Rune Alignment

Chapter 51

"I don't think our meeting in here is a good idea at all, Edward," Eames said as Sledge entered and shut the door.

He was to her in one step, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her immediate response was to push away, but Sledge was much bigger, more determined, and had caught her off guard. She struggled briefly and then gave in, stepping into his embrace. His tongue sought its way through her lips and she moaned softly. Then her brain overrode her loins and she pulled her head back, breaking the kiss.

"Stop, stop it," she hissed. His mouth moved to her neck. "Let go of me." His mouth was under her ear, then sucking on her lobe, and she pushed away. "Edward, please, stop it!"

Reluctantly Edward released Alex but held her at arm's length. He was breathing heavily. "I want you so much, right now," he breathed.

Alex pushed his arms down, turned and stepped away from him. "Jesus, Edward." Her mind roared with emotions.

"What?" he asked, confusion mixed with anger. "Tell me you don't like fucking me. Tell me Saturday night was all a fake," he said to her back. Sledge absolutely loved this woman. Tell her you love her, you asshole, he shouted to himself. Tell her before she thinks all you want is her body. Tell her!

"Alex. . ." he started, but stopped at the light rapping on the door. They both turned. The door opened a crack and Bishop called softly through the opening, "Are you guys decent?"

Sledge said, loudly, "Yes, for chrissakes, what do you think we are – animals?"

Bishop opened the door entirely and stepped in, "Well, you never know . . . the stories this room could tell. . . Anyway, I found the owner of the building and he said he couldn't meet you guys over there. But, it's fine with him if you go in. He said he'll stop by this evening and pick up the warrant and sign the waiver." She looked at each of them, "Everything hunky dory in here?"

Sledge looked back at Eames who shook her head and headed for the door.

"Gleason, honey," Bobby said with wonderment. "Oh, honey, how do you feel?' He dropped the washcloth back into the basin and wiped his hand over her forehead.

Gleason looked at him and said, "I'm so thirsty."

Bobby's eyes swept the room and saw a plastic glass with a straw in it; he grabbed it and held it for Gleason to drink. The angle wasn't right and she was too weak to lift her head. Using only his right hand, Bobby tried to tilt the glass without spilling the water onto her chest. "Oh, this isn't going to work," he said with resignation. "Honey, let me get the nurse. I'll be right back." He set down the glass and stepped through the curtain. Julie was coming out of another cubical and saw him standing there. She walked toward him.

"Is everything ok?"

"She woke up and is thirsty and I can't hold the glass the right way for her to get a drink. Can you help me?"

"Of course," she said. Bobby stepped aside and let Julie through the curtain then followed.

"Well, hello. This nice gentleman tells me you are thirsty. Here, let me help you." Expertly, Julie tilted the glass and held the straw between two fingers, positioning it just right. She held up Gleason's head just a bit with her other hand. Bobby and Julie both watched Gleason take several sips. Gleason finished and sighed then grimaced, she shut her eyes and moaned.

"Honey?" Bobby stepped up. "What's wrong?" Gleason took several short, shallow breaths, almost gasping. "What's wrong with her?" he said to Julie, frightened again.

Speaking to Gleason, Julie said, "There, there, breath slowly . . . slowly. No deep breaths, Gleason, breathe slowly." Gleason lay back and slowed her breathing. Then to Bobby the nurse said, "Her left lung is still collapsed. The two patches will need to assimilate some before she can take a deep breath or even breathe normally. The lung tissue is tender where the patches were sutured, as is the wound on her chest where the repair was made. It's sore."

Bobby looked relieved and Julie smiled. "I'll leave you two alone." She disappeared through the curtain.

He watched Gleason lay with her eyes closed. He thought she had fallen asleep. He stroked her forehead and gently ran the back of his fingers along her cheek. She murmured and smiled just a bit. His heart exploded with love for this woman.

Gleason opened her eyes and looked up at him. He smiled at her, and her smile grew. "You ok?" she whispered.

"I am now," he replied. They looked at each other, speaking silent volumes. Then she noticed his left hand. Her face registered confusion; she moved her head again and looked harder.

"Bobby, what is that on your hand?"

He looked down at his hand and sling and then back at her. "Um, I, uh, it . . . ," his right hand came up and began to chop his way to the words, he two-stepped backwards and then forward. "Well, um, I . . . I broke two knuckles."

She looked at his hand and then up to his face with more confusion, then said, "Does it hurt?"

"Just a little," he lied.

"How did you break two knuckles?"

"I, uh, well . . . I –," he didn't want to tell her he slammed his fist three times into a brick wall. Just then, Julie returned with a cup of ice chips and a plastic spoon.

