Michaela stretched her neck from side to side slowly, Colleen handing her a towel to clean her hands, Jake and Dorothy remaining expectantly at the head of the examination table.
"He gonna wake up?" Jake set the chloroform and cloth on the desk to his right, taking in the paleness of Hank's skin, and the blankness of Michaela's expression.
"I, don't know," she muttered bluntly in reply, her voice was breathy as she turned to Colleen.
"Will you go and ask Matthew to come and help Jake move Hank upstairs," Colleen nodded automatically, making her way towards to door, before turning back with a single concern.
"Ma, what do I say? Is he gonna die?" The young girl's face melted into a frown, her hands gesturing to the crowd of people on the other side of the door.
"Don't say anything, Colleen. We'll know by morning," Michaela shook her head, her eyes dropping closed for several moments, about ready to fall asleep standing up. She didn't open them again until she heard the wooden door close, Colleen on the other side of it.
"Michaela, you ain't stayin' up with him all night?" Dorothy took several steps towards her friend, a hand tenderly brushing Michaela's arm as she heard the soft sound of her own voice, filling the otherwise silent room.
"I'm afraid I don't have a choice. If he starts bleeding or has further breathing difficulties I may need to operate again," Michaela ran a hand down the side of her face, utter exhaustion quickly replacing itself with the mild comfort; if she was to endure yet another sleepless night, she'd at least have a new problem to focus on.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Brian's asleep," Colleen poked her head around the door of the upstairs recovery room, seeing Michaela taking her seat in the padded rocking chair to the left side of the bed, furthest from the doorway.
"Thank-you." She looked up with a soft smile of appreciation, Colleen entering the room curious as to Hank's progress.
"Dr Mike, how, I mean, is there anything I can do?" The young girl kept her voice low, Michaela supported her chin in her right hand, her arm rested on the arm of the rocking chair.
"No. You best get some sleep, you've got school in a few hours. What time is it?" Michaela frowned, trying to calculate.
"Was almost three just after Brian got to sleep. He ain't gonna wanna go to school tomorrow," Colleen rolled her eyes, predicting her brother's opposition immediately.
"Well, there's no point discussing it now, depends on whether he," Michaela gestured to the unconscious man lying in the bed several feet from her, momentarily scolding herself for even vocalizing that he might not make it.
"Ma? Could Hank really die?" Colleen read Michaela's solemn expression, realizing that the prospect was now a distinct possibility.
"Yes. I don't think he will, but there are no guarantees," The pair continued to watch Hank in silence for several moments, his chest rising and falling with each effortful breath.
"Night, Dr Mike," Colleen sighed, lowering her head as she moved quietly into the hallway, Michaela hearing her gentle footsteps as the girl descended the wooden stairs.
Michaela concentrated on the sound of Colleen's movements on the steps, until she realized they'd long since ceased and she was listening to nothing. Alone. She was now alone again, with only her troubled thoughts. The aching tension returned to her chest when she stumbled once again upon the reality that had consumed her every vacant thought these last three days.
Glancing across at her patient, still motionless, his eyes closed peacefully, Michaela found herself speculating on the time that had passed. Weeks, months. Days gone by in the blink of an eyelid, not that knowing would have made any difference. Ensuring Hank's chest continued to rise and fall, his labored breathing now quite reassuring, Michaela heard a suppressed, derisive chuckle escape her lips, only beginning to imagine Hank's reaction.
Catching herself in mocking humor, Michaela felt her chest drop heavily; this was not something she could deny any longer. Glancing her gaze downwards, Michaela knew the inevitable was only going to become more obvious in time; the last three months had seen her drop quite a few pounds, however her once loose clothing, was now becoming firmer, this realization sending another shiver through her arms and face.
Drawing an exasperated breath, Michaela knew medically there was little she could do. The idea had festered however, and Michaela was certainly aware of the things she should no longer be doing. This mental transgression brought two opposing views colliding into each other, sending Michaela into a cognitive battlefield of voices and emotions.
