Title: Altered States
Chapter 2 - Journey into Hell
A/N: Thanks everyone for the support for chapter 1, gosh I was nervous! I do hope you'll continue with this story. Parts in italics going forward will be flashbacks. Hope that's not confusing and thanks in advance. Oh and unless otherwise noted Jessica is always alive in my stories; I miss her too much to have her gone for good!!
Stella finds herself staring out the window; her heart in agony and her fists so tightly balled her nails are causing small divots to form in the soft flesh of her palms.
"Mac...god I miss you already," she whispers as she leans back in her chair, casting her worried emerald orbs outside into the dismal rainy weather; nothing helping to lift her mood. Mac was gone; left this morning for his new undercover assignment. His cover a two bit criminal convicted of murder, alone with no family no one to love him. That is what hurt her the most when Sinclair had come in to confirm it for them. That Mac would be completely cut off from the outside world; she wasn't even allowed to come in as his sister. He had to appear a vulnerable target.
"Mac..." she allows his name to roll off his tongue once again as her eyes close in sorrow.
'When do you leave?'
'Right now.'
'I love you Mac, never forget that.'
'I never will.'
He had went first to a phony holding cell and then before Judge Wicks for his sentencing and then off to Rikers. He had handed her his ring and put on the phony glasses. But that was it; his time was up, he had to go.
'I'll only be gone a few weeks at the most.'
'Weeks? Damn it Mac...'
'Two?'
'One?'
'Trust me Stella, I am not looking forward to this as well. I'll seek out the guy with the tattoos, find the cellmate and then see if I can get what I need...this guy to confess or to put his name on a statement form then I'm done. Could be done in a few days.'
'A few days? Really?'
'I want this over just as fast as you. If I can get him to confess to witnessing and then try to convince him to tell someone else then I can get Sinclair to do the rest.'
'And if you can't get what you need in a few days? Mac it's going to take longer...'
'Then I come out in a week or so and we try something else. I honestly don't know how long it will take but I have to try this Stella.'
'Why?'
'Those men died because I failed.'
'You didn't fail anyone Mac. You couldn't have known.'
'I should have!'
'You are not the savior of the world!'
She had snapped at him; allowed her emotions to run away with her words and before her brain could react she was storming out of the room, not wanting the tears to be seen by anyone; her husband included. But she had allowed him to take her aside, into a private room and hold her while she expressed all the anger and helpless frustration inside by means of fluid emotion; and then she was fine. At least that was the lie she told him.
The night before they had spent awake; tightly wrapped in each other's arms after they had made love; as they tried to tell each other it was the right thing to do; that the monster had to be stopped before more suspicious deaths were caused and more men's legacy's were destroyed. Stella always felt that Mac was holding something back; not telling her all the details; but as much as she pried, he backed off until she finally told herself it was simple remorse and he would be fine.
He's an ex-marine, she kept trying to convince her mind; telling herself that her husband had faced worse in the past; that he nearly died doing something he believed in. Here he would at least have Sinclair to back him; the feed from the small camera in this glasses going into a special file that only Sinclair and Flack would have access to; herself when it was permitted. She had removed herself from wanting to watch the footage; telling herself that seeing him in such a vulnerable setting would only force her to become a hindrance to the team, and right now he needed her to be sharp and focused.
She looks at the band of gold on her left hand; a bold reminder to the world that she belongs to him and him to her; only he went in without that reminder.
'I have to appear to be alone,' was part of the cover he was forced to take on. His band hung on a simple chain around her neck; the metal singeing her flesh with the sad reminder that her husband was away; not where he belonged at her side.
She closes her eyes; her mind picturing his handsome face and for a split second her lips automatically curl upward. But as she starts to think about him being found out; in the middle of a prison fight; alone and unarmed, her heart rate quickens and her breathing shallows. Her eyes start to water and she quickly snaps them open, swallowing hard and telling herself that nothing is going to happen to him; he'll be fine and in a few weeks they'll be laughing about this as if it were a distant memory.
