10.

Mark was pleased to hear the knock on his hospital room door. The fuzzy television had nothing but strange soap operas, lame game shows, and endless reruns of GILLIGAN'S ISLAND. Any visitor was most welcome. The pleasure ratcheted up a notch when he saw the balding head peering in. "Frank! Come in."

Frank Harper grinned as he used his shoulder to push the door open. In his hands he carried a small picnic hamper. At the patient's interested response, Frank's oak brown eyes twinkled. "Claudia was worried that you'd starve."

The hamper was placed on the foot of the bed and Frank pulled the wheeled table over the bed. He began removing bowls and covered plates, placing them on the table. As he uncovered the food, Mark moaned in ecstasy.

"Lasagna, Claudia's world famous lasagna. Frank, I love your wife! As soon as I get out of here, I'm gonna marry her. I need a plate and utensils. Hell, all I need is a fork. Give it over, copper."

"Allow me," Frank said, whipping out a napkin from the hamper and snapping it into the air before tucking it into Mark's pajama top. A gift from Frank, it was pale blue with tiny flying Supermans. "You have a choice of meals, all of which can be frozen if you don't want it today. You've also a choice of desserts, from apple crumb cobbler to double fudge brownies to homemade cookies."

"Apple crumb today. I'll save the others for later."

"Thought you'd say that," Frank replied, stashing the containers in the top drawer of his bedside table.

Frank watched television while Mark chowed down. He was still trying to decide whether Victor was the hero or the villain and what Ashley and Nikki saw in the moustached man when Mark groaned.

"That was great, Frank. Please tell Claudia she saved my life." He pushed the table away, leaning back, sated. "I don't know why hospital food is so tasteless. I mean, sure there's some people who have special diets, but not all of us!"

"Speaking of which, how much longer will you be here?" Harper asked.

"I don't really know. Hardcastle is supposed to be checking on that." Mark lightly touched the bandages still on the back of his head. "I guess they want to make sure that my brains won't leak out before they release me."

"Too late." Hardcastle strode into the room. "Your brains leaked out long before I knew you." He eyed the open container on the table, craning his neck to see the contents.

Mark pulled the table back to himself, curling his arm protectively around the remnants of the lasagna. "Don't even think about it. It's all mine!"

"That's no way to treat the person who knows your release date."

"When?"

Hardcastle didn't answer, turning to talk with Harper. Mark waited impatiently for a break in the conversation, before giving in to his need for an answer. He pulled the container of brownies from the drawer. "Ju-udge, c'mon, tell me."

Mark opened the air-sealed top, letting the smell of chocolate waft through the air. "Tell me and you can have one." He held his finger up.

"How does the day after tomorrow sound?"

McCormick's face glowed. "Like the end of my prison sentence. Judge, for news like that you can have another brownie."

"Don't get too excited, hotshot," Hardcastle admonished, taking a small square of rich brownie. "The doctors still have a whole list of rules that you have to follow."

"Yeah, of course they do. I don't care, Judge, if it gets me out of here."

Harper got to his feet, packing the untouched food into the hamper. "Milt, these items can be frozen for later use by you or Mark. Why don't you take them down to the truck?"

Hardcastle looked suspiciously from the police lieutenant to the patient. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Milt. Don't be so suspicious. I just need to clarify a few things from his statement."

"Go on, Hardcase. I don't mind," Mark said.

"Fine. I'll come back in ten minutes." Hardcastle tapped his watch face in emphasis.

"Got it," Harper chuckled.

Mark waited until the Judge had left the room before explaining apologetically, "He's worried about my using the gun on Lipman."

"Is the Parole Board hassling you any? Because if they are, I can go have a little talk with them," Harper offered.

"No, but thanks. He's just in a 'glass half full' mood right now."

Harper nodded. "He's worried. Milt knows how close he came to losing you. He's just a little shook."

"Yeah, I guess. He'll get over it soon enough. Then things will get back to normal."

"Mark, have you told him?"

"Told him what?"

"That you had help. Help of a…supernatural kind?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." McCormick suddenly found the door to his room fascinating.

Frank leaned forward, staring intently at his nervous young friend. "I heard you talk to it."

Mark shrugged, his face shuttered. "Maybe I was hallucinating."

"Like I hallucinated the front door magically opening? Did I somehow 'catch' your skull fracture and imagine being pushed into the house?"

Mark's blue eyes looked deeply into Harper's face, searching for any sign of ridicule. When he saw only sincerity, he let himself relax. "Thank God. I was almost convinced that I had to be delusional."

"Who was it? Who were you talking to?"

"The Judge's wife, Nancy Hardcastle."

Frank blew his breath out in a rush. "Whoa."

"That's pretty much my reaction."

"Have you told Milt?"

"What? And get put in a padded cell? Thanks, but no thanks. C'mon, Frank, how long have you known Milton C. Hardcastle? Do you actually think he'd believe me?"

Frank considered the question. "Maybe not if it was just you telling him. But with my experience, he'd have to consider it."

Mark shook his head gently. "Hardcase would either explain it away as delirium and coincidence or say you were trying to help me. He'll never believe it."

"Never believe what?" Hardcastle was back.

Frank and Mark exchanged glances, then chorused, "Nothing."

Suspicious once again of what was going on, but knowing that both men were equally stubborn, the Judge didn't pursue the question. "Do you need any more information from McCormick, Frank?"

"Nope, I've got everything I need. I'll see you later, Mark. Take care of yourself."

Hardcastle watched the police lieutenant leave, then turned back to glare at McCormick who, knowing better, leaned back and closed his eyes. "You're up to something," he stated.

Opening one eye, Mark snorted. "I'm stuck in this hospital room, only allowed to get out of bed under close supervision. What could I possibly be up to?"

"I don't know, but you are. And you're corrupting Frank. He never used to be able to keep anything from me."

"Judge, you're starting to sound paranoid. Look, just have a cookie and chill out."

"A cookie? You have cookies as well as brownies."

"Oops," Mark said sheepishly before pointing to the side table. "There's a container in there."

"What kind?"

"Chocolate chip, ginger, and sugar. By the time I get down eating all of the desserts Claudia fixed, I'll be three hundred pounds and bouncing off the walls."

After rummaging through the drawer, Hardcastle pulled out a handful of cookies. "Want something to drink with that cobbler?"

"Yeah, milk. Or coffee, if it's allowed."

"It might be arranged, but it'll have to be decaf for now."

"I never thought I'd be craving coffee. Even decaf will do, thanks."

"Be right back. And don't eat all the desserts!"

Mark grinned, pleased to have the gruff retired jurist apparently staying for a while. The hospital room was lonely, even with the frequent visits by nurses and doctors. Hardcastle had gone out of his way to stay with him in the evenings, the worst part of the day for Mark. With a pleased sigh, Mark pulled the newspaper out to check the television listings, hoping for a good Western that would tempt the older man to stay.