What am I? No, No, this is wrong. It goes against everything I believe in. I'm a doctor. I have taken an Oath to preserve life. No. I can't think of it like that. It's not life, it's,
She felt the nausea begin rising once again from her stomach. Swallowing heavily and taking a gasped breath, her gaze drifted to the ceiling above her, waiting for the discomfort to subside. Moving her line of sight downwards, towards the window overlooking the main street, the inner dialogue began once again; this time, her scientific, rational mind taking control.
Michaela, you know it is. You know there's no difference. If it were anyone else.
"But it's not. It's not," Michaela jumped slightly, realizing she'd vocalized that last thought, her words coming out as a strangled cry as she tightened her grip on the arms of the chair. Clearing her throat in an attempt to dry the tears that had begun welling in her eyes, Michaela looked back across the room, fragments of a distant conversation coming back to her.
Pulling herself to her feet wearily, Michaela crossed the room, the words from their conversation less than a year earlier, playing over in her head. Michaela realized in that instant, she now had more in common with the ill-tempered bartender than she'd ever thought was possible.
"He needed his Father. He needed to be here, with you."
"You saw how they treated him. Teasin' him, pushin' him around. You think I wanted him to go through that; everybody laughin' coz he's different. Thinkin' he's not normal."
"Not to mention what they'd think about you."
"I was protectin' him!"
"Are you sure you weren't just protecting yourself!"
"Who do you think you are, judging me, lady. You weren't here. you don't know."
"I know, that I would never do that to a boy of my own."
"What's it like to walk on water, Michaela."
After checking his pulse, Michaela let Hank's right wrist drop back down against the mattress, her eyes closing with a small shake of her head. He was right. She'd had no right to judge him without knowing the full situation. And here she was in a similar, albeit far worse circumstance.
"Hank, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so hard on you," Michaela reached tentatively for his forehead, ensuring no fever was present.
"I shouldn't have been so quick to tell you, you were wrong. I really had no idea what you were going through," she whispered, delicately pulling the blanket down from his chest to examine his dressing.
"I, I never told you. I was proud of you for finally admitting the truth. That took courage, more than I think I'll ever possess." Ensuring there was no further bleeding, Michaela drew the quilt back up to his shoulders, studying his weak, defenseless face.
"Hank," Michaela reached for his hand, feeling the terrified tears build up in her eyes once again. In that instant, she could see through Hank's closed eyelids, the scorn and ridicule that lay ahead. Only, this was worse. Hank was proud enough to be able to admit he'd loved his son, despite the shame around Zack's parentage.
It was at that moment, she released her grip on Hank's hand. It was there that their world's differed. Hank had loved Clarice.
Michaela could hear the detrimental overtones of people she considered friends; Olive, Dorothy, Loren, even the Reverend would find it scandalous.
Standing and pacing back around the edge of the bed, the only sound audible being that of her shoes sliding across the floorboards, Michaela felt the disgust flood over her. Up until that point, she'd been able to clinically detach herself from thinking specifically about what this child was. What it represented.
Feeling herself sink down into the softness of the rocking chair beside Hank's bed, Michaela's eyes unknowingly slipped closed, the darkness behind them soon filling with sights, sounds, sensations. It was the first time she'd relived it in months, the first time it had worked its way into her lucid mind without her choosing so.
The coldness hit her first. This exacerbated the fear, which had already paralyzed her. Almost having accustomed to the night air against her bare flesh, Michaela felt a weight pressing down on her, immobilizing her completely.
I can't breathe.
I can't move.
Please, make this stop.
Oh God, why? Why is this happening?
I still can't breathe. I can feel, I can feel his hands, his body.
His hands, they're touching me.
Why I am letting this happen?
I'm not letting this happen; I can't stop it.
The knife.
The blade glistening against the moonlight.
He'll kill me, I know he will.
I mean nothing to him.
He doesn't care. He doesn't know what this means to me. He can't feel my fear, my pain.