At least that's what she hoped; inside her gut was telling her something else. A feeling; a bad feeling of impending doom that her beloved husband was walking into the devils trap; a place for which there is no easy escape route; at least none without going through the devils fire itself.
"Mac..." his name leaves her lips with a soft whisper. "I just pray you are okay."
She quickly wipes away the tear and forces herself up out of her chair; no desire to go home to an empty apartment, her mind inside that small confining cell with her husband; her misery just as strong as his.
XXXXXXXX
Mac tries to force his mind to think on his wife; praying he can hear her voice inside his head as he goes about getting himself settled in his new living space; an area he already hates, but one he is going to be confined to for the next few weeks at least; less if he is fortunate.
His eyes start to examine the area around him as his mind thinks back to the discussion he had with Sinclair.
'I should have my head examined for actually agreeing to this,' Sinclair's voice had grumbled.
'Sir, if we can prove that Judge Wicks is sending specific prisoners to certain areas and the his brother, prison guard Maurice Wicks is arranging their murders by taking a bribe from the mob then we can bring both of them down and end this nightmare. Larry Galley was an innocent man.'
'Drew Bedford wasn't.'
'He didn't deserve the fate he was forced.'
'And can you assure me that this is based on a sense of justice and not some misguided personal revenge mission?'
'Of course part of it is personal,' Mac had argued. 'I would be lying if I said it wasn't. But I didn't know the other five he is allegedly accused of murdering.'
'Detective Flack?'
'I have run the profiles on all the men that had died. All were alone; Larry Galley most recently because his wife had died. They all had claimed they were innocent but still had a verbal disdain for the judicial system in general. They all...' Flack's voice dies out in his head as he continues his discussion with Sinclair. Both he and Flack had made a pact not to elaborate on the assaults becuase that would up the risk factor for Mac. So while it was mentioned once, the mob angle and arranged murder were discussed as the top motive.
'I can't guarantee your safety Taylor.'
'I have had my lab tech Adam arrange a special pair of glasses that will send back real time feedback to a data recorder that only yourself and Don have access to. He has arranged for a dummy number to be set up. Once I have been given the threat of blackmail and then death, I'll call the number and he'll get an onsite guard to get me out.'
'And this guard? Where is he stationed?'
'Another cellblock. I'll be fine Sir.'
'Sounds like you got it all figured out Taylor.'
'Not all of it, lots could go wrong...go wrong...'
As he would with any unfamiliar scene before him, Mac's brain starts to catalogue his new surroundings. The man he'll be sharing the cell with, appears to be somewhat religious, a copy of the Bible, along with a picture of a small boy right beside his pillow. Also in the army; a tarnished medal; probably a reminder of the glory days when life seemed to have a purpose and the future was bright and full of hope.
Other than that, this man didn't have much and didn't offer Mac anything tangible in the way of what he would have to face from the person he'd be forced to call 'friend' for the duration of his stay. He gazes at the top bunk and frowns; always hating the top bunk ever since his first day in the marines. But since he has no choice and isn't about to get on bad terms with a man he'll probably need information from, Mac slowly heads toward the bunk ladder and places his things on top.
'Will be hard to sleep all alone at night Mac. Might just work straight through or...or stay with...'
'I wish I could call you but...'
'I know...enough talking for now Mac. Make love to me like it's the las...'
'No Stella, never the last. Just once more before a break.'
'Charmer.'
Mac's curl upward as his brain dwells upon the happy memory of him and Stella making passionate love shortly thereafter; however he quickly snaps himself back to reality as his ears pickup a distinct clicking sound and he turns around, coming face to face with an older man with a slightscowl. He stood about maybe six feet; a bit taller than Mac, with clear blue eyes and a salt and pepper buzz cut; a smattering of military tattoos and the slight stains of nicotine on his fingers from the occasional cigarette.
Mac feels his throat swallow involuntarily and his stomach tighten once again but tells himself to show no fear; that was the only way to gain respect.
"So you're my new bunk mate huh," the older man states with a heavy sigh as he looks Mac up and down.
But unlike the time when he was in interrogation and then forced to change; when this man looks at him he can tell it's with a fatherly glance, not the hungry gaze of a man with a dark purpose.
