have tried to climb out but fell in the water," I inform her, my eyes offering fresh tears once again.
"Mac has been through a lot, you've told me. He has good survival instincts right?"
"What if he wasn't conscious? Or passed out very soon after he was in the water?" I dare to ask. "So many scenarios are possible and my brain hurts thinking about it."
"I'm sure wherever he is, if he's able, he's thinking of you," she tells me with a kind smile; touching my and offering a squeeze of support. "You know Mac would never give up."
XXXXXXXX
~Colin Morris~
"What is my name?" Taylor asks once more.
"Your name is John Smith," I tell my confused captive with a serious face. He looks up at me with a frown, trying to get the name to register but offering a look of confusion when it doesn't.
"Why…am I here?" He manages with a weak voice.
"This is your home," I reply easily.
"What happened…to me?"
"You were in a bad car accident tonight and have a few injuries."
"Are you…a doctor?" He tries again.
"As a matter of fact I am," I smile down at him. Oh Detective Taylor, I chide in my mind; you are making this almost too easy for me. But when I hear the title Doctor, my heart actually skips a beat. I was one once a brilliant doctor in the field of neuro progressive medicine. Most of it experimental but my theories are sound and despite the labels that were offered to me later; mostly due to the man before me, I still hold out onto my title of genius. Self proclaimed but I'll take comfort in what I can.
"Who are…" he asks once more and my patience is wearing thin. Despite his condition, I can't feel that sorry for the man before me as my brain only replays haunting images of my life being ripped away by what he did.
"You need to rest now."
"But…" he starts in angry protest.
"I SAID…" I start in a shout and he quickly subsides; showing me who's really in control of him now. "We'll talk more later."
"Everything hurts," he whispers.
"That's because you were in an accident tonight and you need to just rest."
"Cold," he states again in a half whisper.
I look up at Shane who only offers a frown of concern. "John," I emphasize so my half witted helper will start to use that name around Taylor instead of his own slipping out, "would like to have his clothes back. Help him get dressed?"
I very carefully undo the straps holding him to the stretcher and watch in fascination as Shane approaches and his body tenses up. "John, he's not going to hurt you."
Taylor looks up at me with a worried glance and I just smile in return; as if offering this once strong man before me a safe haven against the world around him. The fact that this former marine at my finger tips was trained to withstand any kind of near death scenario is now scared of a harmless individual who only wants to help him and actually allowing me to mold his future is almost unnerving.
Of course I know his head wound will heal, and in time, without hindrance his memory will return. Thankfully I smile, as I eye the pills and needle beside the bed, with a little help and hindrance from me, his memory won't return at all; and whatever does return will be so saturated with my ideas that the old Mac Taylor will never surface again. But I know strong will is a force to be reckoned with and I know he has that and so I need to keep his will down; I need to break him down to nothing so that he doesn't care to seek out the past, doesn't care to remember who Mac Taylor really was. He might be scared now but I know that won't last long and I need to be prepared.
I watch Shane take his arm and he starts to fight back, offering a small angry curse as he tries to keep himself free; proving right now that despite his condition his will is still strong and he is stubborn as always.
"John, he won't hurt you. But if you don't allow him to help, you'll have to sleep in nothing but what you have on, which, well isn't much."
He looks down the dark underwear he is wearing and then over at the clothes in Shane's hand and frowns. "Fine," is all he is able to offer in resignation; his body feeling the chill from the stone cold room and his own nerves.
"Very good. And then we'll show you to your room and then it's time for some medicine and sleep."
"Medicine?" He asks, a hint of fear replacing wonder. "What kind?"
"To help with your memory and your injuries," I reply in haste. I notice as this once proud man, very sure of himself watches in fear as Shane once again comes and tries to help him get dressed. However, he takes the jeans and sweater, pushes himself off the stretcher but instead of being able to stand on firm legs; his wobbly ones give out and he crashes to the floor, offering a cry of pain in return for his actions; his freshly bandaged ribs once again breaking under the pressure of his weight. I allow myself to relish in his helpless state awhile longer before helping him back up to a sitting position.
