DeathOfMe, kudos on catching the Auburn thing, just couldn't resist when I came across it. LOL. I don't' think anybody else noticed but us, girl! Kerstin, hey, glad you're reviewing, I hope there's nobody out there who's enjoying this and not letting me know! Now, about the wait :apologetic grin: I got a little lost until Corine straightened me out on some stuff that was bugging me and this chapter went through a final rewrite late last night. Hope you like the result, let me know cuz I LIVE for your glowing :bashful grin: reviews. Why else would I subject myself to all this agony when I could just sit back and read you guys?
hc/hc/hc
True to his word Horatio didn't leave her for long. His eyelids struggled open and Calleigh was there, dispelling the much too familiar nightmare that had blackened his mind even in unconsciousness.
"Hey, Handsome. How do you feel?" she asked brightly, the wattage in her smile more than enough to make up for both the nightmare and the pathetic light bulb overhead.
"Wonderful," he mumbled, blinking, after thinking about it for a minute.
"Be honest," Calleigh chided, moistening his dry lips with cool water from a glass she had placed beside the bed.
"Comparatively speaking, wonderful," he qualified, shifting just a bit into a more comfortable position, her hands immediately helping. "My shoulders don't hurt. What on earth did you do?"
She threw him a saucy grin, happy that she had helped. "I reduced them for you. I wasn't a candy striper back in Louisiana for four years for nothing you know."
"Calleigh," he objected, "you're not strong enough to…"
"Don't sell this Southern girl short, Horatio," she silenced his protest. "The hardest part of shoulder reduction is getting the patient to relax. You were unconscious, it wasn't a problem."
And there was no way on the face of the earth I could have done it with you awake, Calleigh finished to herself. No way.
She ran her fingers fondly and somewhat intimately through his hair and after Horatio got over the intimate part he realized that the heavy layer of bandages was gone. With considerable relief he reached up and scratched an itchy spot on his scalp, glancing at her quizzically.
"I wanted to check your head injury but I couldn't bear to reuse those disgusting bloody things," Calleigh confessed, making a face. "I just taped some gauze over the surgical site to keep it clean. Everything looks fine, the drain's nearly dry."
"Can I sit up?" he wondered.
"No!" she countered firmly, grabbing his arm in case he did something stupid. "In case you've forgotten you still have a knife buried in your chest."
Horatio raised his head a bit, glanced down at himself and winced. Calleigh was entirely right, the knife was still lodged neatly under his collar bone. He noted how she had wrapped and supported the hilt with tape and a ton of gauze to keep it from moving. It was uncomfortable but if he kept still it didn't really hurt, not like his wrists which were almost but not quite unbearable. They were certainly easier to look at though, resting wire-free and neatly bandaged on the sheet that covered him up to the middle of his chest. He sighed heavily, touched and embarrassed all in the same instant.
"Cal, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to do all of this for me…"
"I could think of worse things, Horatio," she reassured him, laying a finger over his lips. "But enough small talk. You've obviously figured out who's doing this and probably what to expect next. I need to know, too."
"No. You don't." He pulled away from her hand and averted his eyes, absolutely refusing to look at her. Calleigh cupped his stubbly face in her palm and turned it towards her, hands not quite as gentle as they had been before. She waited until the blue eyes finally made hesitant contact.
"Yes. I do!" she insisted. "What's going to happen next, Horatio? Is he going to come through that door and rape me? Hang me up like he did you? Torture me, or you again?" Fear had sharpened Calleigh's features as well as her voice. She sucked in a lungful of stale air, remembered the camera and made an effort to lower her voice. "I'm locked up in this room, too, Horatio, with this perv's eyes crawling all over my back. I feel like I'm undressed and I can't even bear to look into the lens. I think I have the right to know what to expect."
"Oh my God. Calleigh. Of course you do." Tenderly Horatio reached out and eased a strand of white blonde hair lovingly behind her ear. He took her hand back, rubbing the fingers gently, and spoke so softly she knew it was meant for her alone. "His name is Amery. He's a coward, always has been. As long as we keep him sufficiently amused with my suffering and your reaction, he won't show his face."
"I don't care if he shows his face. I'd like nothing better than to stick my fist in it as a little thank you for all his trouble."
That won a small smile. "Actually, I'd enjoy watching you do it. But I think just waiting it out would probably be smarter. The team will find us soon enough, Calleigh."
"And until they do? You just lay there and suffer? I don't expect that, Horatio. I expect you to tell me who this bastard is and what the hell is going on so we can figure a way out of this. Together," Calleigh hissed, challenging him.
"Is there a way out?" he wondered somewhat emptily, eyes straying over her shoulder towards the camera she couldn't look at.
