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.
Author's Notes: This story was published long, long ago in a zine called Prime Time2.
Comments welcome at [email protected]
THE HAUNTING OF HARDCASTLE
by Sheila Paulson
"Help me. Please help me."
Faint and hoarse, the voice gradually filtered through to the
mind of Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, rousing him from what had been a
sound sleep. For a long moment, he lay halfway between sleep and
waking while the pleading voice begged him for aid. He was trapped in
a nightmare, wanting to wake up and unable to escape. Hardcastle
screwed his eyes tightly shut, and wondered, like Scrooge at Marley's
visitation, if this wasn't the result of something he'd eaten. But the
more he tried to block it out, the stronger the voice became. "Help
me. Don't leave me here to die. Help me."
Finally, still half asleep, it occurred to the Judge that
McCormick might be in real trouble and he opened his eyes which
widened at the sight of a misty figure standing at the foot of the
bed. He squinted at the 'specter', trying to make out details.
Although the figure was only partially solid, he was able to make out
a young man in combat fatigues, a twisted, bloodstained bandage around
his head, thin and wasted, but that wasn't the worst. The worst was
that the apparition looked at him with Tommy's eyes.
Horrified, he scrambled backwards to be brought up short by the
headboard. There he stopped and choked out, "Who are you?"
"Don't you know me, Dad?" The voice could have been Tommy's,
could have been anybody's, hoarse and weak, but persistent. "Please,
say you know me."
"Tommy?" he faltered, feeling as though he were at the bottom of
the ocean with the weight of all that water pressing down on his
chest. "Is it really you?"
"Oh, thank God." The voice broke, then strengthened slightly.
"You've got to help me, Dad. Don't leave me here. I want to come
home."
"You're dead," he blurted, trying to seize on that thought.
The spirit dimmed, flickering around the edges. "Don't reject
me," the weary voice pleaded. "I don't know how I was able to reach
you, but you've got to believe that I'm alive."
"No. You can't be alive. You've been dead for thirteen years."
"I've been a prisoner." Tommy's voice faltered. "Th-there are
five of us here. Please, you've got to get me out. You can't guess how
bad it is here, Dad. I-I can't keep this up--I'm being pulled back.
Help me! Oh, God, help me, plea--"
Hands outstretched, he faded away until there was no more of him
left.
"Tommy!" screamed the Judge.
"Judge! Wake up, Judge." A persistent voice in his ear shook him
out of the trance, and he jerked into full wakefulness at last with a
startled, "Ahhh!"
McCormick hovered over him, hair tousled and starred with mist
from the tail end of the evening's rain. He was wearing pajama bottoms
and a frightened face.
"What the hell are you doing here, McCormick?" he demanded
sharply.
"My God, Judge, you were yelling so loud you woke me up over in
the gatehouse. I thought somebody broke in and was trying to kill
you." Hardcastle's eyes dropped to the shotgun which Mark must have
grabbed on his way upstairs. With an expression of embarrassed
concern, the younger man set it aside, his eyes never leaving the
Judge's face. "If that was a nightmare, it was a lulu."
Hardcastle suddenly realized that the light was on as the younger
man asked, "Do you want to talk about it, Milt?" His rare use of the
Judge's first name drove home just how worried he was.
Uncomfortable, he shook off the hand McCormick had rested on his
shoulder. "Don't get crazy on me, kid," he barked. "it was just a bad
dream. Probably from that pizza you made us eat last night."
"I made us eat?" echoed McCormick. "You have got to be kidding.
The pizza was your idea, Hardcase. You wouldn't eat my gourmet health
food banquet and forced me out in the rain to pick up a pizza."
"Nobody but a goat could eat that garbage you tried to poison me
with, McCormick," grumbled Hardcastle. "Now, get out of here. Go on.
It's the middle of the night, and if you're not tired, I am." He
added, less gruffly, "Thanks for waking me."
"No charge," replied McCormick lightly. "I like getting up in the
middle of the night when I'm having a great dream about Ginger, the
waitress at Pizza Heaven. You always wake me up at the best parts." He
backed toward the door, still looking worried, and paused. "It was
about your son, wasn't it?" he ventured tentatively. The Judge's son
was seldom mentioned, and McCormick had always respected Hardcastle's
reticence until now.
"I don't remember what it was about," insisted Hardcastle firmly.
"Just a bad dream. Go back to bed, McCormick, and don't think you can
use this as an excuse to sleep in tomorrow morning."
"Sleep through the basketball shooting championship of the
western world?" McCormick gave him a cautious grin. "You've got to be
kidding." He turned to go, caught hold of the doorframe and stuck his
head back inside. "You sure you're okay?"
"No, I'm not. I'm being talked to death."
"All right, all right. I can take a hint." Mark switched off the
light and went galumphing down the stairs, making an incredible racket
for someone who was barefooted. The Judge listened until he heard the
outside door slam--why couldn't the kid just close a door? Then he
forced himself to lie down again.
He couldn't sleep. The dream was still too vivid. An older and
sick-looking Tommy kept entering his dreams, claiming to be alive and
a prisoner in Cambodia. What the hell could have triggered a dream
like that? He hadn't been particularly thinking of Tommy, and the war
had been over a long time. He was as reconciled to his son's death as
a parent could be to the loss of a child. Perhaps if Nancy hadn't died
such a short time later he might have adjusted better, but the loss of
them both in such a short period could still cut through him. The
scars didn't always hurt, but when they did, the pain was as real as
it had been in the beginning. He'd never been able to talk about it,
and McCormick usually respected that.
But all this was an attempt to keep from thinking about the
nightmare. He'd rather not--it had been too damned real. But, better a
dream than the alternative. He didn't believe in psychic phenomena,
thought the whole idea a stupid waste of time and money unlike
McCormick who'd get all worked up over some silly mumbo-jumbo that was
nothing more than a con or tall tale. The kid would have been up all
night trying to trap a ghost if he had told him the details of the
dream.
A 'ghost' who insisted he wasn't dead? That was a lot of crap.
The army wouldn't have made that kind of a mistake. They'd reported
Tommy dead and there must have been proof or he'd have been listed
MIA. Hardcastle remembered breaking the news to Nancy--probably the
hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He remembered holding Tommy's dog
tags so tightly that he'd cut his hand during the funeral and the
21-gun salute. Tommy was dead.
Still unable to sleep, he sat up in the bed, pounded the pillow
into shape and propped it behind him, but left the light off. Light
would certainly bring McCormick back and he couldn't explain about the
dream. Some things hurt too much to talk about.
His mind shied away completely from the thought that Tommy night
actually be alive. It would be much harder to hope and worry, knowing
that if the he was still alive, he'd been living in hell for more than
ten years. "No!" Finally, he lay back, and closed his eyes. But, even
in the darkness he could still see Tommy. Sleep was a long time
coming.
