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by Kimberly Heggen September 1999 Okay, I know there’s a million “Cypher” missing scenes out there already... but I finally saw the doggone thing last night for the first time! So, I’m behind the times. What else is new? Severe angst ahead and considerable amounts of smarm. Obviously, there are major spoilers for “Cypher”. This is for DawnC, who asked for it.
What are you supposed to think about, when you know you’re going to die? When you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are staring your killer in his crazed eyes? A thousand fragmented thoughts skitter through my mind, incoherent amidst the overwhelming terror that now rises up as this, this... insane murderer, this nightmare personified, draws closer. He pries open my mouth and holds my nose as he pours an oily, foul smelling liquid down my throat. Afraid of what it will do to me, but even more afraid of inhaling the stuff by mistake, I swallow convulsively... once, twice. It seems to burn a fiery trail to my stomach. Lash stands back, probably to gloat some more... but he doesn’t get the chance. “Freeze! Police!” No sight, no sound, has ever been more welcome to me than what now greets my eyes and ears. As if summoned by my frantic prayers, he’s here. Jim stands there, confident and assured, holding his weapon trained on Lash with rock-steady hands. I can’t make a sound. I think that I’m afraid that if I call his name, he’ll disappear... merely a phantom product of my screaming imagination, or perhaps a hallucination brought on by the drug now coursing through my body. Lash turns and runs, and of course Jim pursues. I mean, the creep’s a serial killer, and Jim needs to catch him. No matter how much he might want to stop and release me, he needs to get this guy... before someone else dies at his hands, left naked in their bathtub. Unable to turn my body around to watch, I swivel my head as far as my neck will allow, trying to sort out what’s happening from the sounds I can hear. There’s footsteps, some shouting... a large crash, accompanied by the tinkling sounds of shattering glass... then a sequence of even louder cracks. Then silence, for a few heart-stopping seconds. Then, unmistakably, I hear gunfire... several rapid shots. Nothing. Deadly quiet. Uh, Jim? What’s going on here? Suddenly, I remember that the gag is gone, and that I can talk. The hell with talking; let’s try some screaming. “JIIIIMMM! Get me out of here! Jim!” Nothing. I strain my ears so hard I can hear my own heart, pounding as if it’s going to jump out of my chest, but I can’t hear him. Oh my God... what if Lash killed him? With that thought, I’m no longer completely in the world of reason. I throw my head back and shriek at the top of my lungs, not really cognizant of what I’m shouting. I’m lost... balancing on the razor’s edge between sanity and unreality. “Jim! Oh God don’t be dead oh please oh please not both of us he’ll kill me too and we’ll both be dead... NOOOOOOO!!! My voice, hoarse and terrified, echoes through the abandoned building. My vision blurs with tear and with the effects of the drug. For uncounted minutes, I sit there... still imprisoned, screaming intermittently... until a hand touches my shoulder. “Noooo! Get away!” I pull away the scant few inches that my bindings allow. “Chief, it’s me! It’s over, you’re safe. Open your eyes.” Jim? Oh God, it’s Jim. Alone. “I’m going to get you out of here, Blair. Just hang on.” He kneels, begins to work at the chains on my wrists. I can hear him swearing softly as he spots the abrasions and bruises he finds there. “L-lash?” I manage to gulp out past a sob. “Dead, Chief. Hang on. You’re okay.” With a final clank and painful tug, my hands are free. I raise them to my face, covering it as I continue to shake and shudder. “Jim, he was going to kill me. He was that close.” I can’t stop my body from trembling. “I know,” he says softly. “But you’re okay, now,” he repeats. “You’ll be all right. Just let me get your legs untied, and we’ll get you out of here.” In a few more seconds, he’s removed the bindings around my legs. He reaches up and lifts me out of the dentist chair. My muscles refuse to fully respond; they’ve gone rubbery and weak. “I can’t stand up,” I gasp. “Jim, I’m dizzy...” “Hang on,” He lowers me carefully to the ground, a support pillar behind my back, then kneels in front of me. “We’ll get some help in here to get you out, Chief. Don’t worry. You don’t have to walk.” His face swims in front of me through a mist of tears. I feel his hand touch me tentatively on the face as he speaks hoarsely. “I’m sorry, Blair. Sorry I didn’t get here faster.” “S’ all right.” Damn, now my words are slurring. Must be that drug. I have a dim awareness of Jim crouching next to me, wrapping one long arm around my shoulders to support my shaking body. Faintly, now, I’m beginning to hear other voices, other footsteps. “Jim? Some... someone’s comin’...” Then, seeming almost comically out of place, I hear Simon’s voice. “Is he okay, Jim?” Funny. I want to hear the answer to that question, but... the world fades to a greyness around me.