"What's your name son?"
"Mark Travers," Mac gives the man his phony name.
"Ronald Knight but you can call me Ron."
Mac offers him a nod but doesn't make a move to leave his position; unsure of his behaviour around a man that had already claimed this spot as his own.
"Top bunk okay for ya?" Ron asks with a slight air of indifference as he slowly ambles past Mac, giving him a gentle shove to the right, before he slowly eases himself down onto a small chair beside the small desk.
"Its fine," Mac replies with a slight frown.
"First timer huh," Ron lets out a heavy sigh as he gestures for Mac to sit down on his bunk.
Mac offers him a nod before he eases himself down onto the edge of the bed; cursing his nervous anxiety. Tomorrow he would at least be able to keep himself occupied with going about his task; the real reason for his being inside; tracking down the man who knows that Maurice Wicks is guilty of and then trying to arrange a sting to bring him down.
"Don't talk much do ya?" Ron grumbles.
"Not much to say," Mac replies with a slight huff.
"Whatcha in for?"
"Murder, but I didn't do it."
"Yeah that's what I claimed also. That was five years ago. Once you in here ain't nobody goin' to give a damn aboutcha. You got a girl on the outside or somethin'?"
"No, it's just me," Mac clears his throat, his mind picturing the beautiful face of his wife as he tells the man before him another lie.
'When I am inside, your love and strength will be the only things to keep me sane and alert,' he had told her firmly. However, as much as he knows her love will keep him strong; he wishes he could have arranged for her to come on the inside with him. Trouble was, since it was a men's only facility; she wasn't allowed on the staff, it would be too dangerous.
But before he can offer another word, Mac hears shuffling to his left and quickly turns his head to see a shadow reflecting on the floor. Wicks? Or someone else? He wonders.
"Ain't no secrets in here," Ron's gruff voice calls his attention back. "Don't worry most of em are harmless."
"And the others?"
"Just stay away from certain areas."
"Why?" Mac inquires with raised brows.
"Just because."
"Anyone I need to look out for?" Mac asks; thankful that the shadow has finally taken its leave, giving him a small mental break.
"For a guy who ain't got much to say you ask a lot of questions."
"First timer."
"Why you wear them glasses? Don't really suit you."
"I was in the army and was caught in an ammunitions blast and the glare exploded my cornea's. Couldn't see myself putting in contact lenses."
"Where were you stationed when that happened?"
"Beirut. 83'..."
"Heard about that. It was bad," Ron states as he rolls up his pant leg and shows Mac a steel shaft that fits below his knee cap down to his prosthetic foot. "Got that fighting the Khmer Rouge. Yep them prisons in Cambodia make this place seem like the Hilton."
"What are you in for?"
"Got a bad temper. Was five years ago; out with a buddy when in a drunken stupor he confessed to cheating with my wife. Well I up and killed him and now I'm here. See that picture?" Ron points to another small picture on his table of a little boy holding up a fish. "That is Billy my grandson. I gave him a few bucks for his birthday last month and he went and bought himself a rod and some bait and caught himself a fish and sends me that picture. I have about six months to go; getting out on good behavior and then I'll be able to see him again. Wish it was sooner."
"And your um...your wife?" Mac dares to inquire.
"Said it was one night. She's waiting for me. I mean hell at our age this kinda thing ain't supposed to happen right? But she done forgive me and I'm gonna make sure I show her that I earned that. I think we both learned a lot since that night. Course being in this damned place ain't helped a bit," he groans. "When you get out you get yourself a good woman and leave your angry ways behind."
"That's...that's good advice," Mac's eyes drop his fingers; his mind picturing the band of gold that was there the day before.
'Mac? What is it?'
'Every day for the past two years Stella...this ring has never left my hand, no matter what. And now...I guess knowing that I'm now taking it off as my own doing...I...'
'Let me help you,' she had told him as her slightly trembling fingers slowly pulled off the band of gold and then curled her fingers around it; clutching it tightly her closed fist. 'I'll keep it.'
'Where?'
'On a chain, around my neck...close to my heart; where you will always be.'
