Cujo III – Reloaded – This Time It's Personal
Chapter 17
Here's the next. My apologies that it's a day late and many dollars short. RL is still trying to intrude upon my fantasies. Thank you all so very much for the comments on the last chapter. If you see your ideas folded into the tale, please feel free to remind me so that I can give credit to those who were kind enough to offer them.
Imaginary Beta gave it only a very quick once-over. She actually had a job to do today so I'll let her slide if she missed something. I hope you will as well.
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still no money. Fame and fortune still elusive.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
Backup
He knew the alarm had to have battery back-up. Even with the entire neighborhood in darkness, he wouldn't be lucky enough to just waltz in without having to deal with disabling the security system. He'd managed to do it at the coffee places. Kiki had provided the diagrams that allowed him to disable the chain's standard security systems. He smiled to himself at the irony. He'd actually had to learn a bit about electronics after all.
He shone the penlight on the piece of paper he'd propped up on the steering wheel. This one was different but she'd given him clear instructions on how to deactivate it. He'd studied it carefully. It was a bit more complicated but not impossible.
….
The little cat remained on guard duty even as his human began to snore softly beside him. He could feel that something wasn't right.
Uncurling from where he lay, he delicately tread across the bedding to stand on the pillow next to his human's face and began to lick the bristly cheek.
"Stoppit! Not now. Go to sleep dammit." was the mumble as one large hand pushed him gently away. He didn't understand the words but he understood that his human wanted him to leave.
Hmmph.
Once more then. He chirped and meowed and nudged as he tried to make his human understand.
Once more he was pushed away with a sleepy mumble.
I'll have to do this on my own, thought the cat as he jumped off the bed, Maybe I will get little fishes afterwards.
…..
Kiki said this would be the ultimate statement - killing the one named McGarrett, leader of the Governor's Special Task Force. She said there would have to be two more after that last one but he felt this would be all that's needed to finally convince everyone and he could put his statement out to the media. She'd have to make the decision though. Kiki had sole right to the story. After all the help she'd given him, she deserved it.
He'd already taken care of his affairs. Being imprisoned for the rest of his life was the price he'd have to pay for his campaign. Hawaii has no death penalty but even if it did, he didn't care. He had to let everyone know that they were on the wrong path. That technology wasn't the way to go. People were losing the ability to truly communicate with each other when they sat with their faces against a computer screen or stuffed their ears with devices that prevented them from hearing their fellow human beings. It was a tragedy.
The coffee places had been the ultimate example of people refusing to communicate. All those people in their electronic cocoons that prevented them from actually talking with one another. Their devices keeping them from experiencing the joy of holding and reading an actual book made of paper and ink.
That's what had killed Myra. If the store hadn't gone down the drain when people stopped buying books and just sat around and drank coffee and played with their computers . . .
At first, the killings had only been a sort of revenge. To make them pay for the death of his beloved bookstore and his beloved wife. He knew she'd have lived longer if the surgery hadn't been botched. He could have taken her to that clinic in Switzerland that he'd heard of but, without the money to do so, he had to rely on the doctors who told him the computer aided technique they planned on using was safe and effective. He didn't believe them. The computer made some kind of mistake . . . he was sure it did. It allowed his wife of twenty years to die. Technology was at fault; first by making people ignorant of the world of paper and ink and then by failing her on the operating table.
Maybe they'd listen now.
One last snip of a wire and it was safe to enter the kitchen. He carefully pried the bottom of the old fashioned double-hung window and it slipped almost soundlessly upward. Luckily there was nothing set on the sill. Myra used to keep all kinds of things on the window sills at home . . . plants and little figurines . . . he almost sighed aloud at the fond memories but catching himself, he focused back on his task. He hoped the sound of the storm would mask any slight noise he might make as he carefully climbed into the opening.
….
Something was wrong. He woke from a dead sleep knowing he wasn't alone in the darkness. It felt different than when just he and the cat were in the house. For one thing, the rain sounded louder than it should if all the windows were closed. The air was colder.