"As I said," I start in a smug tone. "Shane will help you."
XXXXXXXX
"Stella," Jessica mentions about an hour later; breaking me from my light slumber and morbid thoughts. I quickly push my eyes open, my heart automatically starting to beat faster as I look outside and notice a rather concerned looking man walking in our direction with something dark in his hand.
"Oh no," I utter in a horrified whisper as I quickly open the door and rush out to meet him; Jessica right beside me.
"Detective Stella Bonasera?" He asks in stern tone.
"Anything?" I can only manage in a weak voice.
"Captain Wyndam. Does this belong to Detective Taylor?" He asks, holding up Mac's soaked and torn outer coat.
My eyes instantly water as I gaze upon the item that should have been his outer shell; providing at least some kind of warmth against the damp cold. I offer a nod and then feel Jessica's arm around my shoulder.
"Detective, I'm sorry, but we also found these. Now this wind is almost too much and we need to call it a night," he says holding up a plastic bag with Mac's dented Shield and flashlight. I feel my stomach lurch and my heart nearly explode as I reach out with a trembling hand and take them from the man before me.
"Now those were found with his coat near the mouth of the channel, about a mile downstream. We searched as best we could near the rafters but we can't chance to go under in this weather or I'll put my own men at risk. We'll be back here at first light. I pray he can hold on, if he managed to get snagged underneath. Now I hate to be the naysayer but from all my years of experience, a man couldn't survive in these waters for very long; much less a man that's injured; I don't care where he did his cold weather survival training. I'm sorry," he offers once more as he turns and heads back to a small group of men waiting for their next instructions.
"We'll resume our search at first light," I hear him tell them and I turn to Jessica in horror.
"They can't give up," I utter in a soft whisper; shaking my head no as Jessica numbly leads me back to the truck and out of the driving rain. She helps me into the passenger seat and then hurries to the driver's side and gets in; looking at me in concern.
"I am not going to tell you to try to get some sleep because if it was Don out there I know I would never sleep either. But you can't stay out here…" she starts.
"I can't leave," I offer in protest.
"Don has men all around here Stella," she tries again in a soft tone. "Trust me no one wants to give up on Mac and no one is going to. But it's almost three in the morning you are now soaked and we all need to get some warm clothes on. Let's go back to Don's and take it from there. I brought you a spare outfit that's dry."
I look at her in sorrow and she just offers a tight frown in reply before starting up the truck and slowly turning us away. My eyes are fixed out the cold window, searching for my partner and the one man I know in my heart that I love more than life itself. "Mac," I whisper in misery.
I hear Jessica calling Don, telling him that we'll meet at his place and then formulate a new plan; praying the weather cooperates a little bit over the next few hours. I look down at his dented badge in the plastic bag and my heart actually starts to beat painfully in my burdened chest. I stare back out the window and can almost hear Mac's voice calling to me for help. But I don't want to close my eyes; I know the images my mind will offer will only be tormented and horrible. We head back into the city; my world slowly caving in on me.
Oh Mac, where are you?
XXXXXXXX
~Colin Morris~
I help Taylor finally steady himself and watch in fascination as his eyes start to examine the room he's in; as if inside he's still the same old CSI working a crime scene instead of a man trying to remember who he is and where he is.
"It's time for sleep," I mention firmly; taking him by the arm and fairly dragging him toward a small doorway.
"Body hurts," he mumbles.
"It will subside when you rest," I tell him in a stern tone.
"Where am I?" He asks in a small nervous tone; his eyes once again darting around to see if he can understand where he is.
"You are home," I reply with a contented smile.
"I live here?" He asks in almost contempt making my disdain toward him once again swell.