Mac looks up to see Ron studying him with a quizzical stare and soon starts to feel himself lightly squirm as the older man's gaze starts to penetrate his nervous exterior. "What?"
"You don't seem the murderin' type."
"I guess much like yourself, alcohol makes you do stupid things," Mac states with a firm expression.
"Suppose so," Ron exhales heavily. "Well I usually read before I turn in. I don't snore but sometimes will curse; don't take it personally. If you make a fuss I will let you know," he lightly warns.
"Fair enough," Mac agrees with a slight smirk.
"Anything I should know about you?"
"Not really."
Ron gives Mac a nod before he turns toward his Bible; picks it up, flips it open and then starts to read. Mac slowly leans back on the metal side of the bunk; his brain trying to tell his heart rate to calm a little; his whole body, however, still on edge.
But just as he's about to tell his mind to pay attention to the words, a soft prayer before they turn in; they both hear a soft snicker and look up to see Maurice Wicks watching them intently.
'Both Larry and Drew were befriend right from day one. Right from the star...he picked them out...'
"Evening boys. Hoping to seek a little redemption."
"Doesn't hurt," Mac replies with an uneasy frown.
"Sure," Wicks laughs. "Well I'm here to give Mark the grand tour."
Already hating his assumed name; especially the way it rolls off the slick tongue of Maurice Wicks, Mac feels his body tense immediately. It's starting already? He ponders in concern. But knowing that this is the man he's hoping to bring down, he has no choice but to swallow his rising anxiety and comply. But as he remembers the discussion he had with Flack and then how Judge Wicks looked at him in the courtroom he starts to put together a few more pieces of the puzzle.
'Tough guy huh,' Judge Franklin Wicks gruff voice had boomed in the small hearing chamber as Mac stood beside Flack and two other officers; both in on the sting, but not given any of the finite details.
'Whatever,' Mac had offered flippantly.
'File says here you got no friends. Well Mark Travers you are going to a place where I'm sure you'll make lots of new friends.'
'I don't want any friends!'
'You might need them were your going. In fact I'll put you someplace special. Cellblock D3. They'll know how to treat a guy as special as you.'
'For how long?'
'The next several years. Maybe that'll teach you to kill again and then show up with your smug face in my courtroom. Get him out of here.'
"Come on now, move your ass," Wicks snickers as Mac slowly stands up and walks over to him. "Put your hands out," Wicks directs. Mac looks back at Ron who simply shrugs and then back at Wicks who only offers him a firm glare. Maurice Wicks would intimidate even the most brave man. Standing well over six foot two, built like a tree trunk, dark hair and black eyes; large hands that could inflict real pain and chest that looks like it could be hit with a jackhammer and still keep going. In an one on one fight, it would be a tough go he if he was alone.
"Why?"
"Now. I gave you an order Mark."
"Am I being taken away?"
"If I have to come in there you will be. Hands...now!" Wicks orders.
Telling himself he doesn't want to cause a noticble fuss on his first day and with some hesitation Mac slowly slides his hands through the meal opening, biting back his anger when a set of heavy handcuffs are slapped around his wrists; each on the tightest setting, trapping him.
"What are these for?"
"It's for your own good," Wicks states with a smile. "Plus I like them."
"And where are we going?"
"You ask too many damn questions," Wicks huffs as he slides the door open; a small snicker from Ron Knight not lost on Mac's angry brain.
"Ready for your personal tour?"
XXXXXXXX
"You still here?" Flack asks Stella as he hovers in her doorway.
"It's the first night and I um...I just can't see myself going home to...damn it Don why the hell did Mac do this?"
"Stella..."
"No I know why but...I just need to vent. I'm sorry for snapping."
"You know it would make me feel better if Jessica was as worried. Trust me she's late right now and I'm about to send out a search party," a faint smile crosses his lips. "Want to have dinner with us?"
"I doubt I'd be very good company."
"We won't expect anything from you other than to eat. At least dinner?" Flack tries. "You know you get after Mac for not eating when he's stressed."
"What do you think he's doing right now?" Stella asks in soft misery.
