Author: Melinda
E-mail address: keylime84@yahoo.com
Feedback: please!!
Disclaimer: All characters and settings from "Now and Again" belong to Glenn Gordon Caron, Paramount, Picturemaker Productions, and anyone else. I'm just a loyal fan. I do not mean any infringement on any copyrights.
Rating/Warnings: some violence, some adult language
Spoiler: not much of any
Archive permission: after I'm finished.
Emily groggily opened her eyes to find herself lying on a big bed in entirely unfamiliar apartment. She sat up, looked around slowly, and tried to hear any sounds in the room over the pounding in her head. The room was dimly lit, but she could see enough to tell that it was a complete mess. Clothes were flung all over and papers covered all the table tops in sight. A light came from under the door to another room. If she had guessed, she would have assumed that it was the bathroom. She sat silently for a moment, trying to pick out any sound that might give her a clue as to who was in that room, if anyone.
The door opened suddenly, causing Emily to jump. Out stepped her mysterious man from the bar, Tim. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's just you," she said aloud.
He seemed startled to hear her. "What are you doing up?" he asked instantly.
"What do you mean?"
He caught himself. "Oh. Uh, nevermind." He added something under his breath, and if Emily hadn't had especially good hearing along with her new body, she wouldn't have heard it. He mumbled, "The guy said that drug would last three or four hours. Bastard cheated me!" He put on a smile and moved over to sit down on the bed next to her. "You passed out in the bar from too many drinks so I brought you back here," he explained.
"I see," she said slowly, trying not to sound as suspicious as she really was.
He looked at her for a moment. He seemed to be considering something. Finally, he said, "So, what do you wanna do?" He leaned closer to her and began to rub her leg.
She pulled away. "Um, I should probably just go," She tried to get up, but he grabbed her arm. In one motion, he pulled her back down on the bed and slapped her wrists in handcuffs. "What are you doing?!" she tried to yell, but her voice left her as she felt cold metal press into her neck. He was holding his knife there, daring her to move so it would pierce the skin.
"Have you figured it out yet?" She looked up at him with only fear in her eyes. He laughed out loud. "Don't you watch TV? Or read the paper?"
"No. Not recently," she replied honestly and gulped nervously.
"Well, if you had, you would know and understand." Then, seeing tears begin to form in her eyes, he grinned evilly. "Are you scared, little lady?" he teased. He began slowly to unbutton her shirt, keeping the metal firmly at her neck.
Her thoughts were going a mile a minute. She was terrified. Her head throbbed from the hang-over she was beginning to feel and the handcuffs dug into her wrists. The feeling of Tim's hand stroking her skin made her want to throw up. Momentarily, she looked into his eyes, searching for mercy from where she assumed this was headed. His eyes only danced, the same way that the driver's had in her dream. He leaned down upon her and pressed his lips onto hers. In utter repulsion, Emily wrenched away with all her strength, which she found was much more than she had expected.
She easily broke apart the handcuffs. Stunned momentarily, she regained her focus and grabbed her attacker's wrists, pushing them away from her. She felt the blade loosen from her neck and the ceasing of Tim's wandering hand over her body. His lips released their grip on hers, and she flipped him over onto his back. As she held him down, she searched for some way she could secure him long enough to get out of there.
The look of shock that consumed his face was a Kodak moment for her. "What's the matter?" she jeered, enjoying the change in control, "Can't believe that the 'little lady' can break apart handcuffs?" She snorted. "Well, I was a little surprised myself, but I can do that and much more. Stay still." She tried to grab the knife from his hand, but he used the opportunity to quickly slice the knife through the skin on her hand. She jumped back in surprise. Taking advantage of that moment, he freed himself from her grasp.
They were now both standing next to the bed. Both ready to act on the other's next move. Emily's eyes glanced around the room. A gun lay on the desk across the room her. If only she could get her hands on it.
