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Scream
Part Two
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Her leg screamed at her as she sat in her hospital bed, eyes glistening with tired tears forced from exertion. From trying to make it to the bathroom without assistance and falling so miserably, the nurses had to call one of the doctors to lift her from the cold, linoleum floor.
At least the carpet had given her some relief from both the warm-hot-sticky air around her and the lack-of-blood chill which echoed through her semi-broken being.
Martin and Danny had visited her together three days before, Vivian too later that same day. They all said the same thing when she begged for Jack.
Jack wasn't around; the Assistant Director of the field office didn't even know where the man was. And, as the physical therapist worked her leg repeatedly, she hoped that his month-long absence wasn't to be feared.
Yet her belly still ached with something uniquely unidentifiable.
The tears continued to roll glistening down her cheeks, while her leg continued to scream at her. She knew he had gone against Van Doren, gone against Bureau protocol, just gone against everything. God, she hoped that he had not delved into the harsh backlash he was sure to feel within his soul.
She knew he had a plan.
Outside her door, she could not hear the sound of people rushing to one room, couldn't even see the person in the other portion of the ICU who was flat-lining.
She was safe inside with her heart pounding listlessly against her ribs, with her leg screaming at her because the morphine had worn off and left her settled against the pillows crying because the exertion had drained her.
The door opened and she could hear the machines down the hall detect a heartbeat once more, the personnel and staff dispersing.
A voice called her name soft; she could swear it was his, except it was Martin, returning to say that Marie had come down to the office. Jack was now a case, but after all the time that had passed between the last time anyone had seen him, shirt undone and blood – her blood – smeared on it, and the actual filing of the report…
She looked at him finally. Her tone left no argument as she implored him to leave. Because Jack wasn't a case, of that she was quite sure. He was lost, and he didn't want to be found. Yet.
He was hiding, licking his wounds. Biding time and trying to deal with what had occurred, because it hadn't been another laying on the ground.
It had been her, and he didn't know how to deal with that knowledge.
However she knew he'd come back with a new resolve, his heart more guarded than before whenever he signed away his marriage. He would come back and distance himself from her. Her and the leg that screamed.
Her recently-appointed psychologist walked in, sent there by the worries of her medical team. Because she didn't smile nor laugh nor talk as much as they all would like.
The questions began like they always did and the nightmare flashes before her eyes.
The gun.
The blood.
The pain.
Jack.
All in shifts, etched into her consciousness like the tattoo her ex-husband has on his upper arm.
Her leg screamed louder at her, and she deftly wondered if the images will ever go away, if she'll ever feel safe in slumber.
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*v* Cassie Jamie *v*
FindUs@cassie-jamie.com