"Probably getting used to whatever guy he's assigned to. I think Sinclair tried to find him a guy that might be..."
"Less harmless?" She arches a skeptical brow.
"Stella, Mac is no stranger to tense situations."
"He's in there alone and unarmed!" She growls. "He could be shacked up with President Obama and I'd still worry."
"So would Obama," Flack cracks and Stella's face finally softens.
"I know Mac can take care of himself but...damn I just can't get past the image of...well of what Mac told me about Drew."
"He told you?" Flack inquires, his brain now wondering if Mac actually told her about Drew being assaulted.
'Did you tell Stella that Drew was raped first?'
'No, I just couldn't. If she knew that was something that I might have to well face...she'd worry more than I know she will. You give me your word you won't tell her.'
'But Mac...'
'Don, that is not going to happen. I'm not as trusting as Drew and know what to look out for.'
"He told me," she huffs; her mind only showing images of Drew's hanging body being found, not what he physically had to endure before his life was cut short.
"Mac is going to be fine. He knows his target; this Wicks fellow and what to expect. But it won't come to that. He just wants to find the guy who said he witnessed everything; talk to him more and then get him on his side before he sets his trap. Once that trap is set..."
"And if something goes wrong?" Stella quickly interrupts.
"It um..." Flack pauses; his mind also hearing the same calls for help from Drew Bedford as his life was destroyed. "It won't come to that," Flack shakes his head; forcing the images from his mind. "Mac is going to be fine," he states once again; hoping to drill it into both their heads that Mac would come out of this unscathed.
"I keep hearing his voice, asking me if I'm okay with this. I lied to him Don...I told him I was okay with all this and...damn it I lied."
"I'm sure he knew; just like if the situation was in the reverse he would also tell you the same thing. You said that to keep him strong and I'm sure it helped; at least a little."
"I miss him. I know that's silly sentimentality considering he's only been gone since this morning but I miss him."
"Love isn't silly."
"You sound like Jessica," Stella states with a weak smile.
"Just don't tell her I said that; I'd never hear the end of it," Flack smirks as his phone rings. "Speaking of...so you want to come with us for dinner?"
Stella looks at a picture of her and Mac, her mind racing and her heart aching in her chest. She finally looks up at Flack who is on with Jessica, nods in agreement and then listens as her friends makes arrangements to meet Jessica at Sullivan's.
Mac, her mind calls. I beg you are okay.
XXXXXXXX
Thankful that most of the inmates were winding down for the night and feeling his anxiety continuing to build as he slowly walks beside Maurice Wicks; his cuffed wrists dangling in front, Mac is glad he doesn't have to endure too many verbal comments about his vulnerable condition. The tour for the most part is routine, Mac's eyes darting around, taking in the layout of the every room before him; his vision now offering his brain an outlook from the reverse angle.
"Time to go someplace special," Wicks mentions and Mac's attention is quickly snapped to the fore.
"Where?"
"You'll see."
"I um..."
"Mark, that wasn't a request."
"Right."
Wicks leads Mac through a small passageway; his eyes looking around, wondering if he did need help who would come to his side. With his wrists cuffed in front he as a better fighting chance but with each step he takes, his brain is once again filled with serious doubts as to what he's doing in this situation. He keeps telling himself he'll never suffer the same fate as Drew or the others; or that he'll be able to get out just in time. However, as they reach the library Mac's defenses go into high gear again as they stand before the darkened room; he wonders if he will end up a victim instead of just lucky. What if there is someone else in there? This guy I can take one on one; what about two or three? What if I'm cuffed? What if...
Mac tries to swallow his anxiety, looking over at Wicks with raised brows.
"I like to come here at night and think sometimes; you know away from the noise," Wicks mentions as he pulls out his swipe card; places it on the security block that finally buzzes and lets them in. Mac didn't mind the other places as they were open; each having a few curious onlookers hanging around; but this place was dark and deserted and he was alone and handcuffed. Alone and cuffed with a man that already has an evil history and is already looking at him as his next victim.
"You ever like to meditate Mark?" Wicks inquires as his fingers try to wrap themselves around Mac's thick bicep; pulling him forward into the darkened room; Mac's body tensing and slightly pulling back.
