.
Chapter 71: The Guilded Cage
"He ached with weariness, but it became part of him;
he scarcely noticed now that he was weary, he might always have been thus, it was so familiar to him."
― Tanith Lee
Night of July 3rd, 1986
Rain struck the window, the collecting drops reflecting the shifting red and green traffic lights of the street below. The colors spilled across the man sitting in the corner chair, camouflaging him against the darkness. A nurse, coming to check on the woman sleeping in the bed, passed by him by without a glance, then turned and left. That was fine; he wasn't in a talking mood.
There was once a man named Enos Strate - Benjamin Enos Strate to those who kept official records, who built a wall around everything painful and ugly in his life. Twelve feet high and six feet thick and made of concrete and re-bar, it had been strong enough to hold back anything messy or complicated.
Until he went to prison.
Bit by bit, the mortar of his wall had failed. Late at night in stir, under lights blazing eternally overhead, things had begun to leak out. Stuff he had never dealt with, like an overfilled closet which, once opened, collapses down upon you. There had been hate behind that wall, yes. He could admit that now. Not much; he had never carried much truck with hate. But there was plenty of anger. So, so much anger. Even over things he'd thought he'd made peace with long ago.
For the first time in months, he thought of his mother, who could always be counted on to give a good beating if his father wasn't around to see it. Even as a child, he was able to soften those memories so they didn't consume him, to rationalize away her heavy handed punishments, and besides, nothing had been more important to him than his father. The thought of being taken away from him was enough to banish any ill thoughts from his young mind. There was anger for his father, as well, his hero, who had the audacity to die and take away the only parent who loved him. He'd been angry at God for that, too, though in time he'd made peace with the Almighty. But never, even in his lowest hours, had he felt the burning rage that fueled a desire to kill; to brutally rip the life and breathing soul from another human being.
If Darcy walked though the door at that moment, Enos feared what he would do to the man, and he would die before he ever let him put a finger on Daisy. He felt a fierce protectiveness for her that he had never felt before. Even back in Hazzard, when he would watch her lock up the Boar's Nest, it had never felt like this.
He was wretchedly certain that it had all been a game to Darcy; that his revenge for the busted lip Enos had given him in high school had been to get rid of him once and for all, and then take Daisy by force. The contents of the box in the back of Darcy's car slipped back into his mind in terribly vivid detail.
A quiet murmur broke the silence, slicing through his thoughts. He was up in an instant, crossing the room to where Daisy slept. Her face seemed small and very young in the low light, her eyes smudged with dark circles of fatigue. Her head rolled to the side and was still once more.
The doctor said she would probably be in and out for most of the night as the remainder of the anesthesia wore off and then settle down into regular sleep. The nurses had come in every thirty minutes to check her vitals, the heart rate monitor beeping quietly in a slow, regular rhythm.
Enos leaned over and whispered her name, not wishing to wake her if she were truly sleeping.
She swam up slowly from the gray depths of unconsciousness, sounds flitting across her mind without registering. Here, then gone away; timeless. Eventually, her mind woke enough to catch one, turning it over and over; studying its familiarity.
Daisy.
The word pulled her up from the darkness. She opened her eyes to find his; her fingers enveloped in his warm and calloused hand. In her narcotic confusion, the years rolled away and, in her mind, they were kids again. Had he been gone? She felt like he had been, maybe to the Academy. It seemed like years since she had seen his face.
"Hey," she mumbled.
He grinned, shyly. "Hey yourself," he answered. "How're you feeling?"
She tried to remember. Had she been sick? "...sleepy...think I need a nap."
"You sleep then. There's nothing you need to do right now."
She clung tighter to his hand, and he bent over and kissed her forehead.
"Love you, Enos."
"I love you, too, Daisy Mae."
Afterwards, Rosco would barely remember driving to Atlanta. He hunched over the steering wheel, his bloodshot eyes on the dark road, his mind turning over and over. The Dukes, Cooter, and himself had tried to piece together what Darcy had done, but so much seemed to have been bad luck that it was hard to tell what had been deliberate and what had been Enos' bad timing and altogether bad luck.
When the bones of Darcy's brother turned up missing, Agents Wilburn and Stewart of the GBI had become two of Enos' stanchest allies; going above and beyond to track down every lead no matter how spurious. None of it had mattered, though, until Enos had called Gary's office with the one piece of evidence that cracked the case wide open.
Rosco didn't know if he'd ever seen a sight more beautiful than Darcy Kincaid being cuffed and stuffed. It had been a wonderful day, all the way up until Agent Stewart came by and managed to ruin it with a couple of pictures and one simple question. Hours later, as he turned into the parking lot of Grady Memorial, it was that question which haunted him still.
