THUDS AND MOANS

A thud and a moan, and Daisy woke up, sitting up and panting as cold sweat rolled along her spine, her eyes opened wide in the darkness of the room as her hand reached her neck where she still felt detective Molise's pressure.

A moaning near the bed, "Ouch," and she realized Enos wasn't sleeping any more by her side.

"Enos?" her hoarse voice pierced the darkness.

"Ding dang, Dais! You've kicked me off the bed," his figure popped up beside the bed as he slowly stood up after the fall, reaching the bed and crouching up on his left side, looking at her, "it seems you have some problems with my sleeping. Are you trying to find the most dramatic way to wake me up?" a sweet irony in his voice to hide his pain.

Daisy stared at him, her eyes getting used to the darkness, "Uh?…" and her mind slowly surfacing from her shock, "Oh gosh, Enos, I'm SO sorry. I didn't want to wake you up. I didn't want to wake you up THIS way! Are you OK, sugar? Are you hurt?" her careful voice losing the previous hoarseness as she tried to understand if he was OK.

"I'm OK, don't worry," he buried his face against the pillow to hide his wincing in pain, "You didn't hurt me," loving attempt to ease her worrisome and sense of guilty.

"I can't believe I really kicked you off the bed. I'm so… embarrassed, and… sorry. I was having a nightmare, and I've probably…" she gently shivered recalling that vivid and terrific dream.

"I've been kicked off the bed by beautiful legs, at least," he turned his face to her, smiling despite his evident pain.

"Oh Enos," she answered his smile, "where did I hit you?" Her eyes explored his body and noticed his hands pressed between his legs, "let me see where…" and her right hand reached his wrists.

"NO!", he rolled on his right side, his hands still between his legs, "Daisy, please, I'm OK!"

Daisy realized why he was so embarrassed, "Did I kick you… there?" his discomfort moved from him to her and her blushing reflected his one.

"There… and not just there, but I'm OK, don't worry. The pain is goin' better," he rolled again on his left side, looking up at her, "A nightmare? What kind of nightmare?" and trying to change the subject and to drive her attention away from… there, since her eyes were still on his hands.

The nightmare: his question pushed Daisy to those vivid and violent images, to those thuds and moans, and she still felt cold sweat along her spine.

Officers arriving on the scene found him unconscious. It was apparent Strate had been hit more than once with some blunt object... He underwent more than six hours of surgery to treat internal injuries… The officer is in severe pain… "I saw the marks on his body; trust me, I can distinguish marks of baseball bats from marks of cops' batons."

She thought Enos was finally safe and sound in Hazzard, L.A. far away, but she was wrong: it could happen again.

The cold sweat on her spine faded because of a sudden sense of heat, then something exploded in her mind and the room around her started swinging.

"I heard him shouting – stop, please – and when I went to his room, he was deadly pale, drenched in cold sweat and he simply told me he had a nightmare": Miss Marple's words resounded in Daisy's mind. What kind of nightmares was Enos having? What kind of nightmare did he live, for real? She started to shiver, unable to stop.

"Hey, Daisy, was it so terrific?" he sat up, worried for that unexpected and strong reaction to his words, "I'm sorry," he gently hugged her, "Everything's OK. Just a nightmare," and his hand slowly moved along her spine, up and down, caressing her back, "everything's OK. And if you feel the need to kick someone, kick me how much you need it."

"I don't want to kick you, Enos. I don't want anybody kicks or hurts you!" she buried her face against his shoulder and she wrapped her arms around his chest, her hands grasping his t-shirt, "I don't want it happens again. I don't want someone hits you."

"What are you talking 'bout?" he stiffened, realizing what she was talking about and so his question's uselessness.

She parted from their hug, looking into his eyes, "About your beating. I can't forget it, I keep on thinking of it. I can't help but thinking 'bout it, again and again. And every time I think of it, or I dream of it, details are goin' worse and worse."

"Do you think that if you knew everything 'bout it, it'd help you to feel better, so stopping your wondering and your imaging it?"