"Of course there is," she insisted as she touched his arm to draw his eyes back to her face. Her eyes were shining. "It's the most important thing I ever learned from you. On the day you hired me and every single day since you've consistently taught me there's always an answer, always a way out."
When he shook his head, uncertainty still lingering, she sighed. "Were you unconscious the whole time, Horatio? Do you have any idea where we are?"
His eyes instantly sharpened and she couldn't help a small smile. It was what she'd hoped would happen when she asked.
"I did come to while they were transporting us," he told her. "I was aware of movement, fast but fairly smooth, highway I'd guess. I was groggy and half out of it for what seemed like a long time and the motion never changed, so I doubt we're in Miami or anywhere close. Eventually I woke up enough to realize I was in the back of a large truck and there was enough light coming in around the door that I could see you on the floor a couple of feet away. I was so afraid when you didn't speak to me, Cal, when you didn't move…"
She felt his fingers tighten and reciprocated.
"…but then I smelled the chloroform on your clothes and dared to hope you were okay. I slid a little closer and I could tell that you were breathing, but my chest hurt and I passed out again. When I came to we were in here and there were two of them, they were lifting me. I didn't see their faces, I was twisting around trying to find out if you were in the room somewhere. When they hooked my wrists over and let go I…I screamed, I think. Someone did. Oh, God, Calleigh…it hurt…so bad and I thought… I thought maybe you were…"
"Shhh. It's all right, Horatio. They didn't hurt me."
"But I didn't know," he insisted. "I could hardly breathe…it hurt so much…I started to spin around and then I saw you…on the bed…you were stirring. That's when the light…the light went out…and I…"
"Shhh," she silenced him a second time. His voice was raspy and he was clearly tiring himself out. "Let's see if you can handle a drink of water."
He propped himself up with an effort on his elbows, wincing, as a sharp pain flared in his chest.
"Damn it, Horatio, can't you just wait for once and let someone help you?" Calleigh grumbled as she moved quickly to support the back of his neck with one hand, holding the glass to his lips with the other. She was pleased to see him manage several successful swallows before gently helping him lower his head back to the pillow.
"I checked out the room while you were unconscious," she told him, letting him rest. "We must be underground, there's absolutely no light coming from anywhere and the walls are cool to the touch. It's cold underfoot, too, the rug's laid over concrete. There's just a small bathroom through that doorway, no window in there either, and the door leading out to wherever is an inch and a half of solid steel, bolted on the other side. We can't force our way out of here and I have no intention of just sitting here practicing my first aid while you're laying there hurting and in need of real medical care."
Calleigh lowered her voice to a barely perceptible whisper. "Somehow we have to get to him, Horatio, make him angry enough to unlock the door and come to us. What if I just block the camera so he can't see what we're doing?"
"No." His voice was weak, his eyes fearful. He would give his life in an instant to save hers, she knew it for a certainty, and it hurt her so badly to see him like this. Damn she wished she could knock some sense into his stubborn red head.
"Horatio, you know who he is," Calleigh's eyes begged, her back to the camera as she half-whispered half-just-moved-her-lips at him. "You know how to reach him, how to make him come to us, how to make him so angry he'll forget to be careful. Just tell me and we'll make it happen."
"Cal, I…" His voice choked on itself, eyes retreating inward to something she couldn't see. "I… I can't. I never could."
"Horatio, quit scaring me!" she shouted. "You're supposed to be stronger than this!"
You can't do it, can you, Horatio? And she knows it, just like your mother knew.
The voice taunted like it had all his life. Amery Caine's voice. His father. His beloved fucking father. Horatio clenched his fists and the burning pain that flared in his wrists was so intense it took his breath away. He squeezed his eyes tight shut to keep from crying like he had the last time the wires had bitten in. The little boy locked in a closet was still there, inside, trembling as hard as he had been in the dark on that day forty years ago.
Remember how black it was in the closet, Horatio, how much the wire hurt your wrists? I know you do. You didn't even try to get away, you were too afraid to move. You still are, aren't you?
Horatio pictured his father gloating over the words at this very moment, hidden, whispering, watching with intense pleasure from the other side of one of the walls. Anger started to bubble up inside him. It rose up his throat like bile until hatred was all he tasted.
You're afraid, aren't you? Too afraid to do anything.
Horatio snapped his eyes open and jerked his head and shoulders off the pillow, completely ignoring Calleigh's cry of alarm. He shot a hostile look directly into the camera.
"Not anymore," he said loudly, very clear. "Not of you." His eyes turned to Calleigh and instinct leaned her over slightly to the left, blocking the camera's ability to focus on his face.
"Follow my lead, Cal," he whispered. "If he thinks I'm dead it'll piss the hell out of him. He'll come, just to make sure, but we have to make it damn convincing."
Horatio's right hand moved upward towards the knife in his chest and while Calleigh was still mid-reach to stop him his fingers found the hilt, grasped it firmly and pulled the blade out in one smooth, unflinching motion.
