Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me. This is for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made from it.
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What Are Friends For, Anyway?
by Melinda Reynolds
Chapter One � Hell on Wheels
Mark McCormick leaned back in the desk chair, trying not to groan aloud. Not that anyone would hear him� He went through the bills again, wondering how, and when, the Coyote had sustained so much damage. Aside from the usual insurance premium � which had gone up again � there were five bills from Benny's Garage for bodywork (i.e., repairing bullet holes and repainting); and statements from A-1 Transmission, Goodrich Wheel and Tire, and Delco Auto Glass. The only good thing about the Coyote was the absence of car payments. But at this rate, he wouldn't be able to afford the maintenance and upkeep, much less repairs.
He tossed the bills down on the desk, reached across the bed and grabbed the newspaper. The Used Car columns offered several possibilities, but none that fit his budget. In the long run, he figured, having a late-model car with a hot engine would be better financially than paying the sky-high repairs on the Coyote. After all, the Coyote wasn't meant, or even designed, for street use and pursuit; and he didn't know of any vehicle, other than the president's limo, that was bulletproof.
Circling four or five items, he calculated that, with a hefty down-payment, he might could manage $100 a month � if he gave up a few extra-curricular activities� like gambling with Hardcastle on ball games and cutting down to two meals a day instead of five. Coming up with the 'hefty down-payment', though, could prove to be a problem. Since he wanted to keep the prototype Coyote race car, using the McLaren-style racing car as a down-payment was out of the question; he wanted to keep her for what she was built for: Racing.
McCormick rose, stretched; he headed downstairs, and outside into the breezy, over-cast afternoon. Maybe Hardcastle would, for once, listen to reason and loan him the down payment. He grimaced as he crossed the drive to the garage. The ancient pick-up, having suffered once more at the Judge's mechanic ministrations, was in the shop being 'tuned up' (i.e., repaired). He, of course, had taken it in, and the garage had given him a 'loaner'. A dilapidated Rambler that had served has a canvas for many a spray-paint can, looking even worse than he had remembered it. It was a four-door, and no two doors matched; neither did the quarter panels, nor the hood or trunk lid. It was, he had decided, the Frankenstein of automobiles. He heard the Judge whistling contentedly as he worked under the hood of the classic '62, midnight blue Corvette.
The Judge gave more time, attention, and consideration to the antique Corvette than he gave to anything � or anyone � else on the estate. Judge Milton Hardcastle attributed the 'Vette's perfect condition to the fact that he, and he alone, would ever drive it. Even when the Judge had picked him up at Benny's yesterday � the Coyote having yet another quarter panel repaired and repainted � Hardcastle hadn't let him drive the Corvette home. Probably never would�
Not for the first time, Mark wondered what was so special about that particular car. Yes, it was a classic. Yes, it was in nearly mint condition; although McCormick suspected that was from disuse rather than meticulous upkeep. And, yes, it was horrendously expensive to repair� but the Coyote was even more expensive, as she was one of a kind. And although McCormick's driving ability and expertise far surpassed those of anyone else living at Gullsway, the Judge had adamantly, and repeatedly, refused to let him behind the wheel.
He gave the 'Vette's glossy finish an admiring look, grinning at DJUDGE license plate, then leaned against the worktable along one wall. "Find the problem, Judge? I don't mind taking a look at her� I've worked on 'Vette's before."
"A 'look' is all you're gonna get of the car, McCormick." Hardcastle didn't even look up from his labors. "I know what I'm doin' here, kid. I've been workin' on engines since before you were born."
"Careful, Judge; last time you said that, said engine blew up." He didn't even try to stop the smirk.
Hardcastle spared him a glare. "Don't you have chores to do?"
"Done 'em."
"Yeah? Came out here for more, did ya?"
"Well, not exactly. I did come out here for something, 'tho."
Sighing, the Judge straightened, "You're not gonna leave me alone, are you? What is it now?"
"I was� sorta thinking�"
"What's her name," Hardcastle interrupted, "and how many days do you want off?"
"No, it's not a girl, not this time. But I will take the days off�if you're offering 'em."
The Judge smiled his usual response: No chance.
McCormick wasn't sure how to approach the subject, wasn't sure how Hardcastle would take it. "You know, we could really use an extra set of wheels around here�"
" 'We' ?"
"Yeah, 'we'� Judge, we can't keep using the Coyote for chasing crooks. It's playing hell with her suspension, not to mention her delicate�"
"Hold it, hold it." Hardcastle raised a hand to forestall any further descriptive terms, "Bottom line: What's this gonna cost me?"
"That's the beauty of it, Judge. It won't cost you anything � not after�Ipayyouback." He finished quickly.
"How much," Hardcastle repeated with dwindling patience, "is this not gonna cost me?"
"Not much, not when you consider what you'll save in the long run on repair bills and�"
"How much?!" The tone threatened violence.
McCormick gauged the distance between them, and moved back a few feet. "Just� four or five�"
"Hundred?" The tone and look was doubtful.
"�erm� thousand." He braced himself.
"Four or five what!?!" The Judge's color was rising with his voice, not a good sign.
"I'll pay it back, Judge."
"McCormick, you don't make enough money to pay back even half that in your lifetime."
"Well, whose fault is that? Give me a raise � or a bonus."
"You know, kid, that's the trouble with your generation. It's always 'Give me', 'Give me', 'Give me'� In my day, we worked for what we wanted. Where do you think all this came from?" His encompassing wave took in the entire estate.
McCormick couldn't resist, knowing the Judge inherited the property from his late wife, "Mrs. Judge Hardcase?"
For a scary second or two, he thought the Judge was going to hit him. Instead, he turned slowly back toward the 'Vette. "You want a car, McCormick, work for it. Just like I did, just like everyone does�"
"Did you work for that one?" McCormick nodded toward the Corvette. He knew only that the 'Vette was a prized possession of the Judge's; but it never seemed to be Hardcastle's type of car � he was a pick-up man.
"No�" Hardcastle answered quietly.
"Ha! So there are exceptions to the Set in Hardcastle Rules�if you're a Hardcastle."
"It just so happens, smart guy, that there are no exceptions � especially for Hardcastles."
The ex-con watched him for a moment. A sports car more suited for a younger guy, a rich teen-ager's first car�? And it then hit him; he knew about the Judge's only son being killed in Viet Nam� and all the pieces suddenly fell into place. "Why," he said slowly, "do I have this feeling that the original plate for this hot rod wasn't DJUDGE, but D SON?"
"Is there a point to this, McCormick?"
"Yeah, right. You didn't work for it. You bought it for him, didn't you?"