"Aww come on now Mark, you not afraid of the dark are ya?" Wicks laughs as his hand leaves Mac's arm and slaps him heartily on the back. "But I did ask you a question?" He demands with a firmer tone.
"As of late I have been doing a lot of thinking."
"What about?"
"About the short end of the sick I am suddenly on being in this damn place," Mac gently scowls as he puts some distance between him and the large man on his right; his eyes fixed on the chair in front of him; anything to keep his gaze from catching the dark haunting glare of the man beside him; watching his every move intently.
"Do you feel helpless being in here?" Wicks asks directly.
'Remember son, you are never weak. Never helpless,' his father's voice starts to ring loud in his head. 'You are a marine and in control at all times!'
"What the hell do you think? Why am I really here? I mean in this room?"
"Hey calm down," Wicks fingers come to rest on his shoulder.
Resisting the urge to buck this hand off his body; Mac's brain reminds himself that he needs to at least seem like this is the guy he wants to befriend, Maurice Wicks not the only one setting a trap. So instead of offering an angry curse; he allows his body to sigh and pastes on a small frown.
"Just angry," Mac finally admits.
"Well if you ever want to talk about it. I mean don't get me wrong and all, Ron, your roomie is a fine fellow but not exactly the kind you want to befriend," Wicks continues. "Can't really trust him."
"Why?"
"Trust me Mark, he's not your friend."
'Mac, part of this guy's MO is to isolate certain prisoners; probably telling them they can't trust anyone or talk to anyone outside of him,' Flack had warned.
"Thanks for the heads up...it's um...well it's nice to know I can talk to someone about..."
"Anything Mark," Wicks moves in a bit closer; Mac's body tensing once again. "You can talk to me about anything."
"But if I'm seen well you knowbeing friendly and all, won't that um...put a target on me?"
"I'll watch out for ya Mark, I'll make sure none of those guys bothers you. Trust me, I'm your only friend in here; the only one that wants to help you. The only one you can trust."
Those words alone made Mac's blood instantly boil; his willpower put to the test in holding him back from punching Maurice Wicks right in the face. Only one you can trust...
JUST LIKE DREW TRUSTED YOU, YOU BASTARD? Mac's mind screams as he hears Drew begging him for help.
"You know Mark," Wicks starts as he reaches down and grasps the metal links between Mac's wrists and gives them a tug forward, making Mac almost lose his footing and crash into the waiting frame of Maurice Wicks. Mac quickly counters and is able to keep a few feet between them; his wrists however, still held firmly in Wicks grasp. Mac's eyes watch Wicks pull out the handcuff key and hold it up. "I take trust very seriously."
Mac feels his stomach tighten at the bold lie, wanting more than anything to slam both fists into his face and yell at him for offering such a sacred word but treating it as if it was nothing; his word was nothing. Trust, Mac's brain chides, you don't know the meaning of the word. But as he eyes the key he knows he want his freedom so bites his tongue, telling himself that when this is over, he'll make sure Wicks knows his lies were just that.
"Let me see those."
With a whispered sigh of relief, Mac waits as Wicks undoes the cuffs, merely allowing Mac's slightly chaffed wrists to fall at his sides.
"I value trust also," Mac whispers.
"Good to hear. Like your glasses Mark, they give you a serious kinda look."
"They only serve as nickname fodder."
"Ah right Aaron called ya four eyes; he's that way with everyone," Wicks mentions, referring to the other man Mac had to face when he first arrived.
"Well time to go."
Mac gently rubs them as Wicks turns and heads back toward the entrance; Mac slowly following. He tells himself not to call Wicks on his lies; that that is the line he probably handed not only Drew and Larry but also the five others. Maybe he assaulted them more than once and at first Wicks threatened them if they told anyone? Maybe he said he cared for them or...or whatever...
"You don't talk much do ya Mark?" Wicks notes as they head down the long hallway back toward his cell.