As the tip withdrew from his flesh Horatio gasped in sharp surprise at the pain he'd caused himself. His head fell back on the pillow, his hand flopped sideways, the knife falling softly onto the sheet. His lips moved like he was trying to say something but nothing came out and his eyelids started to flutter.
The first aid kit was still lying open next to the bed. Calleigh grabbed a thick pad of gauze, placed it squarely on the gushing wound and pressed down hard with one palm on top of the other. Horatio cried out as the pain and the pressure jolted him back, wide awake. Sapphire eyes snapped open and found hers instantly.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it hurts but I have to stop the bleeding." Calleigh's voice was shaking, her hands on the gauze steady. "Oh, God. What the hell were you thinking?"
He was breathless, trying to pull some air into his startled lungs, trying to pull away from the pain she was causing. Calleigh felt something suddenly warm and wet on her palms and looked down to see bright blood soaking up through an inch of gauze. Biting her lip she reached for a towel, pressing it on top. Horatio was all ready so weak he simply couldn't afford to bleed this heavily and in desperation to stop it she found herself pushing down even harder. Rapidly the towel turned red, rivulets of blood escaping everywhere, running down his sides and soaking into the sheets and the mattress.
After another minute, when things still hadn't improved, Calleigh pulled everything away from the wound, rung out the cloth she'd used before and wiped the area clean. A little sob caught in her throat as she shifted sideways, making sure the camera had a clear shot of the deep puncture in the muscles of his chest. The edges gaped apart and blood welled up steadily in the center with no sign of slowing down. Calleigh placed her hands directly on either side of the wound and firmly pressed the skin and underlying tissue together. Horatio moaned, half conscious, half not.
"Didn't mean…to drop…it…" he got out, barely audible, his fingers trembling as he tried to stretch them towards the hilt of the knife.
"Be still!" she hissed and started counting off the seconds in her head, holding everything motionless for fifteen endless minutes and then five more just to be safe before easing back on the pressure just a tiny bit. Blood was oozing but no longer pouring. Horatio's lips were moving faintly.
"Don't speak," she cautioned him. Her eyes flicked briefly to the knife. "And don't move, not even a little bit." Calleigh frowned as she studied the knife wound. He would need some serious stitches to close it permanently but she would do the best she could with tape for now.
Horatio was shivering visibly by the time she finished. Calleigh snapped away the blood soaked sheet and shook out the blanket, covering all of him, his outstretched arm as well as the knife. She tucked him in quickly up to the chin like a child but he continued to shake, so violently she hoped the wound wouldn't reopen from the movement. His lips had the faintest tinge of blue and his forehead, when she touched it, was cool and clammy. Recognizing real signs of shock Calleigh checked the pulse in his neck and found it faint but racing.
"Don't you go shocky on me, Horatio," she warned him, bending close. "Come on, don't you dare! You stay with me, do you hear? Horatio, do you hear me?"
Apparently he didn't. He was breathing in short little panting gasps that abruptly, along with the shaking, stopped.
What was it he'd said? We have to make it damn convincing? Well, it was.
"He's dead," she whispered, blinking, and a moment later she screamed it.
"He's dead!"
Every instinct, every nerve in Calleigh's body screamed at her to bend over and check, to make sure this was just damn good acting. Instead she whirled around in a tornado of blonde hair and faced the camera fully for the first time.
"He's dead, you sick son of bitch! That's not quite what you wanted, is it? Well it's what you got."
Overcome with sobs Calleigh fell to her knees, breathless and not faking a fucking thing. Sweet Jesus, what if he wasn't faking either? The symptoms of shock when she checked him had been all too real. What if his heart really had stopped and he wasn't breathing? She could be doing CPR and mouth to mouth right this minute, saving his life instead of playing at keeping this bastard amused.
Calleigh snapped. She couldn't do it any more, she had to know. Tipping a curtain of hair across her face she crawled over the blood soaked sheet to the side of the bed. Softly resting her cheek on his shoulder Calleigh nestled her face against his and prayed as she waited for his breath to tickle her eyelashes.
Eventually she lifted her tear streaked face back to the lens. "You couldn't face him could you?" she choked out. "Not in person, not now that he's all grown up. You don't have the guts." Slow but deadly venom crept into Calleigh's eyes and her voice.
"I know who you are, I figured it out. I'll bet you like doing it to women, don't you, Mr. Caine, and little kids who can't stand up for themselves? Well I'm a woman and your son," Calleigh jerked her head towards the sunken shape under the blanket on the bed, "can't protect me any more. I'm all alone and I'm waiting. Waiting for you."
She sneered into the camera, putting all the contempt she could muster in her voice. "Don't be long."
He wasn't.