* * *
Mark woke expecting to hear the thumping sound of the Judge
shooting baskets. Instead he got silence. Glancing at his watch, his
eyes widened to find it was after seven. The Judge had overslept.
That must have been some nightmare. McCormick dragged himself out
of bed, tired himself from his midnight excursion. In the bathroom he
stood under the shower, letting the water wash away his sleepiness.
God, he'd never seen Hardcastle look like that, like he'd been
tortured or something, with tears in his eyes. That last had scared
Mark badly.
Milton C. Hardcastle was tough; he never let anyone see when
things got to him, not if he could help it. But, last night, he'd
never even realized he was on the verge of tears. The griping
afterward had simply been a smokescreen to cover his embarrassment at
waking the younger man.
Stupid. Everyone had bad dreams. Sure, not as bad as last night,
but nothing to get embarrassed about. Maybe the Judge had been more
scared, than embarrassed. certainly seeing him standing there
screaming his dead son's name had scared Mark.
He stepped out of the shower and dried himself, toweling his hair
vigorously. As he dressed, Mark glanced out the window at the main
house, searching for a sign that Hardcastle had gotten up, but things
were still quiet. Reluctant to go over and confront the Judge, Mark
sought a better way to handle things, one Hardcastle would prefer.
Finally, he slipped on his tennies and went out to shoot a few
baskets.
Sure enough, only a few minutes later Hardcastle appeared,
wearing a bathrobe over his Jogging pants, glowering at the other man.
"Are you crazy, McCormick?" he yelled. "It's the middle of the night!"
"I'm picking up bad habits from you, Judge," McCormick said
sweetly, covering a pleased smile. At least Hardcase sounded normal,
even though he looked like he hadn't gotten any more sleep after his
nightmare. Sure, he had huge circles under his eyes, and didn't seem
quite awake, but his expression was under control.
"It's high time you learned some good habits," snapped the Judge.
"Stop playing games and get your chores done. Look at this place!" He
gestured around at the neatly clipped hedges, the freshly mown lawn.
"Looks like a hurricane went through here. Time you started earning
your keep, McCormick!"
"Yes, sir, Kemo Sabe," retorted Mark with a mock salute. "Or
should r say Simon Legree? Talk about slave drivers. With the pittance
you pay me, I just about qualify as slave labor."
"Don't be ridiculous." This was not one of Hardcastle's better
efforts, and McCormick worked to cover up his growing concern.
"Ridiculous?" He pressed on. "Maybe I should take you to court
about my salary. Isn't here something called a 'living wage'?"
"People actually work to earn a living wage, McCormick."
"Dodging bullets doesn't count as work?"
"Give me the ball," replied to Judge, dodging the question.
Silently Mark passed it to him and they spent the next ten
minutes playing cutthroat one on one and when they broke it up, Mark
felt a lot easier.
When Hardcastle went inside to dress, Mark followed, planning to
make breakfast. Perhaps if he were presented with all of his
favorites, Hardcastle might let his guard down enough to talk.
Admittedly no psychiatrist, Mark felt certain that something as
disturbing as that nightmare ought to be talked about.
He was setting the table when the doorbell rang. Muttering
irritably about the interruption, Mark opened the door on Frank Harper
who grinned at the sight of the other man's apron.
"Really suits you, Mark."
Mark whipped it off, crumpling the offending item into a ball.
"Kind of early for a social call, isn't it, Frank?"
"This isn't a social visit, Mark. Is the Judge around?"
"Upstairs, getting dressed."
"Running late," observed Harper. "Is he sick?"
"No, I'm not sick." Hardcastle marched down the stairs. "Whatever
the kid's been handing you is garbage.
"He hasn't told me anything," said Harper mildly. "Should he
have?"
"Nah, just got a bee in his bonnet. Forget about it. What brings
you out here so early?"
Harper raised an eyebrow. "What's with you? Sure sounds like
someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning."
"He sounds like this every morning," said McCormick quickly,
trying to cover for the Judge. "Just a bundle of laughs. Now you know
what I have to put up with. At least you can avoid him until he wakes
up."
The riposte seemed to put the Judge in a better mood, and he
grinned at Harper. "We're ready for breakfast," he announced. "come on
in and have some coffee."
"Thanks." Harper followed them into the kitchen, observing while
Mark dished up a hearty breakfast and set it before the Judge.
Sneaking a look at the other man, Mark was almost positive that
Harper had guessed that something was wrong, but the lieutenant didn't
mention anything. Instead he took his coffee and sipped at it before
squaring his shoulders and assuming the appearance of a bearer of bad
tidings.
"Milt, there's something I thought you ought to know right away.
Pete Hauk is out of prison."
"Who's Pete Hauk?" asked McCormick, guessing from Harper's tone
that this was a serious matter.
"He's a surveillance expert turned bad, Mark," explained Harper.
"Did a lot of breaking and entering before the Judge sent him up about
fifteen years ago. When he was sentenced, he threatened Milt, said
he'd kill him as soon as he got out."
"A lot of cons say stuff like that when they're sent up,"
McCormick remarked. "They don't all mean it, and even if they do, by
the time they come out, they've got other things on their minds." His
gaze traveled from Harper to the Judge. "Why is this one so special?"
he asked uneasily.
"It's not a pretty story," said Hardcastle around a mouthful of
scrambled eggs. "Hauk was a tough guy with one vulnerable spot, his
wife. Right after he was sent up, a burglar broke into their house.
Hauk's wife was at home and she surprised him. He killed her. Hauk's
always maintained that if he hadn't been sent to prison, he would've
been there with her and she'd still be alive."
"But a jury found him guilty," protested Mark. "And it's not like
you arrested him or made him do the things he did. It's dumb to blame
you."
"Oh, come on, kid, it was kind of natural," said Hardcastle,
proving that even after a couple of years he could still surprise the
younger man. "I seem to recall you weren't exactly jumping for joy
when you were placed in my custody. And he had a lot less reason to be
happy with me than you did, especially after his wife died." A
thoughtful expression crossed his face, making Mark wonder if the
Judge weren't predisposed toward sympathy for a person who'd suffered
that particular loss.
As if he'd guessed what McCormick was thinking, the Judge went on
quickly, "I've kept up on Hauk's case, and he's been a model prisoner,
even working on some college credits. What makes you so sure he's
still out to get me, Frank?"
"The word's out on the street that he's coming after you. The
model prisoner bit was just a way to buy his way out. If he'd gone
around threatening you, he never would have been considered for
parole."
""Probably doesn't mean a thing," mused Hardcastle.
"Oh, come on, Judge," objected McCormick strongly. "Look at Weed
Randall. He came a lot closer to killing you than I want to think
about. You can't just hope that this is different and everyone's
overreacting. Can you give him some protection, Frank?"
