Chapter 4

Mark McCormick was sure he was in prison. He knew he had to be because no place else could make him feel so helpless. And, he did vaguely recall doing something that had really angered Judge Hardcastle, so prison seemed the logical assumption. But it seemed different somehow...why was it so dark? Some kind of solitary confinement? He must've really pissed off old Hardcase this time.

Still, his mind argued with the assessment. He didn't really think he could be in prison, and not just because he didn't want to be in prison. Like it or not, Hardcastle was part of the equation. The judge wouldn't really put him back inside...would he? God knew, he had threatened often enough, though it had never been more than talk. McCormick thought he would have to do something pretty awful to make Hardcastle finally carry out one of his threats. But maybe he had? He couldn't imagine what, though he did have a lingering sensation of anger and accusation. But...

What was that?

McCormick focused all his attention on his black surroundings. Hardcastle's voice, he was sure of it. And, the judge didn't sound angry any more. Whatever was going on, Hardcastle would take care of it, McCormick was certain. Comforted, he drifted back to unconsciousness.

"I thought he might've been coming around there for a minute," Hardcastle said as he took his seat again.

Harper shook his head sadly. Whatever had prompted the judge to jump to McCormick's side, he had missed it...if it was ever really there at all. The last two days had been hard on his friend, and the lieutenant didn't know how he was going to help if things got worse.

McCormick sensed his helplessness again. Still so dark. And he still couldn't move. He felt like he was trapped in some kind of congealing marshmallow sauce, though no marshmallow sauce should be this black. Unless they were burned in the campfire, he thought. He wanted to grin at his flighty thoughts, but he didn't think he couldn't move the muscles in his face, either.

Am I dead?

He recoiled from the thought. Couldn't be. Hardcastle wouldn't let that happen, not so soon. But then he remembered hearing the judge's voice in this strange place. If that were true, would that mean that Hardcastle was dead, too?

In his mind, he raged against the idea. No! It couldn't be; that wouldn't be fair. The judge deserved a lot more years of life and happiness. Even if they were here together, McCormick didn't want that for Hardcastle. His friend had to be alive. Any other thought only led to madness.

Unable to deal with the emotions whirling through his mind, McCormick allowed the darkness to engulf him again.

"Why's he crying?" Hardcastle demanded, wiping at McCormick's face gently. Only a few hours earlier, the doctors had decided that the ventilator was somehow causing their patient distress rather than relieving it, so they had removed the intubation tube from his throat and replaced it with a small nasal tube just to keep the pure oxygen flowing into the young man. McCormick had seemed to breathe normally on his own, and Hardcastle had been glad to see the larger tube removed because it seemed to make McCormick look more like himself. But now...how could someone unconscious seem so unhappy?

"I don't know, Judge," the nurse admitted, "but try not to make too much of it. We don't have a really good idea of what goes on in someone's mind when they're unconscious like this."

"But it's a good sign, isn't it?" Hardcastle insisted, desperate for affirmation. "I mean, he must be thinkin' something if he's crying. Right?"

The nurse chose her words carefully. "He probably is thinking something, somewhere. But, Judge Hardcastle, it's never been a question of whether or not his brain would recover—that's not where the damage lies. It's a question of waiting on his body."

The answer was filled with compassion. As much as family members wanted their loved ones to regain awareness, she knew they hated to think of them trapped inside a motionless—almost lifeless—body. But, she believed that those who asked questions needed to know the answers in order to cope, so she could never be less than honest.

She gave a gentle squeeze to Hardcastle's arm as he continued to wipe the tears from McCormick's face, ignoring those on his own.

Mark McCormick could see the den at Gulls Way. That doesn't make any sense, he thought, as he realized he still couldn't seem to move and it was darker than it ever was at the house. How could he be at two places at the same time?

Maybe he was neither dead nor incarcerated, but just plain crazy. It was certainly possible, he admitted to himself, and it would explain a lot. Maybe they had him in some kind of straightjacket in a padded room. Great. Crazy and locked up. Could it get any better?

But why the den? He'd like to think if he was having demented fantasies they'd be better than that. On the other hand, this dark place was terrifying. Was there any place he'd rather be than the bright, familiar comfort of home? Probably not.

Then, suddenly, he could see himself in the den, along with the judge. Wishing makes it so, he thought giddily, immediately followed by, Really am crazy. But he gladly gave himself over to the illusion he couldn't yet recognize as memory...