"All your life," I lie easily and he looks at me with a deep frown. I pull the door open and usher him into a small windowless room; furnished with nothing more than a single bed and a mirror and nothing on the cold stone walls. "Homey isn't it?"
"Seems bare," he mumbles.
"You like bare," I once again tell him falsely.
His eyes search the walls for anything familiar but since they are bare there is nothing for him to latch onto; nothing familiar that will help him piece together his now missing past. He looks into a mirror and offers a small gasp as he looks at his haggard and beat up appearance and then looks toward me for an explanation.
"It was a head on car accident. They will all heal," I offer and he quickly looks away. "Come on John, bed time," I tell him with a hint of annoyance. He reluctantly heads for the small bed and slowly eases himself down; offering a painful wince as he finally connects with the firm mattress.
"Take these for the pain," I direct, holding out two white memory inhibiting pills in my hand with a small glass of water that Shane just brought for me. He looks at them in suspect but finally reaches for them and I am rewarded with him taking the memory inhibiting drugs and downing them with the water.
"And this one," I remind him, holding out a mild sedative; knowing this won't work against the powerful memory inhibitors that I just gave him. "To help you sleep."
He offers a small curse but takes it also and finally lays down, looking up at me in wonder. "Are you going to help me?" He asks in concern.
"Oh more than you could possibly imagine. Tomorrow we'll start on some memory lessons, okay? So I can help you remember who you are!" I state with a smug smile; trying to hide my joyous control I have over the man before me; a man who at one time so very proudly stood before a jury of my peers and told them that not only was I not fit to be among descent people but that I should never be allowed to practice any kind of medicine in the state of New York or the United States as long as I drew breath. He won that small battle; probably relishing in his victory for only a brief period; but as I stare at his frail condition, I know I will relish in his miserable state for sometime to come.
He finally mutters a fine and reaches for the small blanket and covers himself with it. "It's cold in here."
"You like cold," I lie; knowing that the cold will keep his body from healing properly and start to break down his will. And since I want his stay here to be somewhat miserable; the blanket isn't that heavy and the heat won't be high in this room tonight; he'll feel his pain, his misery, his suffering; everything I was forced to endure, he now shall reap.
A few minutest later, the sedative finally kicks in and his swollen eye lids finally close for what I hope is the last time this night. But just in case it's not, I take the arm that wasn't injured in the crash and handcuff it to the iron bed frame; my insurance so that I can also get some sleep before our busy day tomorrow and he won't be up wandering around, finding something he shouldn't. And while the door does lock I can't chance that right now, if he needs some kind of help tonight, I need to know and be ready just in case so it stays open.
"Sleep well Detective Taylor," I whisper as I stand up and slowly head for the doorway. "When I am done with you, you'll wish you never uttered my name." I flip the light; encasing him in darkness; sealing the small tomb that will now be his home.
"Shane, lets get ready for tomorrow."
XXXXXXXX
I numbly walk into Flack's apartment; like a zombie just awoken from a terrible sleep only to find that my world isn't what it was when I first left and I'll do anything to go back. I try not to think of Mac, hurt, alone, injured and helpless out in the terrible storm, while I am here wondering when I'll be able to hold him in my arms once again.
"It's like I can't breathe," I whisper in misery to Jessica.
"We'll find him," she whispers, giving me a small hug. "Stella, I'll make some coffee. I know you won't listen but please just go into Don's bedroom and try to at least close your eyes and rest," Jessica tells me.
I'm too mentally drained to do anything except offer a small nod of compliance and wander into Don's bedroom and slump down in angry exhaustion. But as soon as my head hits his pillow, I am unable to do anything other than bury my head in the soft material and cry for however long my body will afford me. After I have spent everything I have inside in the way of strength or energy, I finally feel my eyes closing for good and I'm quickly whisked away into the dark realm of tormented dreams.
Stella help me, I keep hearing Mac's voice in my head and every few minutes am pulled from my nightmarish state in a fit of panic and helplessness.
