Title: Always With You (response to song-fic challenge)
Author: Chanda
Synopsis: This story completes the challenge to write a story based on an assigned song.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Original characters belong to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions. This story is written for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.Warning: This story invents some actions which some readers may regard as AU.
Timing: 3rd Season after "All The World's A Stage"
Feedback: Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated, on list or off.
Archive: Smkfanfic, Wicklow Place, and any where else. Just let me know where it is.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Ashley for the song. I hope I do it justice for you. Thanks to Cheryl and Rita for helping with the research regarding SMK facts. Thanks to Jim for helping me get the feel of the location of the bad guys. Thanks to Kris for her wonderful beta job. And thanks to Taya. If not for all her continued support, constant nagging, and excellent beta work, this story would still be incomplete and utter trash.
Feedback: All feedback is welcome and appreciated. Any and all errors belong to me. Since I'm going out of town for a few weeks and will be away, I've forgone the second beta run though to catch any more of my errors. So, please forgive me if you find way too many mistakes. I'll fix them when I return if you tell me what they are.
Notes: This story is based on the song "I'm With You", written by Avril Lavigne. The song lyrics are included at the end for those who don't remember the song.
Always With You
Prologue
Sweat trickled down his back and soaked into his shirt. The heat and humidity stifled the air in the tin box his brother called a van. The shade tree that hung over the roof did little to protect him from the sun that reflected off the driver's window. Lowering the binoculars, he rubbed his eyes after a ray of light blinded him. This was ridiculous. They had all the information they needed. He didn't understand why Giovanni insisted that he continue to follow this woman on every errand she made.
Desperate for fresh air, he secured the van and walked to the corner pay phone. The breeze soothed his scorched skin, but did little to improve his mood. Dialing the phone, he turned to watch the sliding, glass doors of the store.
"Hello?"
"It's me. I'm checking in."
He flinched when he heard his brother's outrage. "Stupido, figlio di puttana! You were not supposed to call me until you finished following the woman! Where is she now?"
"Giovanni, I'm still following her. She's in the market."
"Then, what do you want?"
He paused. His brother could be unreasonable at times, but he was tired. "I want to come back. I am learning nothing but what stores she shops in. Over the last few days, we have confirmed that she is Amanda King, what kind of car she drives, where she lives, who she lives with, and that she works for the State Department at IFF. What more do you want?"
The line was quiet. Only his brother's deep calming breaths could be heard. He'd done it now. When Giovanni was mad he yelled. But when he became quiet, he was dangerous.
"Andrea?"
"Yes."
"Listen to me. If you damage this mission in any way, ti ammazzo! I promise you, brother or not, I will kill you." The line was dead.
He still didn't understand the assignment. This woman could not be important enough for anyone to pay a ransom to get her back. She was only a housewife and mother who occasionally showed up for work. How much money could he hope to gain for her? Maybe his father was right. His brother had always been the smart one of the family, but Giovanni was crazy if he thought that woman would bring him anything but trouble. Sighing, he climbed back into the sweat box and took his post.
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Chapter 1
A cool summer breeze drifted through the barely open window, ruffling the cotton sheets that covered the occupied bed. The sweet aroma of roses swirled around the bedroom leaving its lingering touch. Long, slender arms stretched toward the footboard pulling the comforter up over her head as she turned away from the early morning chill. Snuggling deep into the warmth, her gooseflesh slowly returned to normal.
Amanda sighed when she realized she was now awake, no longer dreaming of the warm touch that caused the same tingling sensation to wash over her body. She closed her eyes and hoped for sleep to overtake her again. It had been a wonderful dream, if only she could make her mind return to the place it had been just moments before.
Slow, deep breaths led to her meditation. Maybe if she relived the last moments of the dream, it would find her once again. He was holding her close. He was caressing her skin. He was kissing her neck. Torture. . . oh, sweet torture.
Every morning for the last three weeks she had put herself through the same torment. The dreams began the day he left, the day after their first kiss. She remembered it like it was yesterday. He locked the door, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her – not once, not twice, but until the phone rang. Her senses reeled from the musky smell of his cologne, the soft touch of his fingers on her skin, and those luscious lips that claimed hers. Then . . . the damn phone rang.
The first ring. A new assignment. The second ring. Overseas for three to four weeks. The third ring. Alone with no partner. The fourth ring. Contact zero. That same afternoon, she heard the rumors that were easily floating around the Agency – What was wrong with Scarecrow? He didn't want to go on his new assignment? He didn't want to go to an exotic island? The water-cooler gossip mill was in full force as soon as the first negative syllable left his mouth – Was he sick? Was he burned out? Was he attached? He yelled, argued, and pulled out his best evasive maneuvers, but in the end, agreed to go on the trip because no one else was available.
The afternoon passed quickly with briefings, travel arrangements, packing, and finally, a bitter-sweet goodbye. How could he be leaving so soon when they had just found one another? She could see the pain and sorrow in the depths of his eyes when he said he was sorry and that he would make it up to her. She could feel the longing and promises of the future when his lips gently brushed against hers for the last time. Their last kiss. . . only four hours after their first one. Damn phone.
Something in the universe seemed to have it in for them. She wasn't sure if it was abysmal karma, evil spirits, or just bad timing. But now, three weeks later, she was alone in bed at seven o'clock, on a Saturday morning. No one in the house to make a sound. Oh, how she wished for an ill-fated interruption. Of course, he would have to be around for that. If he were here, people and problems would be coming out of the wood work just to intrude. But at least he would be home.
She wondered what they would be doing if he were here. Would they be going forward. . . or going back? It was hard to tell what the future would bring. She longed to hold him in her dreams, but in the cold reality of day, she was afraid. Afraid that after three weeks he might have changed his mind. Maybe he didn't want to get to know her better. Maybe he regretted the kiss, thinking it was a mistake. Maybe he was dragging out the assignment so he wouldn't have to face her. Maybe he missed his check in today. Maybe he needed her to watch his back. Maybe. . .
Shaking her head to clear her jumbled thoughts, she glanced at the phone. Contact zero stinks! If only he could call, she would feel better. If only she could go back to sleep, she could dream. She closed her eyes again, and concentrated on her breathing – slow, deep, and calculated – attempting to lure herself back into slumber. She could see his face, feel his breath on her skin, hear his voice murmuring her name before he claimed her lips, taste his. . . damn phone.
Jumping from the shrill interruption, she reached over and grabbed the receiver. In a voice still raspy from sleep, she greeted the intruder, "Hello?"
"Hi, beautiful."
"Lee? Is that you?"
"It better be! Who else calls you at home this early. . . or call's you beautiful?"
