The house was beautiful. Not very large or ostentatious, but comfortable. Two stories, not tall enough to peek over the tops of the pine trees surrounding it. Mac had no idea where it was though, where she was. It was an island in the middle of a lake, that much she knew, and beyond the lake, there was again nothing but trees and hills. The island itself was not too large. Only big enough to hold the house and all of the pines hiding it from view. The house was invisible to a mere eye from the banks of the lake.
Whatever sense of place and direction she had hoped to get was blown out of the water by Porter Webb injecting her with something which made her sleep. When she finally woke up, several hours later, she was in the boat crossing the lake already. She might as well be in Narnia for all she knew - including the evil witch. The boat left the moment she had stepped off of it. There was no way of getting back unless she planned on swimming and while she knew she could make it, it was already December. She would die of hypothermia before reaching safety. She was trapped. She was nowhere.
There was her and Porter Webb in the house. Two guards, always silent, always armed. There was a cook and a maid and a butler. All went out to be nice and full of smiles. Mac was allowed to do whatever she wanted. There were no bars on the windows, the doors were all unlocked, nobody followed her around. There was no way for her to get away, so why bother.
Mac had no appetite but forced herself to eat whatever was given to her. Her insomnia returned, but she tried to rest as much as possible. She could not let herself slip away again. She would not go through what she had back at the Starlight Motel. She needed to be strong. That thought became her mantra. She needed to be strong to get out of here somehow. She needed to be strong to hold on. She needed to be strong for Harm. Harm loved her. That was everything that mattered.
She was worried about Jack. The last time she saw him he was lying, seemingly lifeless, on the hotel carpet. She could only pray he was not another man who had met his fate because he got close to her. And Harm was on her mind constantly as well. What was he doing? Searching for her, no doubt, and being out of his mind with worry. He really did deserve so much better than her. Had he even an inkling of what had really happened to her? Could she even have a slight hope of being rescued? He was, after all, the one who would always save her, right?
She spent most of the days outside, sitting by the edge of the lake, looking across the frigid water, listening to the wintery silence of the forest. Porter Webb would always scold her for doing that. "You might catch pneumonia, my dear," she fussed. It was all too strange and positively bizarre. As if Mac was a beloved child visiting on holiday rather than an unwilling captive imprisoned in an unknown location. The days were short but seemed to last forever and the night stretched before her in an endless mix of despair and anger.
She lashed out. Cursed at Porter Webb, who would only give her a sympathetic look, as if she wanted to pet Mac over the head, but had thought better of it a second later.
She cried and pleaded. The reaction was pretty much the same.
On the ninth day, the boat arrived and an elegant woman of Mac's age stepped off. "I am Doctor Polarski. But you can call me Letty," she introduced herself, beaming at Mac who had been instructed to an armchair. The woman shed off her coat, reached into her briefcase and with a pen and a notebook she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable opposite Mac. "I believe they call you Mac? Or would you prefer Sarah?"
"None. My friends call me Mac. You may call me Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie, but even then I may not answer," Mac said and shrugged her shoulders to project carelessness she did not feel in the slightest.
"I am afraid none of that would be very productive, Sarah," Polarski smiled.
"It's Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie," Mac insisted, already irritated and knowing she would probably lose the struggle to keep the nonchalant image. She was never good at this. Her anger had always seemed to take a life of its own. Perhaps it was one of the dark legacies her father had left her, all that fury and hot temper. She was not great at patience either.
"I think if we are to reach any success with our sessions such formality would only undermine any progress we may have, Sarah."
"Don't call me that," Mac warned her one last time.
"Why not? It is such a pretty name, Sarah."
That bitch was not even looking at her, already scribbling something down.
"Just no and the reason is none of your business," Mac answered, every muscle in her tense. She was not going to give this "Letty" anything. Certainly, she was not going to tell her it was a name under which she felt the most vulnerable. The one which she fiercely protected. That there was only one person, one man who could use it because for him it was never about claiming familiarity. From him, her name was a sigh in the velvety night, a prayer for her softness, a plea for her love. She was Sarah only for him.