However about an hour later I am quickly pulled from my nightmarish stupor once again; my ears picking up the sound of a phone and I'm off the bed and rushing into the main living area.
"Thanks Sully," Flack offers with a huff, looking up at me with a frown. "Sorry to wake you. Nothing still. I told Sully to check in with me every few hours and that's what he did. The rain has started to ease, so hopefully as soon as its light out we'll be able to put a few more men in the water. Want some coffee?"
"No," is all I can manage as I turn and head back into the dark bedroom and slump myself back down in angry defeat. I don't want to close my eyes again as all I'm shown is Mac injured, calling to me for help before the dark swirling waters swallow him up; shattering my future with one large gulp. I feel my eyes water once more as I picture his hand trying to hold on to the slippery branch; the other one possibly injured; calling for help, his watch getting caught before his weight pulls him into the deadly waters below.
Fresh tears start to escape the corners of my eyes and run down my flushed face as I see Mac trying to fight the current; grasping at whatever he can find to hang onto, before the murky waters wrap around his legs and pull him under, chocking the very life out of him before his body is swept out into open sea.
"Mac," I whisper in torment. But despite all that, I refuse just yet to believe he's dead. My mind wants to offer only images based on the facts presented; but in my heart I can't just abandon hope just yet. I feel him; I know he's alive. However, once again, due to extreme physical and mental exhaustion, my eyes close once more and I am whisked away into the miserable world of unconsciousness.
Mac, where are you?
XXXXXXXX
I awake several hours later; my head is pounding and my chest is sore and breathing is laborious. One of my arms is above my head but when I try to pull it down I realize that it is fastened to something and I am unable to yank it free. I feel it in panic, letting my fingers try to recognize the piece of steel that is holding me in place; it feels familiar and my brain should know what it is but I can't say it's name right now..
'Why am I trapped to this bed?' I wonder as my body starts to feel the chill from the stone cold room that I am sleeping in; the blanket that was provided to me does little to hold whatever bit of body heat my injured frame will allow and I know I'm slightly shivering. I was only given jeans and a sweater to wear but neither affords me any comfort and I am wondering if I was meant to feel this miserable. Who is the man that his helping me? Why would a doctor bring me here?
I try to move once more but my body is stiff and sore I can do nothing more than offer a cry of pain and slump back into my original position. If I was in an accident, why am I being treated this way? Shouldn't I be looked after? Cared for? Do I deserve this treatment? Maybe I do?
'Who am I?' I can't help but wonder in a panic. I try to get my brain to focus on anything but all it flashes me is images of a strange woman smiling at me; a woman with curly hair and green eyes and then I see a bright light and I wake up looking into the face of a man I don't know. He says I should know him but I can't remember if I do or not.
He tells me my name is John Smith. Sounds plain, but I guess you can't be picky about the name you are given. Still John Smith sounds very odd. I search my brain once again for anything that will help me figure out where I am and what my name is but all it tells me is that I am in pain and this man wants to help me.
'But why am I trapped to this bed?' I echo my question from earlier. My eyes have a hard time adjusting to the dark room I am enclosed in; and the small sliver of light coming in from under the doorframe affords me nothing comforting. My shoulder hurts and my chest has a dull thud in it every time I take a breath, but he said my ribs were broken so I assume the pain inside is from that; my face is still sore and has cuts and bruises on it and everything just aches when I try to move even an inch. My head is throbbing and one side is worse than the other. My cold fingers gingerly touch the bandage, feel the large bump and then quickly them pull back when a fresh hint of pain is offered and my body tenses up. What happened tonight?
'Who am I?' I wonder again; the sleeping sedative trying frantically to pull me back into its cozy abode. Finally I close my weary eyes and try to fix my brain on anything useful. I see the woman's face once again smiling at me and I finally find some comfort in this hell I am forced to endure. Who is she?