She could hear the tiniest bit of jealousy hidden behind the playfulness in his voice. Her body involuntarily shivered, causing her heart to catch in her throat and her stomach to churn in anticipation. It had been such a long time since she had heard that deep, smooth voice, and it was just as thrilling as she remembered.
Forcing the excitement from her voice, she struggled to remain nonchalant. "Lee?" she drew out his name slowly, hoping to secretly practice her Class C interrogation skills.
"Yes, Amanda?" His voice was seductively soft as he continued to play along.
His voice. . . it was so clear. Suddenly, she realized that he sounded as if he were calling from across the street. Her mind began reeling and her mouth started to ramble. "Where are you? Are you here? Or are you still wherever it is that you went? Are you okay? What are you doing?" She paused to take a breath when she heard him laughing.
"Amanda, slow down. I just got back to the Agency. I came up to the Q Bureau to get some paperwork and decided to call you before I went into debriefing."
"Oh, okay. Wait. . . you haven't been debriefed yet? You're going to get in trouble."
"Nobody's gonna find out. Besides, I needed to call you."
"Why? Do you need me to come in? I can help you with your paperwork if you want me to."
"No, that's okay. I'll finish it all up today. You just enjoy your day off."
"Okay. So. . . why did you call?"
"Because. . . "
She could hear the hesitation in his voice, as he obviously searched for a good reason. She wondered what it would be this time – checking up on her, seeing if she was all right, or any number of other lame excuses that he was so fond of. She was actually surprised that he didn't have an excuse already picked out before he even dialed her number. Realizing she was holding her breath, she sighed.
"Because, why?" she patiently asked.
"Um. . . because. . . I. . . I wanted to know if you were busy later."
Wow. That was a new one. "Well, I don't know. I guess it would depend on why you want to know."
"A-man-da." His voice was laced with exasperation.
She couldn't hold in the chuckle any longer. "Oh, come on. I'm only kidding." Suddenly, it occurred to her that she didn't know if this was personal or business. "So, do we have a new case?"
"Um. . . well. . . no."
"Well, what is it?" Concern flooded through her as she heard him sigh. "Lee, are you alright? What's wrong?"
His deep breathing echoed off the receiver of the phone. "I. . . I. . . just. . . " he whispered, "I missed you, Amanda."
The deep timbre of his voice, combined with his intimate confession, caused her cheeks to burn. "I missed you, too."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." She paused and waited for him to continue. When he wasn't forthcoming, she decided to help him get to the point. "So, what do you need me for tonight?"
His voice held more conviction and he answered without hesitation. "To keep me company. Are you game?"
"You bet." She secretly smiled, glad he could finally ask for what he wanted. It finally looked as if they would move forward instead of the customary two steps back.
"I'm going to be here pretty late. I think the debriefing is going to take awhile. Then, I have to finish up all the paperwork."
"Are you sure I can't help you with it?"
"No. I want you to enjoy your day off."
"I can't believe it! The great Scarecrow offering to do paperwork."
"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny." A deep laugh escaped from his chest. "Well, don't get used to it."
"Don't worry. I won't."
After the laughter subsided, his voice took on a quality she couldn't identify. "The only problem is that I probably won't get out of here until after eight tonight. I'm going to try and work through lunch. I know that's kind of late, but do you think you'd be up for a late dinner? Say about nine?"
"Sure. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?"
"I was thinking – if you don't mind, since it's supposed to be such a nice evening – we could meet at the park for a moonlight picnic. I can stop and pick up something on the way. Besides, I came straight from the airport and I'm not dressed to go out. So, what do you think?"
What did she think? She thought she could finally describe what was hidden in his voice – hope, mixed with a little anticipation. He was also picking up on one of her bad habits. "Wow, I can't believe you said all that in one breath. Been practicing?"
He laughed. "I guess your rubbing off on me. So, do you want to go with me?"
"Yes, I'll go with you, but only on one condition."
"What's that?"
"Let me bring the food and a blanket. You concentrate on getting your work done."
"Okay. You win. How about meeting me on the bridge at nine?"
"I'll be there."
"I guess I better get back downstairs before they send out the troops to look for me. Amanda, I. . . I really did miss you."
"Me too. Bye."
"Bye."
Lee turned to hang up the phone, feeling better than he had since he left on this damn assignment. He did his very best to get out of it and would be grateful as soon as it was over. Grabbing the papers he had come to retrieve fifteen minutes ago, he headed down to the bullpen. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to concentrate on the case. There was no way he could focus on work now. All he could think about was seeing Amanda again.
Amanda. Oh, how he missed her. Not only did he think about her every day, he dreamt of her every night – the way she said his name, the smell of her perfume, the way it felt when she kissed him, the taste of her skin. He was definitely going to be distracted for the rest of the day. If he could just concentrate, he could leave by eight with enough time to stop and pick up some flowers.
He was so lost in thought that he was startled when the elevator stopped. He didn't even remember getting on. Laughing at himself, he consciously wiped what he was sure was a silly grin off his face. Damn, Stetson. You've got it bad. Making sure his dispassionate mask was firmly in place, he pulled open the doors to the bullpen. Time to get back to work.
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The leather bucket seat molded perfectly to his body; the gear shift and steering wheel felt as if they were made for his hands; and the vibrations of the engine coursed through his body as he hit the accelerator causing a sense of exhilaration to flow through his veins. He loved this car. . . well, maybe he didn't love it, but he sure was attached to it. It felt wonderful to drive the Vette again after being forced to use an old, brown 1978 Ford LTD for stakeouts. The vinyl bench seat, broken air conditioner, no radio, and a dashboard with thick cracks from the heat of the sun made him appreciate his personal choice of transportation.
Glancing over at the empty passenger seat reminded him of Amanda. . . and what he could do if he actually did have a bench seat. His excitement quickly changed paths. It would be wonderful to see her again, hold her again, and kiss her again. The last time he saw her, he took a chance – a leap of faith – and kissed her for the first time. When his lips pressed against hers, a jolt of electricity passed through his body; a current that still tingled under his skin every time he thought of her.
Coming out of his reverie, he realized the entrance to the park was up ahead. He sighed remembering he forgot to tell Amanda where to park. There were three different areas that had easy access to the bridge. Deciding to look for her car, he leisurely drove past the lots. It would have been nice to meet at her car, help her carry the picnic basket, and take a nice stroll down the path to the bridge. Glancing at the digital readout on the radio, he realized he was early. A walk alone to calm his nerves was probably the best thing he could do. So, he pulled into the last lot choosing a place closest to the path.
The trail to the bridge was nearly deserted – most of the couples leaving as dusk turned into darkness. Looking up toward the sky, he noticed the almost full moon that battled with the setting sun for it's place in the sky. It was going to be a great night for a picnic. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves filling his senses with the smell of freshly cut grass and rain. The clouds continued to roll in causing a golden hue to grace the sky. Maybe that weatherman Dan would finally get a prediction right. The forecast called for late night summer showers, but it looked like it might rain sooner. He would just have to make sure they were close to a tree in case they needed to seek shelter.
