Stella opened her eyes slowly. All her surroundings were white and cold. Stainless steel and glass. Hospital, then. She hated hospitals.
"Welcome back," a familiar voice said. She turned her head and saw Flack sitting in a chair, looking tired. Something about the scene wasn't quite right.
"Where's Mac?" she asked.
"Now, that's a nice greeting," Flack said, pretending to be offended.
She blinked, and rubbed her eyes. "Sorry," she said.
He smiled. "Don't worry, I know you're only trying to make me jealous." He put a hand gently on her shoulder as she attempted to sit up. "Take it easy for a while. How are you feeling?"
She considered the question. "Not too bad. A lot better, certainly."
His face turned grave. "You did damn well getting to the phone, let me tell you. You were tied to the legs of the chest, weren't you?"
"Yeah." She didn't feel like talking about it just yet.
He noticed, and tried to change the subject. "You'll be out of here soon, I think."
"Good." She paused, and returned to her first question. "So where is Mac? At the lab?"
Flack's expression fell again. He'd hoped not to be asked this. "I think so. I'll chase him up, let him know you're expecting a visit."
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don. Cut the crap."
"Ok." He spoke quickly, wanting to get this over with. "He was here earlier. Nearly wore a hole in the floor of the waiting room before the doctor came out and told us you were going to be ok. He's been sitting with you since then, he only left less than an hour ago when we were told you'd probably wake up soon. To be honest, I've absolutely no idea where he is now."
"He didn't want to see me?" she asked, hurt in her eyes.
"I think it's more he didn't want you to see him. He's killin' himself over this whole thing. See, he went to your apartment yesterday evening when you didn't answer the phone."
"I know. I heard him bang on the door and ask if I was there."
"You did? Shit. Does he know you heard him?"
She tried to remember what she could of when she'd spoken to him over the telephone line. "Yeah. I think so."
"Are you angry with him?"
"I was. I might be later, but I'm not at the moment."
"Do you want to see him?"
"Yes."
"Ok, I'm going to go and try to get in touch with him for you. I'll be back in a few minutes, is that alright?"
"That's fine. Thank you." She smiled gratefully at him as he left the room, and she closed her eyes and waited.
x x x
Mac was running again, in his black top and sweats. It was a little before midnight. He was gasping for breath as each foot hit the concrete with a dull thud, pushing himself as fast as he could, trying to outrun the thoughts which crowded into his head every time he stopped for a rest. The ifs, the whys, the should'ves.
He increased his pace, blood thrumming in his ears, breath wheezing in and out of his chest. Every time his thoughts crawled their way back to Stella he wanted to smash something, some inanimate object he could blame, but there was nothing he had to break. He kept on.
As the ground beneath his feet began to slope upwards, he realised where he was headed, where he'd been headed all along.
In the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge he finally allowed himself to stop. He walked to the barrier at the edge and leaned against it, gulping in lungfuls of air and waiting for his heart rate to slow. He looked up.
From here, there was a beautiful view of the city. Block after block of tall buildings painted against the sky by the illuminated squares of their windows. Lights which had always brought Christmas decorations to his mind were strung along the top of the suspension cables. Car headlights shone distantly on the streets. Below him, the dark water of the East River flowed steadily.
His phone was turned off. He pulled it out and glanced at the black screen. By now someone would probably have tried to contact him, and he knew he ought to check. But in the end he just replaced it.
He didn't bother trying to justify yesterday's actions to himself. In the black mood he was in, he could see no justification. He had been worried about Stella; he should have opened her door. Simple as that. No room for maybe.
There was darkness and silence all around him. The night pressing down on him. And below, far below, was the darkness of the black river. Two pennies to cross the Styx, he thought to himself, some remote part of his brain appreciating the bitter irony. Surely even the Styx wasn't this black.
He turned himself away, pulling his gaze to the empty car lanes. With his eyes, he traced the line of the nearest suspension cable, and followed it along, and back down one of the massive pillars further along. He stopped. There was someone sitting there.
For some reason he walked over, towards the person. Something to do with the darkness, and the loneliness, and his head full of thoughts so thick as to smother him. But as he got nearer, could see properly in the artificial light the figure who was leaning against the pillar as she sat turned towards the city, eyes closed, he began to run, desperately hoping that he was wrong in what he saw.
He wasn't. The girl in the green satin dress was cold as the concrete.
x x x
Flack re-entered Stella's room. She looked up.
"Sorry," he said. "Got to go. Mac's just found our third dead girl. Well, fourth, I suppose."
"What, there was a third as well?"
"Oh yeah, you'll have missed her. Rebecca Andrews. Seventeen years old."
She sighed. "Damn."
"Yeah. Look, I'll tell Mac to come see you as soon as possible. You going to be alright on your own for a while?"
"I'll be fine. Don't worry." He turned to leave. "What's the time?" she thought to ask.
He glanced at his watch. "Quarter past midnight, give or take," he told her, and had to laugh at her look of surprise. "Go back to sleep."
It was very quiet once he'd gone. With nothing better to do she looked around her, and saw nothing interesting enough to hold her gaze. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and looked at her wrists. They had gauze wrapped around them, and when she pressed them they felt sore. She vaguely remembered them being bloody. They must have been scraped either on the rough wood or on the sharp blades of the scissors. She found that she didn't much care. Her mind shied away from thinking about the actual attack, and around the edges there only seemed to be a hollow emptiness.
She laid her head back against the pillows, and closed her eyes in the hope that sleep would come to her, but it didn't. She opened her eyes again and stared at the white walls.
Time passed slowly. A nurse came in and tried to chat, in a voice so irritatingly cheerful that Stella replied mainly in monosyllables, wanting to throw something at her. The blinds were down over the glass of the door and the windows, but the nurse forgot to shut the door behind her as she left. Glad of the distraction of the new field of sight, Stella didn't say anything.
A few people walked up and down the linoleum floor of the hallway, mostly medical staff. A few visitors. A woman with fair hair paused and almost stepped in through the open doorway, but stopped herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Wrong room."
Stella smiled vaguely and waited for her to go away.
"I hope you're better soon," the woman said hurriedly, almost nervously. Stella was struck by the intensity of her dark-eyed stare, before she turned quickly and walked away much faster than she'd arrived.
A/N: Thank you for being patient! As promised, here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. And thank you to everyone who left me reviews while I've been away, I shall reply to them in the morning! Kate x