Would rather kick your ass you piece of garbage, Mac's mind offers as silent retort. Sadly he knows that he can't offer the things he wants to or he'll send Maurice Wicks in search of a new, unsuspecting target. So as much as it pains him to keep offering lies to a man he is growing to hate as each second passes; he knows he has to play it smart and end this properly.
"Not used to talking to um...well to anyone really," Mac tries with a slight frown. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Wicks pats Mac on the back. "Just don't be afraid to talk to me okay? Even if the guys are bugging you and such, you come and tell me, I'll deal with it."
"Really do appreciate your concern and looking out for me."
"Ah that's what friends do right? Look out for each other."
"Not sure how I can look out for you."
"We'll work on what you can help me with later Mark."
"Don't you care what I've done?"
"Trust me, none of us are lily white if you know what I mean?" Wicks laughs as they reach his cell. "Hope the cuffs didn't freak ya out."
"Wasn't sure what to expect."
"Helps me maintain control; always careful what others see, if you know what I mean."
"Okay."
"Sleep well Mark," Wicks offers as he nods to the guard at the end of the hall who pushes a button that allows Mac's cell door to open and then close behind him; the sound of the door locking making Mac slightly shudder.
Mac watches him go and then turns back to face Ron with a quizzical look. "What?" Mac finally asks after a few minutes of the older man studying him.
"Just be careful around him."
"Why? He doesn't seem so bad."
"Where'd he take ya?"
"Various places."
"Library?"
"Yah why?"
"Just be careful around him. If he assigns you to library duty, you make sure you don't go in there alone or after hours."
"What are you not telling me?" Mac gently presses. Does he know something also? Could I have another ally in here?
"It's your first day, you'll learn pretty fast."
"Please tell me. What is wrong with him?" Mac pries.
"Nothing, depending on what you're like."
"Huh?" Mac tries to play dumb, hoping to draw out the conversation a little bit longer. "Why the cuffs?"
"He likes then. Do you?"
"No, but..."
"KNIGHT! TRAVERS!!" A loud angry voice shouts. "LIGHTS OUT!"
"Ron..."
"We'll talk more tomorrow. Get some sleep young man; you're going to need it."
"But..."
"Trust me they'll come down hard if you aren't listening," Ron frowns as he turns off the small bedside lamp. "And I mean solitary."
Knowing he has no choice but to comply, Mac offers a small grunt in acceptance and climbs to the small ladder and then allows his body; already spent of its nervous adrenaline to slump onto the firm mattress. His head slightly pounding; his stomach too nervous to eat earlier and his heart beating painfully; his arms missing the feel of his wife's soft warm body pressed up against his.
Stella, his mind calls to her. I love you.
XXXXXXXX
"So I am going to dye my hair green tomorrow," Jessica mentions off handedly; garnering only a slight snicker from one member of the table; the other's thoughts and attention nestled on a small island in the middle of the East River.
"Stella?"
"Huh? Oh sorry," Stella states absently as she looks at her friend with a slight frown. "I can't think about anything else; my mind is wondering what Mac is enduring right now."
"He'll probably get as much sleep as you," Flack states softly as he looks at Stella in concern.
"You can't expect me to sleep peacefully knowing my husband is..." her voice breaks.
Jessica's fingers slowly snake toward her; offering them a warm squeeze of comfort. "Mac is strong."
"And alone," Stella mentions weakly.
"Sinclair is keeping eye on the footage; any sign of trouble then he'll call in the guard from the other cellblock and Mac will be out of there."
"And will anyone know?" Stella asks in fear.
"If his cover is blown, he'll be pulled. He's going to be fine," Flack states with a sight frown.
"I know he'll be fine, I just miss him."
"Want to stay with us? I have the spare bedroom that..." Jessica offers.
"No I'll be okay," Stella tries to assure them, my mind begging her not to go home alone; knowing that the silence will do more harm than good.
"Stella..." Jessica tries.
Stella looks at her friend with a tight lipped smile before uttering another lie, "I'm going to be fine."
Realizing that arguing will do no good both Flack and Jessica exchange a nod of understanding as they finish up with their bill and then make positive small talk with Stella about the four of them getting together for dinner after all this was over; wanting to send her away for the night with happy thoughts instead of dwelling on the new horrors that Mac was probably facing.