XXXXXXXX
"Morning," Jessica greets me as I slowly walk into the kitchen; my mood still down and my countenance still low. "Coffee?"
"Sure," I offer with a sad nod.
"Stella," Flack greets me as he enters the room, already dressed and ready to go. "Captain Wyndam and his men are already in the water. Thankfully the storm has mostly abated and they are going to search further down the channel under the pier. Daylight has afforded us better opportunities to search and the team is back at the scene, documenting whatever the storm didn't damage. Sinclair has asked for an update and I'll handle that if you and Jess want to head back out."
"Thanks," I automatically reply; trying to swallow my sorrow and put on a brave face for the rest of the world to see. But Jessica and I waste no time in filling up our coffee cups, grabbing some left over bagels and rushing out the door; heading back to the crime scene.
"What if he was found but with no memory?" I ponder as Jessica drives us back to the place we were the night before. "There was front end damage so maybe he hit his head. Maybe he did get out and can't call because he can't remember who he is or who to call?"
"There is always that possibility," she mentions.
"But I'm grasping at straws right?" I offer with a light frown.
"Trust me Stella, if it were Don in this situation, I would be including abduction from aliens just to keep hope alive," she tells me and I can't help but offer a weak smile. We finally reach the scene and she stops the truck and I look at the busy activity before me. Sheldon and Danny are at one part of the scene and Lindsay and Adam are at another; the team is humming right along as Mac trained them to do; knowing he wouldn't expect anything less from people he hand picked to work in his lab.
But it's the water that holds my eyes and attention captive; as that's where I'm praying they'll find him alive.
"Now we wait," Jessica frowns.
"I hate waiting."
XXXXXXXX
'Good morning John,' the strange man greets me as he very slowly pushes the door to my room open and walks up to me; looking down with an odd expression. 'Sleep well?'
'Why am I trapped to this bed?' I want to know as I try once again to pull my arm free, my frustration starting to grow, my body still cold and slightly shivering.
'The handcuff was for your own good,' he offers with a strained tone. 'I didn't want you to get up in the middle of the night and re-break the ribs I worked so hard to mend the night before.'
'I would have just stayed put. Why are my ribs broken?' I ask with a slight wince as he finally frees my arm and I slowly bring it to my side; my body is still cold and I once again wince whenever I have to move.
'You were in the car accident, remember? I told you that last night.'
'I remember a bright light,' I offer with a frown.
'Lighting strike,' he answers in half truth; the rest of the details he of course will keep from me; details of an accident that he helped plan. I search his face, looking for anything familiar but finding nothing to give me hope of who this man is and why I am here.
'Do you remember me?' He asks again in concern.
'No,' I simply manage. 'Who are you?'
'John, I'm your brother.'
My brother, I wonder inside. Must be older as he looks older than me, but I don't remember him at all. 'My brother?' I finally ask in confusion.
'I'm someone who wants to help,' he tells me and my frustration grows.
'Where am I?'
'John, this is your home. Now we are going in circles,' he informs me as he pushes the cover aside and helps me sit up. My head is dizzy and the room starts to lightly spin. 'Today we are going to do some memory training,' he tells me as he and the other strange man help me stand up. 'To help you get better.'
'Shouldn't I just rest?' I ask with a frown.
'Do you want to remember anything or not?' He asks gruffly.
'Yes of course,' I mumble. I look at the younger man to my right; again searching for anything that I can use as a memory marker.
'Do you remember him?' The older man asks.
'No,' is once again all I can reward them with. I turn to the older man and frown when he smiles back. Why is he smiling at me? Is he happy I can't remember? That would be odd since he's trying to help me. Little do I know those words are furthest from the truth; and the man I'm with is actually holding me captive, a man bent on my own personal downfall and ultimate demise.
'Come on John,' he directs, lightly dragging me back into the main room. 'Time for some breakfast.'