"I don't need any protection," snapped Hardcastle angrily.
"This place isn't exactly a fortress, you know." Mark plunged
ahead. "Anyone who really wanted to could get in here no problem. You
didn't even have the door locked when--" Realizing he'd almost let the
cat out of the bag, he fell silent.
"I've got guns," the Judge reminded him, giving him a warning
look.
"Big deal. If this guy's such an expert at breaking and entering,
he can sneak in any time he wants. Can't you pick him up, Frank?" Mark
appealed to the lieutenant.
"He hasn't done anything yet," Harper reminded him quietly. "Just
because the word's out, doesn't mean it's true." He turned back to
Hardcastle. "But, we do have enough to put a few uniforms on you for a
few days until we see what develops."
"I don't want a few uniforms lurking around here," protested
Hardcastle, spearing a few pieces of bacon with his fork. "I can take
care of myself. In case you've forgotten, I used to be a cop."
"Yeah, about a hundred years ago," muttered McCormick
irreverently, continuing, "But, even so, I live here too, and I'm in
your custody. And I can't just disappear until the danger's past, so
that makes me a target too and I don't like it." He wasn't really
afraid for himself, but if he could get Hardcastle to take some
precautions, the act would be worth it.
"A hundred years ago?" groused Hardcastle, favoring McCormick
with a dirty look. Then, heaving an exasperated sigh, he yielded. "Go
ahead, make your plans. Just don't expect me to like it."
"Don't do anything stupid, Milt," urged Harper. "Just take a few
sensible precautions. That shouldn't be too much to ask. Mark, you'll
have to sit on him."
"On Hardcase?" asked McCormick, eyes wide in disbelief. "I don't
think I've ever seen this stubborn old donkey do anything he didn't
want to, no matter who gave him the advice."
"Donkey," grumped Hardcastle. "You're full of it this morning,
McCormick."
"Well, pardon me. I'm only trying to keep you alive. I didn't
know that was against the law."
"You're overreacting, both of you," insisted the Judge. "Even if
Hauk is planning something, he's not going to waltz in here in broad
daylight. And, it might surprise the pair of you, but I can be
sensible if necessary, but--"
"It would," chorused Harper and McCormick.
Hardcastle chose to ignore them. "But," he said pointedly, "I
don't plan to put my life in danger. I'll take whatever precautions
are necessary."
"That means he'll run around waving a shotgun at anything that
moves," Mark explained with a grin on his face. "He shot up half the
gatehouse once."
"Saved your life, if I recall," the Judge reminded him. "You
should know by now that I'm not exactly helpless."
McCormick did. He'd seen the Judge take on tougher types than
Pete Hauk and come out on top. What bothered him was the thought that
someone was deliberately planning to kill Hardcastle. If Hauk had
appeared during the Judge's nightmare, the man would have been a
sitting target. And, if the man was such a B & E expert as Harper
claimed, he might not try to get the Judge from ambush, instead head
right for the house... "Yeah, you can take care of yourself, but I
think I'd better move in here for the duration." Harper seconded the
suggestion before Hardcastle could open his mouth. "It's a good idea,
Milt, and you know it. If Mark's in the house, it'll be that much
harder for anyone to get the jump on you."
"All right, already." Hardcastle yielded ungraciously. "Do
whatever you like. It's only my house. Why should I have any say in
the matter?"
"It's also your life." Mark glared at him, just barely holding on
to his temper. "You always have it hard on the rest of us." Frowning,
he added, "For once, Kemo Sabe should listen to Tonto."
"I said to go ahead, didn't I? Can I eat my breakfast now?"
"Nobody's been stopping you," muttered the younger man.
"What do you call talking me to death?"
Suddenly feeling better, McCormick gave Harper a wicked grin.
"Gratitude. Don't you just love this guy?"
The two uniformed policemen showed up shortly before dark, and
proceeded to go over the house and grounds. They found nothing, although
there was a bit of excitement when they discovered footprints near the
main gate. The hurrah died down when Mark admitted to making them when
he'd mowed the lawn.
Once the fuss was over, the search continued with nothing coming of
it. Either Hauk hadn't been on the estate, or he'd already been and gone
without leaving a trace. And the odds were, since nothing had happened
yet, that he hadn't been there.
It was poker night, but Harper urged the Judge to put things off,
reluctant to give Hauk any more targets than he already had. In an
effort to maintain a semblance of normal routine, the lieutenant stopped
by and played poker with Hardcastle, McCormick and one of the guards
until eleven. The Judge lost steadily and McCormick's jovial commentary
didn't help his temper any. The game broke up before World War III could
be declared, and Mark hid a grin as he watched the Judge see Harper out.
The Judge seemed more his old self than he'd been all day.
When Hardcastle went to bed, he knew that one of the officers was
patrolling the grounds, while the other remained in the house. With Mark
asleep in the guest bedroom, it seemed almost impossible to consider
that anyone could break into the house. Thinking about the disruption of
his life kept his mind away from the nightmare until he shut off the
light. Then the memory returned and he tossed restlessly on the bed.
"Help me."
Hardcastle sat bolt upright in bed, sure he was awake, but feeling
the same inability to move that he'd felt the night before. The ghostly
figure stood at the foot of the bed as it had, the dark hollows of his
eyes turned toward the Judge. "You've got to help me get out," pleaded
Tommy.
"I'm dreaming," insisted Hardcastle. "It's just a dream."
"No, it's not. Dad, please. I'm real. Don't let them kill me.
Nobody cares. You're safe back there. Nobody cares what's been happening
to us. Look at you. You don't need me now, You've got that ex-con in my
place. You love him, not your own son. Please, can't you care enough to
get me out?"
"You know I love you, Tommy," the Judge managed with difficulty.
"But, you're dead. Why can't you stop doing this to me?" His voice
shook. Tommy had loved him; surely he'd never put him through this
torture. Hardcastle closed his eyes tightly, no longer sure what to
believe. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered.
"Because I need you. You won't let me die in this hellhole; you
can't. And I want to see you again, face to face, not like this. I never
believed any of that psychic crap, but maybe there's something to it.
Maybe I get through because I need you so much. Please, Dad. I want to
come home. I want to go to law school like we planned. Unless, you don't
want me back. You've got someone else in my place..."
"I want you back." Hardcastle climbed out of bed, drawn toward the
shimmering figure against his will. "Oh, God, Tommy, I want you back."
He stretched out his hand, half afraid, half skeptical, and met nothing.
Tommy still stood there, but his hand had gone tight through him. He
could make it out through Tommy's body.
Involuntarily he jerked backward, falling onto his bed-- And
finally woke, alone in the room.
He sat there shivering, drenched with sweat, his hands shaking.
