Disclaimer: Hi Folks at CBS, Beth Sullivan and all involved with our beloved DQ. Just borrowing them again, they will be returned in perfect condition I promise!
Author's note! Hello everyone! I would just like to say THANK YOU so much to everyone who has been in contact with me to review and encourage me to write more of this story. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get writing again. I would like to thank Amy especially as not a week has gone by when this story and my writing another chapter has not been mentioned! Thank you for your support Amy. I realise this might not be the earth shattering / high action chapter you dreamed of – but this one is for you!
Rianne xXx
Frozen Fires.
By Rianne.
Chapter Twenty-One.
Hank was the first on his feet, the small blanket cloaking and tangling around his long legs in his confusion and haste.
That scream!
One of his girls was in trouble!
He had tumbled from the bed so quickly, braced and ready for a brutal fight that he had forgotten that he was not at his Saloon. Had long forgotten that screams in the night were not a normality for most.
He heard it again, a faint whimper which just registered on his hearing, yet it was so quiet he disregarded it, thinking it came from the petite blond girl of his that he had been inclined to fall asleep upon these last few nights. Thinking he must have crushed or disturbed her in his scramble from the bed.
His eyes strained in the dim light to orientate him to his surroundings as he realised in that split second that the smell was wrong, that this place smelt… clean. To recognise that he was not in his worn, dishevelled Saloon room, and that he had for the first time in months slept without the company of a woman.
He was in the clinic.
Before he could think more he heard the soft cry again, louder this time, and then there came another scream.
He tore the loose strands of his matted hair from his face as he kicked the tangle of fabric from his boots. Charging blindly, his eyes still unaccustomed to the dark he forged in the direction of the sound towards what he thought was the doorway.
Only to crash, thumping with winding force into Horace's weaker chest, knocking both heavily into the wall as they fell to the floor in a scrambling heap.
Not even the sound of the two grown men almost shattering the wall broke through to Jake.
Not even the thunder of boots pounding down the worn wooden stairs, bouncing the boards with heavy zombie feet as the owners stumbled with heads half caught in dreamers sleep and their eyes eerily lost as they had been ripped violently into the real, broke through his delusions.
It was Matthew who came through first.
He had still been awake, keeping his promised eye on Ingrid as the sound of his sister's scream had shattered the snowy air. He had known instantly that the cry of fear had come from Colleen.
He had sensed that trouble was about to happen. He had worried about her wandering the Clinic alone in the dark.
What had happened? Had she fallen, stumbled over something cloaked in the darkness? What if a wanderer had broken into the Clinic looking for shelter from the storm? What if it was a looter, taking advantage of the storm to steal powerful medicines from Dr. Mike's Clinic?
He should he have prevented this. He who had been awake and accustomed to the dark. He who had sensed the danger. Why had he not stopped her in the hall? Why had he not gone down there for her? Protected her?
He reached carefully for the ceramic figurine that decorated the sideboard, curling his clammy fingers around the smooth chill of the porcelain. It weighted his palm, yet it would be no weapon against an outlaw with a gun.
Matthew navigated through the corridors with ease and stealth. Instinctively mimicking the way in which Sully stalked a prey, his mind having absorbed much more knowledge from his father figure than he gave himself credit for. For his mind was occupied with the terrible conjurings of his imagination and the thumping echo of his racing heart.
The examination room was eerily illuminated with the faintest glow creeping through the feminine curtains and the scene that greeted Matthew as he peered cautiously around the doorway gave him chills.
He could just make out the male figure pacing frantically, up and down, up and down, on the far side of the room. The examination table between him and the doorway. He paced, his thin hands entwining and twisting in a grimace of pain. His back hunched slightly and his crazed head darting from side to side as his mind conversed with the unseen.
Of all the terrible imaginings, he had never considered that the danger might come from one of their own.
The pacing man was Jake.
It took Matthew much longer to locate Colleen. His eyes missed her upon his first sweep of the room. Then found her, curled and trembling against the far wall, her face turned away from the sight of Jake as he paced. Her cream rosebud embossed dress and golden hair fading her into the wooden background. As he watched another set of trembles rumbled through her as if she felt Jake's sudden approach.
"Where is it?" Cried the crazed barber. "You know!"
Colleen whimpered lightly unable to prevent it, curling up even more, tucking her knees up under her chin.
Behind Matthew the others had quickly gathered. Slowly inching their way towards the doorway for a better view. All aware of the need for quiet and the tension in the air. Each assessed the situation in their own way, following the confusing pathways of their own progressions. Each came to a shuddering halt at the same conclusion.
Alcohol. Jake was drying out. He did not just want alcohol. He needed it.
Each of Jake's breaths was heavy and laboured, his mind and body straining under the pangs of the withdrawal.
Out in the hallway the gathered held their breath, faintly snatching air as silently as they could, afraid that even their racing heartbeats might catch Jake's attention.