I am ushered to a small table and offered a drink and two more white pills; it doesn't look very appealing but since this room is warmer, I'm just happy to finally be feeling some warmth cover me instead of cold shivers.
'My head hurts,' I tell them as I slowly sit down at the table.
'These will help,' he states in a firm tone.
'I don't want any more pills,' I reply and he slams his open palm on the table, making me slightly jump and look up in wonder.
'These are for your own good. Your head hurts because you have a large gash in it and have sustained temporal frontal swelling resulting in neuro damage. But we have been through this. Your memory will come back but only if you do exactly what I tell you do to. Do you understand?' He finishes in an angry shout.
Why is he shouting at me? I thought he wanted to help? I look into his eyes; dark haunting eyes devoid of feeling and compassion; searching for anything familiar but finding only bleakness and despair, no answers that will suffice my anguished mind.
'Fine,' I huff as I take the pills and the thick drink that is before me and start to consume them. He hands me some excuse about my stomach being tender from the accident and the protein drink will not only nourish but help me heal; I have no reason not to believe or trust him so I take what he offers and down it in minutes.
'Excellent John,' he praises and I offer a faint smile. 'Time to get to work.'
'But you said I was in an accident last night. Shouldn't I just be resting?'
'Here are your two options,' he tells me with a huff. 'You can go and sit in the cold room, since I won't allow you to sleep now that you are awake, or you can stay in this warm room and try to get better. Which do you want!
'I want to get better,' I reply in sorrow. My whole body is in pain and my head is still throbbing; making the room lightly spin and my tired eyes offer slightly blurry images. I don't know a lot about medical procedures it seems and I know he wants to help but I just need to rest; I'm so tired I feel like I could pass out at any moment now.
However, my plight seems to be lost on him as he takes me by the arm and leads me to a small chair and forces me to sit down in it. He wraps two straps over my wrists and two over my feet; strapping me to the chair and I feel my heart start to beat faster and my panic start to rise as I try in vain to pull myself free.
'But…' I start as he simply pushes my head back down onto the padded pillow. 'What is this for?'
'This is for your own good,' he tells me as he fits a mask over my mouth and nose; filling my oxygen intake with something that is starting to make me light headed once again. He fixes two large headphones over my ears and I hear a man's strict voice come to life in my head. My eyes frantically look around but I soon notice the room start to blur and the more I turn my head the sicker I feel. I can't throw up right now and so swallow hard and try to keep myself at least awake. I have no choice but to slump back into the chair and allow the gas to continue to assault my system; rendering me helpless but not sending me into darkness completely, just as he wanted. What is going on?
The man's harsh voice continues to talk to me in a stern way; it's the same voice as the man who is trying to help me. I try to close my eyes and focus on the face of the woman in my dreams, but when his voice says something else my eyes snap open and I can do little more than start to digest all the false messages he's now planting in my muddled brain and her image starts to fade.
XXXXXXXX
After another few hours; after we have combed over every inch of the crime scene I watch as Captain Wyndam and two of his men finally emerge from the water and walk up to me with grim expressions.
"Anything?" I ask in eager expectation.
"We found a few more things," he tells me and my eyes once again water as I see him hold up a plastic bag with Mac's shoe, wallet and small notebook. With a shaky hand I take the bag, but before my trembling fingers can drop it to the ground, Danny quickly grabs it and holds it for me.
"This was found near the mouth of the channel; but then it's into open water and that is almost impossible to search without a direct heading or location reference. My men have checked under the pier from here all the way out and if he was under there, we would have seen him. Coast Guard is going to track the water currents from last night and try to project where his body might be, but to be honest I don't give it much hope of finding him still alive. I'm very sorry."
I can only offer a nod in agreement; since my heart is beating so fast and my brain too terrified to actually comprehend that Mac is now presumed drown; possibly dead. And while he might not have come out and directly told me that, I know that's what I'll be told next.
I turn to Danny with a horrified look and his face also offers once of pain and torment.