"Well, I suppose I will have to win your trust first," Polarski smile again.
"I would say good luck with that," snorted Mac. "But there is no sense wishing you well at something impossible."
"What is it about me, that you find so very untrustworthy, Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie?"
"If you need to ask what is wrong with this whole situation perhaps you are not as smart as you think."
"Oh?" Polarski raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. "From what I have been told you currently have nowhere to live, you are suffering from serious PTSD, you are notorious for not being able to deal with your past relationships and your physical health has been on the decline as well, so much so it severely disrupted your ability to fulfil your duties at work. Meanwhile, Mrs Webb has offered you a comfortable and calm place to stay, arranged for you to have every possible service at your disposal, hired me to help you regain your mental equilibrium and expects, as do I, that by helping her son you too will benefit from being able to either move on or move your relationship forward."
Mac stared at her, eyes wide.
"Move our relationship forward," she repeated slowly. "Are you actually serious?"
Polarski merely smiled and nodded.
"Do you have any idea what that man did to me?"
"Humans make mistakes. They regret them. They repent. They do better next time," the doctor said almost gently.
"Sure, sure!" Mac shrugged her shoulders dramatically. "They do better after they raped you and tried to kill you. Boys will be boys, right? Can you even hear yourself?"
"Have you never made a mistake, Colonel? Or are you simply too arrogant?"
"Do not try to compare my own failings to what Webb did. What his mother is doing! I was kidnapped. I am here against my free will and I cannot leave. That is all there is. How do you not see what is wrong here?!"
Mac felt like screaming. Every nerve in her body seemed to be pulsating, hear temples thrummed with tension. She felt the migraine coming. She stood up and pressed the tips of her fingers to the forehead as if she could drive it away like that.
"As a medical professional, Sarah..."
"Don't call me that!" Mac lashed out, but Polarski chose to ignore her as she went on: "...I must admit that after reviewing your file and seeing how fragile your current mental state is, I believe that this is a perfect place for you to be right now. You need to feel some stability and avoid distractions. Above all your emotions need to settle down and that was not going to happen in Washington. Being dragged from one unsuitable and temporary place to another, being used by your work partner for sexual favours while you were extremely vulnerable..."
"What did you just say?"
Finally, Polarski stopped talking. Her calm facade fell for a second when she saw Mac's expression change at her last remark. The mask was immediately back in place, but the doctor knew she made a mistake. Mac's face, full of barely suppressed anger and victimized by an oncoming headache, had been flushed, but now all the colour fled away. Her eyes were suddenly cold and sharply focused. Her body went completely still and yet Polarski felt a little prick of panic. Colonel Mackenzie, quite all of a sudden and rather unexpectedly, seemed dangerous.
"What did you just say?" Mac repeated, her voice low but firm.
Polarski could not stand the hard look. Quickly, to hide her own discomfort, she flipped through her notebook, as if looking for some specific information.
"Harmon Rabb, yes?" she tried her luck. She needed to be the one in control of the situation. "I was told he has been your work partner for quite some time now?" She had no idea what to say next not to enrage the obviously volatile Marine in front of her. The silence stretched and became more and more uncomfortable by a second.
"Harmon Rabb has been my work partner for quite some time," Mac said finally, deliberately using the exact same wording. "Harmon Rabb has been my best friend for just as long. Harmon Rabb has been my anchor and my rock for literal years. And whatever you have heard from that ancient witch downstairs is most certainly a lie. Not that it would matter, considering you are clearly here to mess up with my head, not help me."
Polarski sighed. She was so good Mac could almost believe that disappointment in that sound was genuine.
"Sarah..."
"Don't!"