Sitting up to silently open the drawer in the bed stand, he took out his SIG and stood to go to the partly closed bedroom door. Listening there for a moment he heard nothing unusual. Creeping out to the hallway, he could hear the faintest of noises; like fabric brushing against skin when one walked.
Silently making his way down the stairs, he paused on the landing to listen. Whatever small sound had been made wasn't repeated.
Suddenly, with the familiar terrifying yowl, he heard Cujo scrambling after someone in the dark. There was the sound of running footsteps and then a feline screech and a thump against the dining room wall. He rushed toward its doorway. Just as he got there Cujo landed at his feet and skittered away into the living room. As he made the mistake of looking downward, he saw the faint flash of a blade and felt a burning across the back of his gun hand. The attacker got in what was likely a lucky swipe before Steve jumped back from it but lost his grip on the SIG when the masked man immediately followed up with a vicious kick to the same arm.
However frantic and unskilled the attack; the fury of it was surprising.
Rushing forward to grapple with his attacker, Steve wrenched the knife from his opponent's grip but in the darkness, with neither man having a firm grasp, it clattered to the floor. The intruder, who looked to be clad in black from head to toe, managed to twist away and back further into the dining room.
Steve followed and tackled him, both of them thudding onto the carpeted floor then rolling about knocking chairs and table aside in their struggle. Despite his extensive training in hand to hand combat, the guy was slippery as a weasel. It was like trying to wrestle Cujo into a cat carrier.
The intruder somehow regained his feet before Steve and picking up a chair, swung it ceilingward intending to bring it down on the head of his foe.
Still on the floor, Steve saw the opening and kicked out, catching the shadowy figure in the knee. He heard a gasp but the attacker didn't go down; he just grabbed at the corner of the huge china cabinet set diagonally against the walls of the dining room and with a loud grunt pulled at it with both hands. As if in slow motion, the massive piece of furniture toppled almost majestically forward; its glass-fronted doors swinging open and Doris McGarrett's Noritake service-for-twelve pouring out to dash to pieces below their feet.
Steve managed to scoot only far enough out of its way to keep most of himself from beneath it when it landed. As it slammed down onto his lower body, he felt something slide along the inside of his right thigh but there was no pain, just the heaviness of the cabinet.
The invader managed to back out of the way as the monolithic piece of furniture fell forward and with the next flash of lightning, he spied the discarded knife lying only inches away. He now realized he had the advantage. Picking it up he charged. With both hands he raised the blade above his head as McGarrett struggled to free himself from the thing that held him to the floor.
Suddenly, an unearthly screech split the air followed by the furry blur that landed on the back of the masked man's neck like a lion on an antelope; fangs seeking the spot that would allow the puncture of a spine, (if the fangs just weren't so short) as Cujo locked his jaws and hung on for all he was worth. With a scream of his own the intruder suddenly found himself engaged by a whole new enemy. He flailed wildly at the demented ball of teeth and claws clinging to the back of his neck.
The two combatants crashed about the dining room knocking over the few chairs still standing as framed pictures were knocked of the wall to crash to the floor to join the mess already there.
As the battle raged on and the crunching sound of broken glass and china joined screams, snarls and growls, Steve strained to free himself from under the heavy cabinet. The frighteningly effective feline was, so far, successful in keeping the enemy away from his original target but now he had to do his part and protect the little buzz-saw.
He felt his strength strangely deserting him as he struggled to free himself to go help his furry back-up.
…..
The McGarrett house was dark when he pulled into the driveway to park behind Steve's behemoth of a Silverado. If the idiot was already asleep, (as he should be considering his battered condition and the fact he looked about to fall over from exhaustion when they'd left H.Q.), he'd just have to get his ass up to answer the door. Serves him right for making me separate my keys, thought the tired detective.
Scurrying from the car to the wide front porch he rang the bell and waited. The intermittent squalls meant that what had started as a fine drizzle was now, once again, a proper downpour and the water rushed in a torrent off the edge of the porch overhang. He scowled out at the 'Hawaiian' weather as he waited only briefly before punching the doorbell button again.