"Here, maybe you can manage this a little easier than the glass. Just put a few ice chips on the spoon and then feed them to her. She'll get the same amount of water, maybe more, this way and you can do it by yourself." She smiled up at him. "Ok? Go on, try it."

Bobby took the spoon in his right hand; it felt like trying to lift a log with toes. He couldn't get the spoon to sit right in his fingers. It twirled and fell to the tabletop.

"Oooh, I see, you're a lefty, huh? Well, all it takes is practice. Here. . ." She took his hand and wove his fingers around the spoon. God, she thought, his hands are huge, his fingers so long and strong. This is one lucky lady. Julie felt herself blush. "There you are. Now, scoop up some chips."

Bobby moved his entire body over the glass, and lowered his hand with the spoon attached. It felt so weird, like his right hand wasn't even a part of his body. He bent at the waist as he scraped the top layer of ice.

"That's it, good!" Julie said it as though she were talking to a two-year old. Bobby felt the happiness that that two-year old would feel. He smiled a huge smile and watched his hand move the ice from the cup. "Ok, now carefully give it to her." They both turned toward Gleason and saw that she was asleep.

Sledge and Eames rode in silence. Two patrol cars followed behind them, no lights, no noise.

"What's the number?" Sledge asked, as they turned right onto Murdock.

"Eleven sixteen," she answered.

Sledge slowed and they both looked for house numbers. "Eleven twenty-five, eleven twenty-three, it'll be on your side," he said to her.

"There it is, this green house," said Eames. Sledge put on the blinker and pulled to the curb. The first police car pulled ahead and parked a few houses beyond. The other backed up and parked a few houses behind.

The green house sporting peeling white trim with scrub for grass and litter for flowers in the dirt front yard, was typical of the off campus housing that surrounded the university. Owned by an individual who probably owned every house on the block and did as little as possible to maintain them, figuring college students didn't care about what a place looked like.

The two detectives and their entourage climbed the rotting steps. A cat sat hunched in front of the door, and meowed its welcome, then hot-stepped out of the way. Four mailboxes hung to the left of the door, three bore a name, none was Baughman. The front door was unlocked and Sledge entered ahead of Eames and stepped into the vestibule, Eames followed and the officers remained on the porch. Sledge knocked on the door to the immediate left. No answer, he knocked again. No answer. "Stay here, while I find someone who knows where Dead Boy lived," he said to Eames.

Sledge knocked on the door at the far end of the hallway. "Yo! Open up, I got us some weed, man!" he hollered. The first door he knocked on opened up showing a boxer shorts clad young man who was obviously drunk or stoned. Sledge was beside Eames in three steps he pushed the door open all the way and the student stumbled back. The scent of hashish was undeniable.

"Hey, pretty lady," the student said to Eames.

Sledge stepped in front of Alex and said, flashing his shield, "Ok, Prince Charming, you tell me what I want to know and we'll forget the fancy incense you have in here."

"Oh, no man, oh, no, that's not incense, no man, that's –," and he stopped. He looked at Sledge and Eames, saw her badge and slowly the student processed what was happening; the dawning of awareness took shape on his face.

"Yeah, that's right, we're the cops. Now tell me this, which apartment is Elliott Baughman's"

"Who?" the student asked and screwed up his face.

Sledge wondered, what is the ratio of dollars spent by this joker's parents to the number of brain cells he'd already fried? Sledge took a step toward the student and said, right into his face, "Which – apartment – is – Elliott – Baughman's?"

"Oh, Baughman, yeah, right, good dude, not around much, kinda quiet, comes and goes, sorta weird . . ." Before the student could utter another word, Sledge grabbed the elastic on the front of the guy's boxers and snapped it fiercely. "Ow! Hey, why'd you do that? Huh? That hurt, man!"

"Listen, I'm getting real tired of looking at you and smelling that shit you've been smoking in here. Tell me which apartment is Baughman's or I'll make you smoke these shorts. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem, upstairs in the front."

Eames followed Sledge up the stairs; the officers completed the queue. The line of people turned left at the top of the stairs and headed for the front of the house.

"Did Bishop say anything about a key?" he asked Eames.

"No."

"Ok, then, here goes." Sledge backed up against the wall behind him, took a deep breath and prepared to kick in the door.

"Wait!" Eames said; she reached for the doorknob and turned. The door swung open. Edward looked at her with a Bobby-look, sheepish and mildly embarrassed. Eames shook her head and mumbled, "Machismo, good grief."

The group filed into the small, cramped room, stood and looked around.

"Holy mother of God," one of the officers said softly.