He doesn't know what he's taking.
Michaela's feet scuffed lightly across the floorboards, as her head rested back further against the back of the chair. Her mind continued flooding traumatic thoughts through her consciousness.
It's not supposed to be this way.
This isn't meant to be happening.
Don't think about it, Michaela. Think about something else.
I want to fight.
I can't fight, he'll kill me.
Stay still.
But he's touching me. I'm not supposed to withstand this, I'm meant to fight.
I can't.
Block it out, Michaela. Don't feel it.
The blackness behind my eyes is worse.
The children.
Sully.
No.
Don't think about him, Michaela, don't.
The children. They're safe. They need me.
I can feel his fingers on my skin.
Stop it, Michaela. Block it out.
Brian.
But I know what's going to happen.
His hand is on my knee.
I can't move. I can't resist.
I can't stop shaking.
Someone, anyone. Please don't let this happen.
Please.
Father, do something. Please?
Don't let him hurt me.
I'm scared, Father. Please don't let this happen.
Unbeknownst to Michaela, who remained absorbed in recollection, her hands had fallen to her lap, gripping together as they had done months before. Her right fingers clasped around her clenched left hand, the spoken words from that cold, dark night melded with her inner cognitions, as she was confronted with the overwhelming emotions once again.
"No,"
Yes, Michaela, yes.
I can't breathe.
Burning. Can't move. I can't think.
"Stop,"
Don't bother, Michaela, you know he won't listen.
"Please,"
Stop it, Michaela, you're stronger than that.
But I can't. It hurts. I can't make it stop.
I should have fought whilst I'd had the chance.
I'd rather be dead.
Blood. I can taste blood.
My mouth, I'm crying.
Michaela, stop it.
"Sully,"
Michaela, will you stop this nonsense.
He's dead, Michaela. He can't help you.
The damage is done now, anyway.
No, he can't be dead. It's not fair.
This isn't the way it's supposed to be. He's supposed to rescue me.
Michaela, since when did you ever need a man's help? You've made it this far on your own. Look at your life. Why do you need his help all of a sudden?
"No, stop,"
I'm not strong enough.
That was another life, not this life.
I'll never have that life back again. Never.
Open you eyes, Michaela.
It's over.
He's gone.
I can't move, I'm hurt. Blood. Something's wrong.
Stop the bleeding. I have to stop the bleeding.
Oh my God, I, I'm going to die.
Sleep. No, Michaela, you're in shock.
Stop it. I can't. I'm tired.
My eyes are blurry.
The children.
I can't see.
Father, please don't let me die.
Please.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Father?" Michaela continued beside the older man, the pair moving down an impossibly long, dark corridor.
"There is something I need to show you," Josef muttered, reaching down to take Michaela's right hand.
She stopped, pulling her hand away unconsciously. Josef nodded silently in understanding.
"Mike nothing has changed," Michaela felt her jaw drop. She'd heard those words before. What was going on. Where was she?
"Father, everything has changed," she whispered, her gaze lowering to the delicate buttons of his shirt.
"I know, Michaela. I'm here to help you," Josef turned back towards the seemingly endless corridor.
"Why weren't you there before? When I needed you. Why wasn't anyone there to help me?" Michaela felt her voice rise in her throat, as her hands clutched the edges of her red velvet jacket.
"I was there, Michaela. You knew it too," Josef held his gaze deep into her eyes, Michaela felt a lump forming in her throat.
"Can't you help me, now?" She wasn't sure if he'd understood the underlying ethos of her words, however hoped he would.
"I cannot, Michaela. This is something you will have to decide for yourself," Josef reached forwards to grasp her hands tenderly, Michaela never resisting.
"What is there to decide, Father? What can I do to stop this?" Michaela's eye's glistened lightly, reluctantly shifting her eyes downwards to address the issue both were aware they were discussing.
"The final decision is up to you, Michaela. We both know there are ways. You must be careful, though," Josef squeezed her hands delicately, before letting them drop away.
