HOT MILK
In her bedroom, Daisy rolled on her back and had a deep sigh, her eyes on the ceiling. She listened to the rain pelting down outside the window, her mind to Enos: was he sleeping or was he staring at the guestroom's ceiling, scared by the rain?
"The day he was beaten it rained"
Luke's words came to her mind, followed by everything about the beating, the few things (too much, for her, anyway) the journalist wrote in "The Los Angeles Time". She thought of the newspapers hidden under her bed, strange and annoying presence in her room.
Police officer, Enos Strate, 33, of Hazzard County, seriously assaulted by protesters.
She had another deep sigh and she cuddled up under the blankets, closing her eyes and forcing herself to sleep, trying to erase those words from her mind.
Police are investigating after protesters kidnapped a policeman for three hours and gave him a severe beating. A police spokesman said: "The cop was freed after officers in riot gear stormed a disused small factory where he was being held. A police investigation is ongoing."
Slap after slap, those phrases and the terrific images they were bringing with them were hurting her like violent slaps.
Police are appealing to the community to help identify who was responsible.
She sat up and she switched on the lamp on the night table: she wanted to forget about those phrases but at the same time she was driven to them. She got up and she knelt near the bed, taking some copies of "The Los Angeles Time", copies after July 16th, skimming the news about the riots.
The officer is in severe pain.
Her tears started to fall on the newspaper, and she had to stop, torn apart. How could Enos keep for himself all that pain and horror? It was like a nightmare, and the more she thought about it the more she wanted to shout. She promised to herself she'd have burnt all those newspapers, tomorrow, she'd have burnt all of them, she knew enough, she knew too much; but, in the deep of her heart, she knew she wouldn't have kept that promise and she would have read those newspapers again and again, trying to understand WHY something like that happened. Those newspapers were going to become her obsession, and she knew it. She regretted her idea to read them, but at the same time she was aware it was the only way to know what happened to Enos in order to help him in the best way.
Enos… if it was so painful for her, she couldn't image how painful was for him.
He underwent more than six hours of surgery to treat internal injuries. He is expected to survive, the chief said.
She couldn't stay in her bedroom anymore.
She opened the door and she walked to the kitchen, but she stopped in the middle of the living room, her eyes on the guestroom's door.
Was Enos sleeping?
In the darkness of the living room, she reached that door, forgetting about the kitchen. Her hand grabbed the door-handle and she opened the door, slowly, eyeing carefully his bed.
She needed some time to get used to the darkness then she silently walked to his bed, looking down at him: he was sleeping peacefully, lying on his belly, his hands under his pillow, as he was hugging it; blankets covered him up to his waist, his back covered only by the white t-shirt he was wearing.
She remembered his protruding spine and blade shoulders while he was having a bath, transient but intense image; she had a shiver, she didn't know if because of a blast from the window or because of that image, and she gently covered him up to his shoulders.
He didn't move, he just had a deeper breath.
Doctors estimated the officer's injuries could keep him from returning to the street for up to four months, though he may be able to resume light duties in half that time.
Daisy fought against the desire to hug him, but she didn't want to wake him up. Wrapping her arms around her in a lonely hug, a pointless substitute of the hug she longed for, she walked back to the door, her only way to run away from her impulse to sit on his bed, bending forward and hugging him.
When she reached the kitchen, her arms still wrapped around her chest, she found her family sitting around the table.
Uncle Jesse looked at her, "Is he sleeping?", his voice a whisper.
She nodded, "Yeah, why are you awake?", whisper answering another whisper.
"We're awake for the same reason," Bo stood up and took some cups from the cupboard, "we can't hide to ourselves we're shocked about what we read on those newspapers. And about Enos' confusion when he came here, this evening."
"Sit down and have a cup of hot milk, Daisy," Luke pointed at the chair near him, "Come on. If Enos is sleeping it's better to let him sleep, right now."
Sitting at the kitchen's table, Daisy stared at the cup filled of hot milk, enjoying its scent and its warmth, "Thanks. I need it."
Dukes sipped their milk, silently.
"He was kidnapped for three hours by protesters during the riots, and he suffered a severe beating. He underwent more than six hours of surgery to treat internal injuries," Daisy broke that silence, her words exploding in the kitchen like a bomb even if she was whispering, "I read it in those newspapers, few ago. I skimmed some news after the July 16th, and…," she shook her head.
Uncle Jesse's hand squeezed gently her shoulder, "Daisy, don't read anymore those news, we know what we had to know. Don't torture yourself with those details."
Daisy nodded, "You're right, uncle Jesse."
"And now, go to bed. We need sleep," uncle Jesse left the kitchen and Bo and Luke followed him, their empty cups in the sink, everyone reaching his bedroom, except Daisy; she turned off the light and she sat again at the table, her eyes on the cup in front of her, a cup still half-full of tepid milk.
