okee, here's ch 2! once an idea for a 3rd comes to mind i shall post! soo...you might have to wait. lol! huggles ppl --nikki
A small exhalation was the only sound that pierced the quiet room Sara had entered.
It, too, was blinding, with not even dark corners to hide in.
It was completely and brilliantly lit, to ensure the patient could be seen at all times.
But if that was the case, could it mean that they never turned the lights off?
Sleeping in the light.
That would be terrible.
And Sara was sure that wasn't possible.
Unless….unless Michael had tried to hurt himself.
No….she couldn't think about things like that.
Slowly, carefully, she approached the table that the once confident fugitive sat at. His eyes had lifted once her way as she had walked in, but now, they were focused downward, at his work.
Coming ever closer, she realized what he was distracting him.
Michael bent over the table top, fiddling with a piece of paper.
Rustling filled the room, along with his soft and steady breathing.
Paper cranes covered the desk.
Sara didn't understand their significance exactly, but she knew if he was so meticulous about them, they probably had some connection with Lincoln.
Perhaps Linc had made those for him in the past?
She wanted to ask him.
But that wouldn't go well….at all.
Besides that, upon looking closer at the paper in Michael's hands , she noticed that he wasn't making a crane at all.
A leaf protruded from his fingers, followed by red petals.
It was a flower, identical to the one he'd made her so long ago.
Sara's breath caught, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes.
This was a sign that Michael had registered who she was, that he remembered her. He'd known exactly who she was when she walked through his door.
A warmth filled her chest.
It was possible that Michael was not as far gone as everyone thought.
And she was here to prove it.
The rose complete, the quiet artist raised his head to look up at her, pushing the flower across the table. However, he offered no words, no smile, nothing to show any attempt at communication with her.
Just a small gift, to let her know he hadn't forgotten her.
Sara sat in a chair across from him and twirled the smooth paper between her fingers. Michael's eyes had left her, and were again downcast.
He began to reach for another sheet, preparing to make more origami….
"Michael."
His hand froze in the air.
And a small sound emitted from his throat.
It seemed to be a cough at first, as if he had choked on air.
But the tone was light, and small.
Like a whimper.
Michael had whined at the sound of his name.
She suddenly wanted to jump across the table and throw her arms around him.
She wanted to grasp at the back of his shirt and sob into his chest.
She wanted to cry for him, so he wouldn't have to.
But Sara refrained. She was not here to break down in front of a mental patient. Especially not this one.
She had to be as strong as her female emotions would allow.
She had to steel herself against a complete weep-fest.
Almost afraid to speak again, for fear of pushing him too far, Sara sat back in her chair, and was quiet for a few moments.
She watched him, and assessed her next move.
Michael was bent over as before, but this time he was not folding paper.
He wasn't doing anything.
His hands were balled into fists and were braced on the top of the desk, within reach of her own.
His head was so far down his forehead was nearly touching the metal.
A metal table….maybe they were scared he would splinter himself to death if they gave him wooden furniture?
She wanted so badly to get him out of this place.
She had to make a connection.
Something, anything, a verbal reaction to show he wasn't insane.
But deep in the most denied parts of her mind, she reminded herself that he was here or a reason.
He was diagnosed as insane.
So could it really be true?
There was only one way to find out.
Her hand moved forward.
The lightest brush of skin followed as fingers met his knuckles.
And she received a reaction she hadn't expected.
Faster than she could comprehend, paper cranes flew into the air around her.
The table toppled over as Michael reared back, nearly stumbling as he jumped from his chair. He seemed so desperate to get away….
From her…
"Michael! Michael, calm down."
For just a moment Sara was afraid. Not that he would hurt her, but that he was frightened of her.
Like a child fearing the dark, the man she had admitted to loving more than half a year ago backed away quickly, meeting the edge of his bed and falling back onto it. He pushed himself against the wall and stared at her as if SHE had been the one who'd died, and had returned now as a ghost to haunt him.
"Michael? Please, Michael…it's just me. You know who I am, I know you do. Say it….say my name…"
She whispered a prayer to a God she had once lost faith in as she waited.
If he could say it, it would be the first word spoken from his mouth in seven months. It would be a breakthrough that could lead to amazing progress…and maybe, someday….
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
A moment later, Donna emerged briskly into the room, rushing to Michael's bedside to check on him.
He turned away from the nurse, and from Sara, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep sitting up.
Sara feared she'd angered the staff member. If so…they could keep her from visiting him.
But relief washed over her as that kind smile met Sara's eyes.
Donna motioned to the open doorway.
"He was just startled, Miss Tancredi. You're his first visitor. I'm sure the more you come the better he'll get."
The more she comes….exactly the words she wanted to hear.
A sad smile splayed on her face as she looked back at the huddled form on the bed, and walked slowly out of the room.
The lights dimmed around Michael the moment the door clacked shut.
A paper rose gripped tightly in his shaking hand, he choked on his own words as he uttered them for the first time in months…
"Come back, Sara…."