Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, and the favoriting and alerting. Also to autumngold and Yeti, sorry I couldn't send a proper reply. And thanks to afrozenheart412 for discussion and pampering of my confidence, and lily moonlight for the 'slight nudge' ;).
Wow, over 100 reviews, I'm so happy!! :) You guys are wonderful; I couldn't do this without you! I hope you'll all continue to enjoy this story.
Black Moon Rising - Purgatory
"Oh, this is great!" Flack says sarcastically when he realizes what the sound he's just begun to hear means.
Angell looks out the window, chuckling, "Yeah, but didn't you come prepared? I mean, what do you expect in November?"
"Just plain fog. But fog and rain, that's mean. Can't see where you're going but you still gotta run. Besides, you look elegant when you run." He thinks it might not exactly be foggy enough for him. "I just look …"
"Cute," she finishes for him, "like a daddy longlegs. Come on, catch me if you can. I won't look … back." With that she hops out of the car he has just pulled up at their destination, and into the rain. Her umbrella unfolds immediately. She walks around the car and faces him with a broad grin. "Come on out, if we huddle up it's big enough for us both."
-o-
He feels frozen by the look in her eyes. Her eyes, open. Reflecting him, but not seeing him. Almost hesitantly he touches her. Heat rising from her skin burns a spasm of relief through him. He feels her pulse, like a bass drum. For a moment it's all that he needs. Seeing and feeling no injuries he carefully pulls her into his arms. A moan escapes from her lips, but she doesn't wake, she doesn't close her eyes.
Holding her he waits for the paramedics to arrive. The touch of her skin burns into him, ignites his thoughts. Hot, she's too hot. What is going on? What is happening? Was that dream she had about the fire really caused by her memories? Like a stream of lava things seem to be drifting away from him, out of control. First the strike of lightning, traveling a distance of five miles, passing higher places, as if it had been specifically aimed at his team. And now …? He holds her, holds on to her.
Quietly, unmoving. The sounds of the lab are only echoes. Resounding again and again in his ears are her footsteps as she walks away, passing through his door. Cool glass, reflecting like her burning eyes. Her breath like the swathes of fog drifting by outside.
-o-
"Yes!"
Adam almost stumbles back at the outburst tearing him from his thoughts. He looks at Kendall, asks a little hesitantly, "'Yes' as in you got an idea how to haunt the lab or 'yes' as in you got something?"
"Yes, you got something." she comes around the desk, "Didn't you hear your computer."
Together they look at the screen. A match indeed. But the bubble shimmering with hope bursts quickly, as bubbles do. The fingerprint Adam got off the chair leg is only a match to one Danny had lifted off one of the doors in the alley.
"Well, at least we have a connection." Kendall pats Adam on the back.
"Yeah. If they find any relating trace inside that's a good step ahead. I think." He turns back to the chair leg, but is distracted again by a commotion outside. He lifts his head. "What's going on?"
Kendall is already at the door. Now she looks back at him, disturbed. Immediately he joins her. He swallows, seeing Stella motionless on a stretcher, Mac's eyes locked on to her. Stella conceding to be carried out of the lab, Mac looking like that, he swallows, something must be very wrong. Kendall's eyes glide over him. If she didn't know already she would see in this moment how much Stella means to him.
"I guess," she says slowly, unsure if she's choosing the right words, "I guess we'll postpone that dinner." And the haunting.
"Yeah." He swallows. He's not going to have that dinner without Stella. "Yeah." He nods.
The elevator doors close and they turn back to their workstation. For the moment it's the best they can do.
-o-
Looking after them as Stella is lifted into the ambulance Danny suddenly finds himself with his back against the wall. Slowly he rolls around and comes face to face with Lindsay.
"Hey, what's going on here?" he points over his shoulder and through the main entrance.
Lindsay shrugs, following the ambulance with her eyes as it drives off. "I don't know. I just know that Mac found her unconscious, and she's still not responding. I heard that her pulse is very fast and that she feels hot, feverish …" She shrugs again, her hands shoved into her pockets for hold.