- - - - - - - - - -

"Sorry I'm so late, Judge, I know that wasn't in the plan. But you can't always count on the criminal mentality making a lot of sense."

Hardcastle glared at the grinning ex-con. "You talking about Garza now?" he snapped. "Or yourself?"

The grin faded. This conversation was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. "I meant Garza, Hardcase. But..."

"But what, McCormick?"

How anyone could put so much threat into so few words was a mystery to McCormick, but he heard it just the same. He swallowed hard and plunged ahead. "Garza had me pull a job today, Judge."

"He what?"

"We knew it would happen," McCormick began.

"What we knew, hotshot," Hardcastle interrupted, "is that he would ask. You were supposed to find a way out of it."

"Judge, if you send me in undercover as a criminal, I think maybe you should be prepared for a little crime," McCormick said in his most reasonable tone.

"Oh, that's what you think, is it?" Hardcastle's tone clearly indicated that he was not in agreement. "Tell me about the job."

McCormick didn't hesitate. "It was some kind of financial holding facility down on Market street. That Walton guy must have the security information down pat on these places. I went in, got the cash from the safe, and got out. And, Garza had me boost a couple of cars for our travel to and from."

"So, let's see...we've got breaking and entering, grand larceny, and multiple counts of grand theft auto. And that's added to the B&E down at the court records office the other day. It's been quite a week for you, hasn't it, McCormick?"

McCormick grimaced as he dropped into the chair. He hadn't expected the conversation to be quite this difficult. And, he hadn't even managed to tell the judge about how he'd screwed up with Garza. He needed to pull out of this case, but how was he supposed to say that now? He realized Hardcastle was still speaking.

"I said, did you get paid?"

"Oh, yeah." McCormick reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it at the judge.

Hardcastle looked through the bills, then looked up at McCormick. "How much money was in that safe?" he asked.

McCormick glanced up sharply at the unexpected tone. He was not accustomed to suspicion from the judge. "I don't know," he answered. "A lot."

"And you only got twenty five hundred?"

"I'm just the hired help, Judge," McCormick said peevishly, "and I'm new help at that. I just figured Garza was a graduate of the Milton C. Hardcastle school of slave wages."

Hardcastle didn't intend to be led into their typical banter. "You're sure this is all of it?"

"What do you mean?" McCormick demanded, more hurt than angry.

"I mean, are you sure you wouldn't be trying to get yourself a little bonus?"

McCormick stiffened in his chair. "Judge, that envelope is a year's salary working here with you and it took me about an hour to earn it. If I was looking for a bonus, I woulda just kept it. Or," he added hotly, "maybe I just wouldn't have come back at all." He rose and started for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hardcastle snapped.

"To bed, Judge, unless you plan on taking me to jail. If you want me to keep working this case, Garza expects me at his place bright and early tomorrow morning." McCormick almost hoped Hardcastle would tell him to pull out, even though it would be for all the wrong reasons. He shouldn't go back in and he knew it, but he wouldn't have Hardcastle thinking he was backing out because he'd changed his mind about which side of the law he wanted to be on. What had gotten into the old donkey, anyway? He had expected to have his common sense questioned, but never his integrity.

McCormick stood paused for a brief moment, but when the judge didn't answer, he stomped up the small steps and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

- - - - - - - - - -

Hardcastle stood nervously at McCormick's bedside, seeing the tension written on the unconscious form, but not knowing why or how to ease it. After almost three days of endless waiting, the last ten hours or so had been a new kind of torture for the judge, as McCormick displayed more and more signs of awareness but still never regained consciousness. It was bad enough the kid was barely alive; he hated to think of him trapped in some kind of private hell where no one could reach him to offer help. Especially, he reflected bitterly, since their last words had been filled with anger.

What had he been thinking, anyway? He knew McCormick would never go back to any kind of criminal life, so why had he implied otherwise? Of course, he knew the answer. He had just been so scared when Mark was late returning from his rendezvous with Garza. And, he admitted to himself, he had still been angry about the little stunt at the courthouse. The kid really was going to get himself thrown back into prison if he wasn't careful. But none of that was justification for the way he had reacted. He had simply let his fear turn to anger when McCormick had returned safely, and then he had said a lot of truly stupid things. As it turned out, he'd had reason to be worried, and he wished now he'd spent more time on precautions and a hell of a lot less on accusations.