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“Beep... beep.. beep...” A slow and steady beeping comes from a wall above me. It’s a vaguely familiar sound, one that I can’t quite place. There’s a light brushing sensation on my head... a warm and pleasant touch. A hand, stroking the hair back from my forehead. I open my eyes, to the now-welcoming sight of a hospital ER. Jim smiles down at me. I have a little trouble focusing on his face, but he’s definitely smiling. One of those goofy, sappy grins that almost never graces his face and should be illegal, since they’re so hard to resist. “Hey, Chief. Welcome back.” My mouth is dry, and my tongue seems to be stuck to my palate. “Wha’ happ’ned?” I croak. “You passed out. The doc says you got a lot more of that chloral hydrate garbage than Lash’s other victims.” He touches my head again, giving it a sort of pat. “You had that guy scared of you, Blair.” “Maybe,” I whisper. “He’s really dead?” A shadow crosses Jim’s face. “Unquestionably. He can’t hurt anyone else ever again.” “Then... then I want to go home. Please.”
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I think Jim probably bullies the doctors into letting me go. I don’t care. The memories are rushing back, and I feel more emotionally fragile with each passing minute. Somehow, I’ve gotten the idea that if I can only get home quickly enough, I can keep from falling apart. A nurse comes in and goes over the discharge paperwork with me. I nod at all the appropriate times, trying to let the information slide over me without really touching my consciousness. Finally, I’m allowed to leave. Jim walks me carefully out through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, having talked the ER staff out of forcing me to use a wheelchair. I feel as if the entire world must be watching me walk those few yards. I’m just a few steps away from the truck when the shakes hit. Call it the adrenaline letdown, after-reaction, delayed shock, whatever. I suddenly can’t take another step forward. Jim is at my elbow in an instant. “Chief? What’s wrong?” I can only shake my head, wrapping my own arms around my torso and closing my eyes tightly against the tears that have made an ill-time reappearance. Jim lays an arm around my shoulders; half-pulling me, he guides me the last few feet to the truck. He sort of leans me up against the side of the truck while he gets the passenger door open, then carefully helps me inside and closes the door. I sit there, rigid and trembling, as he opens his door and climbs in. I expect him to reach across and buckle me in. Instead, I feel his arms slide around my shoulders as he pulls me close to him. “Hey, Blair, it’s all right. You’re going to be okay, buddy. You’re just a little freaked out, that’s all.” A little? Jim, that’s an understatement. But the calm, kind words have the desired effect. Gradually, I feel the tremors ease, although the tears continue unabated for a while. I weep silently on Jim’s shoulder, opening and closing my mouth like a gasping fish. He just holds me, carefully, as if I were made out of glass. Finally, with one last hiccup, I pull away, knuckling at my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Chief. Nothing.” He puts a hand under my chin, lifts my face. I close my eyes again, still unable to meet his gaze. “Now if you’d let yourself be killed by that maniac, then I’d have to be angry.” “You saved my life,” I answer unsteadily. “How did you find me?” “It’s a long story... but Chief, in a way, you saved your own life. You did exactly the right things: kept him talking, kept him off balance. You delayed Lash long enough for me to find you. And I found you by using things that you taught me to do.” He hands me some tissues from the glove compartment. “Come on, buddy. Let’s take you home.” |
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© 1999-2001 by Kimberly Heggen. All rights
reserved. |