Danny looks at her, runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it to add a couple of extra spikes. What's happening here? He has seen her like this before. His hand travels down to the back of his neck, kneading some tight muscles. But he still doesn't know what to say, or how.
"Give me a little time?" he asks.
She understands what he's referring to and nods quietly. "We better get to work."
She guesses two minds and pairs of hands will be missing for a while.
-o-
Mac avoids the waiting room. One would think that people'd finally come up with a way to make it more comfortable. Pictures that look like the person who painted them had been half asleep. Photos taken with a soft-focus lens only give him the feeling that he's losing focus. He has to admit that it's not their fault. There's probably nothing that could comfort him now, nothing but knowing that Stella will be alright.
The corridor at least brings him distraction. He looks up and down, follows nurses and doctors with his eyes, patients and visitors. He sees a woman sitting down alongside a wall. He wonders why she's here. For some reason he can't help looking at her. She sits straight, hands on her lap, a dark red coat lying neatly folded over her right arm. There's not a crease or stain visible on her conservative looking clothing. Not one of her straight brown hairs dares spring up. She looks straight ahead. Her face tanned, the color looks natural but still like leather stretched taut over prominent cheek bones. Tense, her face looks like a mask. Mac wonders what she's waiting for.
"Mac." A friendly voice draws him from his thoughts.
Mac turns around. "Hawkes. What are you doing here?"
"Remember I said something seemed odd about our second victim's DNA? Well, I thought I'd run a few tests and comparisons, and it turns out she had Rett's syndrome. Now the traces of medication we found make some sense, and I thought she might have been a patient here, so came to see if anybody remembers her." Hawkes pauses and gives Mac a steady look. "Any word on Stella?"
Mac shakes his head. "Not yet." He falls silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Sid said the fourth victim had a serious infection. What if Stella …"
"I'll get his results, and Stella's. It's highly unlikely though that she got infected that way." Hawkes attempts to comfort Mac.
"Keep me posted. And … can you take over the case? With all that's going on … it just doesn't feel right to leave her here alone."
"Of course."
-o-
The rain has settled in, providing the perfect background for a waiting game. Monotonous dripping accompanies the staring at walls and screens and printouts. Lulling some into a semi-trance.
With a frustrated sigh Flack shakes water off his shoes. He has remembered to bring an umbrella, but that's no help when lost in thoughts he's stepped into a puddle. Two days, and there has been no change in Stella's condition. The doctors haven't even been able yet to find out what is wrong with her. A virus, that's what they always say when really they have no idea.
He's glad he's got something to do, and somewhere to go, and Angell coming along. He doesn't really want to know how Mac is feeling. He holds the door open for Angell, is only half aware of her smile. They greet the owner of the place.
"Mr. Anderson, you wouldn't happen to be running low on chairs lately?" Angell asks.
The slightly overweight man chuckles. "Look around. You think I count them every day?"
"Well, guess you should." Flack says, "We found traces that prove that one of your chairs was used in a crime."
Now the man snorts. "I'd hardly call staking a vampire a crime!"
Flack glares at him, "Not funny!"
"Alright, alright," the man holds his hands up defensively, "don't take it personally."
Angell raises an eyebrow at him. "Just tell us where you were Friday night."
"Seriously? I own this place, what do you guys think where I'd be on a Friday night when there's the most business?"
"Since you care so much about your business I'm sure you got surveillance cameras that can prove that …" Flack points out.
"… and also tell us who might have walked off with one of your chairs." Angell continues.
"Whatever." the man waves a hand in the air, "Have fun watching."
-o-
Kendall finds Hawkes in a corridor. "Hey, I found out those ashes that were left in the alley are really human. DNA was mostly destroyed beyond identification, but I did find that there must have been multiple donors. So I thought maybe a cemetery was vandalized, or a crematory broken into."
"Good. Check if there have been any such incidents reported. And add hospitals to the list. Amputated limbs are a biohazard and have to be disposed of …"
"Aren't they usually sold as hotdogs?" Kendall asks, her eyes flickering sideways.