God, Tommy had been so real until he'd tried to touch him. His thoughts
roamed back over what little he'd read of ghostly encounters. Always
there had been some stupid rigmarole about a sensation of cold, but
there'd been no coldness when he'd touched--whatever it had been. He'd
felt nothing at all. And in his present state of mind, he couldn't
decide whether the visitation had been a dream, or Tommy had actually
been there, ghost or not. Maybe people who'd been as close as they had
could reach each other, communicate even over vast distances.
"Hogwash," Hardcastle muttered, trying to convince himself. "It's
nothing more than a bad dream. Last night was a fluke, and tonight,
tonight was because of all that nonsense about Hauk." Better that than
wondering if he was starting to go crazy.
No. He chose to ignore that possibility. Anyone could have a
nightmare. It didn't necessarily mean anything.
But, he wished he could talk to somebody. McCormick? No, he
thought, shaking his head, can't ask McCormick. The kid would fuss over
him unbearably, and, besides, he could never tell Mark that Tommy had
thought himself replaced by the ex-con. Where had that thought come from
anyway? Sure, McCormick was important to him, and yes, he did think of
him as a kind of son. The kid even reminded him a little of Tommy,
although not as much mow, as in the beginning. Nothing wrong with that
though. Tommy was just mistaken. Mark had his own place, a different
place than Tommy's.
Besides, if this haunting was only a dream, then Tommy couldn't
possibly be right or wrong.
Hardcastle knew he'd never get back to sleep immediately, so he
decided to go down and have a glass of milk or something. Warm milk was
supposed to put you to sleep wasn't it? He got to his feet, and groped
about in the darkness for his robe.
* * *
McCormick came awake suddenly out of a deep sleep. The house was
quiet, too quiet. He felt as though something had awakened him, but,
lying there in the darkness, he heard nothing. Then he caught the
tiniest of creaks, as if someone was tiptoeing past his door. Somebody
was in the house.
Silently, Mark eased out of bed and crept over to the door, which
he'd left ajar in case of anything from an invasion by Hauk to another
nightmare.
He eased the door open, hoping it wouldn't squeak. It gave
silently, and he poked his head out into the hallway, peering in both
directions.
A dark shape moved near the top of the stairs, and Mark didn't
hesitate. With a yell, he charged, launching himself at the intruder's
knees in a flying tackle, and they crashed to the floor just short of
the staircase.
"Judge," yelled McCormick at the top of his lungs. "Hey, Judge, I
caught him."
"You sure did, McCormick," groused a familiar voice from beneath
him. "Quit yelling in my ear and let me up."
"Judge?" asked Mark, feeling his gut twist as the cop on duty
downstairs hit a switch and the lights came up to reveal Hardcastle
lying on the floor.
Immediately Mark sat up, releasing his 'prisoner' who rolled over,
nursing a bruised elbow. "Damn it, McCormick, have you gone crazy?"
"I thought you were Hauk." Mark defended himself hotly now that the
first shock had worn off. "What were you doing wandering around in the
dark?" he demanded.
Hardcastle climbed to his feet, waving away the cop who had come
flying up the stairs. "It's nothing," he called to the man. "The Boy
Wonder, here, just got a little carried away."
"Gimme a break, Hardcase," protested Mark. "What was I supposed to
think when I heard somebody creeping around like a thief in middle of
the night?"
"I was going down for a midnight snack," announced the Judge,
pulling the shreds of his injured dignity around himself. "It's my
house. I can do what I like."
"You should've turned on the light," insisted McCormick stubbornly.
"Next time I want a midnight snack, I'll issue a written
invitation."
Something about Hardcastle bothered Mark, and he asked,
suspiciously, "You don't look too good, Judge. You okay?"
The man reacted predictively. "About as okay as I can be after
being tackled and almost knocked down the stairs." He noticed the
hovering policeman, and added, sharply, "Go back on patrol, Anderson.
Everything's under control."
"Is it?" asked Mark when Anderson had retreated and he could speak
freely without the fear of being overheard. "You had another dream,
didn't you, Judge?"
"Quit fussing over me," protested Hardcastle irritably. "You act
like you're my mother."
"She must have had a thankless job." McCormick hesitated, unsure
how far to force things. He'd never seen the judge look this bad before.
His eyes had a haunted expression in them, and he refused to meet Mark's
searching gaze, concentrating instead on his belt as if retying it were
the most important act in his life. Worried, Mark reached out to touch
the judge on the arm.
"Leave me alone, McCormick," snarled Hardcastle, jerking his arm
away. "You're not my son."
McCormick backed away as though he'd been slapped. He'd never
thought that he might be presuming on the Judge, taking more than his
due, but, dammit, he'd been worried about the man. Maybe he had taken
too much upon himself. After all, no matter how close they were, he and
the Judge weren't blood. He was just an ex-con in Hardcastle's custody,
not family. Maybe he deserved to be put back in his place for assuming
he had any rights here at all.
But the Judge must have thought better of his hasty words. "Aw,
don't look at me like that, McCormick. It's not your fault all of this
is happening." He still sounded gruff and grumpy, but normally so.
"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to worry about you," replied Mark,
stiffly, trying to cover up his injured feelings.
In an unusual action for him, the Judge put his hands on
McCormick's shoulders and shook him lightly. "come on, Mark, don't pay
any attention to me. I was talking nonsense."
Some of the stiffness eased out of Mark's stance, but he still
stared challengingly at the other man, for his words had hurt.
"All right." Hardcastle finally conceded. "I had another dream."
"I think you need to talk about it," ventured Mark, taking a chance
that the judge might have opened up enough to accept his help. "How
about over a midnight snack? I fix a pretty mean glass of warm milk."
"Warm milk?" scoffed Hardcastle, though Mark would have bet he'd
planned on that himself. "How about a cold beer instead, kiddo?"
"You're on." Mark leaped at the invitation, a hint of a smile
crossing his somber face. "But, let me warn you, I can be pretty
stubborn. Learned it from this judge I know."
Hardcastle returned the smile. "All right, kid, you win. I gotta
warn you though, it was just a dumb dream, nothing important."
"If it wasn't important, you'd still be asleep," replied Mark
quietly. "Come on." He led the way downstairs.
* * *
"Now," said McCormick, as he popped the top of a can of Coors and
passed it on to the Judge. "Talk. You've been dreaming about your son.
Anything special happen lately to make you think more about him than
usual?"
"No, nothing's happened," replied the Judge impatiently, moderating
his tone when he caught the wary look on McCormick's face. Mark had been
badly shaken when he'd snapped at him back on the stairs. That had been
a helluva thing to say to someone who cared. "At least nothing I can
think of," he added quickly.
