Chapter 11

McCormick flipped disinterestedly through the magazine pages. "Cabbage Patch Kids," he muttered under his breath. "Isn't there anything more important to write about? Kinda ugly little creatures, anyway."

"What're you grumbling about, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked, laying aside his own magazine. He'd read a lot of magazines lately.

"Nothing," McCormick replied as he tossed the publication onto the bed in disgust. "I'm just bored. Can't you get me out of here?"

Hardcastle smiled slightly. McCormick had been complaining more and more the last couple of days—a sure sign he was beginning to feel better. But while McCormick's recovery was progressing even more quickly than the doctors had anticipated, and many of the smaller knife wounds had healed, he had taken a gunshot to his left thigh which still required him to be off his feet almost entirely, and his right shoulder didn't seem to be healing at all. "Not just yet, kiddo," he answered, almost gently. "It's only been a few weeks, you know, and you weren't even awake for the first part of it. Hell, McCormick, you still can't put any weight on your leg and can hardly move your arm. You know you're not ready to get out of here yet."

The young man just glanced away, not bothering to answer. He knew Hardcastle was right, of course, but he still didn't like it. He could feel the judge watching him, waiting for a response. "I hate it here, Judge," he finally said softly. His voice gained strength as he elaborated. "I can't do anything, can't eat what I want, can't go outside if I want...it's not a whole lot different than prison."

The judge tried not to snort his disbelief. "I'm pretty sure if you're ever back inside, McCormick, you'll look back on your time here fondly."

The ex-con looked back at the grinning jurist. "I don't really plan on havin' the opportunity to test that theory, Judge. Besides, I figure my time with you is sentence enough." McCormick had delivered the jab with his typical bantering tone and cocky grin firmly back in place, so he was surprised to see Hardcastle's face cloud over as the older man looked away uncomfortably.

"Judge?" McCormick ventured hesitantly after a moment. "What's up?"

Hardcastle shook his head. "Nothin', kiddo."

McCormick examined him closely, still not understanding the sudden change in mood. "Hey, Hardcase, you know I was only kiddin' around about that prison thing, right?" Normally, McCormick would never consider trying to apologize for one of his off-hand insults, but normally, Hardcastle wouldn't seem so bothered by them, either. He watched the judge settle himself back into the chair, visibly trying to push aside whatever troublesome thoughts had popped into his mind.

Undaunted, McCormick tried again. "Hey, why don't we talk about who's next on the old Hardcastle hit parade? It'll take my mind off this place."

That got Hardcastle's attention.

"What?" The sharp tone wasn't exactly what McCormick had been hoping for, but it was a start.

"You know, the bad guys? One of the poor unfortunate souls who managed to somehow offend your sense of justice? Someone we can harass for a few days before we throw them in the slammer? C'mon, Judge. A case."

Hardcastle stared at the grinning face before him. Hard to believe that two minutes earlier the kid had been on the verge of depression, though the McCormick mood swings were one of the things that kept life interesting. But a case? "Have you lost your mind, McCormick? You haven't recovered from the last case yet."

"Just a matter of time," the young man replied confidently. "Besides, I told you; it'll take my mind off this place."

"Well turn on the TV and watch some more of those soap operas if you need a distraction, kiddo; that's a lot safer. Anyway, besides the fact that you're still layin' in a hospital bed, you also haven't even finished up with all the reports from this case, yet."

McCormick rolled his eyes slightly. He should've known he'd walk into that again. "Don't start," he said firmly. "There's about half a dozen witnesses who saw Garza shoot me; Morrissey confessed when the cops finally picked him up with the money; and you've given your statement about how I came to be involved in the whole business in the first place. The man isn't going to get off this time, whether or not I outline all the gory details to the cops. I told Frank—and I told you—I'll tell him about it when I'm feeling a little better. So could we please not have this discussion again?" The thought of trying to tell Hardcastle what it was like to have a blade caressed across his body time and time again, never knowing if—when—it would actually break the skin in a small scrape or even be plunged deep into tender muscle...well, that was a thought he just couldn't bear right now. He wasn't sure he ever could.

Hardcastle relented immediately. "Sure, kiddo. In fact, you're looking a little tired again, and I'm starting to feel kinda beat myself." He propped his feet up into the second chair, stretching himself out into the makeshift "bed". "Why don't we get some rest?"

"Not a bad idea, Judge," McCormick agreed, though he realized Hardcastle had very deftly managed to steer the conversation away from whatever had been bugging him. "But why don't you go home and get some real sleep? Or at least let them bring you a cot in here, or something." The young man had been making those same suggestions for over two weeks, hoping each time would be the time Hardcastle finally said yes.

Hardcastle shook his head as he closed his eyes. "Don't worry about me; I just need to rest my eyes for a bit, and you should do the same."

McCormick nodded, though Hardcastle couldn't see the gesture, and snuggled down into his own bed. The judge was asleep almost instantly, but McCormick lay awake for a long time, staring at his sleeping friend, and wondering what had caused the jurist's strange reaction today. And with the curiosity came a strange uneasiness, and the very first inklings of fear.