His question made her shiver. Did she want to know? She took a deep breath and she answered him, "Yeah. I want you talk to me about it. I want to know in order to stop this continuous wondering and imaging, you're right. I want you talk to me about it also 'cause I know you need it. You were goin' to talk to me about it before the blast, last evening, weren't you?"

He laid down, sighing, "Yeah, but actually I…"

"Tell me everything," crouching by his left side, she rested her head on his left shoulder, she put her left leg astride his lap and she wrapped her arms around his waist, "you're going to feel better, and also I. When you stayed in L.A., your letters started to become shorter and shorter since April, since when you saw your fellow officers beating that man, Mellow. Am I right?"

"I was in my patrol car, sometime after 12:30 a.m. when the call went out about a white teenager reported with a gun," Enos' soft voice filled the darkness of the room, his words like a report, probably his way to place a protective wall between him and those memories, "When I arrived there, several guys were already in patrol cars, and I followed a guy who was running in a alley, I stopped him and arrested him. But when I came back to the other patrol cars," he shivered, and Daisy clasped him in her arms, "I saw three officers beating a guy. I tried to… stop them, I REALLY tried, helping that guy," he shivered again despite Daisy's tight hug, "but they were like… beasts. They said the guy had a gun but… I didn't see any gun, no gun was found. I… don't understand that violence, it was unprovoked, gun or not gun. Do you understand?"

Daisy nodded, unable to talk, recalling his words: If you committed a crime, I would arrest you, 'cause it's my job. It'd kill me, it'd be ravaging, BUT I'd do it. There's no way I'd betray my badge, and if I'd think I can't be loyal to my badge any more, well, I should undress my uniform." She finally found back her voice, "So, you reported your colleagues, 'cause it's your job, your duty. You can't betray your badge."

"Yeah… My job is everything to me, Dais. I take seriously my oath, and there's no way I could betray this oath, not reporting a crime or letting go a culprit, whatever is the crime and whoever is the culprit. No matter what, I do what my duty demands, though it costs me a lot. I'm a respectable man thanks to my job. So, I couldn't pretend I didn't see anything strange," he rubbed his face with his right hand, "it cost me a lot, yeah, it was ravaging; honestly, I went to the bathroom I don't know how many times and threw up before to write that report," his voice cracked as he remembered the silent room and the white sheet in the typewriter, "but it was my duty. I couldn't write a fake report, no way."

"You wrote everything in your report, and when that guy blamed LAPD of police brutality you testified against your fellow officers. You did your duty, Enos. You're an honest cop. Oh Enos," she buried her face against his shoulder, "I can understand how much it cost you, especially after the acquittal of those officers thanks of other officers testifying in favor of them, officers not honest as you."

He had a deep sigh, "It seems Mrs. Burns told you everything. Yeah, it was ravaging, not just because of the trial, but also 'cause…," he gently moved in discomfort, "… you know… in the squad room my colleagues switched desks to sit farther from me, many stopped making eye contact with me, nobody wanted to work with me, so I stayed all day long at my desk, nobody to talk to. I found the word rat scrawled on my locker, and I think someone was responsible for puncturing one of my tires while my car was parked at work. It was… disheartening, more than disheartening."

She didn't know what to say, there was nothing to say.

"And now I suppose you want to know about the riots."

Daisy froze; her face still buried against his shoulder, she nodded.

"I don't want to talk about it. It happened. I was… kidnapped: a stone hit my helmet, I fell down, they reached me and they dragged me away from the crowd. They put something on my face, I think a handkerchief soaked of chloroform, and I fainted. When I woke up, my arms were tied above my head and I was hanging from the ceiling, blindfolded. They… beat me. Stop. It happened, but don't ask me anything more, please…," his voice a painful whisper, "… please," in his mind those cold eyes staring at him and waiting for his answers as he was lying on that Hospital's bed.