Finally reaching the bridge, he sighed when he didn't see Amanda. Looking at his watch again, he realized she wasn't late yet. He had hoped that she would be early. Unconsciously, he began to pace the length of the bridge, the cobblestone echoing with each step. His stomach was doing somersaults causing his heart to race. He couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He was only meeting Amanda. . . his Amanda.
He chuckled as he flopped down on the wooden bench. Nervousness and anticipation wasn't something he was used to. Trying to relax, he stretched his long legs and laid his head back against the railing of the bridge. The soft rippling of the water as it passed over the rocks gave the brook an ethereal sound that had a soothing effect. Closing his eyes, his mind wandered back to the last time he had seen her.
She was beautiful – like an angel – when she smiled and promised to miss him while he was gone. Her lips were soft and pliant as they met his in a kiss that made his pulse echo in his ears and his breath catch in his throat. The tips of her fingers caused an electric shiver to travel down his spine as she played with the hair at the back of his neck. And her skin was like silk as he caressed her face and slid his hands into her hair.
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How did she manage to make him feel like a teenager again? It was as if every experience was fresh and new. He longed to discover everything he could about her and get to know her better. Looking down the path again, he groaned. Where could she be? It was now past nine and she was late. What if she didn't want to see him again? What if she didn't want the same thing he wanted out of their newfound relationship?
He shook his head and began pacing again. She had sounded glad to hear from him this morning and seemed to look forward to the late night picnic. He began to run over all the possibilities of her tardiness – her mother, the boys, the grocery store. It could be anything.
Leaning against the rail he watched the minnows reflecting in the light of the street lamp. He almost didn't recognize his own reflection as it rippled in the water. The image of a man that didn't know where he was going. He knew he wanted his relationship with Amanda to move forward. Hell, he hadn't even looked at another woman in almost a year. But what did she want? All he really wanted was for this to work. If only he could tell her.
The watch dial seemed to mock him with every passing minute. The sun had set and still no sign of her. Sitting back on the bench he decided that he would feel less nervous if he had a game plan – what would he do when he saw her? He would gather her in his arms, kissing her softly on the cheek. Then he would lead her to the soft grass under the big oak tree. They would talk, eat, and enjoy each others company. When the meal was finished, he would lean back against the tree, pulling her close. She would lay her head on his shoulder and place her delicate hand on his chest. They would look at the stars and talk about the future. Then, just maybe he would get another cramp like he did when they were running from Sacker and his men. Only this time he would kiss her.
Glancing at his watch again, he noticed she was forty-five minutes late. He didn't realize that so much time had passed while he was lost in thought. His chest tightened in fear at the fleeting thought that she might not want to see him. But just as quickly, it felt as if his heart dropped into his stomach as his world tilted dangerously around him, filling him with nausea, dizziness, and trepidation. He had this gut wrenching feeling that something was wrong. Amanda had never been this late without somehow getting in touch with him.
He quickly went into agent mode, all his senses in overdrive. His eyes scanned the area for any sign of her. His ears listened for any distinguishable sound, but all he heard was silence. There was no sound – no echoing footfalls, no late night lovers whispering, no chirping crickets, no birds, no cars, nothing. A small drop of rain landed on his face causing him to automatically look toward the sky.
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he decided to use the car phone to see if she was held up at home. There was no need to panic until he had all the facts, or at least that was what he kept repeating over and over in his mind. The journey back to the car was much different than the leisurely walk he took to the bridge. His brisk pace quickly turned into a jog as uneasiness filled his soul.
She wasn't on the trail. She wasn't in the parking lot. Reaching the car, he flung open the door, quickly grabbing the mobile phone as he lowered himself into the seat. He dialed the familiar number and waited. The ringing echoed in his ear causing his heart to beat faster when it remained unanswered.
He ran his hand through his hair and cursed when he thought the answering machine was going to pick up. "Damn!"
Suddenly he heard a voice. "Hello?"
"Mrs. West?"
"Yes."
"Hi. Uh. . . this is Lee. . . Lee Stetson, Amanda's boss. I was just wondering if I could speak with her?"
"Oh. Hi, Mr. Stetson. Well, she's not here. I actually thought she was at work with you. She said something about a new project that she had to go in and work on."
He took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. He needed to interrogate Dotty but a subtlety as possible. "Do you know what time she left?"
"I'm not sure. It's been awhile. Why? Is something wrong?"
"Um. . . no. Nothing's wrong. Something just came up and I wanted to talk to her about it." He quickly decided on a cover story in case something really was wrong. "We've been called away to scout a location and I wanted to see if she could make arrangements on such short notice."
He could hear the disgust in Dotty's voice. "I'm sure she can, Mr. Steadman."
"Stetson."
"Whatever. You call and she goes running. I think you work her too hard. Anyway, she left over two hours ago. Something about running an errand before she went to work." She continued with her diatribe, barely taking a breath. It reminded him of where Amanda obviously received her black belt in rambling. "First you ask her to come in on a Saturday night and now you want her to go away. I think you need to give her a raise. But I'm sure she can make it. Would you please give her a message for me when you see her?"
"Sure. I'd be happy to." He prayed that his voice sounded apologetic. He hated that she thought bad about his treatment of Amanda. At least now he had an appreciation for how hard it was for her to lie to her mother.
"Tell her that I know about the trip and not to worry. The boys got off okay with their father and I'll be leaving early in the morning going to my sisters. We'll all be gone for a couple of weeks. So, just tell her to have fun and not to work too hard. And. . . "
He decided that if he didn't interrupt her she would never stop. "Mrs. West?" He winced when he realized his voice was a little too loud.
"Yes?" She sighed in exasperation.
Lowering his voice in an attempt to stay calm, he tried to reassure her that everything would be okay. "Don't worry. I'll tell her. And I promise not to let her work too hard. Thank you, Mrs. West. Goodnight."
He quickly severed the connection before she could respond. Amanda was now over an hour late. Something had to be wrong. He started the engine and drove slowly back to the agency, looking for her car in every lot and alleyway.
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One-half mile from the back entrance of the park, another soul was drowning in anguish. Buried beneath the undergrowth of the tall oak trees – ten feet down the bank – a white Oldsmobile with wood-grain accents lay upside down, resting on its roof. The only illumination was from the moon drifting in and out of the clouds. The only sound was a slight resonance of a woman's ragged breath. But the smells were numerous – wet grass, wild flowers, and trees mixed with oil, fuel, and blood.