"But surely you do not approve. After everything you've taught me," Michaela's awkward words betrayed her confusion; was her father giving her his blessing to murder the child within her.
"I love you, Michaela. It pains me to see you in such distress. I would not judge you," Josef muttered almost inaudibly, as the two turned slowly and recommenced their journey towards the end of the corridor.
Michaela felt her feet moving slowly underneath her, the dark wooden doorway at the end of the corridor eventually appearing, although still many yards away.
She looked to her right arm, feeling a tugging on her wrist. Turning, she saw the small hand against the soft velvet of her sleeve.
"Ma, I wanna go home," Brian whispered, pulling her back along the corridor. She was torn between the strong grip the child had on her, and her father's serious expression.
"Michaela. This way," Josef extended a hand out towards her, Michaela alternating her tormented glance between both influential figures in her life.
"Brian," she tried to prize the child's fingers from her wrist. Josef continued on without her.
"Ma, we have to go." His grip only strengthened, Michaela saw the desperation in his eyes, before noticing her father in the distance, his back towards her as he continued.
"Father, Father, wait! I'm coming, I," Michaela couldn't move, her body frozen to the very spot, the bare corridor beginning to pull away from her.
She was drifting away, the image of her Father fading as it grew smaller and smaller, the blackness around her increasing.
"Ma," she could still hear Brian's voice, however it remained close in her ear, if anything it was getting stronger.
"Father," Michaela called again, realizing it was useless. The blackness surrounded her, and the child's voice returned.
"Mornin, Ma!" Brian pulled on her wrist affectionately until he received a response.
"Wait, Father!" Michaela managed to pull her arm free from the boy's hand, her eyes drifting around the sunlight-filled recovery room, looking down and seeing her Salmon-colored blouse and dark maroon skirt, both slightly crumpled from the night's disturbed sleep.
"Sorry, Ma but it's mornin'. Were you dreamin' 'bout Grandpa, Ma?" The young boy began idly fidgeting with the button on her sleeve, not satisfied until he'd undone it, and refastened it.
"I, yes," Michaela moved her legs slowly from their crossed position, as she gradually pieced together the events from the previous day.
"Was I there, too?" Brian moved to the edge of the bed, still in his sleeping attire, Michaela answering his question subconsciously, as she turned and saw the sleeping figure beside them.
"Hank!" She arrived on her feet instantaneously, rushing around to the left side of the bed, by the doorway, to assess his condition.
"He all right, Ma?" Brian rotated slightly, the small boy looking between the bartender and his mother with curious, however moderate, concern.
"I think so, his breathing is stable," Michaela frowned, removing the quilt to assess the surgical site.
"And there's no further bleeding. Hank?" She replaced the quilt delicately, squeezing the man's upper arm softly, a low grunt sufficing as response for now.
"Hank?" Michaela repeated, reassured that her patient had regained some level of consciousness.
"Mi... Michaela?" He opened his eyes groggily, Brian standing from the edge of the bed to arrive at Michaela's side.
"Everything's going to be all right, Hank. You were shot. Last night, at the Saloon?" She phrased her words as a question, trying to jog his recollection.
"Yeah, ah, three guys held up the store. Tried to grab the gun," Hank coughed lightly in between words, aware of the pain in his chest.
"You've lost a lot of blood, you'll need to remain here for a week or so. Are you in any discomfort?" Michaela guessed that he was, however now surprised when he denied it with a subtle shake of his head.
"Brian, can you go downstairs and get my bag, please?" Michaela rested her hand on the boy's shoulder, as he happily obliged, and disappeared from the room.
"Michaela?" Hank reached awkwardly for her hand, his voice still horse and breathy.
"I'm right here, Hank. I'm going to get you something for the pain." She gripped his right hand between hers, seeing the fear lurking behind his rich, blue eyes.
"Sorry, I, I never got to tell ya." He looked away, Michaela dropping her gaze down to their interlocked hands.