There was a long silence, and McCormick wasn't sure if the Judge was going to answer at all. Then he withdrew from under the hood, carefully latched it down. "No� he worked and paid for it himself."
"Awww, come on, Hardcase. You mean to stand there and tell me that you didn't help out at all? Not even a little bit?" He held his hand up, thumb and forefinger about four inches apart, "A little, tiny bit?"
"Yeah� well, he was my son," Hardcastle said with an emphasis that wasn't lost on McCormick. "Fathers do stuff like that for sons. So don't you go getting any ideas�"
"You could always adopt me."
"Why the hell would I want to do that?"
"So you can make my car payments with a clear conscience?" He grinned broadly at Hardcastle's exasperated look. "C'mon, Hardcase, we need something more than two expensive sports cars and a broken down truck, and you know it.
"Bend a little; take the ol' wallet out of cold storage. What are friends for, anyway�?"
"I wouldn't know, McCormick; I try not to keep too many around at one time." He shook his head, shoving the younger man aside as he left the garage. " 'Clear conscience' � certainly a subject you'd know a lot about.
"Boy, when you want something, you'll try anything, won't you? You cost me more than you're worth as it is�" He strode toward the house, then paused, turning, "Tell me something, kid� Unless you sprung, full blown, from the earth, why don't you hit your old man up for the money?"
All the playful animation drained from McCormick, leaving a cold bitterness that had not been in evidence for quite some time. His hands clenched tightly into fists, and the hard edge settled into his manner and voice. "Forget it, Your Honor. I'll never bring it up again."
Startled at the sudden, and complete, transformation, Hardcastle watched as McCormick slammed into the rattletrap Rambler. "Where are you going?!"
The car lurched into reverse, gears protesting; throwing it into first, McCormick leaned out the open window. "Nowhere!"
The Judge stood, watching the blue-grey cloud of smoke dissipate. A gusting breeze brought the first wave of rain, and, in the distance, thunder rumbled a warning. After a few more seconds of consideration, he went back into the garage.
It took a few minutes to locate the 'Vette's hard top, and a few more minutes to secure it.
If he had stopped to analyze his actions, he would not have been able to explain why he felt it necessary to go after McCormick�
A hunch, perhaps�
And he never ignored his hunches�
Chapter Two � Wrong Turn
Big, fat raindrops splattered against the cracked, streaked windshield as McCormick sped through the front gate. The rear tires slid, smoking and squealing, as he swung onto the highway. He had no particular destination in mind, just following the road� no particular destination in life, just following the...
His fist struck the worn-down ridges on the steering wheel� Damn it, anyway� If Hardcastle didn't want to loan him the money, why didn't he just say so? Why did he have to bring up--? He swerved widely around a curve, shearing away from the thought and the memories that went with it. He drove automatically, having navigated the road's twists and bends a thousand times. The windshield wipers skittered across the glass, barely able to keep up with the sudden downpour�
It wasn't really the money � or the car� He'd been without both before, and had managed to get by. He'd honestly felt that he'd be able to work things out, with Hardcastle's help. And that, he supposed, was what was really bothering him. He couldn't understand the Judge's apparent apathy, unwilling to lend a hand if it wasn't to his advantage as well. He'd let his guard down, let himself start to care� But he'd forgotten one thing: Milton C. Hardcastle was a law unto himself, living by his own rules and his own judgements. He seemed to have little time, or need, for friends. Shit, it was almost as if Hardcastle didn't want anyone to like him; didn't want anyone to get too close� How could the Judge live that way; why would he want to?
Christ� Why did he keep doing it? Why did he keep setting himself up for a fall � one that always occurred, sooner or later�? Why did he keep expecting � hoping � for more than people were willing to give? He didn't want to be bitter and resentful all his life. He didn't want to be alone, afraid to trust, afraid of the eventual disappointment, rejection, and abandonment�
A sharp curve came into view, and he noted the guardrails absently. Still enmeshed in his own inner turmoil, he forgot momentarily that he wasn't driving the Coyote. And that moment of negligence sent the slick tires into a skid. Even as he instinctively spun the steering wheel into the skid, the car's momentum carried it into the guardrail.
McCormick had little time to react, his forehead cracking against the metal doorframe as the Rambler crashed through the rails, then tumbled end over end down the rocky embankment. The driver's door sprung open, and McCormick was thrown several feet. He struck the ground hard, bone and muscle yielding with the impact. He'd been travelling at the same rate of speed as the car, and each jolt slowed his downward tumble until he collided with a jagged rock outcropping. His head struck with a dull thud, and his body crumpled in a boneless sprawl at the foot of the incline, only a few yards from the demolished Rambler.
The heavy rainfall slacked off to a light drizzle, as if taking a brief respite before the storm. Thunderheads rolled across the horizon, darkening the late afternoon sky; lightning flashed and flickered in the dark depths of the lowering clouds, forming brief, brilliant haloes.
The rain-damp breeze blew across the quiet, deserted highway; the water ran in runnels over the glistening blacktop, forming glassy puddles. All was still and serene; only the mangled guardrail gave mute evidence to the wreckage lying below�
Chapter Three � Close Encounters of the Heavenly Kind
Darkness�
That was the second thing he noticed. The first was the silence� the wind was quiet, the surf stilled, even the rainstorm was distant and hushed. The darkness, like the silence, wasn't absolute; it was more gray than black. But it was still unlike anything he'd ever experienced, before� before�
Before what?
Awareness came gradually, an it was as if he could discern shapes and colors while everything else outside his immediate range of perception blurred and faded into a grayish-white fog. The ground beneath him was rocky, the sand dark from the heavy rainfall. Then he saw the wrecked car�and the body.
The '63 Rambler had spun through the inadequate guardrail at 50-plus miles per hour. It had torn through and smashed itself against rocks and boulders, each impact a wrenching, rending tear of metal. Each collision slowed its rate of descent until it now lay, mangled and breached, its life-blood of oil and gasoline draining away, slowly sinking into the already saturated sand�
He knew all this, without being aware of how he knew�.
The body had been thrown free at some point during the vehicle's headlong plunge, and his curious, though distant, gaze studied the unmoving form with detachment. There was no need to approach or offer aid � no need, even, to view the face, to ascertain identity�
For he also knew the answer to that, and felt no emotional reaction to the fact�
It was, after all�. Himself�
He had never thought that death would be like this�
********
Hardcastle paused before pulling out onto the highway. There were no skid marks curving to the left, and he could just barely make out the dual tracks, wider in wheelbase than the others, heading south. McCormick was driving much too fast for the weather; and certainly too fast for that deathtrap on wheels�30 would be too fast for that piece of junk.