"And it was about your son?" Mark asked hesitantly, as if he was
afraid of setting off another explosion. "I don't want to push you,
Judge, but one thing I've learned from you is that it helps to talk
things out. Look at the way you listened when we got back from Atlantic
City." His face closed up a little, and Hardcastle knew the kid was
remembering the painful meeting with his father. And that talking about
Sonny Daye was as painful a subject for discussion as Tommy. Sonny Daye
had proved to be none of the things Mark had hoped to find in his
father.
Damn, but Mark was right. He couldn't encourage the kid to talk out
his problems if he wasn't prepared to take his own advice. Without
meeting the other man's eyes, he related the dreams very quickly, and
impersonally, leaving out only the emotions the images had dredged up.
McCormick listened quietly, without interruption and, when the
story had been completed, heaved a sigh. "That's a bad one," he said
softly. "No wonder--"
"No wonder I acted like a jerk," Hardcastle finished for him.
"Judge, do you think I'm trying to take your son's place?"
McCormick asked seriously, his face concerned and very grave.
"No, I don't think anything like that, Mark," he insisted, adding,
"And don't go saying I wouldn't have dreamed it if I didn't think it.
You're not taking Tommy's place. You've got your own." He allowed some
normal irritation to enter his voice, "Now, quit talking like I tried to
disown you. I don't like talking sappy and you've got too much sense to
listen to me when I'm acting weird."
"Aw, Judge, I didn't know you cared."
"Don't get smart, McCormick."
"Aye, aye, Kemo Sabe." Smiling a little now, McCormick continued to
probe. "Tell me about it again. It sounds to me like you were awake when
this all happened."
"I was asleep! There's no way I'd see ghosts if I was awake. No
way!" His voice rose slightly.
"Judge Hardcastle doesn't believe in ghosts?" asked Mark lightly.
"I suppose you do?" countered Hardcastle sharply.
McCormick shrugged. "I never saw one so I don't know. Maybe there
are and maybe there aren't. But you said you got out of bed and tried to
touch him?"
"I was still dreaming," snapped Hardcastle, trying to control his
growing agitation. "I couldn't have touched him, because he wasn't
there. Tommy died a long time ago."
"In the dream he says he's alive," Mark reminded him, totally
serious. "Not to make things any worse, Judge, but do you think--do you
think he really could be?"
"No, I don't." Hardcastle took a healthy swallow of his beer. "The
army sent his body home, McCormick. Sure, it was a sealed coffin, but
the army doesn't make that kind of mistake. I don't believe Tommy could
be alive." I don't dare. If I let myself hope, and Tommy was proved
dead, it would be like losing him all over again.
McCormick let that pass, still dwelling on the dream itself. "I
don't think you'd get out of bed in your dream," he mused.
"I was dreaming I got out of bed," the Judge reminded him.
"Maybe you really did."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know." Mark met his gaze squarely. "I'm feeling my way
here, Judge. Can't you help me out a little? Did he talk to you?"
Hardcastle glared at the other man. "I already told you that. Why
don't you ever listen?"
"I did listen," replied McCormick defensively. He leaned forward,
"Look, what I mean is, did his mouth move and everything? Or did he just
stand there and you heard a voice?"
Narrow-eyed, Hardcastle asked, "What're you getting at, McCormick?"
Straightening in his seat, Mark shrugged again. "I don't know," he
admitted. "But maybe it wasn't a dream."
"It wasn't a ghost, kid. I don't buy that kind of garbage."
"Maybe it was some sort of projection?"
"You mean somebody rigged it? Come on, McCormick, use your brain.
Maybe last night, sure, but not tonight with cops In the house and you
in the next room. Nobody could've sneaked in to do it. Besides, if there
was a projector in the house I would've seen it."
"Hardcase, you wouldn't have noticed a marching band last night.
And just now you were creeping around in the dark. I think we ought to
check it out."
"And if we don't find anything?"
"Suppose we do?" The young ex-con looked excited. "It could be
Hauk. If he's a surveillance expert, he could probably rig up something
like this to get back at you."
"Hauk's supposed to want me dead, not drive me nuts. Why would he
pull a stunt like this? And how would he know about my son?"
"Did the ghost know anything that no one else would know?"
"He knew about Viet Nan and that Tommy wanted to go to law school
when he came home." God, it hurts to talk about Tommy like this, even to
someone like you, kid.
McCormick shook his head. "A lot of people had to know about Tommy
dying in Nam. It would've been in all the papers--a judge's son. The law
school thing could've been a lucky guess, or maybe the guy did some
research. Come on, let's go look." He got to his feet.
"Do you know what to look for?" asked Hardcastle, following suit.
"No, but you probably do." Nothing seemed to faze the kid once his
mind was made up. "We'll just look for anything that doesn't look
normal. Of course, knowing you, that's probably half the stuff in the
house, but..."
"Go ahead, enjoy yourself," retorted Hardcastle, his spirits rising
despite themselves in the face of McCormick's determined optimism. The
kid might even be right. It wouldn't be impossible to touch up a photo
of Tommy to make him look older or to set up a projector. Better to
think that than believe he might be losing his mind.
That was the worst of it--that he might be going crazy. People
didn't have recurring nightmares unless something was bothering them. Re
didn't go in for psychological mumbo-jumbo, but he knew enough to
recognize that this sort of behavior was usually triggered by something
specific. And he couldn't think of anything. He hadn't been brooding
about Tommy or anything else lately. Besides, the tine for this
nightmare was long past, back when first Tommy, then Nancy died. Not
now. Just didn't make sense.
The two of them plowed into the master bedroom and began to tear it
apart, McCormick keeping up a running commentary the whole time. The kid
seemed to be getting a huge kick out of everything, but the Judge knew
he did it to hide his own concern. For once Hardcastle was grateful for
his friend's smart mouth.
But, though they searched the whole room, they could find nothing
that could have caused a projection. They saw nothing out of the
ordinary at all. Finally, Mark went and poked his head out the open
window. "Maybe someone got in this way?" he suggested.
After glancing at the window, Hardcastle shook his head. "Nobody
came in that way, McCormick. There'd be traces of it if he had."
"Even Hauk?" asked Mark, challengingly. "He could probably do it
without leaving any trace. Maybe we should have Frank print the sill."
"Forget it, McCormick. If Hauk was smart enough to get in here
without leaving a trace, he wouldn't leave any fingerprints either."
McCormick remained unfazed. "Maybe you should sleep in another room
for the rest of the night. That way he can't get at you if he comes
back."
"We don't know that Hauk has anything to do with this," Hardcastle
reminded him.
"We don't know that he doesn't," insisted McCormick. "Trust me,
Judge, it might be better to stay out of here. You might at least get
enough sleep to keep you from biting my head off in the morning."
"I'm not going to move to another room," insisted Hardcastle.
"That's final, McCormick. Don't try to treat me like a baby. I can take
a lot from you- and I usually have to--but I won't put up with that.
Understand?"
"Sorry, Judge."