"He can't be dead…Mac can't be dead…they have to find him. They just have to."
"Stella, they are the best at what they do," he offers and I just nod in agreement.
"I know," I whisper. "Mac would be proud."
"Lindsay and I are almost done here and we'll take what we found back to the lab and get started. Maybe there was someone out here that we can contact who saw something," Danny tells me. "It's not much but at least it's something, right?"
"Right," I agree as I head for Sheldon. I need to do something; anything to keep my mind focused on anything other than the thought that Mac is dead and that I'll never see him again; that he died alone, fighting for his life; that I never got to tell him that I love him.
Another few hours painfully pass and I watch as the search and rescue team finally dock; for what I fear is the last time. Flack and Jessica are on either side as we watch Captain Wyndam head for us with a heavy frown of concern.
"Coast Guard has done what they can and we have followed the current out to open sea, they'll try a bit longer but with the fast moving current last night...well I'm sorry. We need at least another twenty-four hours to declare him officially lost and then," he stops, offering a heavy sigh. "I'm very sorry about this. I wish I had better news and I wish I could have either given you hope or closure, Detective Bonasera. But we have nothing. The current was too strong last night. Again I'm sorry," he tells us as he looks at Flack. "Detective Flack, you'll have my report on your desk as soon as I can."
"Thank you Captain," he finishes, offering Don a firm handshake before he takes his leave.
My eyes, however, are fixed on the watery landscape before me. "Mac can't be gone," I whisper in morbid fear. "I refuse to declare him dead," I tell them; shaking my head, trying to clear the images of Mac's cold drown body being fished out of the merciless waters by strangers.
I turn back to them with a firm nod. "Someone saw something out here, I'll bet anything on it and I'm not going to rest until I find who saw him."
"Stella…" Jessica starts with a sad tone.
"I know this sounds stupid, but in my heart I know he's alive. And yes, maybe that's hanging on to silly sentimentality but that's all I have to feed my hope right now and I'm going to use that while I still have energy to do so."
"What do you need from us?"
"Can you keep this area closed?"
"As long as this weather is bad," Flack informs me. "But Stella, once they start repairing it, anything else will be lost."
"I know," I huff. "I'm heading back to the lab. I need to work," I tell them as I head back to the truck; my heart once again racing. I get into the drivers seat and fix a firm glance toward the waters once more.
"Mac I know you are alive and I'll not give up on you. I will find you."
XXXXXXXX
~Colin Morris~
"Shane how is our guest?" I ask walking back into the room Detective Taylor is still trapped in; strapped to the chair, his brain being forced suggestions of what I want him to know.
"He's tried to ask questions a few times," Shane tells me with a frown, a hint of concern for Taylor starting to surface. "Should we stop the lesson now?"
"Yes several hours have passed; give him a bit of a break," I direct as I walk up to my captive guest and smile down at him. He looks up with a frown; the gas still making him groggy but not putting him to sleep; just as I wanted. I don't care if he's still hurt from the accident last night; and I don't care if his body is in pain. In fact the more uncomfortable he is, the better my state of mind. He looks like hell and I'm sure is feeling exactly the same way. His body will heal but I need to break down his will before he regains that too. Mac Taylor is a stubborn, willful, headstrong man; that I need to wash out of him and replace those attributes with fear, denial and despair.
"Hello John," I smile as I carefully remove the mask from his flushed face. His watery blue eyes once again look into my; begging for an explanation into his past and why he can't remember anything he wants to; his mind now only telling him what I want it to know; which of course is nothing about the real Mac Taylor and the man he once was, or the life he was forced to leave behind.
"How do you feel?"
"Sick," he softly manages. "Where do I live?" He tries again with a heavy frown.
"Here, with me," I offer and he looks away in disappointment. "But you've always been happy here."
"Always?" He asks in surprise, his head snapping back to face my evil gaze.
"Don't you like it here?"