"Sheriff, how much do you know about Darcy Kinkaid?"
Because any way you sifted it, the answer was not much. Not much, at all.
An hour and forty-five minutes after Daisy's brief encounter with wakefulness, there was a soft tap at the door. Bleary-eyed, Enos stood and stretched before walking over to see who it was. He'd been nodding off and on, but it was impossible for his tall frame to get comfortable in the boxy chair, even with its padded vinyl arms and cushioned seat. The door cracked open as he reached for the handle, and Agent Stewart motioned for him to step out into the hallway.
Enos hooded his eyes from the bright lights, squinting at the agent. The glare of the white hallway was the first thing he noticed, the second was his tattered backpack in the man's hand.
"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Strate. Thought we'd go ahead and bring this up," he said, passing the backpack over to Enos. "Had to take a couple things out, but we'll hold them for you until all this blows over."
Enos, who had carried the pack everyday for over two months, felt a noticeable subtraction in its weight. "Much obliged, sir," he said. "Just so you don't lose my fishin pole. It was a gift." Concerned more with Daisy than with physical possessions, he had slung his pack behind some bushes when the cab had arrived, already having removed their money, her driver's license, and Jack's black book to the safety of his pockets. Daisy's pack had been left at the motel - there was nothing for it, he couldn't carry both packs and her, too.
"We'll keep it safe. Nice pole, though. Wouldn't mind having one myself."
Enos couldn't help but grin. "You don't look like the fishing type, Agent Stewart."
His smile faltered, only for an instant, and Enos knew he'd been right. This man was no outdoorsman.
"What makes you say that?"
"Your skin's too pale," he told him. "You oughta get outside more."
Stewart laughed. "Touche', deputy. I probably wouldn't know what end of the pole to use."
It felt good to be bantering like this again, thought Enos. It made him feel almost normal, like old times.
"If you don't mind me saying though, Mr. Strate, you look like you've seen too much of the outdoors. There should be a folding cot and linens in the tall door by the closet. I imagine it's been a while since you've slept on anything comfortable."
In fact, the last time Enos had slept in a bed had been a Jack's cabin. He hadn't even laid down at the motel, too worried that he would fall asleep and not wake if Daisy took a turn for the worse. "You get used to it," he murmured. Anything was better than the metal tray of a prison bunk. "Thank you, sir, for everything."
Stewart nodded and turned back down the hallway, leaving him with the remaining two agents shadowing Daisy's room.
"Oh!" He spun back around on his heel, "I almost forgot. There's some clean clothes in there," he motioned at the backpack. "Hope they fit, we took the sizes from the ones we took out. Feel free to use the shower in the room." He turned and left, dress shoes tapping softly on the waxed floor.
In the stark lights of the spotless corridor, Enos became acutely aware of the sorry condition of his own clothes. Even after stopping at coin washers whenever they could, the grit and grime from countless boxcars and grainers never really came out. He ran a hand across his face, feeling the stubble from three days growth, rough against his palm. It itched. With no deeper thoughts than the weary longing for a hot shower, he turned and disappeared back into Daisy's room.
In the bathroom, he turned the water on in the shower, waiting until the spray was too hot, then inching it back. Leaving it, he unzipped his pack and pulled out a green flannel shirt and a pair of Levi's, both new. Beneath them lay unopened packs of socks and underwear and a pack of disposable razors. For a minute, he could only stare at them, wondering at the generosity and making a mental note to thank Agent Stewart. He set the clothes on the closed lid of the toilet, along with Jack's book, their money, and his watch, and placed Daisy's ring carefully on the tank cover.
He undressed slowly, easing his aching muscles through the motions. When he was finished, he picked up the clothes, uncertain what to do with them, then stuffed them in the trash. Ignoring the steam covered mirror, he opened the package of razors, took one, and stepped into the shower. He bowed his head beneath the spray, the warm water running through his hair, and off his face in rivulets, and thinking of all the changes which had happened in such a short amount of time.
Less than four months ago, he had still been in Jackson. Twenty-four hours ago, they had been on a grainer coming into Atlanta. Four hours ago, he'd found out that Darcy was still alive.
Things were moving so fast. Too fast.
He raised his head and let the water hit his face, wishing, irrationally, that they had never come back to Georgia; that they had gone north to Alaska, instead, where he could try to forget the past and heal the wounds that still ached so deep inside.
Jesse's watch read just past 10:30pm when they were finally escorted to the maternity wing of Grady Memorial. The room location had come as a shock in and of itself, rife with confusion, until one of the staff nurses explained to them that the GBI had asked for Ms. Duke to be placed in a more comfortable, private room which could be cordoned off to visitors. The maternity rooms were the only ones with private showers, and, since they'd only had only had three deliveries that day, the south wing of the unit had already been empty.