The Corvette would have no difficulty catching up with the Rambler; what to do after that, he hadn't decided yet. The more appealing possibilities were illegal� Guess he'd have to settle for a lecture and a few restrictions�
********
He moved away from the silent wreckage� he felt no significance of cause and effect from the scene; no need or desire to remain. Actually, there was an absence of feelings: No pain, no fear, no regret� very odd. His point of view shifted, changed; he was no longer ground level, but above, somehow� It was different, and strange� but not unexpected. He neither questioned the phenomena, nor gave it any consideration or thought, other than it just was�
The grayish-white fog that clung to the perimeters swirled, coalesced, forming a cocoon of brilliant white, emanating warmth and welcome�
He was drawn to it, without fear, without hesitation. There was something � someone � beyond the brilliant barrier, beckoning�promising understanding, acceptance, and love� It affected him on every level, touched every need, both conscious and unconscious. And he wanted, more than anything else in the world, to embrace those feelings, to become a part of it�
With conscious thought, he grasped for the now attainable peace and acceptance; reached for it� longed for it� but found himself held back�
An even brighter light shimmered before him, effectively halting his progress. It wavered, shifted, never maintaining form or substance for any length of time. It would flare brilliantly, encompassing everything, then contract to a coin-sized globe blazing fire�
'You have no image of my form�'
The appeared distinctly in his mind, and he shook his head, not understanding. 'Your form? What�are you?' His thoughts, it seemed, were known, for he had not spoken in the physical sense.
'In your beliefs, I would be an angel.'
'Angel�?' There was the first hint of surprise, of doubt; both of which quickly dissolved, leaving unquestioning acceptance. And an image formed in his mind, from all he'd read, had been told, and had seen in antique paintings. The image took form before him. Almost. Not quite what he'd been told; not quite what he'd read; and not quite what he'd envisioned�
'You gave me the basis; I give you now the actuality. You cannot gaze upon my face, but I can appear to you in an otherwise worldly form.'
The being was tall, clothed in white robes and blue drapery; from head to foot, the figure shone. Long, golden hair fell in waves over broad shoulders, and there was, he was certain, armor� a golden chest plate� Powerful, feathery white wings arched, spanning several yards, then folded compactly, hardly noticeable� The features were blurred, indistinct. When he tried to look at them, blinding flashes of light forced him to look away. The creature was male, and too beautiful to look at� for mortals to gaze upon, as he had said. Beautiful, ethereal, unreal� radiating a glorious goodness in character and form. He felt he should be on his knees, for to stand in this presence seemed a blasphemy of the highest order�
'No, do not kneel before me.'
'Are you�Gabriel? The Archangel Gabriel?'
A kindness, a gentleness he had never experienced before, settled over him. 'No. I am a lower order of the Hierarchy, a Warrior Angel, a protector. I am called *******' A name formed in his mind, but he could not decipher it. It was ethereal, without an Earthly counterpart in sound and syllables. Sensing his inability to comprehend, the letters altered, and reformed.
'Mihdael�?' The being nodded, and Mark continued, hopefully, 'Am I� going with you?'
'No, not at this time.'
Confusion, uncertainly crept through� he wanted to join the others. They wanted him, needed him; and he needed them. 'But�I� I want to go with you� to be with them�'
'You must go back.'
'Why?! Why do I have to go back? Why can't I stay� go on� Whatever?' He gazed longingly at the glowing tunnel, making out forms and shapes, as he willed himself to become one of them.
'You have a purpose�'
'Purpose? What purpose?!' He felt no anger, only a certainty of knowing, 'Look at my life �what there was of it. You know� At no one point in time did I ever make any real difference. Nothing I ever did was of any importance� not the lasting kind, the meaningful kind; certainly not enough to� justify my existence, or my continuing it�' There was no self-pity in the words. He seemed incapable of any emotion, of feeling anything � as if the numbing void enabled him to cope, to perceive without emotion coloring the facts� as bare and cold as those facts were� 'If I hadn't been there, no one event would have turned out any differently; at least, not enough to matter. What do I have to go back to? There's no real need for me there. Let me go on� Let me go on to where I'm really wanted� needed� loved�'
He didn't need to say, or think, the words. Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever been, everything he'd ever done, and everything he'd ever felt and thought, was known--known to all�and understood, accepted, and forgiven. And praised. He didn't want to leave that; didn't want to trade it for the uncertainty and pain of the world he had left.
'What you have said is basically true � although you underestimate the influence you have had on others' lives. While it could be admitted that those lives you have touched would have followed their path regardless of your influence, it is also the reason why you must return.
'Even now, you sense it�'
'I don't�understand. Let me cut my losses, and get on with my�' He broke off, then smiled � even here, even now, he found it easy to smile. 'My 'afterlife'� believe me, no one needs me back there; let me go on� Let me�' �die? He shied away from the word; away from the persuasive summons�
There was a subtle shifting, and the glow flickered, seeming to recede ever so slightly away from him. No, they couldn't keep it from him � not if he wanted it. Not if he wanted to �die? Was death what he really wanted? There had been no doubt before; why was there so much uncertainty now?
'You must go back because you will make that difference. Your life has a purpose that you have yet to fulfill�'
Things were fading, the surrounding white light dimmed to gray; and the angel, Mihdael, glowed even brighter, losing definition and form.
'And there is one who needs you � though neither of you know it thus far�You will pull him from the brink of darkness�' His image blurred, fading away with his words, 'And there will be others whose needs will be different� but just as great�'
Then� he was alone once more.
Without thought or will, he found himself standing over the form he had left � a shell of flesh and bone. Once he returned, there would be the renewal of pain of the flesh, of the spirit, of life; but there would also be the healing nurturing to temper that pain�
Closing his eyes, he let himself be drawn back. He was almost eager to return, despite the physical unpleasantness that lay ahead. For he knew, now; he knew�
For the split-second of conscious thought allowed him, the entire Universe seemed to implode in his head� And he didn't know if his screams reached from sub-conscious to conscious level before total darkness granted him refuge from the agony that shattered his every thought�
Chapter Four - Revelations
Hardcastle pulled the Corvette over to the damaged guardrails in a barely controlled slide. Somehow, he knew the cause of the torn railings; more than aware of the tread marks blackening the pavement, curving toward the shoulder, the railings� He stood, oblivious of the light rainfall, staring down at the wreckage below. Hardly aware of his actions, he was halfway down the slope before he realized it�
He didn't want to think. He couldn't stop the visual input, but he could stop the frightening thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to stay cool and calm; if he didn't, he'd be of little use to McCormick�
The strident blare of a horn diverted his attention momentarily. He paused, looking up toward the road. A woman stood at the railing, waving and calling down to him.