He stares at her. Then he sees an apology in her eyes. He glances in the same direction she just had and sees Daniel, with a hotdog in his hand. The lab tech appears to be turning a slight tinge of green. Hawkes has to admit that he feels a hint of satisfaction. He faces Kendall again.
"There are various possibilities to dispose of them." he says vaguely.
-o-
Mac stretches his legs, ambling up and down the corridor. Passing the time that the doctors and nurses spend on Stella. Retreading his steps from the day before, and the day before that. Thirty-one steps to the left from the door of Stella's room, twenty-three to the right. Seeing the same woman sitting in the same chair, with the same expression. He begins to wonder if her face really is a mask. Maybe that is why she's here. He has lost count of how many times he has passed her. She doesn't seem to see him.
"Di gemme la sua fronte era lucente," she says suddenly.
He turns and looks at her. "Excuse me?"
"E la notte de' passi con che sale fatti avea due nel loco ov'eravamo e 'l terzo già chinava in giuso l'ale;" she continues, her eyes lifted towards him.
"I don't understand." he tells her.
She doesn't seem to hear him. "Nell'ora che comincia i tristi lai la rondinella presso alla mattina, forse a memoria de' suo' primi guai,"
He's mesmerized by her eyes. Dark brown, glowing cold. There's something in them. Something haunted, haunting. It doesn't look like the effect of drugs. More like she's possessed. Fear, a memory, something has taken a hold of her mind.
"E che la mente nostra, peregrina più dalla carne e men da' pensier presa, alle sue vision quasi è divina ..." she's standing now, her eyes ablaze, "terribil come folgor discendesse e me rapisse suso infino al foco. Ivi parea che ella e io ardesse; e sì lo 'ncendio imaginato cosse che convenne che 'l sonno si rompesse."
He doesn't know how to stop her, or if he should. He tries to understand what she's saying but he only catches single words. Words that tumble from her, but still obedient to a rhythm.
"Mi fuggì 'l sonno, e diventa' ismorto come fa l'uom che spaventato agghiaccia." She closes her eyes, breaking the spell.
Mac suppresses a shiver. Not looking left or right she walks down the corridor. He's not sure she's been aware of his presence at all.
"Who was that?"
Mac turns around to face the owner of the voice, Sid. He shrugs, "I have no idea."
"Weird." the ME says.
Mac sees the bag slung over Sid's shoulder. "What are you carrying around?"
"Coffee, and sandwiches. My wife made them. I know what hospital food is like. And you should know what Stella will say when she sees that you haven't been taking care of yourself. Bad enough that you don't sleep." His words are accompanied by a mild frown. "I can stick around for a while, if you want to take a walk outside …"
"Isn't it still raining?"
"It is, but some people say those are the best walks. Oh, I brought a towel too, just in case." Sid smiles.
-o-
Mac looks at the raindrops on the window, glowing like jewels in the streetlights. He wipes pearls of sweat from Stella's forehead. She's still caught in the dark, dreams, nightmares, visions … he doesn't know.
She's in the grip of some rotten disease and there's nothing he can do. It is not her strength that is moving her body. Spasms keep running through her and she's alone in this fight. He can't help her.
He rests his elbows on the bed and his head in his hands. What would she do if she were in his place?
No, he tells himself, she's not alone in this. He is here. He remembers that touch is often an important element in healing. It is important for letting people know that you are there. It is important to her.
Carefully, without disturbing the IV-line, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her a little closer. He leans his head on her shoulder. It makes him feel better. He closes his eyes.
He sees a swirl of feathers descending, like a bird of prey in flames. He gasps as they seem to be burning. Churning around and around, golden light everywhere, like a million stars spinning. Her eyes. Stella. He tries to hold on to her. What's happening? He thinks that she's looking at him, from the sky, the stars her eyes. Raindrops on the window.
He jerks awake, suddenly shivering, something cold brushing past him. The room is quiet. She lies still.
Still a bit of a cliff, I don't seem to be able to help it …
And I'll let you know next time what it was the woman said.
Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you can spare a moment more to let me know what you think. All comments are always welcome and appreciated, and replied to if logged.