"What do I do?" He asks and I feel my frustration starting to grow.
"You are here with us," I answer in haste.
"So I do nothing?" He asks with a clenched jaw.
I always figured Taylor would have a strong sense of will; in essence that was part of the excitement for me, but his insolence is starting to wear on my nerves a little faster than I expected. However, I remind myself I had five years to plan this moment and his memory transformation won't happen over night.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, ignoring his question.
"I just want to know what I d…" he tries again my patience is gone.
"ARE YOU HUNGRY?" I shout in anger; forcing him once again to know who's in control.
He looks at me in shock but finally nods his head yes. "Shane, get him another drink. Don't push your luck either," I warn him as I turn on my heel and head for my small office. I close the door and offer a heavy sigh as I head back to my computer; allowing Shane to undo Taylor from the chair and let him have another protein drink that I made; the drink that now has the drugs mixed into it; the drugs that will keep his memory at bay.
I ease myself down into my chair and look at the decorated pieces of paper, framed and hanging on the dirty cement walls. I was once a respected member of the medical community and with one small mistake that was taken all away. Of course that mistake did lead to many others; but I blame the man in the other room for my mental deterioration. I was on the cutting edge of a brand new medical frontier and it's true that I didn't have time to wait on clinical trials or wait for approved testing subjects; I needed viable candidates and sometimes they weren't always willing.
I look at the name and curse. I call myself Colin Morris as that name is untraceable. My real name; the name of the man Mac Taylor put away is a name I refuse to recognize; a name that died five years ago.
However as I cast an evil glance at the man in the other room, a smile starts to form on my lips. "Oh Detective Taylor," I start with a low tone. "I'm sure even you would be able to appreciate the irony of this. The one man in the world that you sent away for doing his job; is now the one man keeping you from doing yours," I finish and fill the room with low mocking laughter. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll hate the one person you've always valued the most – yourself."
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I head back into the lab, my heart painfully pushing against my chest as I slowly head past Mac's office. Once again, I force myself to see an image of him seated at his desk, looking up at me, a smile upon his handsome face, his eyes locking with mine, telling me more than just something work related.
However, when I blink some watery tears away, Mac's image fades and all that looks back is an empty room with a hollow sound. I head into the lab and look at our team with a smile of pride. Much like me, they'll never give up on finding Mac alive.
"Stella," Sheldon says coming up to me with a perplexed look.
"Find something?"
"A piece of skin on the inside of Mac's watch. I ran a DNA match and it's not Mac's. Now we have no match in the system," he huffs. "But this proves that someone either tried to help, or…"
"Pushed him in," I finish with a large lump in my throat. "We need that name. If someone out there knows the truth about Mac, I want them and I want them now."
"Yes ma'am," he tells me with a firm nod and turns to leave. And for the first time in hours, my mind is once again filled with hope of finding out what happened to Mac.
"I'll find you Mac, I promise. Please just don't give up on us yet. I will find you."
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Being in that damn chair for the past few hours confused me even more. It didn't tell me anything about my past or who I am or what kind of man I really am. Nothing about my life here and nothing about what I do or my family history.
By body is in pain and my head throbbing but I need some answers so I push my weary frame from the small table and go in search of my brother. My eyes continue to search for anything familiar and I feel my frustration growing when I can't place even the simplest object.
I reach the small room he's tucked himself into and offer a small knock. He tells me to enter and I just look at him with a confused expression.
'What can I do for you John?' He asks with a somewhat smug tone.
'Why do I hate Stella Bonasera? Who is she?'
A/N: okay so what do you think the answer will be? How will Mac fare on the rest of day two? What does the team find that'll help them look for Mac? If you want to know please review and let me know if I should continue or not. Thanks in advance!
PS: If you want to get technical about the search and rescue details please remember this is fiction and just an adventure to read. Please don't flame.
PSS: Remember to vote in my poll if you haven't already. thanks again