"�Can you hear me? Can I help?" She held the hood of her white raincoat tightly, damp strands of blonde hair blowing across her face.
"Yeah," he yelled back, "can you get to a phone, call for help?"
"I have a phone in the car. I've already called 911. I'll wait inside the car until they get here."
He waved, acknowledging her words, and she ducked back inside a late model, white Mercedes sedan.
Buoyed somewhat, Hardcastle continued down the embankment, picking his way carefully. His progress was slowed by rain-slick footing in the sand and mud, and loose rocks that tumbled and bounced down the slope ahead of him. Even before he reached McCormick, he could see that Mark was still alive, still breathing � there wasn't much left of his shirt, and he could detect the gentle rise and fall of his chest. There seemed to be no immediate danger, but that could be deceiving. It was pretty obvious that McCormick had been thrown from the car, and if he had hit any of the rocks or boulders, internal injury was very likely � not to mention external injury�
Finally reaching his objective, he knelt, spoke quietly, "McCormick?"
He placed the back of his hand against Mark's forehead. It felt cold and damp � from the rain, or from shock, he didn't know. There was no response to his voice or touch. The ashen features were still, the eyes didn't open, the pale lips didn't move. He was unconscious � deeply unconscious� A head injury, no doubt; and a possible concussion as well. There was a darkly swollen bruise on his forehead, and the Judge didn't want to risk moving McCormick's head to check for any other injuries. There wasn't any bleeding, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He placed his fingers against Mark's neck; the pulse was weak and rapid, breathing shallow and irregular. But neither pulse nor respiration was getting any worse� problem was, it wasn't getting any better, either�
He continued the visual inspection, wincing a bit at all the bruises and abrasions. McCormick's entire left side was one long laceration of contused and scraped skin; the bleeding was minor, the rain having washed most of the blood away, leaving raw, red skin. His left shoe was missing, and Hardcastle glanced around for it. Not seeing it in the immediate vicinity, he started to rise, then stopped himself.
"What the hell am I doing?" He spoke mainly for his own benefit, annoyed and irritated, "Who gives a damn about a shoe?"
There wasn't a lot he could do for any of the injuries, but he could at least try to keep McCormick as warm as possible until the ambulance arrived. Except for a ragged tear from thigh to ankle, the jeans were intact; taking off his jacket, he placed it over McCormick's bare chest, absently noting another large contusion over his collarbone. He shook his head � no telling how many fractures and breaks the kid had. He calculated, figuring the Rambler had been travelling at 50-55 when it went through the guardrail; the first impact would have decreased the speed, and each successive impact would slow it even more. Even so, you don't hit solid rock at 30 � or even 20 � miles per hour without breaking something�usually several somethings�
He'd feel a lot better if Mark would just come out of it; reassure him that the wasn't going to be locked away in a coma for God knew how long� He shivered a bit, thinking it was caused by the falling rain and cool breeze. Getting to his feet, he pulled the warped hood from among the boulders. He carefully braced it against a dwarf tree trunk and anchored it several large rocks, tilting it enough to block off the rain and wind from McCormick. The kid may already be soaked through, but the inclement weather couldn't be good for him. And he was pretty well drenched himself, and he didn't relish waiting in the rain for the ambulance. There was just enough space between the hood and McCormick for him to sit more or less comfortably.
Taking a moderately dry handkerchief from his pocket, he dried McCormick's face, neck, and chest, tucking the jacket in around his scratched and scraped shoulders. The younger man shivered � from cold or pain, maybe both � A shadow fell over them, and he looked up, startled.
"I brought this." It was the blonde-haired woman who had called for help. She stood next to the hood, an umbrella casting her in deep shadow. That, and the wind blowing her hair around her face, prevented Hardcastle from seeing her features clearly. She held a folded blanket, offering it to him. "I thought it�might help�"
"Thank you." He took the dry, warm blanket, and spread it over McCormick.
She knelt next to the younger man, her white shoes muddy and sandy, the edge of her raincoat skimming the wet ground. She touched McCormick's face gently, long, slender fingers trailing lightly down the side of his face. There was a kindness, a caring about her in her concern for a stranger's welfare� Hardcastle had met few people like that, and she reminded him strongly of his late wife, Nancy. Then she rose, her voice soothing and reassuring.
"I'm sure your son will be all right." It was more than just a kind platitude. He started to rise as well, as she prepared to leave, "No, I can manage. I'll go back and wait for the ambulance, and tell them what I can. You stay with him."
Just as Hardcastle had not heard her approach, he did not hear her leave. He leaned over, looked around the car's hood just as she reached the shoulder of the highway; she didn't have any trouble at all ascending the incline. He settled back, shrugging; it was comforting, though, to have someone nearby�even if he didn't know her name, or who she was.
He took McCormick's pulse again, and it seemed stronger; his breathing seemed deeper, too � but, again, he didn't know if that was promising or dangerous. His medical knowledge was limited to basic First Aid, beginning with 'Never move the victim' to 'Keep the victim warm'.
He sighed, touching Mark's still cool face lightly. "Come on, kid, wake up. I'm getting' stiff as hell, sittin' here, watchin' you, wonderin' if�" He stopped, unable to put his fears into words � words that McCormick might hear�if he could hear anything, if he was even aware of anything. McCormick would pull through it, though; he was tough, a fighter. He wouldn't just� give up. "You wouldn't bail out on me, would ya, kid? You're not going to leave me with the last word, are ya?" The last word� his last words to Mark hadn't been very kind or understanding � and the kid really hadn't, for once, done anything to deserve them. Shut him down and shut him out, a reflex response designed to keep McCormick from knowing too much, getting too close; and it worked�most of the time. And the one time he hadn't meant for his words to wound, they had. Had wounded deeply for Mark to react the way he did, tearing out in a junket that he was embarrassed to be seen near, much less in�
The Judge glared at the demolished vehicle. What kind of self-respecting garage would send someone away in a car that was unsafe in neutral? If it had been any other car, Mark would never have gone through that railing. He was too good a driver for that, too familiar with the highway itself. If it had been any other car�
"Gonna make me wait, huh? Make me wait and wonder. Wonder when you're going to decide to talk to me again. Tell me what a damned stubborn ass I was to even let you inside that piece of crap, much less drive it�"
"�donkey�"
Hardcastle's head snapped up, not sure he had actually heard the voice. It was so low, and weak, but determined. "What? McCormick, can you hear me?"
"�damned, stubborn donkey�" The words were hardly more than a sigh. Pain crossed his features, and he tried to raise a hand to his forehead. About halfway, his strength gave out, and it fell onto his chest. He gasped sharply, biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out.
"McCormick, can you tell me� where you're hurting?"
