Kisscut

"Can I help you?" a woman asked as she walked in front of the nurses' station.

"I'm looking for Mark Patterson's room," Lena told her.

"Oh," the woman said, obviously surprised. "He hasn't had any visitors."

Lena could have guessed that Teddy Patterson would not want to see his son, but she still felt surprised.

Even though Lena knew the answer, she had to ask, "Has he regained consciousness?"

The woman shook her head, saying, "No," as she pointed down the hallway. "Three-ten," she told Lena. "Right, then left, across from the linen storage."

Lena thanked her and followed the directions. She traced her fingers along the railing lining the hall as she walked, purposely taking her time. There was no reason for Lena to see Mark. She wasn't working the case. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she was a cop anymore.

Even though Mark was not about to tell her to come in, Lena knocked on the door marked 310. She waited outside, then pushed the door open. The lights were out, and no one had opened the blinds to let the sun in. Mark lay in bed, tubes ru

"Let's let some light in," Lena said, not knowing what else to do. She twisted the wand on the blinds and the slats opened, pouring in light. She turned back to Mark, and adjusted the blinds so that he wasn't getting the full force of the sun.

There was a tube in his mouth helping him breathe, and saliva had built up around it. Lena went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. At the bed, she wiped Mark's mouth. Then, because she had appreciated this when she was in the hospital, she folded the cloth and ran it along his face and neck, then along his arms. Next, she got some lotion out of the unopened patient-care kit in the stand beside the bed. She warmed it in her hands before rubbing it on his arms and neck, then patting some on his face. Lena wasn't sure, but his skin seemed to have more color to it when she was finished.

"Looks like they're treating you okay here," Lena said, though she didn't think that was necessarily true. "I, uh…" Lena began, then stopped. She looked at the door, feeling foolish for talking to Mark when he obviously could not hear her, thinking this was about as stupid as Hank talking to Sibyl's grave.

Despite this, she took his hand. "Lacey's okay," she told him. "Well, she's back. They found her over in Macon and she's…"

Lena looked around the room not knowing how to do this.

"They're watching the post office," she told him. "The chief thinks Dottie will show up soon." Lena took a deep breath and held it awhile before exhaling. "We'll catch her, Mark. She won't get away with this."

She was silent, listening to the in and out of his breath as the machine pushed air into his lungs. Of course Mark did not respond to her, and again she felt foolish. Why did Hank do this with Sibyl? What did it accomplish, telling her things? It was like talking to the wind. It was really just talking to yourself.

Lena laughed, realizing that of course this was why Hank did it. Talking to someone who could not answer you, who could not voice concern or disapproval or anger or hatred, was the ultimate freedom. You could say anything you wanted without fear of repercussion.

"I'm not sure I'm going to be a cop anymore," she told Mark, feeling a little giddy as she spoke the words aloud. Her mind had been playing around with this thought for a while, like a marble spi

"I've got to talk to my boss in a couple of days." She paused, looking at the tattoo on Mark's hand. She wondered briefly what she could do to have the tattoo removed. There were procedures that could take them off. She had seen them advertised on television.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell Jeffrey," Lena said, still feeling silly. "I talked to Hank, and I know I could move back to Reece with him." She stopped. "I don't know, though. I don't know if I can go back."

Lena noticed that his blanket had come undone, and she walked around the bed to tuck it back in. She smoothed the material with her hand, saying, "Anyway, I don't want to leave Sibyl here alone. I know she's got Nan to look after her, but, still…"

Lena walked around the room, trying to think of what to say. The sound of her voice in the room was making her self-conscious, but it felt better to say these things, to speak the words that had been jumbled up in her head for so long.

The chair screeched across the floor as she moved it to the bed. She sat, and took Mark's hand again. "I wanted to say," she began, but could not go on. She finally forced herself to speak. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I reacted when you told me what happened…" She paused, as if waiting for a response, then clarified, "About you and your mom."

Lena looked at his face, wondering if he could hear any of this.

She said, "I wanted to let you know that I understand. I mean, I understand as much as I can." She shook her head. "I mean…" she began, then stopped again. "I know what it took, Mark. I know what it took for you to tell me your secret." She paused, trying to remember to breathe. "You were right when you said I'd been through the same thing, that I knew what you were talking about."

She looked at him again, and still he was mute. His chest rose and fell with the pump that forced him to breathe. The heart monitor beeped with his heart.

"I didn't think this would be so hard," she whispered. "I thought I was being strong…" She stopped again. "You were right, though. I was a coward, lama coward."

Lena took a deep breath, holding it in until she thought her lungs might burst. She felt the room closing in on her, and suddenly, she was back in that dark place, splayed to the floor, with him somewhere in the house, ignoring her. The worst part was when the drugs started to wear off, and she realized where she was and what was being done to her, and that she was powerless. She would feel a pressure in her chest, as if someone had carved her out and filled her with a liquid-black loneliness. When she got to this place, this stripped-down, empty place, the light under the door became her salvation, and she would find herself wanting to see him, wanting to hear his voice, no matter what the cost.

"I was so scared," she told Mark. "I didn't know where I was, or how much time had passed, or what was going on."

She felt her throat tighten as the memory overwhelmed her. "He nailed me down to the floor," she told him, though surely Mark knew this. "He nailed me down, and I couldn't move away. I didn't have a choice. There was nothing I could do except wait, and let him do to me what he did."

Lena 's breath came in pants, and she could feel herself going back to that room again, feeling trapped and helpless. "The drugs…" she said, then stopped herself. Mark had obviously used drugs to dull his pain, too. Only, Lena had not been given a choice about what she would take, or when.

"He gave me these drugs," she said. "They made me feel…" She tried to find words. "Free," she said. "Like I was floating, like I was above everything. And Greg, my boyfriend-ex-boyfriend-was there." She stopped again, thinking about the Greg from her drugged dreams, not the Greg she had actually known. In her dreams, Greg was much more sure of himself, more in control of their love-making. He pushed her in her dreams, pushed her to the edge where she did not know the difference between pain and pleasure, and did not want to know. All she wanted when she was in this state was to have him inside of her, to have him touching her, and filling her up from the inside, pushing deeper into her, until she thought she might explode. Then, when he took her to this point, the release was almost ethereal. She had never known such pleasure in her life as her body opened up to him completely.