Unable to do more, Hardcastle simply took McCormick's hand into his two larger ones and clasped it with a gentle firmness. "I'm here, kiddo," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm here and I won't let anything else hurt you." He spoke to the silent form in a gruff but soothing voice until he could feel his friend begin to relax.

McCormick could feel the marshmallows again. How he wished he could escape this place. Why hadn't the judge gotten him out yet? Surely Hardcastle didn't still believe he'd sold out? He would never know if he didn't get out of this darkness, though he thought briefly he might prefer this strange place to a world where Hardcastle didn't trust him.

Again he willed himself to focus his attention. He needed to understand what was happening. Oh! There was the judge's voice again. He tried to make out the words. Maybe he couldn't get out of here until he understood what Hardcastle was trying to tell him. That didn't make a lot of sense, he knew, but neither did this strange darkness.

He sent his mind out in search of clues, but he couldn't find much. But Hardcastle's voice wasn't fading, and there was a warm feeling in his left hand. He struggled to make sense of the words.

"...Frank's been here a lot; you know, he's really worried. About us both, I think, though it's you he always asks about. Bet you never thought you'd see the day when a cop was sitting worried by your bedside, did you, kiddo? Much less a judge! Anyway, I finally made Frank leave for a while this morning, but he'll be back. I hope when he comes he brings something to eat 'cuz the food is terrible in this place. When you wake up you're gonna hate it here."

Hardcastle's voice broke. "When are you gonna wake up, McCormick? C'mon, kiddo, there's stuff I need to tell you, and it won't do any good if you're sleepin'." Hardcastle squeezed McCormick's hand gently. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I never meant for you to get hurt. I never even meant for my stupid insults to hurt your feelings, either. I can't believe you won't even wake up to say I told you so. I know you weren't really working with Garza, Mark, and I've always known it. I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did. Maybe if I didn't things would've been different somehow. I don't know. But I do know that I'm sorry, and I'd do anything to change what happened. I just wish..."

As Hardcastle's voice carried on, McCormick could feel himself slipping back into the darkness, but he didn't want to go. He knew the judge would be gone if he drifted deeper into the marshmallow thickness, and he didn't want to be alone. Besides, Hardcastle seemed so upset. He might not understand much of what was happening, but he didn't want the judge to be sad. And, he didn't want him to feel guilty, either. Whatever had happened to send him to this terrible, dark place, he was sure the judge wasn't to blame.

He marshaled all of his strength and tried to cling to Hardcastle's voice.

"Not...your...fault...Judge," he managed to say. At least, he thought he said it. He tried to say it. But he didn't hear the words come out. Maybe he really was dead. He felt the darkness pulling him back, even as he tried to fight it. Then suddenly, he heard Hardcastle's voice again, closer now, and filled with urgency.

"Mark? I said, can you hear me?" At the first whispered word from McCormick, Hardcastle had leaned his face next to McCormick's to hear the precious sounds. He kept that closeness now and spoke directly in the young man's ear.

"I'm right here, kiddo, so stay with me. C'mon, that's enough sleeping now, even for you. Don't leave me again; I'm tired of talking to myself all day. Come on, kid, I need you to come back to me now."

McCormick could feel the affection as the judge stroked his hair gently, and he could hear the concern in Hardcastle's voice as the jurist tried to pull the younger man toward consciousness. How could he have ever believed this man would doubt him? He wanted to offer his own reassurance in return.

"No...hedges today...okay, Hardcase?"

Hardcastle laughed even as he felt the tears of relief welling in his eyes. "Okay, kiddo, deal. No hedges today.

"Now you stay awake for a minute while I go get a doctor." Hardcastle felt the tightening on the hand that still held McCormick's. Not much, but it was there. "What is it, kiddo?"

McCormick focused his energy once more. "Don't...leave me," he implored softly, somehow feeling he might not make it back from the darkness again if Hardcastle left him alone now.

"Never," Hardcastle assured him, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Cautious of the still fragile body, he reached awkwardly across McCormick to reach the call button on the other side of the bed. He jabbed at the device, then seated himself back in the bedside chair. For the first time in days, he felt the world begin to settle back into its rightful place.

"I'm still here," he said softly to McCormick as they waited. And even as the doctors and nurses began to file in and complete their initial examinations and ask a hundred questions, McCormick never loosened his grip on Hardcastle's hand and the judge never pulled away.