Amanda suddenly became aware that something wasn't right. She felt weightless, disoriented, pain. As she began to regain consciousness, she recalled the moments before she blacked out. She remembered being on her way to meet Lee when she noticed the black sedan that was following her. Doing her best to lose the tail, she drove in circles, down alleys, through parking lots, using every maneuver that she had learned. When the driver refused to give up the pursuit, she raced toward the park hoping to find help.
A loud popping sound reverberated from underneath the car before she could reach the park. She lost control of the car, driving over the embankment. It tumbled head over tail and side over side to rest at the bottom of the hill. She only remembered a part of her decent and began to wonder how long she had been unconscious. Stopping her minds natural instinct to ramble, she took a silent inventory of her body. She couldn't pinpoint just one area of discomfort; she hurt all over.
Her hands and legs weren't trapped but hung at an odd angle. The dizziness and feeling of weightlessness added to her confusion. When the moon broke free of the clouds, her eyes adjusted to her predicament. The seat belt was holding her suspended above the roof of the car. Bracing her arms and legs, she fumbled for the latch and released her body from the self-imposed cocoon of safety. She crawled out the broken windshield, wincing and holding her breath as her hands were embedded with shards of glass. Once outside, she crawled toward a tree. Maneuvering her body into a sitting position, she finally collapsed against it for support. Laying her head against the bark, the darkness consumed her once again.
A dark, hazy hue splattered with flecks of shimmering gold floated across her vision. Her eyelids felt heavy but finally fluttered open. The moonlight reflected off the bumper of the car, reminding her of the crash. With the throbbing pain in her head, she wasn't surprised that she had passed out again. A fleeting thought of how long she had been unconscious this time entered her mind but quickly disappeared as the pulsations in her ears grew stronger. She reached a shaky hand to her head and flinched when she felt the sticky substance that surrounded a cut. She lightly fingered the wound which was deep, swelling, and bleeding. A sharp pain shot through her head, causing her to become dizzy. She held her face in her hands in an attempt to stop the spinning.
As the world stopped and came back into focus, she was filled with confusion. She could no longer remember where she was or what had happened. Her mind raced with thoughts, looking for one shard of memory that she could latch on to. One person that she could call out for. Would someone be looking for her? Would they find her? All she wanted was for someone to take her home.
Suddenly, the wind blew across her rain soaked clothes causing her to shiver violently. She noticed her attire – shorts, t-shirt, and tennis shoes – and wondered where she had been going. What a night to be wet, cold, lost, and confused. Her head began to throb with every lost memory that escaped her consciousness. Even the basic things, like her name, wouldn't come into her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree.
Focus. . . she just needed to focus. Pictures began to float across her mind, almost like watching a slide show. A white house, an older woman with blond hair, and two boys. It was as if their names were on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't speak them aloud. She could only assume that they were her family. Then the face of a man appeared. He had a gentle expression, light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a brilliant smile. The ensemble made for the most handsome man she had ever seen. She felt her cheeks flush as the image lingered. She didn't know who he was but could only hope that he would find her. A tingling sensation washed through her body, filling her with a sense of peace; a feeling that she was certain she had felt before.
Following the inner peace, she felt determination swell in her heart. If she was going to make it back to her family and to that beautiful face, she would have to help herself. Shaking off the desire to figure out her life, she formulated a plan – look for a flashlight in the upheavaled glove box and climb the hill to the road. Once there, maybe she could flag down another passing vehicle.
She stood, but lost her balance when she placed pressure on her right foot. Before she fell to the ground, she felt strong hands grab her arms to stop her decent. Glancing up, her smile and automatic 'thank you' vanished as she froze. Dark, piercing eyes meet hers, and she felt as if they were driving daggers into her soul. "You will come with us." His voice was deep – dangerous – with an accent she couldn't identify. Before she could react, the darkness overcame her efforts to remain in control and awake.
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The dim lights, closed blinds, and silence accentuated the dismal haze that had settled over the section chief's office. Even the monotonous sound that usually accompanied Lee's pacing was absent. Tennis shoes wearing a path in the carpet didn't echo off the walls like his dress shoes off the hardwood floors of the Q Bureau. The silent pacing was somehow comforting. Old routines had a way of soothing the soul. What did the pacing accomplish? Did it help or hinder the situation? The answer that eluded all those who would watch in awe was simple – it calmed the storm.
Lee continued to pace in front of Billy's desk, waiting. A simple word, a phone call, anything to let him know that Amanda was okay was what he needed. The vivid imagination earned through years of service in espionage was worse than not knowing the reality of the situation. He shook his head in disbelief. Why was his world crashing in on him again? What did he do to deserve the scorn of the universe? He had just found Amanda, he couldn't lose her now.
Her raspy voice whispered in the recesses of his memory, "Lee, stop pacing. You're making me dizzy." Suddenly, he stopped. The scenarios for a rescue that were running through his head stalled and the world that remained still while he paced began to spin. He sighed and the pacing continued. She didn't understand. But how could she understand? He had never told her. He had never told anyone. This was one of those things that he hoped he would get the chance to explain. Another way that she would get to know him better. The pacing calmed him. It allowed him to think. It kept the demons at bay. The world stood still while he paced. He could concentrate. He could suppress his fears. He could be the Scarecrow.
Someone, somewhere had to know what happened to her. She couldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth. He wouldn't lose her after just finding her and letting her into his heart. Of course that wasn't true. He had found her almost three years ago. The truth was that he only recently figured out what he wanted. He wanted Amanda. He needed Amanda. He loved Amanda. He paused in front of the desk, grabbing the edges for support as if he had an epiphany – a divine revelation. Yes, he was in love with Amanda. . . his Amanda. This self-confession left his heart with only love, desire, and the apprehension of never seeing her again. His past fears and inhibitions had vanished with this one revelation. He had to find her. He would find her.
The past ten hours hadn't lead to anything but fear – anxiety for Amanda, her pain, her anguish. He plopped down into the upholstered chair, picking up the files. The reports contained everything that she had been working on, alone, in the last three weeks. If only he had been here instead of on a contact zero assignment. What ifs and maybes wouldn't accomplish anything, so he continued to read the typed pages, looking for an unusual place, searching for a familiar face, hoping to find something. . . anything, that would lead him to her.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't hear Billy come into the office, only looking up when he heard the deep voice of his superior, but more importantly, his friend. He noticed that the man's shoulders were slightly slumped, his face drawn with concern that he was trying to hide, and the bottle of antacids in his hands – Billy was worried. "Find anything yet?"
Lee shook his head. "No. There's nothing here. Are you sure this is everything she worked on?"
"Yes, Lee. I told you she was only doing some early spring cleaning. She did so well last year, I thought she could handle this on her own. Besides, it was just something to keep her occupied." Billy sighed, obviously weighing his next response. "And out of my office."
"What do you mean?" Lee winced when his voice sounded agitated.