"Come on! Get your lazy ass out of bed!" he muttered half aloud as with both hands he tried to brush the water from his ruined coif. Even though he knew no one but his sartorially challenged partner would see it, it was still another of the indignities of this night.
After four minutes that seemed more like forty he was officially worried. He expected his friend to show up at the door - maybe sleep tousled and cranky - but nonetheless he still expected him to answer the bell. He knew Cath wasn't in town to distract him and SuperSEAL was a light sleeper no matter how tired he was. It shouldn't be taking so long to get to the friggin' door.
Now pounding loudly on the heavy wood and shouting his friend's name, there was still no answer. This is unusual . . . and not in a good way. He unclipped the HK still on his hip and thumbed off the safety then blinking the rain out of his eyes quietly advanced along the side of the house toward the rear of the property.
Surely, Steve couldn't be outside at this hour? Even weird as he is, he still has enough sense to come in out of the rain.
Passing the uncurtained dining room window, he looked in. There was very little light but he could make out something large lying on the floor. It looked like a piece of furniture. Just then, a bolt of lightning lit up the scene like a strobe. In the quick flash of blue-white light he saw the debris on the floor and Steve lying in the middle of it.
"Shit! Shit!" he exclaimed then turned to sprint the rest of the way on the rain slicked cobblestones that made up the walkway alongside the house, nearly taking a header into the mud at the corner. When he reached the door, it was locked. Taking a step back, he gave it one hard kick and the French doors splintered inward, wood and glass shattering as the lock gave way.
He'd expected to hear the alarm go off but there was only silence and the rumbling of the storm over the ocean as he rushed through the kitchen and into the darkened dining room.
As he entered the room another flash revealed Steve lying partly under the massive china cabinet the detective knew usually stood in the corner. McGarrett was halfway propped against the wall, legs caught beneath the furniture's heavy bulk.
Rushing forward and keeping hold of his gun, his free hand reached to feel for a pulse on his partner's throat. The carpet beneath them felt disturbingly wet as he'd kneeled on it. Touching cool and clammy skin, at first he couldn't feel the reassuring throb and his own heart nearly stopped. After adjusting his touch, he felt a fast but irregular beating beneath his fingertips.
In the darkness, he barely made out the destruction that surrounded them. Though worried about his unconscious friend, he had to make sure the house was clear before he could tend to Steve. As quickly as he could, he cleared every room on both floors. Other than the open kitchen window that had most likely provided entrance for an intruder and a window broken-out on the other side of the living room that probably provided exit he found nothing.
Going to the wall switch in the dining room, he clicked it on but no light was forthcoming. He re-holstered his gun and pulled his cell out of his pocket. Tapping the screen to access the 'light' function he quickly shone it on the downed man who'd not yet made a sound. McGarrett's eyes were closed and his skin was almost glowingly white in the darkness and there was a too rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"Steve! Steven! Wake up!" he implored as he gently patted his partner's face and then became more energetic about it when there was no response. Steve stubbornly remained unconscious.
Danny nauseatingly realized the carpet below Steve was soaked in blood. Using the cell's light, he passed it over his partner's body to search for the source. There was a relatively minor gash on the back of his right hand and forearm but it wasn't bleeding that much. Danny hoped it wasn't because there was nearly no blood left.
Quickly dialing 911, he requested an ambulance and a squad. He knew at least one would usually roll along with it, particularly when they realized who lived at the address he gave but this was a crime scene involving a cop. This would soon be a very busy place. One more call and an obviously sleepy Chin answered.
"Chin, get to Steve's place. A bus is on the way!" that was all the information he took time to give as he stood, glass crunching beneath his feet.
The blood had to be coming from the part of Steve that was still pinned beneath the monstrosity of a cabinet. He first ran to the kitchen to gather clean towels. When he lifted off the cabinet he'd most likely find a seriously bleeding wound; he'd need the linens to help staunch the flow.