"Got it, Ma," Brian ran back into the room, the black bag being thrust onto the bed beside them.
"Thank-you, Brian. You'd best get ready for school, sweetheart," Michaela dismissed the boy, busying herself locating the bottle of Laudanum within the tan-lined bag.
"Michaela, you're stronger 'an me. Always reckoned that," he whispered, Michaela held the glass bottle in her right hand, turning back to him, her expression one of incomprehension.
"Sorry?" she prompted, removing the cork from the bottle, leaning forwards about to administer the analgesic.
"Well, givin' up Zack's the hardest thing I've ever had to do but 'least knew it was for the best, 'least knew he was better off where he was," Hank bent his head forwards, allowing the bitter liquid into his mouth, his head falling back against the pillow moments later.
"He knows you love him. That's all that matters," Michaela deflected her gaze, the previous night's long-forgotten discourse wafting back into her memory.
"Didn't realize straight away it was 'right to admit that. Thought I was meant to treat him with the same disregard as the rest of the town." Hank saw the uneasiness begin to creep over Michaela's face, not quite able to interpret it.
"Didn't mean for that to be awkward, just meant, well, it ain't easy makin' secrets public in a town like this. in the end though, people forget." Hank watched Michaela's eyes pull away from his, her attention diverting back to sealing the bottle of Laudanum, returning it to her bag, her fingers working nervously on the cork stopper.
"Just sayin', you said you were proud a me and I ain't as strong as you, Michaela," Hank felt the medication begin to take effect, his eyes drooping closed wearily, vaguely noticing the physician's shoulders tense in response to his final words.
"Excuse me," Michaela slipped from the edge of the bed, pacing quickly out into the corridor, her hands covering her mouth in sheer panic when she realized she was alone.
Oh God, he heard me but what did I say? How did he know what I was referring to? Hank was the last person able to keep gossip like this to himself.
Feeling the wall against her back, Michaela took several calming breaths, her body relaxing, however her mind continuing its disjointed inner speech.
Michaela, what on earth possessed you to talk with Hank? You're falling apart, you can't go on like this. You know what you have to do; you know how to make this all go away. You have not got long, Michaela.
~.~
X.O.X
Friday, 23rd July, 1869
Two Days Later
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela slipped through the back door of the homestead, feeling the floorboards substitute for the softer gravel under her feet. She was glad of the momentary solitude, finding the cool breeze a welcome relief from the commotion and superficial conversation taking place inside.
Arriving quickly to the pump beside the barn, Michaela reached for a wooden bucket, and began filling it with water, aware of stray notes from Brian's harmonica filtering through the night air.
Her attention absorbed by the transparent liquid, Michaela was unaware of Sully's footsteps behind her.
"Everythin' all right?" The sudden rich, deep voice hitting her consciousness, sent the bucket, held loosely in her right hand, to the ground, water splashing over the tips of her black boots.
She hadn't even heard his utterance, instead groaning under her breath at her clumsiness, and picking the bucket back up.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle ya," his voice was lower this time, there was sincerity in his words. Sully gazed over her slightly pale and shocked face, eyes drifting downwards, taking in the olive-green checkered shirt she wore, further down to her dark brown skirt, the hem of which was now spotted with splashes of water.
"Thought you were inside with the children," Michaela attempted to dismiss her carelessness, immediately refilling the bucket with water for the evening dishes.
"Was inside, now I'm out here," Sully replied, with a slight stating-the-obvious slur, Michaela not even turning to acknowledge his attempted humor.
"That is apparent." She kept her gaze on the task before her, seeing his hand appear in front of her to take the now filled bucket.
"Here," he offered, Michaela instinctively refusing.
"I," she sighed, rolling her eyes subtly as the bucket was nonetheless taken from her grasp.
"Yeah, I know you can. I wanna talk though," Sully placed the wooden object on the ground beside them, an arm slipping towards Michaela's back as he arrived next to her.
"Sully," she protested softly, not sure if it was the physical contact or the proposed conversation she was objecting to more.