"Colonel Mackenzie, I understand that you are upset and feel lost. I am not your enemy. Whatever grievances you may have against Mrs Webb or anyone, I am here to listen. I assure you our sessions are completely confidential and I do not report to anyone. Yes, the Webbs have been my treasured clients for years, but they do not owe me. I do hope that we can establish some productive relationship as well. The sooner you get better, the sooner I shall recommend to Mrs Webb that you should be allowed to leave and only return, as you have put it, out of your own free will."
"OK, I've had enough of this crap," Mac headed to the door. And she had had enough. With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and gave Polarski one last look. "By the way, not that it is any of your business, but I am sure you and everyone you promise not to report anything to will find this of interest: Harmon Rabb has been my lover for a little while now too. And I advise you to keep his name out of your mouth for the future."
The door slammed shut. Polarski frowned. She enjoyed a challenge, but even the few seconds during which she had felt intimidated made her nervous. She did not like Sarah Mackenzie at all.
Mac purposefully strode up to Porter Webb, who was sitting in the living room with a cup of tea.
"First of all," she started without any hesitation, her voice still cold and matter-of-factly, "that pasty-faced bitch with a notebook is not my new best friend and I am not saying a word to her from now on. So invite her in as much as you want, it is a waste of time for all of us. Second of all, you leave Harm out of this. Get it?"
"I am so sorry, my dear," the older woman said softly and set her teacup down. Just an hour ago Mac would have contemplated kicking the conference table over just to show off her rage. But the accusation Polarski had made about Harm using her for sex had snapped her out of that rage. Mac knew she was easy to anger. She had had a tough time conquering her outbursts and channelling them into something productive and positive when she first joined the Marines and later the law school. She had lost that ability around the same time she coldly pumped the bullets into Sadiq Fahd. She was now learning it again, even though her mood swings were worse than ever.
"For what this time?" Mac returned. "Sorry seems to be your favourite word. But you have never really been sorry about hurting other people, have you?"
"How wrong you are," Porter Webb retorted. "I am genuinely sorry that Letty seems so unsympathetic to you. Especially since I have great confidence in her abilities. Just give it a few more sessions, please?"
"I am not saying a word to her, invite her as much as you want."
Mac turned to leave the room. She could really not stand more than a few minutes in that woman's presence. She could still see her pulling the trigger and Jack falling down. Poor Jack! She hoped, she prayed he was OK.
"I am also sorry," Webb continued as if Mac hadn't made it clear the conversation was over, "that Commander Rabb has had a bad relapse in the hospital."
Mac froze and her eyes shot back to the other woman's unmoved face.
No.
Her knees threatened to give in. Her heart stopped. She opened her mouth but no sound came out at first.
"What..." she croaked weakly then, but it was all she could manage.
"I haven't informed you before, since I knew it would greatly upset you, but the Commander was injured some days ago. Quite severely too. Blood loss, head injury, nasty business. A terrorist attack on the JAG headquarters, they say."
The world faded to grey. The sound was coming to Mac as if through a long tunnel. She floor swayed. That was strange. She could swear floors were not supposed to do that.
"He would have been recovering just fine, as I hear, but just yesterday he was found passed out on the floor of his hospital room. Took a nasty fall after trying to leave in spite of his condition. Such an irresponsible thing to do not to listen to the doctors. Maybe you should listen to Letty to avoid a relapse yourself. Or even to prevent the Commander from being injured yet again."
Floors were not supposed to sway.
She woke up in the middle of the night. The room was dark. She could hear the wind howling outside. The branches of trees behind the window were white. It was snowing.
Somebody was holding her hand.
Harm.
She let out a happy sigh. She had finally woke up from the nightmare. She was safe and with him. Instinctively she curled into a fetal position and drew their joined hands to her heart. She felt him touching her hair tenderly. His breath on her face.
Her fantasy crumbled.
The breath was foul. The palm of his hand was clammy. The touch just felt wrong.
She scooted to the other side of the bed and jumped to her feet, away from arms that suddenly tried to grab her but were not fast enough.
There, lurking in the darkness of the room, the pale and gaunt face was too real and terrible to have come out only out of her imagination.
Clayton Webb had come home.