Returning in a quick moment, he set down the dishtowels on Steve's chest and bent to grip the edge of the cabinet. It felt really heavy. With a loud grunt he lifted it upward, hoping he had enough strength to pivot the gigantic piece of furniture away from his injured friend. Steve cried out in pained sounding surprise as the weight was lifted off.
With a couple more grunts, and a straining of muscles, Danny pushed and shoved the overturned cabinet until he could set it down somewhere other than on top of his partner.
With a crack of thunder that seemed directly overhead, another flash lit up the room and he saw the right side of Steve's sleep pants soaked in blood as well as the floor beneath him.
"Oh God!" he muttered as he once more knelt on the sopping carpet and pulled his cell phone out. He shone the light on what appeared to be a large gash on one thigh halfway between knee and hip. Setting the phone down beside him, he leaned forward and used both hands to rip the fabric for a better look at the injury. The cell escaped his now slippery grasp when he tried to pick it up again and skittered away into the darkness as he cursed loudly.
There was an answering groan.
"Hang in there babe! Help's coming!" he said as he stood to look for where the phone had landed. He found it a couple feet away and knelt back down in the broken dishware and blood. He set it on the edge of the cabinet; angling its light to shine where he needed it and, using both hands, quickly pressed a towel onto the heavily bleeding wound; clamping down tightly with both hands as Steve groaned again and began to wake.
"What the hell did you do this time, huh? What happened?" he implored the groaning man.
"Dann . . .ny?"
"Who else you moron." bit out the detective, his worry making him sound angry as the blood very quickly soaked through the towel.
"Cujo?" Steve croaked out weakly blinking as he tried to focus on his surroundings.
Not knowing if Steve was looking for the cat or if it was part of an explanation as to what happened Danny asked, "What about Cujo? I don't think even the buzz-saw could cause this much damage." he said as he pressed down even more firmly to staunch the pulsing flow. There obviously had to be damage to an artery to cause such bleeding.
"Where's . . . " the injured man's eyes began to drift closed.
"Hey! No, no! No falling asleep!" Danny yelled, briefly taking one hand off the towel to briskly pat the side of Steve's face, leaving a bloody handprint on the pale skin.
"Uhh . . . stoppit . . . stop hittin' me . . . " Steve mumbled weakly and tried to move away from the hand that seemed to be slapping him more than just lightly.
"I'll stop it if you stay awake. No sleeping!" responded the blonde as he saw eyes blink dazedly back at him.
"Cujo's . . . " was the soft mumble . . . Cujo's . . . "
"Cujo's what? Hey! I said stay awake!"
"Okay, 'm wake, 'm wake . . . " said Steve none too convincingly, his battle to remain conscious seeming to be a losing one.
"Dammit! Where's the EMT's?" Danny muttered, becoming more worried about his partner if even possible.
"What about Cujo Steven? What about the wolverine?"
" . . . went after the guy who . . . "
"What guy?" demanded Danny, hoping his tone of voice would keep Steve focused.
"Uh . . . a guy . . . "
"Who was it babe? Tell me who attacked you. Can you describe him?"
"Dunno . . . he was umm masked . . . and Cujo . . . chased . . . " Steve's lids began to close once more
"Hey! Dammit! I told you no sleeping! Did Cujo go after the bad guy?"
"Uhh . . . what?"
"Did Cujo chase the bad guy?" Danny repeated even more loudly, clamping down even tighter on the still bleeding wound - this time with no response to the pain it caused.
Steve had slipped back into unconsciousness.
…
It was dark and wet but it didn't matter.
This strange man had tried to hurt his human. NO ONE hurts what is his!
He tracked the diluted scent across the wet ground as the rain soaked his fur, making it flatten against his small body. It didn't matter. Water didn't bother him. Even when it fell from the sky and didn't smell like flowers.
The little cat was on a mission.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
Not even attempting to establish an ETA for the next chapter. Already screwed up with this one.
Reviews would be very much appreciated. They certainly helped spur me on when I felt like giving up on this one.