"Just for a minute," he reassured, gesturing back towards the steps leading up to the porch of the homestead.
She acquiesced reluctantly, the pair remaining seated side by side on the edge of the porch. Michaela clasped her hands tightly in her lap, just wanting him to say whatever it was he was going to say, so they could move back inside.
"Ain't had much time to talk to ya alone this last week, what with the children and all," Sully watched her fingers move nervously in her lap, turning, so as able to see her face. She showed no response to his words, so he continued.
"What I wanna say to ya, I don't want ya to think. I mean, I don't want you to feel under any pressure. Brian was askin' me again tonight and well, after last week, I thought it might be time," he cleared his throat, aware his nervous phrases were not being delivered with the ease and confidence he'd intended.
"Sully, will you just," Michaela had remained distracted, not interpreting the underlying subtext of his lines, to deduce where he was steering the conversation.
"Well, things been goin' pretty well between us, ain't they? And you know where I'm coming from, Michaela but don't want to push you if you're not ready. Just thought was somethin' you might wanna think about," Sully couldn't believe he had to have this conversation all over again. The first time had been awkward enough, and this was indescribably worse.
Michaela slowly moved her distant gaze to her left, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to concentrate on the conversation, again having only taken in the occasional word. Her face was blank, however her expression indicated for him to continue.
"Michaela, like I said, I love you and I want people to know that. Want everyone to know that my feelin's for ya haven't changed. I want, if you do, for us to have a future together," Sully felt his left arm move slowly towards Michaela's interlocked hands, taking her left hand tenderly in his, feeling their eyes creep towards each other's.
She felt his words through the soft touch of his hand, suddenly realizing just what he was saying. Michaela knew she couldn't pull away, despite every muscle from her shoulders to her fingers crying out for her to do so.
Why does this have to be so awkward? Why do I have to feel this way? I have to say something. His eyes are drifting away; he thinks he's said the wrong thing. No. I can do this.
"So do I," Michaela felt the truthful words escape her lips, still unable to block the dark voice calling to her from the back of her mind.
His eyes moved back to meet with hers immediately; his mouth forming a small smile, as he nodded in receipt of her utterance.
"We'll take it as slow as ya want. After all, got all the time in the world," Sully slid several inches over the rough porch step towards her, his right arm gently encircling her back, fingertips resting softly on her shoulder. He was aware that she might pull away at any given moment, however also understood that any walls put up concerning physical closeness would only have to be broken down eventually.
Michaela felt her teeth rest on her lower lip, her eyes widening momentarily as she looked up at the full moon above them. She wanted to tell him, she wanted his help, his support.
No. This isn't proper. This is my problem and I'll handle it. He wouldn't understand how I feel. He'd never understand, how could he? I'm not even sure I do. No, Michaela. He'll only try to talk you out of what is already a torturous decision.
Sensing her head drop against his shoulder, Michaela realized she had no verbal reply. It didn't seem to matter. She felt his arm migrate to the side of her face, his fingers delicately trailing along her flowing hair, as her eyes dropped closed. His lips rested against her forehead, as his right arm slipped back down to her upper arm, securing her snuggly against him.
The blackness behind her eyelids immediately made Michaela realize just how exhausted she was, her last conscious sound being his calming, flowing voice, her last awareness his smooth lips gliding over her forehead as he whispered to her. Michaela did not recall when she stopped hearing his words.
"Sometimes a shadow falls over the moon and it looks dark but the light's there. It's just behind it. It's not gone, it's just covered up for awhile. You've got that light, I've seen it. Trust that it's there. The shadow will pass."
Sully looked down from the moon, having felt her head grow heavy against his shoulder. The smile broadened on his lips when he realized she'd fallen asleep. He took several moments to study their hands in her lap, fingers interlocked. Letting a contented sigh pass from his mouth, Sully felt the soft flesh of her arm under the fingers of his right hand, bringing his lips to her forehead in a soft, unhurried kiss.