Three hours, three hours of severe beating, Daisy knew it pretty well thanks to "The Los Angeles Time" and thanks to Catherine Burns. And she knew also how they beat him (batons) and who "they" were (his fellow officers). Like the day she talked to Catherine Burns at the Ice Cream Parlor, she hoped from the bottom of her heart he fainted as soon as the beating started, she hoped he didn't remember very much about that day, but she knew he remembered it too much.

"Ok, I don't want to force you talk about the beating. It's enough. And honestly, I also don't want to hear more about it," her left hand clasped his t-shirt on his belly, trying to erase from her mind those thuds and moans, "just talk to me about your staying in Hospital. Please, tell me doctors and nurses were kind to you, tell me someone took care of you. I wasn't there with you, so, please, tell me someone took care of you," she tried to control her voice in order to not show him her anxiety.

"Doctors and nurses took care of me, they were really kind. And Turk and Chief Broggi, from time to time, visited me. You remember Turk Adams, don't you?"

"Oh yeah, Turk, great guy. I'm glad you weren't alone. But… did Turk…"

He prevented her question, "I wasn't his partner, and Chief Broggi wasn't my Chief. LAPD's different divisions. But when they knew what happened, they came to visit me."

"Enos, you should have called me. If I had known what's happening, I'd have come for sure, and uncle Jesse too. We'd have reached you whereas Bo and Luke took care of our farm."

"And it's why I didn't call you. 'Cause I knew you'd have come to L.A., and I didn't want you had troubles because of it. Mr. Hogg would have fired you, and your farm needs both uncle Jesse and your job. And… moreover… I didn't want you and uncle Jesse saw me that way," he stiffened because of his admitting both his pride and how serious his condition was.

Daisy knew both his pride and his injuries' seriousness, "You should have called me, Enos," she repeated, realizing it was pointless to talk about what he should have done or not; they couldn't change what happened. Her left hand caressed gently his belly and chest, up and down, the same way he caressed his back few minutes before, as if her hand could erase from his body the signs of those days in Hospital.

He had a deep breath and she felt his muscles relaxing under her touch.

But there was still the most important thing to talk about: "And what 'bout detective Molise and Colt? Mrs. Burns told me about an ongoing investigation, and, today, when she saw those detectives, she recalled she already met them at the Hospital because of that investigation. Did they find the culprits of your beating?"

Enos held his breath and his muscles tensed whereas Daisy froze, her hand, now motionless, still on his belly. Have her questions been too direct? She bit her lower lip regretting her being so impulsive.

"No," a whisper after a long silence, "No. May I sleep, now, Dais? I'm tired."

"Sorry, Enos. I'm so sorry," she tried to recover the previous relaxing atmosphere, "I understand that seeing those detectives have shocked you 'cause they remind you of your time in Hospital. I won't talk of them any more."

"Yeah, when I knew they were coming to Hazzard because of the bomber I was shocked, you're right," he turned his face to her, and his chin touched her head, "I'm not so happy to meet them again, they remind me… of things I want to forget. And now, please, I want to sleep," she gently moved, trying to part from her hug, "I'm goin' to sleep on the couch."

"No, please, stay here," she blocked him, tightening her hold, her left leg still across him and her arms around his waist, "please, I'm goin' to sleep on the couch if you think this bed is too small, but I won't let YOU sleep on the couch."

"OK, OK," he sighed, unable to fight with her, "I'm too tired to quarrel about who's goin' to sleep on the couch. I just want to sleep, it doesn't matter where."

"May I sleep by your side?" she held her breath waiting for his answer, though she knew he wasn't going to reject her. He was too kind to ask her to sleep on the couch, and he was too tired to fight against her grasp and willing.

And he probably enjoyed having her by his side. He kissed her forehead, "OK, sweet dreams. I really hope you're goin' to have sweet dreams, Dais, 'cause I don't want to be kicked off the bed again," he had a brief laugh, "good night."

She smiled at his joking, despite the disappointment because of his way to avoid any talk about those detectives.

In the darkness of the room she waited for his breath becoming regular, then she fell asleep.