"Calm down. She just kept showing up asking about you." He chuckled. "Where you were, if you were alright, if you had made your status checks on time."
Lee could feel the heat rise in this cheeks and tried to sound contrite, running his hand through his hair and looking away from Billy. "Oh."
"Yeah. I think I'm beginning to understand." Before Lee could interrupt and deny the suspicions, Billy pointed to the folders he still held in his hands, becoming a professional once again. "Those are the only reports she was assigned. She finished them on Friday and left early for the weekend. I wish there was something else I could tell you."
"Has the scout team reported back in yet?"
"No. They've only been out looking for her since dawn. They haven't had time to check in yet. It's only seven and the sun just came up. Give them a little longer, okay?"
"I'm sorry, Billy. I'm just worried. My evening is not going like I wanted it to. Everything's a mess. I have to find her. I can't leave her out there alone."
"I know. Maybe you should go talk to your family. See if they've heard anything out on the street. I'll have Francine look over those files again and see if she can find a different angle."
"Yeah. Okay."
As Lee stood to leave the office, Francine came through the door. "Good Morning." She looked from Lee to Billy and raised one thin eyebrow. "Or maybe it's not so good. What's going on?"
Addressing his assistant, Billy rose from his chair. "Amanda's missing."
"Well. . . maybe she had a hot date with one of those PTA dad's or something."
"Can it Francine. I'm serious."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. . . " She handed her boss the manila envelope that she held in her well manicured hands. "They found this shoved under the Georgetown foyer door. They're looking at the surveillance tapes now to see if they can identify who left it. It's addressed to the Agency."
Billy took the envelope and carefully opened it, trying not to contaminate the evidence any more than necessary. He slipped out a picture and a piece of paper. Lee noticed his eyes widen as he glanced at the photograph and quickly laid it upside down from view until he could read the note. He sighed heavily as he handed the message to Lee.
Lee decided to read the note aloud so that Francine would understand the severity of the situation. And maybe reading it aloud would help him believe it and nullify his hope that this was just a dream. "We have one of your agents. We have enclosed a photo as proof. We have a just cause that is being hindered from many factions. Therefore, we demand $500,000 in exchange for your agent. You are to send only one person to the old sawmill in Alexandria, off the Jefferson Davis Highway, near the Southern Railroad. We will make the exchange tonight at ten. Remember, come alone and she will remain unharmed. We are many and you are few. Viviamo per la causa. Moriamo per la causa. 'Il Principe della Rivoluzione'"
He noticed the confusion on Billy's face as he handed the letter back across the desk. "What does that mean?" his chief wondered aloud.
"It's Italian for. . . We live for the cause. We die for the cause. And it's signed by 'The Prince of the Revolution'. " He turned toward Billy, stealing his resolve. "Let me see the picture," he demanded.
Billy paused, clearly weighing the pros and cons of the request. Silently, he handed the picture to Lee. The photo was of Amanda, lying unconscious on a damp, dirt floor. The room was dark with her body obviously being lit by no more than a flashlight and the flash from the camera. Her clothes were dirty and she was injured. He felt his jaws tighten and his breathing become shallow as he studied her delicate form in more detail. Her knees were bruised and scratched; her hands were bloody and appeared to be cut in various places; and her beautiful face was clouded with anguish even in sleep. Her eyes were sunk in with dark circles blending in with the pale skin of her cheeks. There was a large, swollen cut on her forehead. Lastly, her body glistened with sweat. He briefly wondered how hot it must be where they were holding her, if there was any ventilation, and if they were giving her anything to drink.
His teeth clenched even harder – as if his jaws would break with the added pressure – in an effort to control his emotions. His hands tightened into fists, an automatic response to hit something, anything. "I want this case, Billy!" He wasn't shocked by the anger and contempt that was evident in his voice.
"Okay, Scarecrow. But on my terms." Billy held up his hand in an effort to stop the tirade he knew would come. "You can coordinate the team and make the plans. We are NOT going out there half cocked. We do this by the book. We want her back safely. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Billy took the picture from Lee and put it back in the envelope with the letter, handing it to Francine. "Get this to the lab and have them do a complete analysis. Then come back here and see if you can get in touch with the scouts we sent out this morning. And help Lee coordinate the team. Now go! Get to work." He waved them out of his office, as he struggled with the top that held the antacids securely locked in their bottle.
When they reached the bullpen, Lee felt Francine's hand on his arm. "It'll be okay. We'll get her back. I'll do whatever I can to help."
"Thanks. I know Amanda will appreciate your support."
He watched as Francine left for the lab. He knew she was trying to be comforting, but nothing except seeing Amanda again and bringing her to safety would soothe the storm raging in his soul. He had to find her. He would find her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
White, hot, searing pain pricked every nerve ending of Amanda's body. Her eyes flickered open only to be once again confronted with the dark, damp, musky room. She stretched in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, crying out in pain when her muscles protested – even the smallest exertion caused her to feel as if she had been set on fire. Her arms and legs felt heavy, and her head continued to throb, still swimming in a sea of confusion. The only tangible evidence that confirmed she was awake, other than the pain, were the smells.
The odor that polluted the air was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. The hair in her nose tingled with a strong, metallic smell similar to the rusty metal roof of her grandfather's barn. It encompassed the room and emanated from the walls that surrounded her makeshift prison. The dirt floor moved under her fingers and smelled musky like a garden that had been plowed right before a spring rainfall. All the clues pointed to a storeroom of what she assumed was a sawmill. The sparse light that escaped through holes under the door and the walls allowed her to faintly see the sawdust floating across the room. It burned her nostrils and made it difficult to breathe. And it covered everything – her clothes, her hair, her body.
Then, there was the heat. She didn't know what was worse – the one hundred degree oven that she currently laid in or the humidity. She tried to swallow through what she was sure was cotton lining the inside of her throat. She was so thirsty. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper. Who ever held her captive had yet to give her anything to eat or drink since she was shoved into this miserable hellhole.
It was a strange sensation. Her mouth and lungs burned with the heat of the air, but her skin shivered with goose bumps. Her body and clothes were soaked with sweat. She could only assume that her body was trying to cool itself which led to her involuntary quivering. She reached a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead and winced when she touched the ever persistent knot at her hairline. That lump was definitely causing the constant throbbing behind her eyes and in her ears.
Turning her arm over, she tried to focus on her watch. But it was too dark and her vision too blurry to read the hands on the face. How long had she been awake? A moment? Hours? She couldn't remember. She wanted to go home, wherever that was. Surely there had to be someone out there who was looking for her.
Her body tensed as she heard the angry voices of her captors outside the door. Focus. She had to concentrate to understand them, but maybe it would help her understand what was happening, why they had taken her, and what they were going to do with her. There were two voices with names that sounded strange – Giovanni and Andrea. Their accents were heavy, but they spoke in English, and seemed to be arguing over her and a ransom demand. If there was a ransom, someone must want her back. But whom?