"�everywhere�"
"Can you move your feet, or your legs?"
He moved both slightly, grimacing with the effort. "�anything else�coach?"
"Not at the moment."
"�good�" He was quiet for a while, then his right hand brushed weakly against Hardcastle's knee. "�Judge�?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"There's a � sadistic bastard inside� my head, � hammerin' against�my skull� Let him�out� Please?"
"McCormick, can you open your eyes?"
Mark started to shake his head, then thought better of it. "�hurts�too much� Too much�light�"
"Just for a few seconds."
McCormick would have sighed, but it took too much effort. So he complied, but not very quickly. Even with the car's hood shading him, he winced against the light. The sky was darker than he remembered it; and he wondered, briefly, how long he'd been out. He blinked, waited for his vision to clear, for things to take on a sharper definition. After a few seconds, he was able to make out the letters on the Rambler's hood.
Then a hand appeared before his eyes, followed by Hardcastle's voice, "How many fingers do you see?"
"Four, Judge� Two up, two down� One thumb� Happy?" He wasn't. The longer he talked, the longer he stayed awake; and the longer he stayed awake, the more painful it got. He didn't want to talk; he wanted to remember� There was something he needed to remember�
Wisps of memory drifted over him; thin, transparent� mentally melting away as he tried to grasp them, to hold onto them� Elusive images at first faint, then sharper, swirling away when he tried to recall details� He nearly cried out in frustration� why couldn't he remember?
But the physical pain was more insistent, more demanding; and he couldn't spare the strength to force the memories. There was another image�kind, gentle, soothing�and golden light that warmed and comforted him. And he knew the memories weren't lost, that he would remember everything at the proper time. It was the same familiar, yet unexplainable, feeling he'd had before � the sense of knowing, of being aware, but unable to understand how he knew�
His headache seemed to increase, if that were possible, a protest to his mental confusion. He felt Hardcastle's warm grip on his arm, and focussed on that. After all that had happened, after all that had been said, he was still surprised at the concern in the Judge's voice and manner. He wondered if it was the result of guilt, or was Hardcastle really worried about him? He'd probably never know; and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Look at me." Hardcastle� again.
He was so tired, so�exhausted; his strength seemed to have left him completely. Talking was an effort, and almost as painful as moving. "�Hardcase�" Not that the protest would do any good, but he had to try.
"Do what I said, McCormick." The old, authoritative tone displaced the concern � rather quickly, Mark thought. He started to comply, but the sharp pangs stopped him momentarily�along with Hardcastle's added admonition, "And don't move your head."
He bit back a groan, and a complaint; right now, he couldn't move anything without sending waves of agony throughout his body. His head felt as if it was splitting wide open� Why couldn't Hardcastle just leave him alone�let him rest�Even the slight movement of his eyelids was excruciating, but he managed to find, and hold, the Judge's craggy features� Amazingly enough, he look worried; more than that, he looked�frightened.
"Okay," Hardcastle murmured, "They both seem to be the same size."
McCormick didn't bother to ask�
The whoops of a siren caught their attention, and the Judge gripped his hand reassuringly. "Calvary's here, and they've brought the medics. So hang in there for a few more minutes, kiddo�"
There was the faintest of smiles. "I'm not�goin' anywhere, Hardcase."
Chapter Five � Life After Life?
Hardcastle went through the red tape at the hospital as quickly as he could, then found himself cornered by the police in the ER waiting room. He had managed to put off their questions at the accident scene, but there was no way he could avoid them now. After he assured the officer's that McCormick hadn't been trying to skip out on his parole, there really wasn't much more he could relate. He couldn't answer their questions about the identity of the woman who had been at the scene. She had somehow slipped away, unnoticed. The two officers were uneasy about letting a possible witness get away from them. One officer had even checked with the 911 operator, to get the name and address from her; but on replaying the tape, the operator found it contained only static � and apologized fort he 'equipment malfunction'.
So the Judge answered what questions he could, and gave them what information he had. It was incomplete, but it would have to do. Now, all that remained was paper work and insurance forms�damned annoying and time-consuming.
Finally, after what seemed ages, he found himself back in the ER waiting room. The nurse had given him McCormick's belongings and the blanket. Curious, he studied the white and gold label stitched in the upper corner: CELESTIAL ENTERPRISES, UNLIMITED. He'd never heard of that company; not, he supposed, that it mattered. If their benefactress wanted to remain anonymous, he would honor it.
A few hours later, a doctor came into the waiting room; one he knew by sight and reputation, but not by association � Dr. Lindon Ames. As far as Hardcastle was concerned, a major factor in Ames' favor was that he was in his mid-fifties, and not some hot-shot kid just out of med school who'd been shaving for maybe two weeks � and had the cuts to prove it. Catching sight of the Judge, he came over to him; there was a baffled, yet pleased, expression on his weathered face.
"Judge Hardcastle?"
"Dr. Ames� how is he?"
Dr. Ames shook his head, dropping his long, lanky frame into one of the chairs. "Beats the hell outta me. When he was first brought in, when I heard the details of the accident � well, I tell ya, it's nothing short of a miracle�"
Relieved, Hardcastle took the chair opposite the doctor. "He's okay?"
"By all rights, he should be in ICU, borderline at the very least. Near as I can figure, he was unconscious right before the impact. The lack of � resistance enabled him to absorb most of the shock of impact�he sorta�rolled with it, so to speak�" Another reason Hardcastle liked Dr. Ames was because of his straight forward, lack of complicated-medical-jargon-that-no-one-understood way of talking. He simply told you what was what. "Anyway, he does have a cerebral concussion, fractured collarbone and shoulder blade, broken arm, a few dislocations�along with a very colorful collection of bruises and abrasions. And that's all� damned miracle�"
"When can I see him?"
"He's in Recovery now; give him a few hours, then check with the Nurse's Station on the fourth floor. He'll be here for a few days; if there's no complications, he can go home by the end of the week." He finished some notes on a chart, then flipped the pages as he continued to talk, "I was told you were with him right after the accident�" The doctor's voice took on a very neutral tone, which quickly alerted Hardcastle.
"Yeah."
"Was he conscious?"
"Not at first; but he was aware and talking before the ambulance arrived."
"What was he talking about?"
"Nothing much. Mostly complaining about his head hurting."
"Not surprising�" He glanced up, eyes serious, "That's all?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"While I was examining him, he kept saying something about a 'purpose', or maybe 'on purpose'; and lights and tunnels� About wanting to 'go on', but not being able to� Someone kept stopping him�"
Hardcastle looked at him; surely the doctor didn't think� Ames continued before he could respond.
