disability retirement after his leg was shot up too bad to ever work right again. And Mac's partner–the man he had known so well and had trusted with his life? Dead.
Three months had passed and it still felt as if the shooting was yesterday. It shouldn't still bother Mac like this, he knew, but it did. He knew it would continue to affect him until the whole thing was settled. Mac was impatient for that time to come.
And scared that it never would.
With his thumb Mac rubbed along the beer can label to clear a stripe in the condensation. He rotated the can slightly and drew his thumb down another stripe. Water collected in large drops on the bottom of the can and then dropped to his thigh where they darkened his jeans.
"It should have been ended before we came here," Mac said softly. "Hell, maybe I left too soon. If I'd stayed there, near where it happened, this all might have been over by now because I would have remembered what I saw."
"The judge said he'd hand down the sentence by the end of the month. We got the guilty verdict for the one collar we did manage to make that night. There's nothing more you can do to trigger your memory about the rest of what happened. You just have to wait. It'll all come back. Doc said there was no way to rush it that you haven't tried already."
" Hmph ."
"Hey man, enjoy the time you have. Hell, you can live a normal life here for a change."
"Yeah. Yeah. A normal life, huh? That'll take some getting used to. Like going to bed at fairly decent hours instead of staying up all night, parked in a dingy car somewhere on a stakeout."
"Oh, I see. You miss that life, huh? The cold coffee and greasy burgers."
"And Sam."
At the mention of Mac's dead partner, both men lost the smiles on their faces. Mac drained his beer can and leaned his head back against the couch.
"You can't bring him back, Mac. Worrying about it won't help his wife or kids, and it isn't going to solve your problem. You're here to relax and recuperate. With me to keep you company," Hines said with a short-lived grin. Serious again, he added, "It'll all come back to you, man. Just give it more time."
Mac ran his hand through his hair and slapped it down on his thigh. He'd heard that too often and he didn't need to hear it again. If only he could remember what happened after the first few minutes of that night on the dock.
Partial amnesia brought on by shock or from the fall he took after he was shot, the doc had said. Or it could be from the anesthetic during the surgery to put his shoulder back together. Any number of reasons. Mac had learned enough to know that that kind of lost memory usually came back within two or three weeks–or not at all.
Mac flatly refused to accept the 'not at all' verdict.
He rose from the couch and stretched. "I'm going to turn in. Night." He'd said it that way on purpose. There were few 'good' nights anymore. The shooting that left Mac with enough metal in his shoulder to set off an airport metal detector would not leave him in peace.
He thought about that night over and over, always frustrated that there might have been something he could have done differently. Something that would have helped Sam. After seeing Sam shot and feeling his shoulder explode, he could remember nothing. Nothing at all.
He stood under a hot shower, but couldn't rinse away the pain of that night. Nothing would ever take away the long scars where they'd opened him up to put his shoulder back together. His fingers ran along one of the ugly, raised pink ridges.
What would Carolyn say when she saw them?
He toweled dry, pushed back the top sheet and blanket, and sat on the narrow bed, his elbows on his knees. How did Carolyn get into his head? Again.
The towel sailed across the bedroom into the bathroom, and Mac pulled on his pajama bottoms. Here was one more reason to find a house on the lake in a hurry. He wouldn't have to wear pajamas anymore. He lay down on his good shoulder and pulled the sheet and blanket
Three months had passed and it still felt as if the shooting was yesterday. It shouldn't still bother Mac like this, he knew, but it did. He knew it would continue to affect him until the whole thing was settled. Mac was impatient for that time to come.
And scared that it never would.
With his thumb Mac rubbed along the beer can label to clear a stripe in the condensation. He rotated the can slightly and drew his thumb down another stripe. Water collected in large drops on the bottom of the can and then dropped to his thigh where they darkened his jeans.
"It should have been ended before we came here," Mac said softly. "Hell, maybe I left too soon. If I'd stayed there, near where it happened, this all might have been over by now because I would have remembered what I saw."
"The judge said he'd hand down the sentence by the end of the month. We got the guilty verdict for the one collar we did manage to make that night. There's nothing more you can do to trigger your memory about the rest of what happened. You just have to wait. It'll all come back. Doc said there was no way to rush it that you haven't tried already."
" Hmph ."
"Hey man, enjoy the time you have. Hell, you can live a normal life here for a change."
"Yeah. Yeah. A normal life, huh? That'll take some getting used to. Like going to bed at fairly decent hours instead of staying up all night, parked in a dingy car somewhere on a stakeout."
"Oh, I see. You miss that life, huh? The cold coffee and greasy burgers."
"And Sam."
At the mention of Mac's dead partner, both men lost the smiles on their faces. Mac drained his beer can and leaned his head back against the couch.
"You can't bring him back, Mac. Worrying about it won't help his wife or kids, and it isn't going to solve your problem. You're here to relax and recuperate. With me to keep you company," Hines said with a short-lived grin. Serious again, he added, "It'll all come back to you, man. Just give it more time."
Mac ran his hand through his hair and slapped it down on his thigh. He'd heard that too often and he didn't need to hear it again. If only he could remember what happened after the first few minutes of that night on the dock.
Partial amnesia brought on by shock or from the fall he took after he was shot, the doc had said. Or it could be from the anesthetic during the surgery to put his shoulder back together. Any number of reasons. Mac had learned enough to know that that kind of lost memory usually came back within two or three weeks–or not at all.
Mac flatly refused to accept the 'not at all' verdict.
He rose from the couch and stretched. "I'm going to turn in. Night." He'd said it that way on purpose. There were few 'good' nights anymore. The shooting that left Mac with enough metal in his shoulder to set off an airport metal detector would not leave him in peace.
He thought about that night over and over, always frustrated that there might have been something he could have done differently. Something that would have helped Sam. After seeing Sam shot and feeling his shoulder explode, he could remember nothing. Nothing at all.
He stood under a hot shower, but couldn't rinse away the pain of that night. Nothing would ever take away the long scars where they'd opened him up to put his shoulder back together. His fingers ran along one of the ugly, raised pink ridges.
What would Carolyn say when she saw them?
He toweled dry, pushed back the top sheet and blanket, and sat on the narrow bed, his elbows on his knees. How did Carolyn get into his head? Again.
The towel sailed across the bedroom into the bathroom, and Mac pulled on his pajama bottoms. Here was one more reason to find a house on the lake in a hurry. He wouldn't have to wear pajamas anymore. He lay down on his good shoulder and pulled the sheet and blanket
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