The voices faded away when the kidnappers walked further into the building. As her focus shifted back to her captivity, the miserable pain returned full force. She needed something to concentrate on, anything that would help her mind cope with the agony that coursed through her core. Closing her eyes, she saw his face. The face from her dreams. Or was that from her memories? She wasn't sure, but she focused on his visage.
He was handsome with light brown hair and the most expressive hazel eyes. Although his face remained stoic, she could see all his deeply hidden emotions displayed in those open windows to his soul. And when he smiled, it was infections and beautiful with deep dimples. She couldn't remember his name or who he was, but the thought of him made her heart skip a beat. For some reason that she couldn't fathom, she wanted this man to find her.
In one of her dreams, he had offered her his hand. . . to help her, to guide her, to comfort her. She desperately wanted to take his hand now and let it lead her anywhere as long as it was away from here. She knew she would follow him wherever he chose to go, but wasn't sure why. She tried to speak aloud in an effort to break the silence, as well as keep herself awake, but her voice came out in only a whisper, "Oh. . . why is everything so confusing. Maybe I'm just out of my mind." A silent tear escaped, trailing down her cheek as she continued to think about the mystery man she considered her savior. "Oh my gosh. . . I don't know who you are but please come take my hand and lead me to some place new. I'll go anywhere with you. Oh God please help me. . . " Her desperate prayer carried her once again into the darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the hours passed, Lee wondered how time could move so excruciatingly slow. After hours of pacing in Billy's office, he moved his vigil up to the Q Bureau, hoping Amanda's memory would help him through this nightmare. It felt as if he had paced the same path for days, instead of the hours, while he yearned for a breakthrough. He waited for the silent phone to ring. Why didn't it ring? When he wanted privacy, the phone rang. When he needed an interruption, it didn't. Damn phone. But he was sure they had all the information they were going to get. Now, all he could do was wait.
He walked to her desk and sat in her chair. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, her perfume still faintly lingering in the air. He had to get her back. He would get her back. Sighing, his eyes fell on the file folder sitting on the edge of the desk. He grabbed it, opening the cover, hoping to once again find something that may have been overlooked.
The lab boys had found fingerprints matching the d'Alberto brothers – Giovanni and Andrea. The oldest brother, Giovanni, considered himself the Prince of the Revolution, his 'just cause'. However, what that cause entailed was unknown. The brothers had been in the spring cleaning files that Amanda had worked on, but they were only considered small time to the agency, never having done any major damage to anything or anyone – until now. They must have considered it luck when she showed up alone to check on them. How they figured out she worked for the Agency was a mystery to him, especially since she told them she worked for the State Department. That was unimportant now. They had Amanda, his Amanda, and he was going to get her back.
He flipped to the next report, the lab analysis of foreign material that might help identify where the ransom note came from and what it had been around. One hundred percent positive for trace amounts of sawdust, metal shavings, and diesel fuel residue. Everything you would expect to find in a sawmill near a railroad. The next page – blueprints to the warehouse that were already ingrained in his memory. Also, in the forefront of his mind, the rescue plans. The team would show up on time, surround them, and then take them out. Lee would make the initial contact and lead the team. He only hoped that Amanda would be someplace safe and out of the way as the photograph suggested. Now, he had to wait.
Waiting was always the hardest part. It allowed his inner demons to surface. They taunted him. . . mocked him. Then the pacing would start again. He finally sat on the sofa out of exhaustion. He had been up for the last forty hours without any sleep. First his longing to see Amanda quenched his desire for food or rest. But all too soon, that adrenaline was fueled by fear, desperation, and a longing to rescue her. He could hear her voice in the recess of his memories again telling him that if he didn't slow down, rest, and eat something, that he wouldn't be any good to anyone. She was right. He needed to keep a clear head and he couldn't do that if he couldn't keep his emotions under control.
There was no food in the Q but at least he could rest, if only for a little while. The sofa was too short for his long frame, but it would do. He was not going home. He would wait. . . for a breakthrough, for a phone call, to see her face miraculously walk through the door. He laid his head back on the arm of the couch, closing his eyes. Focus. Find your center. What is your mantra? Say it. Repeat it. Find your focal point. The same old scene floated across his mind. It didn't calm him. It didn't decrease his heart rate. It didn't slow his breathing. Why? What was wrong with the calm ocean lapping at the white sand of the deserted island? He sighed. . . Amanda wasn't there. Time to try a new tactic.
He envisioned the last time he saw her. They were here, in this room. Her deep brown eyes searched his for a vestige of intent. Her beautiful smile silently gave him permission. Her warm hand on his lapel encouraged him to take the next step. The fingers that played with the hair on the back of his neck caused fire to course through his veins. Then, he kissed her. Her lips were soft and meshed with his in a perfect rhythm. Her breath was sweet and her tongue tender as it explored the recesses of his mouth. Their first kiss was soft, passionate, caring, and laced with. . . love. His heart soared as it finally realized that she loved him too. She had to. He felt it in her touch, saw it in her eyes, and heard it in her voice.
Visions of his Amanda continued to float through his consciousness. He replayed all the wonderful things that she had done to improve his lonely, confused, and horrible excuse for an existence. She helped him change. A transformation that was long overdue and sorely needed. He was a better person and he owed that to her. He continued to think of all the things that she had brought into his life. Thoughts he hoped would erase the horrific image of his Amanda lying broken and alone, out of his reach. He finally drifted off into a light, restless sleep with the images of his love filling his subconscious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The soft hum of voices that usually accompanied her return to consciousness turned to shouts. The metal walls shook with tremors as bullets from gunfire ricocheted and hit the rafters. Fear filled her as she began to shake with the trembling of the earth that quivered beneath her body. She couldn't move. Even if she could, there was no where to go – no where to hide. She moaned as she curled her battered body into a fetal position with only the cold, hard ground for protection. Her arms were so weak she could barely hold her knees to her chest or bury her head into what little protectiveness her self made cocoon could offer.
The large wooden door scraped the ground as if flew open, flooding the room with a bright, blinding light. She unconsciously flinched, her eyes closing tightly. Her shallow breath caught in her throat as she waited for the unknown. A soft touch to her cheek and the whisper of a name urged her to open her eyes.
"Amanda," she heard him speak. His voice was deep, sweet, and laced with concern. She knew that voice. It was the voice of her dreams. She slowly opened her eyes as his head moved to block the light from her face. What she saw took her breath away. It was him – the man from her memories. Focusing on his beautiful hazel eyes, she saw relief turn to concern. There was another emotion hidden there, but she couldn't identify it.