"Most of what he said, I can disregard. But, as his doctor, I am bound morally to ask this: Could the accident have been intentional? Are you that 'someone' that made it difficult for him to 'go on'�?
The Judge shook his head. The doctor obviously did think so. "No, he wasn't like that at all when I was with him. And believe me, Mark would never � he didn't go through that guardrail on purpose�" He tried to keep his sudden anger under control. What had McCormick been saying, anyway?
"That accident should have killed him," Ames said bluntly, gaze level. "Before the accident, what was his frame of mind? Had there been any serious upsets, or arguments?"
He didn't bother to try and explain that, to McCormick, running out of Frosted Flakes was a calamity. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn't suicidal, if that's what you're getting at."
"Sometimes, it's hard to tell; sometimes, something we would just shrug off will affect another person deeply. They don't always wear signs, you know."
"I know McCormick."
"But you're not related to him; you've known him for only a short time."
"Dr. Ames, McCormick is an ex-con, paroled into my custody. I know quite a bit about him. I know his motives, and I know what motivates him. He's had problems in the past, but he's working on them. He wants to straighten his life out, and I'm helping him do just that. He's quick, and he's smart � street smart. I couldn't do anything without his willing cooperation. And he was doing real well, up until�" He halted suddenly. A memory came, clear and sharp, of what he'd said that had caused the complete change in McCormick's behavior.
" 'up until' what?" Ames prompted.
"I�inadvertently mentioned his father� sorta�"
"Is there a problem in that area?"
"I don't know. He's not listed on McCormick's permanent record. No name, no address, no nothing."
Ames studied him for a few moments, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "It's not easy, is it? Getting these kids so late in life� Kinda makes you wonder if it's worth all the effort."
"Mark is worth the effort." Any effort. Despite what he may have said to the contrary. "He did try to avoid the guardrails; and the police are satisfied that it was a weather-related accident."
"I know. They told me. More or less the same thing you just did." He got to his feet, smiling down at Hardcastle's look, "Just double-checking � a cross-examination in my own way. I need to have some idea of Mr. McCormick's state of mind--before, during, and after�" He tucked the clipboard under one arm, ran a hand thoughtfully over his chin. "I suppose by the time he was brought to ER the pain was pretty bad� And with that head injury, well, there's no telling what kind of mixed up, off-the-wall thoughts he was having."
"Believe me, Doc, he doesn't need a head injure for that�"
Ames chuckled. "I know what you mean; damned amazing what these kids will come up with. Lights and tunnels are one thing, but I have to admit that 'talking blobs of Light' is a new one on me."
Pushing himself up from the chair, Hardcastle just shook his head.
A mischievous glint came into Ames' dark eyes, and he smiled, spoke in a conspiring manner, "By the way, would you like for us to give him a hair cut? You can always blame it on the mean old doctor."
"Is it necessary?"
"Medically? Not at all. Ascetically? By all means."
Hardcastle was sorely tempted, but resisted. "No, better not�if it isn't necessary. If he loses even one curl, he'll probably go into withdrawal, or something, for months. And I'd rather have to look at him, than have to listen to him�"
*********
Having arranged earlier for a private room for McCormick, the Judge was there with him as soon as the hospital staff would allow it. He wasn't sure what to expect, but what he saw was basically benign. Replacing an IV bottle, a nurse smiled as she left. McCormick was bandaged and taped, an elaborate harness around his shoulders, left arm in a cast and sling. Most of his color was back, and it was hard to believe that a few hours ago he'd been lying at the bottom of a cliff, broken and battered.
He placed the clear plastic bag containing McCormick's belongings on the top of a built-in chest of drawers. He started place the blanket on top of that, when he hesitated. Glancing back at Mark, he saw there was only a sheet covering him; and even to the Judge, the room felt cool. He went over to the bed, and spread the pale blue blanket over the sheet. He pulled the edge up to McCormick's chest; if it proved to be too much covering, then it could be easily removed� but, somehow, the Judge didn't think it would be�
Pulling up a chair to the bedside, he reached over the raised metal railings and touched McCormick's face � it was warm, as it should be. His breathing was deep and even, untroubled. Dr. Ames had assured him that Mark was in no danger, and would sleep through the night; but he decided to remain anyway. Even with the bandages and the darkening bruises, his features looked youthful; the lines of stress, anger, and frustration had been smoothed away from his forehead, eyes, and mouth, taking nearly ten years with it� not even the faint shadow of his beard dispelled the image. Of course, the long, curly hair reaching nearly to his eyebrows and covering his ears did nothing to convey maturity�
"Well, kid," his quiet tone was amused, "you're probably going to be called 'kid' 'til the day you're eighty�if you manage to reach eighty." He recalled what one of the nurses in Recovery had told him, while he was at the Nurse's Station; the story of McCormick's argument with an angel. She was quiet certain of it; the patient had definitely believed he'd encountered angels� She had smiled then, saying that a few other patients had, over the years, told her similar stories; but none of them had been Dr. Ames' patients. And Dr. Ames was pragmatic, if nothing else. Hardcastle shook his head, "Leave it to you, kiddo, to argue with an angel."
Leaning back in the chair, he turned the TV on, lowered the volume, and watched the rest of the Tonight Show. By the end credits, the weariness had taken hold and he turned off the TV. Placing the bed/TV/radio control and the nurse's call button near McCormick's right arm, he shifted more comfortably in the large, well-padded chair. Then his hand settled over McCormick's and remained there.
********
The sun had not yet penetrated the lowered clouds when McCormick started to awaken. Hardcastle withdrew his hand, straightened in the chair, and opened yesterday's untouched newspaper.
McCormick waited a few seconds before opening his eyes, sorting out where he was and what was going on. Hospital, no doubt of that; and his restricted movements indicated that he was pretty well bandaged up. His head ached, but within bearable limits; there were other aches and pains, but minor by comparison. He seemed to be alive, in one piece, and more or less mobile. He wondered how long he'd been here � a day, two days, a week? His foggy thoughts brought cloudy memories�the accident, Hardcastle finding him, the eternally long minutes in ER� The doctor and nurses hovering over him, alternately concerned, and, it seemed, amused; or maybe their smiles had meant to ease his own fears. And something else: Someone else had been with him, gently caring� Not the doctors or nurses, 'cause they wouldn't hold your hand all night�
He cracked an eyelid ever so slightly, waited until Hardcastle's stocky frame came into focus, currently seated and hiding behind a newspaper. He remembered the Judge at the accident scene, concerned and frightened � for him. It was�not what he would have expected from old Hardcastleface; he hadn't expected to find marshmallow under the flinty exterior.