That settled, Hardcastle sent McCormick to bed and got back under
the covers himself. But the sky was graying toward dawn before he
finally slept.
McCormick woke around nine, hoping that Hardcastle was still
sleeping, but when he went downstairs, he found the Judge before him,
already drinking coffee with Frank Harper. As Mark entered the kitchen,
Harper grinned and said, "I hear there were big doings in the night."
Eyeing both men warily, McCormick replied, "If he's going to creep
around in the dark, he should expect to get jumped." Pretty sure that
Harper was still unaware of the nightmares, he considered how best to
get the lieutenant upstairs to check Hardcastle's prints without giving
anything away.
Harper was laughing. "I wish I could have seen it."
"Go ahead, enjoy yourself," Hardcastle muttered before returning to
the business at hand. "Have you found anything more on Hauk? You haven't
pulled him in for questioning?"
"We haven't found him yet. He's been back to his house, but he's
gone now, and the word on the street is still that he's out to make you
pay, Milt."
"Then what's he waiting for?" grumbled Hardcastle impatiently
worrying Mark. Not long on patience, if the police didn't come up with
Hauk soon, he knew the Judge would go hunting him himself.
As if to prove him right, Hardcastle looked up from his coffee,
announcing, "I'm going to call in a few markers today."
"Milt, let me handle this. It is my job."
"Come on, Frank. I'm only going to talk to a few people. And I'll
take McCormick with me. Besides, it's not Hauk's style to get me from
ambush, and if he's bent on revenge, he won't hire somebody else to do
it. He'll come gunning for me himself. I'm probably safer away from
here, than I would be if I stayed home."
Mark remained skeptical. If Hardcastle knew as much as he claimed
about Hauk's behavior patterns, his argument made sense. But if not...
Still, the proposal gave him an opening for his own suggestion. "I'm
with you, Judge," he announced, adding quickly to Harper, "He's going to
do it whether I go with hint or not, so I better go with him. Might be
a good idea, though, to check out the house for fingerprints and see if
Hauk's been here already."
The Judge shot him a warning look that Harper caught, but the only
reply the lieutenant made was, "That's a good idea, Mark. What do you
think, Milt? Could he have gotten in? He hasn't been here and you've
just forgotten to let me know, has he?"
"No, he hasn't been in here," replied Hardcastle, glaring at
McCormick. "We haven't seen him."
Again Mark was certain Harper had caught on that something was up,
but all the lieutenant said was, "We'll check anyway. Fingerprints would
at least let us hold him if we found them here."
* * *
"Why'd you have to bring up fingerprints to Frank?" demanded
Hardcastle when he and Mark set out in the Coyote later that morning.
"Because you weren't going to say anything." McCormick defended
himself. "I didn't tell him anything about your nightmares or anything.
Don't you trust me enough to know I wouldn't pull a stunt like that?"
"I know you well enough to know you would do something like that if
you thought it was good for me," growled Hardcastle.
"Give me a break," replied McCormick, hurt. "Not with something
like that. That's private."
"Quit being so sensitive, McCormick. I'm the one with the problem
here."
"Yeah, I know," replied Mark seriously. "And I still say Hauk's got
to be behind this. I bet it never even occurred to you that your son
might still be alive, not even subconsciously."
Hardcastle nodded after a moment.
"I thought so. And I don't think that it could come up in a dream
unless something triggered it. You watch anything on TV about Nam, a war
memorial or parade or something? Or a show about a Vietnam vet?" Mark
pressed.
"Can it with the psychology, McCormick. We watched the same shows.
What do you think?"
"I'm only trying to help," Mark stared at the road.
"I know you are, but let it go, okay? Let's get this Hauk business
out of the way first."
Their first call was on a man named Tony Kilkowski, who'd shared a
cell with Hauk for five years. They found him working in an auto body
shop. Recognizing Hardcastle as they entered the place, he called out,
"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. I kinda thought you might
show up here, Hardcase."
"You seen Pete Hauk?"
"Not since I was in the joint. Haven't talked to him either." He
rubbed his grease-stained hands on his equally grease-stained coveralls
and spread them out in a gesture of mock helplessness. "Sorry, Judge.
Guess I can't help you out."
"Can't or won't?" demanded McCormick, temper flaring. "If you were
expecting us, you know what Hauk's up to."
"I never said I didn't know what he was up to," replied Kilkowski.
"You didn't ask me that." There was a smugness to his tone that made
McCormick more than eager to deck this character who was so obviously
enjoying Hardcastle's predicament. "He's gonna get his revenge,
Hardcase," Kilkowski continued, warming to his theme. "Yep, he's gonna
make you pay."
"You mean he's gonna kill him," stated Mark flatly.
"That isn't what I said, kid," replied the big ex-con. "I said get
even. Doesn't mean Tony'll kill him."
"Suppose you tell me what it does mean?" suggested Hardcastle in a
deceptively mild voice.
"Suppose I don't? All I know's hearsay anyhow. I honestly don't
have a bit of evidence." Mockingly he crossed his heart while laughing.
"All I've got is what you've got; Judge, what I hear on the grapevine.
Hauk's not gonna come to me. I ain't got nothing he needs."
"Who does?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything." Kilkowski grinned. "Yes, I
do. I know one thing, Judge. I know I'm gonna enjoy whatever happens."
Hardcastle made a move as if to lunge at Kilkowski, but McCormick
grabbed his arm to restrain him. "Come on, Judge. This isn't doing
anybody any good. We shouldn't waste our time entertaining scum like
this."
"Look who's talking," mocked Kilkowski. "You forgettin' where you
come from, Skid? You're no better'n me or Hauk, and rubbing shoulders
with a big time judge ain't gonna change that."
"He's a hell of a lot better man than you'll ever be, Kilkowski,"
retorted the Judge, while he allowed McCormick to steer him out of the
garage.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Mark muttered, "Gee, Judge,
that's high praise. Me, better than that amoeba? Thanks a bunch."
"I didn't really think he'd be able to help us out," said
Hardcastle, ignoring McCormick's halfhearted witticism. "At least he's
not the only lead we've got."
"What do you think he meant about getting even with you?" asked
Mark worriedly.
"Trying to kill me."
"That's not what Kilkowski said." McCormick started the engine once
they were inside the Coyote, maneuvering the car back into traffic. "He
made it sound like he wasn't going to kill you."
"How's he gonna get even if he doesn't?" demanded the Judge.
"I still think he's causing those dreams of yours. If they didn't
only happen at night, I'd wonder if he wasn't slipping you something."
"Hah, he's not slipping me anything."
"Well, something's wrong. And if you don't get some sleep, you're
gonna get sick and I'll have to spend the next month waiting on you hand
and foot." Mark gave Hardcastle a quick glance. "Maybe we oughta go back
to the house and let you catch a nap."