Relaxing her body, she reached a shaking hand to touch his face. Caressing his cheek she smiled. "I knew you would come," she whispered, her voice dry and hoarse, "I don't know who you are. . . but I'm glad I'm with you."
Her eyes closed gently this time, secure in the fact that he would take her home. He would save her. He would protect her. She felt his strong hands slide under her legs and shoulders as he lifted her off the ground. "I've got you, honey. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay." His voice was no more than a whisper but she could hear the emotion as it cracked and faltered. He pulled her close to his body, wrapping her in his arms.
She held onto his neck as he carried her to safety. Their bodies molded together as if they belonged. His voice was soothing. His smell familiar. His breath warm as it caressed her forehead and hair. Her mind was still fuzzy, her body continued to ached, but her soul was free. He was here.
After he gently laid her on the gurney, she could hear him speaking as the paramedics lifted her into the ambulance. His voice was now stronger, more determined. "I'm going with her, Billy."
"I know, Lee. It's fine. I can handle the clean up. Go ahead."
"Thanks."
"Lee. . . I know she'll be okay. She's strong. She'll pull through."
"Yeah. I know. If you need me. . . well, you know where to find me."
He climbed into the back and sat down beside her. His eyes were clouded, but his smile brilliant, as he gently pushed a lock of hair from her face. There were so many questions, so many things she wanted to know. But she couldn't speak. She was so tired. It was okay. She could sleep now. He was here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Minutes turned into hours as he waited for the N.E.S.T. team to give him some information about Amanda's condition. Waiting was torture. But what else could he do but wait. The endless hours of pacing and yelling at the nurses was getting him nowhere. A loud creak echoed in the small waiting room when he plopped down into the hard plastic chair. At least they could have comfortable furniture for people to sit in. Damn hospitals. They're just like the military – hurry up and wait.
Focus. Think. Find your mirage. Closing his eyes he could see her face. But before his ragged breath could calm, the vision turned from one of joy to one of despair. Her once teasing brown eyes appeared recessed into her face surrounded by dark shades of anguish. Her once creamy skin was now ashen making her pleading expression almost too painful for him to bare. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. That was not the image of Amanda that he wanted in his mind.
The air in the room was suffocating, adding to the deep frantic feeling that encompassed his chest. Bitter, antiseptic smells hovered over everything causing him to automatically want to run. If he didn't hear something soon, he would go crazy. What would Amanda do? Closing his eyes again, he concentrated. Every fiber of his being focused on the face of the woman he loved. The face that beamed with excitement and passion after their first kiss. If Amanda were here, she would take my hand. A calmness would spread though my body. She only needs a look, a touch. Of course if she were here, I wouldn't be agitated and worried.
Clicking heals on the linoleum covered concrete floor echoed through the door causing him to glance for a familiar face. He recognized the head of the medical team – Dr. Victoria Olsen – and bombarded her before she could slip away. "Dr. Olsen. How is she? Is she going to be okay? Can I see her?"
"Wait just a minute, Mr. Stetson." She gestured toward the vacated chairs. "If you'll sit down, we can talk about her prognosis."
Grabbing her arm, he pleaded, "Please. . . I need to see her."
"Sit."
Dr. Olsen's voice was stern and direct. Sighing in frustration, he sat back down in the orange chair. He knew he wouldn't be able to see Amanda until he listened to what the Doctor had to say. She was the one N.E.S.T. physician that he had never been able to lure into a false sense of direction so he could slip through. She was an excellent practitioner, but too familiar with his tactics and never affected by his charm. At least Amanda was in good hands.
"All right," he sulked, "What happened to her? And why doesn't she remember me. . . ah. . . remember anything?"
"There are several conditions affecting Mrs. King at this time." She flipped open the metal chart, apparently perusing the information. When she raised her head, he searched her clear blue eyes for any sign of what to expect – dread, relief, or indifference. All he could see was the calm professional that he had come to rely on.
"Her injuries are congruent with a motor vehicle accident – the contusion on her head was probably caused by hitting the steering wheel; the cuts on her hands and knees by crawling out of a broken window; and the bruising across the chest and abdomen are from your standard seat belt. Our major concern at the moment is the concussion combined with severe dehydration. Both of those conditions are causing her altered mental status and loss of memory."
"So, she doesn't actually have amnesia?"
"Probably not. When we get her stabilized and awake we should know more. But my professional guess is no. The concussion isn't that bad. She doesn't have any swelling or bleeding of the brain which is a good sign. What I'm really concerned about is the dehydration. We are currently hydrating her with I.V. fluids. Once her electrolytes are balanced, she will regain most of her orientation. Wherever she's been for the last two days must have been extremely hot. It appears as if she wasn't given anything to drink or eat. Therefore, without fluids, the current high humidity led to excessive sweating. Once she's awake, she should be cognizant, but extremely stiff and sore. A few of her cuts appear to be mildly infected, but it's not a serious problem."
She paused, obviously waiting for Lee to digest the information and gather his thoughts. "If she feels up to it, she will probably be discharged tomorrow. But only if she has someone to stay with her for a few day."
"Don't worry, Doc. I'll make sure she is taken good care of."
"I'm sure you will, Scarecrow."
His mouth dropped open in surprise, but quickly shut. Surely she didn't know. Well, maybe she did. She had always been pretty perceptive. "Um. . . can I see her now?"
"Of course. She needs her rest so only for a little while." She pointed down the hall. "She's at the end of the hall on the right – room 118."
"Thanks."
He turned, his body ready to sprint to Amanda's side, when he felt Dr. Olsen's arm on his shoulder. Her voice was barely a whisper next to his ear. "Lee. If you don't cause a scene or bother the nurses, I'll let you stay as long as you like. But one word about your cranky mood or unruly behavior and your gone. Understand?"
Smiling, he touched her hand. "Yeah. Thanks."
Room 118. Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve, he pushed the door open. The stark white room was illuminated by a florescent wall lamp. The bottom was off, but the top pointed up toward the ceiling casting eerie shadows along the walls. He quietly walked to Amanda's side, his ragged breath catching in his throat. She looked so frail. Her dark, sunken eyes created a great contrast to her pale skin that blended into the white hospital sheets. Oh, Amanda. His heart fluttered as he watched the rise and fall of her chest. She was safe; he was here; everything would be okay.
Her skin was cool as he brushed a errant strand of hair off her forehead and pressed his lips to her skin. He decided to stay, hospital personnel be damned. Chuckling to himself, he remembered that he actually had permission. Well, there was a first time for everything. Glancing around the room he noticed a small couch and a fabric covered chair. He pulled the chair as close to the bed as the railing would allow. At least it was more comfortable than the retro stuff they stuck in the lobby. An urgent need to touch her overtook him. Gently, he picked up her small bandaged hand, resting it in his bigger one.