Then� he remembered something else; the golden Light, the gentle, all-knowing voice telling him�It couldn't be� Hardcase couldn't be the one� Milton Hardcastle, tough-as-old-shoe-leather, onery-as-hell, needn't-need-or-want-anybody� needed him??? No, it couldn't be; it had to be someone else. It just couldn't be � Hardcastle� Could it?
" 'Morning, Judge."
The paper didn't waver. " 'Morning; and about time, too."
"Why? Am I still on the clock?"
Hardcastle grunted. "Not hardly. You clocked out a long time ago."
McCormick shifted a bit, trying to get more comfortable; he gazed up at the ceiling. "Why did you come after me?" No answer. "Why did you stay here all night? I mean, they must have told you I was okay." Still no answer. He looked at the wall over Hardcastle's head, "Why did you sit there, all night and most of the morning, holdin' my hand?"
He didn't expect an answer to that question, but after a few seconds, he got a response. Not an answer or an explanation, but at least a response.
"Don't know what you're talking about, kid. You must have been dreaming."
"Hah! Why would I be dreamin' about an old goat like you? If I was going to be dreamin' about someone holdin' my hand, it would have been someone younger, rounder, and of the female persuasion�" Again, no response. "You know, Judge, you really don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. I mean, I'm getting' a real kick outta lying here, talkin' to the ceiling, the wall�your newspaper�"
Hardcastle sighed heavily, made an elaborate show of folding the paper and placing it on his lap. He then gave his full attention to McCormick. "What?"
Now that he had the Judge's undivided attention, he wasn't sure he wanted it. "Something� happened out there�"
"Yeah. You went through the guardrail, down the embankment; totaled a car that was already a wreck to begin with, and very nearly totaled yourself in the bargain. Now you're here."
"Do we have to pay for the car?"
Hardcastle snorted, his distaste obvious. "That heap was probably in minus equity; they should be paying us. No, they had it insured. The car itself, and collision, but not the driver. I oughtta sue 'em for letting an unsafe vehicle on the road� risking people's lives�"
"It wasn't that bad, Judge; it was drivable."
"Well, kiddo, either the car caused the accident, or it was your driving�"
"Yeah, you're right; it was a dangerous piece of junk."
"Kinda figured you'd see it that way." Hardcastle returned to his paper.
McCormick stretched carefully; it was a strain, bracing himself up on his one good arm. He felt around for the bed control; finding it, he raised the head of the bed so he could sit up more comfortably. All kinds of jumbled thoughts and images were taking shape in his mind, and he was beginning to recall more and more, and to make sense of it. It would help if his head didn't ache so much. He raised his hand to his forehead, felt the bandage, and followed it around. He couldn't keep the sudden alarm from his voice, startling Hardcastle almost out of his chair, "Hardcastle�!!"
"What?! What is it? What's wrong?"
"My hair! They�they didn't cut it , did they?"
"For Christ's sake, McCormick, I thought there was something seriously wrong with you � not that there isn't."
"This is serious, Hardcase; this could have a lasting, adverse effect on my social life�"
"Nooo, kid� what I'm gonna do to you will have a lasting, adverse effect on your social life if you ever scare me like that again�"
"Come on, Judge; did they cut my hair?"
"I. didn't. ask. them. Anyway, so what if they did cut off a section in the back � it's not like they shaved your head or anything." He added darkly, "Not that it wouldn't be an improvement."
"Awwww, Jeezzz�" McCormick fumbled, one-handedly, at the back of the bandage.
Hardcastle was up, and grabbed his wrist � tightly. "What are you doing? Leave that alone."
"Jud-udge�" The plaintive whine would have broken a lesser man, "I can't go around with�with a hole in my hair. I gotta know if they cut it."
"They didn't cut it. Now calm down."
"How do you know? You said you didn't ask them."
"Because, McCormick, there's so much hair back there, that you can't even see the bandage; you can hardly see it in the front." Which was true; his long, curly hair just about concealed the 3-inch wide bandage. "And�" he added grudgingly, "I�toldthemnotto."
"Really? Really, Judge; are you sure?"
"As sure as I ever want to be."
"Well� Okay. You can let me go now. I promise I won't bother it anymore." As Hardcastle picked up his newspaper off the floor and sat back down, he added, "Is there a mirror around here?"
Hardcastle glared at him, then threw the newspaper, which McCormick easily deflected. Grinning, Mark tossed the paper back at him. "Thanks, Judge�for not lettin' them cut my hair. I would've given you hell if they had of, ya know."
"Oh, yeah, kid, I know."
"Anyway, what I was going to tell you," McCormick continued with his original train of thought, "There was� someone else, before you got there."
Hardcastle frowned. "You mean someone else found you, and then just left you there?"
"No, it was more the other way around� It was really weird, Judge. It was like� like I could see, and hear, and talk� well, sorta talk; but it was mostly like it was in my head, you know?"
Hardcastle nodded sagely. "In your head�"
"Yeah� No, not that way. I didn't imagine it�"
"Imagine what?"
McCormick looked around, then leaned forward, spoke in a subdued tone, "Not a 'what', a who � An angel, Judge. I talked to a honest-to-God angel!"
"Uh-huh�"
"Really, I did!"
"McCormick, are you gonna start with the angel stories again?"
Mark's expression of puzzled amazement was almost comical. "How--?"
"You've already done that routine with the doctor in ER, and a couple of nurses while in Recovery," he explained patiently.
"It happened, Judge; no doubt about it."
"McCormick, you were unconscious. You crashed against those rocks and you simply� hallucinated all of it. Of course, it's going to seem real to you�"
"It was real."
"McCormick�"
"I saw it. I saw the car. I saw the rain, the rocks, the ground� everything. I saw myself� lying there�"
"McCormick�"
"I can tell you where every piece of that car landed. I can even tell you where my other sneaker is."
"Stop it."
"And I can tell you something else," McCormick went on, as if Hardcastle hadn't spoken, "There's something more� More than the life we have here�"
"What? What more is there?!" The Judge interrupted, angry for some indefinable reason. "What is it that you think you've seen?"
McCormick glanced down, the older man's harshness hitting him like a physical force. "You don't believe me. I'm not lying to you, Judge; what reason would I have? The least you can do is listen."
Hardcastle made an effort at calm. "I'll listen. Can't promise to change my mind, though."
Mark glanced up, nodding. "I can't really blame you. I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I hadn't seen it�"
"You. Didn't. See. It."
"Yes, I did. Talked to 'em, too."
"Right, yeah; talking to the angels � I wouldn't spread that around, kid."
"No, it was just one angel."
"Oh, my mistake � only one angel."
"And he told me things, Judge."
" 'He' ?"