"I don't need a nap. We'll check out some more of Hauk's contacts.
Something's bound to turn up."
But nothing did. Though they spent most of the day running down
Hauk's friends, none of them would admit to knowing anything of the
man's plans. Hauk's sister said she'd seen him, but that he hadn't
mentioned Hardcastle. He's used the telephone at her house, but she
hadn't paid any attention. He'd taken off in a hurry once he'd finished
his call, and she was afraid that he was mixed up in something crooked
again. "That was the day before yesterday," she added. "I don't know if
it helps any, but I heard him say something about getting a picture."
Finally they headed back to Gulls Way, tired and irritable. "What
about the picture Hauk mentioned?" speculated McCormick. "Maybe it was
the picture of your son that they used in the projection."
"Will you give up on that projection, McCormick? What I saw was no
projection, and they couldn't have used a picture of Tommy because he
looked older, and like...like what he was saying might be true."
"Pictures can be touched up," McCormick pointed out, unsure why he
was so determined to have the whole thing be a hoax. Maybe he was just
scared that if it wasn't, the Judge might be cracking up. Or maybe he
was halfway afraid that it might be true. He'd be thrilled for
Hardcastle's sake if his son were still alive. But, having his son back
would be bound to change things between the two of them. McCormick
didn't think he was enough of a louse to resent that. Besides, he
genuinely believed that the ghostly visits were some kind of hoax.
Hysterical types might imagine these nocturnal happenings, but
Hardcastle was about as far from an hysterical type as it was possible
to be. And McCormick didn't believe the judge's son could appear to his
father from halfway around the world, even if he was alive. It was a
hoax. Had to be.
The Judge let the conversation die and they returned to Gulls Way
in uncharacteristic silence. There were two different cops waiting there
for them, and when he spotted the black and white, Hardcastle started to
gripe about having to feed the police force two nights running.
"At least there's someone here. Hauk might not try anything if he
sees the squad car."
"You're contradicting yourself, McCormick. You keep telling me he
already has."
"Let's see if Frank found any fingerprints," suggested McCormick to
deflect Hardcastle's sarcasm.
But Harper had found nothing. The forensics team had checked
Hardcastle's room as well as the doors and windows of the ground floor.
All they'd found were Hardcastle's prints and some of McCormick's.
Nothing to indicate that anybody had been in the house except for an
absence of dust.
"Why should there be any dust?" demanded Hardcastle, temper
fraying. "I do see that the place is cleaned up once in awhile, you
know."
"He means somebody could have wiped it clean," offered Mark
helpfully, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking a swig of milk
out of the carton.
The Judge caught him, and took possession of the carton, saying,
"Don't you have any manners, McCormick?"
"And someone could have been in the Judge's room, right?"
Unrepentant, Mark ignored Hardcastle's question.
"Somebody could have been, but we can't prove it." Harper gave Mark
a suspicious stare. "You act like you want me to say somebody was there.
What are you up to, Mark?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just trying to protect the man. It's
about as easy as blocking Kareem Abdul Jabbar's hook shot. I don't know
why I bother."
"There's something you're not telling me," said Harper accusingly.
"If you know anything that would help me get Hauk, Milt, I wish you'd
just tell me. It is my job after all. If you're holding something back,
it could be the one thing that would help me catch up with him."
"We don't know where he is, Frank," McCormick said quickly. "We
didn't pick up any leads today. We haven't seen him, and we don't know
he was here and that's the truth. If we could help you, we would." Mark
put on his best innocent expression as the lieutenant studied him.
"I believe you'd help, but why is it I still have the feeling that
you're holding out on me?"
"I can't help it if you've got a suspicious nature." McCormick
retrieved the milk carton, poured most of the contents into a glass,
drank it down, and grinned at Harper with a big milk moustache.
Harper heaved a frustrated sigh as Mark wiped his face with his
sleeve. "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"
"There's nothing to tell," growled Hardcastle. "If we find out
anything, you'll be the first to know."
Harper gave them both a skeptical look as he headed for the door.
"At least, promise me one thing. If he does show up here, tell the
officers?"
"If he shows, they'll be the first to know," agreed McCormick
fervently. He didn't mind chasing bad guys with Hardcastle, though he
always griped about it, but with the stakes so high, he wasn't about to
take a chance with Hardcastle's life.
* * *
They made an early night of it. Hardcastle looked tired, and after
McCormick told him so about ten times, he started to get mad, but it
wasn't much past ten thirty when he went up to bed. McCormick watched
him head up the stairs and worried because he was moving slowly, like an
old man.
Mark had never thought of Hardcastle as old--nobody who could shoot
baskets like the Judge and handle himself as well in a fight as
Hardcastle did could really be considered old, no matter how many years
he'd lived. But tonight, he looked beat, tired and disheartened and
McCormick was scared.
If the Judge knew what he planned to do during the night, he would
have had a fit, but McCormick didn't care. If everything went okay, the
Judge would never know, and if things went wrong, at least Hardcastle
would have a witness and backup.
McCormick gave Hardcastle an hour, to give him time to fall asleep,
then said goodnight to the cop who was inside the house for the night.
"I'm gonna keep an eye on the Judge tonight," he told the man in a low
voice. "I didn't want to let him know because he'd get crazy about it."
The cop grinned sympathetically. "Yeah, I can tell."
"I'm gonna sneak into his room and hide. That way, if Hauk shows,
I'll be waiting for him."
"I'll be keeping an eye on things down here. Holler if you get in
trouble."
"Right." Mark went upstairs, pausing outside the Judge's door.
Carefully, he tested the handle, grimacing when it turned easily. He
should have know it wouldn't be locked. He let himself in quickly and
closed the door behind him, holding his breath while he waited to see if
he'd disturbed the Judge. But Hardcastle was snoring softly and didn't
stir as Mark tiptoed across the room into the corner farthest from the
window and settled down on the floor in the deep shadows. Leaning
against the wall, he made himself as comfortable as he could and
prepared for a long vigil. Hardcastle would be really pissed if he woke
up and discovered he was being guarded, but he'd just have to be pissed.
Every day that passed gave Hauk more time to perfect his plan, whatever
it was.
Several seemingly endless hours passed, McCormick marking their
passage by staring at the luminous dial of his watch. The floor seemed
to get harder and harder, and every time Hardcastle stirred in his
sleep, Mark tensed, afraid the man would wake up and discover him
sitting there. But the Judge must have been more tired than either of
then had thought, because he barely moved and his sleep remained
undisturbed.
Mark caught himself dozing a couple of times. Once he was awakened
by the sound of the front door opening, and he heard the two cops
exchange a faint word or two. Probably one of them needed to go to the
can. McCormick glanced over at Hardcastle, relieved to see that he still
slept soundly. Good. He needed the rest.