A fleeting thought passed through his mind – he should call Amanda's family. What had Dotty said? Something about everyone going on vacation and not coming home for a couple of weeks. At least he had the forethought to make up an excuse for Amanda when he spoke with her mother. When was that, anyway? Checking his watch, he realized it had only been thirty-six hours ago.
So much had happened over the last two days and his body felt as if it had run the gauntlet – ecstasy, excitement, and elation at returning home and hearing Amanda's voice; rage, despair, and hopelessness at her disappearance; relief, passion, and love at finding her; and finally, exhaustion. Emotions had always been difficult to deal with. . . especially now that he let his heart guide his existence. He needed her more than anything else in this world. Deep breaths. In and out. Be strong for her. She needs you now. She was okay. He was with her and everything would be fine. He laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. His body and mind could rest now. At last, he drifted off to sleep dreaming of his Amanda.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A black nothingness encompassed everything for as far as she could see. It floated all around her – or was she floating within it? Fog began to settle, casting shadows, as if the sun were rising over the horizon. The illumination brought with it a sense of truth. As the glow increased, so did the pain. Her once weightless body now felt heavy, stiff, and sore. She felt like she had been hit in the head with a baseball bat. Of course, she didn't really know what that felt like, but she was pretty sure it had to be close to the endless throbbing that reverberated throughout her skull.
These feelings weren't new to Amanda. They were more like an old friend that showed up unexpected, but always wanted. At least when she felt the pain, she knew she was still alive and allowed to wake once again. She continued to drift over the precipice of consciousness. Why open her eyes and admit defeat? It was easier to drift in a sea of oblivion than to hope for a stranger to magically appear, hold her hand, and take her home.
Her heavy lids fluttered open in a wishful attempt to see that face, to gaze into those hazel depths, and to finally be free. The pitch black darkness she anticipated had been replaced with an unexpected light that surrounded the room, causing her to squint in protection. Once her eyes adjusted to the new light, she realized she was no longer on the cold, damp, dirt floor but in a clean, comfortable hospital bed. Was she free? Or was she still a prisoner in a new location?
Not knowing what to expect, she glanced around the room looking for any indication to explain her new predicament. What she saw was astonishing. There he was, sleeping in the chair. He looked exhausted, but even more handsome than her dreams. She knew he would come. He was here and she was safe. Closing her eyes, she let out the breath she had been holding. Her mind was still hazy but she knew his name and where he fit into her life.
Looking down she saw her hand nestled in his. So that was the reason she couldn't move her hand. She hated to wake him, but she was extremely thirsty. The water pitcher sat on the bedside table, just out of her grasp. Gently squeezing his hand, she called to him, "Lee. . . " She winced as she whispered, her throat like sandpaper, her tongue like cotton. She tried again, a little louder this time. "Lee. . . Lee, wake up."
He slowly opened his eyes, the hazel depths piercing the distance between them. Realizing she was awake, he leaned forward. "Amanda. . . are you okay?"
She couldn't help but smile at the way he said her name, his voice deep and gravely with sleep. "Yeah. I'm okay. I'm just thirsty. . . and my throat feels like it's on fire," she pointed toward the pitcher, "I really need some water."
Reaching for the water, he poured some in the yellow plastic cup and brought it to her lips. "Slow sips, okay. Don't drink too fast."
The cool water caressed her mouth and coated her throat. It was such a great relief to finally have something to drink. That one recollection brought back most of her memories from the past few days – the car accident, her captivity, her dreams, her hallucinations, her fears, and her rescue. After taking a few more sips, she laid her head back on the pillows. She watched his face as he sat the cup back on the table. He was worried. She could tell by the way the lines of concern had deepened along his brow and the way his jaw was clenched tight causing his mouth to spread into a thin-lipped smile.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reclaiming her hand in his and lowered it to rest on his lap. She felt the mattress shift as he leaned closer to push aside an errant strand of hair. His fingertips lingered across her brow and down her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, cherishing the way his caress soothed her body and soul. Opening her lids, she gazed into the wonderful face of her. . . her what? Partner? Friend? Love?
She needed to talk to him but exhaustion continued to overcome her. Struggling to stay awake, she whispered, "I knew you would come for me. Even when I couldn't remember who you were. I. . . I'll always be with you." Seeing his loving smile, she knew she was safe. "I'm tired. . . " she started to say as she yawned.
"Shhh. . . It's all right. You rest."
"Umm. . . " She sighed as his soft lips kissed her cheek and he began to soothingly rub her hands. Her eye lids gradually closed, quickly drifting into sleep.
His voice was deep and soft. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." She heard the trembling in his voice when he paused but continued to sink deeper and deeper into her dreams. "I love you, Amanda," he whispered.
Unconsciously she smiled and shared her most intimate desire. "I love you, too," she whispered as she fell into an exhausted, drug induced sleep – a sleep where dreams become reality. Had she been awake when she uttered those four little words, she would have seen the most genuine smile that a man could ever have. And expression of hope, love, and the future.
He was finally happy for the first time in his life. He knew she probably wouldn't remember this moment, but the utter elation he felt when she said she loved him back was more than he could have hoped for. His heart fluttered, his eyes watered, and he felt euphoric. It was an odd sensation, one he could only describe as. . . peace. This was a contentment that he thought would only come in freedom, loneliness, or death. It was surprising what you could find when you least expected it. He wasn't looking for her that faithful day three years ago, but he would forever thank the universe for sending her into his life.
Secure in the fact that she was once again soundly asleep, he slid off the bed back into the chair, never relinquishing her hand. He still needed to touch her, feel her smooth skin, to assure his heart that she was safe and sound. Smiling to himself, he remembered the affection in her voice when she said she loved him. It was okay if she didn't remember. In the near future, he would give her a reason to say it again.
Bodily exhaustion and emotional fatigue found their way back into his overtired body. His eyes were heavy, drifting, even as he struggled to stay awake. It was okay. She was safe. He could sleep now.
The End (or is it? Only Taya knows.)
AVRIL LAVIGNE LYRICS: "I'm With You"
I'm standing on a bridge
I'm waiting in the dark
I thought that you'd be here by now
There's nothing but the rain
No footsteps on the ground
I'm listening but there's no sound
Isn't anyone trying to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
I'm looking for a place
Searching for a face
Is anybody here I know
'Cause nothing's going right
And everything's a mess
And no one likes to be alone
Isn't anyone trying to find me?
Won't somebody come take me home
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Wont you take me by the hand
take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
Oh why is everything so confusing
Maybe I'm just out of my mind
It's a damn cold night
Trying to figure out this life
Won't you take me by the hand
take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
Take me by the hand
Take me somewhere new
I don't know who you are
But I... I'm with you
I'm with you
I'm with you...