"What I don't understand is why we had to wait two hours in the blamed waiting room until we could see her," groused Bo. "The doctor said she came out of surgery at 6:45. It don't take four hours to wake up!"
Luke rolled his eyes, having listened to this complaint every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. "Now Bo, you don't know that," he said, exasperated. "Besides, the GBI's gotta cross all those i's and dot all their t's. You know what happened last time they didn't. That's how this whole mess started in the first place."
Uncle Jesse elbowed them both. "You two, hush. There's other people in this hospital tryin' to sleep. They don't need you two waking them up with your fussin'."
Bo and Luke had the grace to look contrite.
"Yes, sir."
"Sorry, Uncle Jesse."
"Besides, it wasn't them detectives' faults that started this in the first place. It was that no-account Darcy."
He tried to keep calm for the boys, but his own heart was going a million miles an hour. When Luke had come back to Hazzard, he'd told them about meeting up with Daisy and Enos, and about their plan to come to Atlanta and snooker that Candy's address out of the Gold Club. Jesse hadn't liked the sound of it, himself. Coming back to Atlanta would be like stepping in your own bear trap, and the FBI still had 'shoot to kill' orders out on Enos. As for himself, he had a singular focus, and it was wrapping his arms around his baby girl again. He'd lived long enough to know it didn't take much for a situation to go south for Dukes, no matter how quiet and peaceful things seemed.
The voices alarmed him, muted as they were through the bathroom door, until he recognized Luke, Bo, and Uncle Jesse. For the first time that day, Enos breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Daisy was in good hands. He found himself staring at the dark shape in the mirror, obscured by steam. He raised his hand to wipe it off, then hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to see himself.
There was a burst of laughter outside the door, and he remembered that he should be happy. They had won. In true Hazzard fashion, the bad guys had been caught and the good guys had prevailed. Even though he was technically still a prisoner, he would be exonerated soon, and life could go back to... to what exactly, he wasn't sure. He held no illusions that life would ever be the same as before.
He wiped the steam from the mirror. The image wasn't as startling as that first day at Jack's cabin, where a bald, emaciated creature had stared back at him. Exercise, sunlight, and regular-ish meals had filled in the hollows of his cheeks and sunken eyes, though his physique still suffered from a year of solitary confinement. His hair, spiky now that it was wet and still too short to lay flat, stuck up in random directions. He smoothed it down, only to have it spring up again with a mind of it's own.
His eyes were drawn to the thin, white scar running from his sternum to his navel, intersecting it was a transverse, bowl shaped scar just below his right ribcage. Below that was the faded diagonal scar from his own appendectomy. They'd pieced him back together, like Humpty-Dumpty, after the beating he'd taken at Fulton. If he turned to his left, he would see the edge of a letter "G"... He turned away.
By the time Jesse heard the bathroom door open, only he remained. He'd sent the boys off to find the cafeteria; Daisy had woken for a few moments, confused and sleepy, but long enough for him to see the smile he'd been missing for so long.
He had stayed behind, hoping to have a moment alone with Enos. He wasn't sure what he would say to him; "sorry" didn't quite seem to cover the man being robbed of a year of his life. "Thank you" didn't seem quite apt, either. He supposed he would play it by ear. The minutes passed, so long that he wondered if Enos was trying to avoid seeing anyone. The water was off by the time he'd shooed Bo and Luke out, and he had to have heard their carrying on.
And then he turned and saw him; a ghost in the dim light, and his heart broke for the boy he'd so often thought of as one of his own. He didn't remember rising, didn't remember meeting him halfway across the room, didn't realize just how much he had missed him until he had pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He felt Enos try to hold back a choked sob, and hugged him tighter, feeling the tears in his own eyes as Enos broke down and wept.
He didn't know how long they stood there, as Enos struggled with his emotions and a burden he knew he could never truly understand. At last, with a shuddering breath, Enos stepped back from him and wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He looked weary.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Jesse. I'm outta sorts."
"You've got nothin' to be sorry for, Enos."
He took the faded red handkerchief from the pocket of his overalls and handed it to him. Enos, with a rueful grin, took it with a murmur of thanks and excused himself as he blew his nose.
Jesse stole a glance back at Daisy. She was still sleeping, and he had faith she would be more herself tomorrow. Tonight, he thought perhaps his time was better spent with Enos, reassuring him that he was still a part of the Duke family. (Even more so than before, Jesse suspected, but resolved not to ask about that ring.) Tonight was full up with enough goings-on.
"Come on, Enos," he said, giving him a pat on the back. "Agent Siler said he'd go with us down to the cafeteria, if we wanted. They gave us some vouchers; let's see if there's anything worth eatin' in a hospital this late at night."