"You aint bein' a very good Doctor here, Dr. Mike." Jake continued, his voice surreptitious, lower and bubbling over with sarcasm and underscored with a knifed edge of warning.
Dr. Mike? The adults all exchanged a look. The fear flashing in the whites of their eyes through the cloaking darkness.
As Jake took another step towards Colleen, Matthew felt his spine stiffen. Watching as she began to quiver again, cradling her broken arm with her body and keeping her face hidden from the feral spittle flying from Jake's lips as he continued to taunt and be taunted by his demons.
"I know it's here!" Jake's voice was eerie, wrong in the darkness. Much louder than before.
He moved away from Colleen, turning his back to the doorway and the unseen faces that crowded there as they laid in wait for their opportunity. Jake crossed the floor on jerky legs, reached the armoire, throwing open the doors in such an uncoordinated fashion as to rock the cabinet on its unsteady legs.
In the next moment Jake began clawing the bottles and pastes and papers from the cupboard, never flinching as the tiny bottles and vials crashed to the floor and shattered with beautiful precision.
Recognising Jake's complete distraction Matthew turned his head, his eyes meeting those of the Reverend in the darkness. With one look, which passed at lightening speed between the pair, both moved forward. In a single fluid motion they grasped hold of the deranged Jake. Their arms encircling his chest from behind as a breathless but nearly recovered Hank stepped in to attempt to secure his legs and feet.
A thump resounded through the air as the four men hit the wooden floorboards. The motion creating a bounce that brought up a heavy cloud of medicinal dust from Jake's destruction that hid them momentarily from the rest. The resonating force of the impact causing one of Dr. Mike's anatomy pictures to crash with them to the ground in a shatter of glass.
The sharpness of that final sound caused Jake to howl like a beast as he surged up wrestling violently away from his sudden containment as if he had somehow harnessed the power of some feral creature.
0000000000
Bursting into the fresh, chill air of the outside felt to Sully like he had escaped.
Escaped from the pressure of finding himself in a reality that seemed too good to be true, something that taunted not only his mind but also his heart. Something that could tear its fragile beating into shreds if he took a single wrong step. Something so precarious it was almost tangible. He could taste the sweetness of his future.
Yet had he already ruined this? Had he really touched her in such a way? Had he so unconsciously abused his position of trust? Had he been betrayed by the instincts of his own body?
Yet here he was placing the wrong doing upon his instincts, his unconscious, but was he truly blameless? After all, his body had only spoken to hers in his slumber in a way in which he had longed to alert.
He blinked rapidly against the glare of the white expanse before him.
Be rational he told himself. Think. How had she been when they had first opened their eyes? He had to think hard to recall, recognising that the heady images of his dream, 'or was it a dream' his mind prompted echoingly, and her wonderful proximity had distracted him.
He could not remember her being embarrassed and she had certainly not been afraid of him. She had in fact seemed quiet the opposite. She had been curled to him, comfortable, sweet, lazy, 'sensual' his mind prompted again. His eyes slipped closed for a moment as he recalled the way he had felt at the simple act of awakening with her in his arms. He had never felt so happy.
She had not created a divide physically or emotionally between him until he had frozen a few moments ago. He scrubbed his fingers over his face. Had he really ruined this precious intimacy between them with his reaction upon discovering the markings on her delicate skin?
Yet one image kept flashing back to him. Bothering at him. The look in her eyes when he had discovered the abrasion on her neck. It was a look of fear, the look that flickers in the eyes of a deer as he aimed his bow. A look that spoke volumes. A look that told him that she knew, knew more than he did even about the events of the past night, and had suddenly been caught out for possession of such precious information.
What to do now? How to approach her? For he certainly had no practice in such matters.
Did he force a situation wherein they could talk it out? Did he pretend like nothing happened? Did he try to touch her with as much love, albeit a little less intimacy, and see how she reacted? Touch her cheek, her arm… her lips?
Was this even what he wanted?
He scrubbed his eyes again, as if that would help to clear his head.
He had found himself once again in a situation weighted with such emotion. Just the kind of situation he took such great pains to avoid even when his heart, body and very soul cried out for that feeling of intimacy with another. With her.
To live, to survive; meant to be alone, to be strong, to try not to love, try not to make attachments. For he had learnt this the hard way. He could not love and loose again.
If Michaela had her barriers of propriety, of class, of naivety, of strength. So Sully had his own barriers, erected to keep out all those who could cause him pain. To prevent anyone with real potential from getting too close to him.
Yet he wanted it so badly.
If only they could be brave enough, if only she could trust him just enough to allow herself to drop the walls protecting her soul, for a few moments at a time, just for him. If only he were brave enough to do the same, until there remained no barricades between them?