McCormick found himself grinning. "Yeah. The Big Guy does have a sense of humor; I have proof � other than Him making you the kinda guy you are, that is� I had to have an idea of what an angel would look like, you see; and so I did, but I didn't get what I had in mind� Which proves I didn't imagine it, 'cause if I had, that angel would've looked like an angel�
"This one, he looked like a linebacker for the Rams� except for the glow, and the armor� and, of course, the wings�big, white, tough-lookin' wings� He was tall, and powerful; and he was probably good-looking, too� but you can't look at an angel's face, you know�"
"McCormick, you're babbling."
"No, no, Judge; it was great. There was a bright light, and fog that turned into a long tunnel, and people�lots of people. They wanted me to stay with them. It was all warm and friendly; and I like it� And there was this weird blob of light that talked, and�"
"Wait, wait � What happened to the angel?"
"I told you. The blob of light became an angel when I told it to."
The Judge just looked at him for a long, long time, tapping the newspaper against his chin. "McCormick," he said finally, "I want you to stop this. Right. Now. There was no talking blob of light; it didn't turn into an angel at your bidding. You. Were. Hallucinating. Understand?
"It never happened; you only think it happened.
"Case. Closed."
"Maybe for you. You didn't see him; you didn't talk to him."
"Neither did you!"
McCormick just looked at him, stubborn and unconvinced by the Judge's arguments.
It took a great deal of self-restraint for Hardcastle not to be more insistent. It would only prolong McCormick's hospital stay, and add to the bill� There was only one, non-violent, way to end this. "All right, McCormick, all right. You believe it happened, I believe it happened. Now, get some rest."
"But�I just woke up."
"Believe me, kid, you need the rest."
He lay back for a while, and heard the newspaper rustling. "You really do believe me?"
"I really do believe you." The response was a monotone.
"Really?"
"McCormick. Shut. Up."
A few minutes passed in silence. "�Judge�?"
Hardcastle's grip tightened on the newspaper, crumpling it. "What?"
"I'm not crazy�" he said quietly.
The grip relaxed. "I didn't say you were, kid."
"You think I am, though; you, and that doctor, and those two nurses. You all think I'm Looney-Tunes."
"I'm gonna be Looney-Tunes if you don't shut up and get some rest." So I can get some rest, he added to himself.
There was no answer, and he lowered the still unread paper, and looked at McCormick. "Look, kid, the unconscious mind can play real strange tricks on you. You had � have � a serious concussion. That's why you're here. It took your thoughts, whatever was on your mind, and twisted it all around. What were you thinking about at the time? Do you remember?"
McCormick found he couldn't tell Hardcastle what had been on his mind; couldn't relate his fears and insecurities. He wasn't sure he could explain them even to himself. He glanced away, closing his eyes, "I� can't remember much of what happened before the accident� But," he turned back to the Judge, "I can remember most everything right after�
"Right before the lights, and tunnel, and stuff appeared, I remember thinking I was dying � or already dead � and that it didn't matter, 'cause I didn't think I had done anything with my life that mattered�nothing that I needed to return to�"
Hardcastle found that troubling, but McCormick sounded very matter-of-fact. "And now? What do you think now?"
McCormick smiled, his new-found knowledge based on faith rather than facts. "Now? Now I know I that I haven't done anything that really mattered � that really made any kind of difference�"
It was Hardcastle's turn to be puzzled. "You look awfully happy about it."
"I'm going to, Judge; I'm going to make that difference."
"I've always known that, kid. I'm always one up on you, you know."
"I have one up on you, Judge."
"Do you now?"
"Yep, I do. You don't know it yet, but you need me."
"Of course I know it. I need you to mow the lawn, weed the gardens, and ride shotgun."
"Uh-uh� You really need me � to save you from yourself."
"You sound real sure of yourself. I take it you have an unimpeachable source?"
"The unimpeachablest. You might say I got it from the Highest Authority � next to the highest, anyway�"
"Just what are you supposed to save me from? A life of peace and quiet?"
"I'm not sure, exactly. I think he said from 'the darkness of the soul'� Do you know what he was talking about?"
Hardcastle looked at him, features expressionless. Then he picked up the newspaper, opened it to the Sports section. "You're about ten years too late, McCormick. Now, go to sleep."
Chapter Seven � "New" Wheels
"How's the arm?" Hardcastle got to his feet as McCormick left Out-Patient, rubbing and scratching his left arm.
"Other than looking like the hind leg of a Chihuahua, and itching like crazy, it's fine."
"Need to exercise it," the Judge advised.
"Yeah?" McCormick grinned, figuring he had a pretty good idea what kind of 'exercise' Hardcastle had in mind. The 'get this lawn into shape' kind. And, it didn't bother him; not like it would have had a month or so ago. The hard, sharp edge of bitterness, of resentment, seemed to have dulled; worn away by an inner peace. Or maybe he had just finally decided to accept things, and make the best of it. Life was too short, and too valuable, he realized, to waste it making himself miserable over things he couldn't change. He might not like his current situation � and he would certainly complain about it at any and all opportunities � but he wouldn't let the resentment eat away at him until he was unable to enjoy, or even recognize, the good things life had to offer.
"Yeah�" Hardcastle held the glass door open, and they walked toward the Out-Patient parking lot, "like hoeing, raking, mowing, and�" He paused at the 'Vette, tossing the keys to McCormick, "driving."
Too surprised to catch the keys, they fell to the pavement. McCormick stared at him in disbelief. "The 'Vette? You�you mean it?!"
"Nah, McCormick, I always go around throwing my car keys at strange guys. Yes, I mean it. Now, are you gonna drive or yak?"
"Can I do both?" He was grinning widely as he picked up the keys.
"Can I stop you?"
"Nope." He opened the door, then hesitated. "Hardcase, you really don't hafta do this. I mean you got the Coyote outta hock, even paid the insurance and repair bills� That's way more than I expected." The smile dimmed a bit, "If you don't want me drivin' the 'Vette � especially in view of what happened to the last car I drove�"
"McCormick," Hardcastle interrupted, waving him off, "I rarely do anything I don't want to do � you, of all people, should know that. Now, drive." He settled back in the seat, pulling the ball cap down over his eyes; smiling slightly, he added, "After all, what are friends for, anyway?"
The grin came back in full force as McCormick shook his head, "I don't know, Judge. Of all the friends I've ever had, none of them were quite like you�"
Hardcastle chuckled as the 'Vette's well-tuned engine came to life. "Now yer cookin', kiddo."
"Nope, now I'm drivin'�"
***The End***
Sequel: "Xanthon, Demon of Duplicity" - Mark and the Judge join the Angel Warrior Mihdael on an alternate plane of existence to vanquish a demon.
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