She didn't know how much she stayed her, her hands around the cup with, now, cold milk, when some steps woke her up from her thoughts, steps of bare feet, and she turned to those steps thinking he was Bo or Luke.
"Enos, sugar, are you awake?" she looked surprised at Enos as he rubbed his eyes, yawning and sitting in front of her.
"Milk party? You should have invited me," he smiled.
Moved by his smile she stood up, "You aren't late for the party, honey," she walked to the fridge, taking the milk's bottle and pouring it in a little pot. Her eyes on the milk waiting for it boiled, she opened the cupboard, "Sugar or honey in the milk?"
He shrugged, "Whatever you want, thanks, no salt, anyway."
"Enos Strate!," she turned to him, her hands on her hips, "you're really…," she shook her head, laughing.
"Honey, I prefer honey, thanks," he kept on smiling, amused by her reaction.
Finally sitting in front of him, Daisy observed him sipping the hot milk, slowly, his eyes more and more lost into something she couldn't see after any sip.
"I need it, I really need it, thanks," his voice a whisper, more to himself than to her.
The window trembled after a violent thunder, and Enos went pale.
"The day he was beaten it rained. I bet a violent storm hit L.A. that day."
Daisy's right hand reached Enos' left forearm, "Enos, you're in Hazzard, now. You're safe."
A gentle red on his cheeks chased the previous paleness out as he looked down at her hand on his forearm, "I know it. I know it. But…" he shook his head.
Daisy waited, the same way uncle Jesse waited for Enos' words during dinner.
"You know… the day I was injured… it rained, and it's why today…," another pause.
Yeah, she already knew that day it rained, but she couldn't say it to him; she couldn't tell him how many things she knew. Her heart raced in her chest. Maybe because of the late hour, maybe because of the hot milk, maybe because of her, or maybe because he needed to, he was slowly opening up (another little revelation, as the night he slept in Bo and Luke's bedroom).
"It's strange," his fingers gently ticked on the cup, "but… that day I remember perfectly the rain's sound on the ambulance's roof…"
Daisy's hand squeezed his forearm.
"… and then on the ER's windows. I've always liked rain. It relaxes me. I've always liked staying in my car reading comics while it rains, but… now…," he looked up at her, "what if I won't be able to like any more rain's sound… and a lot of other things?"
In his eyes fear and pain, and she had to swallow against the lump in her throat before to talk, "Enos. You need time, but… you'll find again the joy for things you used to love, and… I think you'll love them even more. I'll help you, Enos."
He stood up and he walked to the window, his forearm slipping away from Daisy's hand.
"I'm scared. I don't want to remember that day every time it rains. What if…," he rested his forehead on the cold window.
"Enos," by his side her arms slowly enclosed his waist, "Enos, please, turn to me, look at me."
He turned to her, her arms wrapped around his waist, her eyes in his eyes, "Enos, I'll help you to forget those days, I'll help you with new memories."
Her lips touched gently his ones in a shy and sweet kiss, a kiss becoming deeper and deeper. When they parted they were panting, surprised of the deepness of that kiss.
"Los Angeles is the past. It's away from here, far away, Enos."
He sat down on the floor, Daisy by his side, his head on her shoulder and her arm around his chest, his bare feet near her ones.
When uncle Jesse, Bo and Luke entered the kitchen, early in the morning, Enos was sleeping crouched on the floor, his head on Daisy's lap, and Daisy was caressing his hair.
LOS ANGELES
"The Los Angeles Time" editorial office
"He went back to his town, Hazzard," Catherine Burns walked in the wide room, she couldn't stay still, "last month. So, I can't interview him!"
His colleague glanced at her, "You're obsessed by that cop. It's an old news. Forget about it."
"There's something more. I know it. They prevented me to talk to him when he stayed in the Hospital, but… I saw him, just a glance in the E.R., a brief glance, and… how can they say he was beaten with baseball bats? I SAW the marks on his body, and I KNOW what those marks were. I can distinguish marks from baseball bats and from cops' batons! And… what a bitter irony of fate: did the protesters kidnap and beat up just the cop who testified in support of the man who claimed police brutality? And didn't police find any culprit of the beating? Come on! Do you understand? It'd be a scoop. Image the title: Police officer faced retaliation after testifying against others in a case of police brutality."
"Your scoop is far away L.A., now, just forget about it. Interesting scoop, but… there are a LOT of other things happening here, now."
"Hazzard County isn't at the other side of the World. And I've already bought the flight ticket to Atlanta."
Catherine's colleague stared at her, "OK, have a try, but I don't think that cop's going to confess you he was kidnapped and beaten by his colleagues, IF it really happened, anyway."