When he thought about it, it seemed like she already had a head start in stealthily entangling herself in his life of late. How she had done it he knew not. Yet brick by brick, before he had noticed, she had begun to dismantle his fortress, had slipped serenely into her position as best friend, then…then what…?
In this moment of complete solitude, after the sweet torture of such close quarters through the night, Sully walked a few more paces and then fell to his knees in the snow, now a few foot from the entrance to the cave. A silent grimace of confusion escaped, as he threw his pain outwards, easing the weight in his mind as he allowed the vast tundra of white to encourage him to vent his true fears.
He ran his fingers through the tangles of his hair, drawing it back away from his face, as his gaze drifted out over the miles and miles of pure white that spread out in a circumference from his current position.
His surroundings were strangely calming. Soothing white and sedating grey.
He waited there panting, letting his breath catch up with him.
The snowfall had finally ceased. The sky still hung low, but the cloud had taken on a softer, lighter colour and consistency, no more snow would fall for now.
Yet which way was home?
He paused as a smile broke. When had Colorado Springs become home to him?
When she came, his mind reminded him.
0000000000
Left in the silence, in the shivering and eerily comforting darkness, Michaela had finally found her moment to breathe. The tension that had mounted to excruciating levels over the last few minutes had released her when Sully had slipped away outside. Had left her jelly like a rag doll. It was to be a temporary release that was for certain and yet one both frantically needed.
As soon as she was sure he was a safe distance away she fell back into the remaining jumbled collection of her clothing, without even finishing the process of fastening the rest of the buttons on her blouse. With an almost hysterical squeal to vent some of her frustration she covered her face with her hands. The overwhelming sense of desperation which had risen inside at the awkward tension developing between them making her squirm and wish that the ground beneath her would swallow her up and set her free.
He knew now, she was sure of that. She could not be sure that he knew the full story, or indeed to what extent he had been aware. But he knew. The immediate change in his demeanour and his instant refusal to look her in the eye or even look in her direction!
The knowledge. It had hung there, heavy in the air. There was no getting away from it. No relaxing, or forgetting. Should she not feel some relief that at last some emotional honesty existed between them? That the words their minds had wished to impart for months and months and had yet had held back, frozen by fear, had finally been given a voice by the physical fires, which burned deep and secret inside them.
But she felt no relief, and was disappointed.
Instead she felt… she felt loss. Felt the moment to speak about it, that liminal moment of truth, that crossroads where her life could have changed forever, had slipped away from them. Had they missed another perfect chance?
The way his fingers had trembled when he had hurriedly dressed himself. Her averted gaze remaining averted only half of the time it should have been. She had been unable to take her eyes from him. She had suddenly been fascinated by the way his body closed off to her in a direct correlation to his mind. It was a sight she had witnessed before, but this time it had stung a little. This time it was more than a disagreement about her washing with her 'fancy soaps', this time there was so much more hanging in the balance. This time it felt like it was her affections that he shunned.
Maybe she was lucky that he had turned away, and therefore could not see the look that graced her features, seen the heartbreaking expression of deep and vulnerable longing. Seen the way she could not hide the ache that swelled as she realised that she had missed her moment. That he was slipping away from her again.
He had not seen the waves of defiance, of indignation and pride, which flooded after. Caused her to rise up and pretend that nothing was wrong, that she did not care. Putting on pretence. Trying desperately to lie to even herself. To keep up that front which eluded strength. Always unable to be honest about her feelings when in the pressuring shadow of humiliation and fear. Always unable to stop herself from retreating, from adding lofty graces to elevate herself above, acting aloof and even cold, whilst her fragile aching heart slowly shattered and the flame of her hope dimmed just a little more. It was a sadness born of past events that caused her to erect these barriers of protection for her vulnerable heart.
The fear of taking that chance.
Afraid of the importance of her emotions.
Afraid to be left there, standing.
She signed into her palms feeling the warmth of her breath create a film of moisture upon the cool skin.
This must have been what it was like to be Marjorie! The thought struck her suddenly with a laugh rising hysterically, surprisingly, up from her belly. All those times she had frowned and shook her head sternly at the entangled messes her sister had found herself embroiled in when she had begun to court, and yet she had often found herself leaning against doors for the snatches of conversations caught. Listening with concentration to distinguish words through oak as Marjorie calm as a frozen pond turned away admirers, and oh how she had blushed when she once clumsily walked in on her sister kissing, and at the same moment secretly wished with all her being that her own life were that exciting.
Be careful what you wish for!
She had been so envious and yet now she realised that emotions and love were all just simple names for so many confusions.
There was a faint noise from beyond the entrance to the cave. Her eyes darted towards the sound.
Sully!
He was probably on his way back inside.
Her mind instantly active forced her fingers back to work on her clothing. Something tangible and physical she could work with. One of very few problems she currently possessed that she could easily fix.
One button at a time.