She had never hit anyone in her life. She was rather a pacifist, but at that moment instinct took over. She brought her fist back and flung it forward with all her might. Her fist made a connection with his jaw, and she felt the cracking of bones beneath it. He fell back and was motionless. She looked down and noticed the blood on her hand. It was hers from his knife mingled with his from her fist.
Horrified, she stood there looking at her hand and then his body and then her hand again. He moved abruptly. He tried to get up, failed, and tried again. While she still had the chance, she sprinted across the room and grabbed the gun. She held it straight in front of her as he walked slowly towards her.
"Don't come near me!" she shouted to him, but he did not stop his approach. "I--I will shoot!" She didn't sound very sure of herself, and she knew it. 'God, I hope this thing is loaded!' she thought, her finger resting on the trigger.
He continued to move towards her. He spoke, rather awkwardly because of the injury to his jaw. With each sentence he moved a step closer. "You won't shoot." Step. "You can't." Another step. "You may have the strength to break handcuffs." Step. "Somehow." Step. "But you aren't able to shoot that gun." Step. "I can tell." Step. Now he was right in front of her and the barrel of the gun was pressed into his forehead. He lowered his eyebrows and his voice and dared her, "Now. Shoot me."
She tried. She really did, but she just couldn't make herself pull the trigger. She could not kill this man, no matter what he had done. Perhaps it was the pacifist in her. Maybe it was just that she was too afraid to move.
"I knew it," he said. A smirk of satisfaction crawled up
his face, and he began to laugh. That laughter rang through her ears
just as the laughter from her dream had. That sound was driving her
crazy. He continued, louder and more viciously. She couldn't
take it anymore. She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and used
every ounce of her being to pull the trigger.
The laughter stopped short, and he fell to the ground. Dead. She had killed. Murdered. She stood. Not
moving. Not thinking. Hardly breathing.
There was a loud bang at the door. Then another. Was it the police? She couldn't move. A final bang and the door broke down. She held her breath and closed her eyes.
"Emily?" A familiar voice. "Emily! I heard a gunshot. What happened?"
She turned slowly to face the voice. She let out her breath. "Michael."
"Yeah, it's me." He looked around, noting the body and the gun in her hand, as well as her unbuttoned shirt and tousled hair. He put his hand on the gun and took it from her. He then laid it on the ground as he examined the body. "Tim, isn't it? We met at the bar?" She nodded. He took one last look about the room and then turned back to her and said, "Lets go." He took her by the shoulders and pointed her in the right direction. "Just put one foot in front of the other and we'll be out of here in no time," he said, trying to be at least slightly cheerful, "and you might want to button up your shirt on the way out."
Once they were outside the shabby, abandoned apartment building, Emily collapsed from exhaustion onto a bench nearby. "I assume Dr. Morris will be here soon."
"Yeah." He spoke into the microphone he still wore. "You'll be here soon. Right, Doc?" There was a pause as he listened. "He said he's about ten minutes away."
"Okay," she said weakly.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "I can't think about it right now."
He slowly put his arm around her and placed her head on his shoulder. He felt no pang of his conscience saying he was being unfaithful to his wife. This felt right. They were friends. There was a connection between them. She relaxed slightly and slowly slipped into a light sleep.
When she woke up, Michael was patting her cheek, and Dr. Morris was exiting the Toys 'B Fun truck. "Well, if it isn't Mrs. Hanson!" he said with sarcasm. He walked toward them. "It's nice of you to finally grace us with your presence again."
She stood. "I'm sorry--"
Dr. Morris cut-off her apology. "Don't be," he said coldly, "Just get in the truck."
"But I just wanted to say--"
"GET IN THE TRUCK!" The doctor's stared down at her. She hung her head and headed toward the truck.
Michael walked over to the doctor. "Go easy on her, Doc. She's had a hard day, and besides, she can't be any worse than me! Remember the time I..." Dr. Morris looked at him sternly and opened
his mouth, getting ready to speak. Michael beat him to it and said,
"I think I'll go get in the truck."