Stella offers her friends a wave goodnight before the she turns and slowly heads toward the front of their apartment building. She pauses, her mind flashing her images of the first day that Mac brought her to the front door of their new home.
'Mac, what are we doing here?'
'We live here Stella.'
'What?' She had asked with a growing smile. 'But the money didn't clear.'
'It did yesterday. I wanted it to be a surprise so I took care of the rest of it myself. I hope you are not mad.'
'Yes I'm going to punish you as soon as we are in the bedroom.'
'I'm looking forward to that. So you are not mad right?'
'Mac, I love this place and I love you,' she had whispered as her arms wrapped around her neck, their lips locked.
"Mac..." she whispers as her eyes gently mist, the image quickly fading. Stella hears a horn honking a few feet behind and pulling herself from her morbid stupor, she heads inside; wanting to shield herself away from the rest of the prying eyes of unknown onlookers.
"I'm home," she calls out in misery; only suffocating silence greeting her in return. She slowly closes the door and leans against it; already the pain of knowing that he's not just working late, that he's in a dangerous place forces her body to wilt further against the door; slightly sagging.
'We have never been separated for longer than a day since we've been married Mac. The only exception was when your mother was sick and I had to come the next day. This um...this will be hard.'
'My father always said the first night was the hardest.'
'Was he right? The nights after that were better?'
'Any night without you in my arms will be unbearable,' he had whispered as he held her close on their last night together.
With a hard swallow, Stella forces herself to finally remove herself from the spot planted in front of the door, slowly removing her jacket, aimlessly hanging it up in the small hall closet and then trying to keep herself busy by tidying up a few things that were left over from the early morning panic session; trying to get Mac out the door to the holding cell before it was discovered where he really came from.
She heads into the bathroom, slowly shedding her clothing as she turns on the hot water; hoping the soothing hot streams will at lease somewhat ease her tension. But as she closes her eyes she remembers another discussion she had with Mac; one that makes her stomach tighten.
'How are you um...going to handle...you know showering and stuff. I think it's all open and...'
'Well it'll probably be the same as in the marines.'
'Mac, this is prison, I know you are not that naive.'
'Just trying to ease your worries Stella.'
'Will be hard to imagine someone else enjoying what I get to,' she had told him; his face automatically breaking into a wide grin.
'Don't worry only you'll get to enjoy that.'
"Mac...god I miss you," Stella lightly whimpers as she finishes her showers and then slowly dries herself off; taking as much time as possible; not wanting to go into their bedroom alone. But knowing she can't spend the night in the bathroom, she finishes drying, wraps her robe around her warm body and then heads into the hallway; her steps feeling like lead as she nears their bedroom.
Her heart rate increases as she finally forces herself to take a step inside their empty bedroom. Her lips form into a tight line as she absently wanders over to her closet and numbly pulls the doors open, going through the motions of removing her robe and dressing for bed. When she's finished she slowly turns around to face the empty King size bed; the one luxury they both insisted on purchasing as soon as the I Do's were finished.
"I can do this," she tells herself in a firm tone as she heads toward her side of the bed, pulling back the covers and then very carefully pushing herself between the covers. But as soon as she lays her head down and the faint scent of her beloved husband starts to fill her senses, her eyes water and her heart aches for him once more.
She pulls his pillow to her chest; clutching it tightly, closing her eyes and allowing the scent to conjure up a happy image of Mac in the past few days; an image she hopes will carry her through the night.
Mac, her mind calls to him. I love you.
But much like the night before he left; she's awake, her mind racing with a million different questions. What was his admittance like? Did he meet the man he's supposed to be targeting? What's his cellmate like? Did he make any enemies? Is he thinking of me?
And as she finally forces her mind think back to their wedding; her mind starts to drift into sleep but she still can't help but wonder how Mac's first night will be; much less the next day ahead.
A/N: Okay so still liking it? Want to see more? What happens to Mac? What else Stella finds out? How Mac's plan will play out? Please let me know and thanks.
PS: Pandora's Box updates next.