The front door opened and closed again as the cop resumed his beat,
and Mark stretched as best he could, wishing he had some water to splash
on his face.
A few minutes later, he thought he heard something else, a faint
grating sound. When it wasn't repeated, his tensed muscles gradually
relaxed. Maybe a squirrel had run across the roof. The window was still
a square of blackness, a few stars visible through the trees. He watched
them awhile, hoping to spot a shooting star. He had about a dozen wishes
he wanted to make.
He must have dozed off again because a voice crept slowly across
his consciousness, abrasive as chalk squeaking across a blackboard. For
a moment Mark was confused, then he saw it, a softly glowing figure at
the foot of the Judge's bed.
"Help me. Dad, please help me."
Oh, Jesus, this was bad. McCormick stared at the apparition,
appalled. No wonder Hardcastle had been so shaken, if he had to put up
with this every night.
Expecting a hoax, McCormick had a pretty good idea that the whole
thing had been rigged. The face wasn't alive, obviously a photograph
that had been touched up to look older, and the voice came from the
direction of the window rather than the foot of the bed, but, under the
emotional onslaught of a plea from his dead son, Hardcastle hadn't
caught on to those facts.
The voice had roused the Judge, who sat up in bed, blinking
dazedly. "Tommy?" His voice broke, and Mark winced at the pain in it.
Cautiously he positioned himself for action. He was going to get the
slime responsible for this if it killed him.
"Why won't you help me?" the voice continued. "I don't know how
long I can keep coming through like this."
"This is the last time." McCormick emerged from the shadows.
"Judge, it's a trick. I can see him too. That's no dream and it's sure
no ghost."
As if to prove his point, the image blinked out as if a light bulb
had been switched off.
"McCormick?" The Judge stared at him stupidly, his face blank with
shock. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
"That can wait." McCormick charged over to the window and leaned
out. In the starlight he could make out a dark shadow just below him.
"Hold it right there," he bellowed. "Police!" That'd bring the outside
man, and probably the inside one would come running too. Hauk wouldn't
get away, if that's who it was.
But Hauk barely paused in his scramble down the side of the house,
moving as effortlessly as Spiderman or a ninja. McCormick couldn't quite
see what the man was doing, but he wouldn't let him out of his sight.
Then there was a bright flash and a crashing sound and he was flung
backward into the bedroom and darkness.
Hardcastle heard the shot and saw Mark fall. "McCormick!" he
yelled, practically falling out of bed to get to him. The cop who'd been
downstairs came bursting in, gun drawn, and flipped on the overhead
light in one smooth motion.
"Outside," Hardcastle directed him as he bent over McCormick's
inert form. The cop ran out again, but the Judge barely noticed. There
was blood staining McCormick's tee shirt at the waist. Still shaken by
the abrupt collapse of his nightmare, the Judge knew he was still too
dazed to think clearly, but he could work that out later. Right now
McCormick needed him.
"Aw, kid, why'd you have to take the chance?" he muttered.
From outside he heard yelling and the sound of gunfire. Then one of
the cops yelled, "We got him, Judge!"
"Call an ambulance" Hardcastle hollered back as he pulled his
friend's shirt away from the wound. He found a lot of blood, but no
trace of an exit wound which meant that the bullet must still be in
McCormick. The extent of the damage would all depend on the angle of the
shot. Hardcastle visualized the scene, Hauk hanging below McCormick as
he fired, and realized that it could be bad. It could be very bad.
He reached back to snag a pillow, pulling the case free to fold
into a makeshift bandage which he pressed to the wound. McCormick
stirred slightly at the touch, but didn't regain consciousness. Holding
the pad of cloth in place, Hardcastle muttered, "It wasn't supposed to
happen like this, Mark."
A few minutes later, one of the cops appeared in the doorway. "We
got him and it was Hauk. He took a slug in the leg, but he'll live.
How's McCormick? The ambulance is on the way."
"He's alive." The fingers of his free hand rested on McCormick's
pulse, faster and lighter than usual, but there. "Get me a blanket," he
ordered. "I don't want him going into shock."
The cop obeyed silently, then sat with Mark while Hardcastle threw
some clothes on. The scream of the siren broke the silence as the two
men exchanged places once more. When the paramedics arrived, things got
hectic briefly, but McCormick was finally carried downstairs on a
stretcher, still unconscious.
Hardcastle came across Hauk sitting on the doorstep under guard
wearing handcuffs and a rough bandage on his leg. The man had gone bald
on top while in prison, but other than that, didn't look much older than
the last time the Judge had seen him. lie looked up as Hardcastle
followed the stretcher out of the house. "Well, Judge," he gloated in a
voice thinned by pain, but with its malice still intact. "I did it. I
got my revenge."
Hardcastle had to struggle to restrain the urge to throttle the man
where he sat. "You bastard. You didn't touch me."
"Not much I didn't. How'd you like your little dreams? I had fun
with those. Made you hurt. That's what I wanted, to make you hurt the
way I did. I never wanted you dead. Dead you'd never hurt any more.
That's why I shot the kid. Your wife died a long time ago and it looked
like he was closer to you than anyone. I hope to God he dies. Then you
can live with the knowledge that you caused it."
"I didn't cause this, Hauk, any more than I caused your wife's
death. If you hadn't broken the law in the first place, you wouldn't
have gone to prison and you might've been home to protect her."
Hard-castle glared at the man, shaken by the hatred he felt at that
moment. "If McCormick dies, you'll live to regret it," he threatened.
"No, I won't, Judge. I'll be glad." Hauk gave a harsh laugh.
Hardcastle turned away in disgust and climbed into the ambulance with
Mark.
* * *
The first hint of awareness McCormick had was of something warm and
strong holding onto his hand. Next came a steady wail that went on and
on, and after a moment he identified it as an ambulance siren. What the
hell...? Oh yeah, he'd been shot. He could feel it now, a fierce ache in
his side. He tried to open his eyes, but somebody had put thousand pound
weights on his eyelids and he didn't have the energy to struggle with
them. Only the firm grip on his hand was holding him here, and as he
concentrated on that, he heard a familiar voice in his ear. "Hang in
there, kid."
"Did we get him, Judge?" he managed to mumble.
"We sure did, McCormick. He's crazy. I should have guessed. He
never wanted to kill me. He wanted to hurt me and kill you."
"Me?" McCormick forced his eyes open at that, and the sight of the
Judge's distraught face shook and humbled him. "I'll be okay, won't I?"
"Of course you will. You got lucky. They've got to take the bullet
out, but they think the edge of the window frame deflected the bullet,
kept it from hitting anything important. Now, do you mind telling me
what the hell you were doing in my bedroom in the first place?"
"I was sure it was a trick," said Mark wearily. "I knew if I saw
him too, you'd believe me. It wasn't Tommy, Judge. I'm sorry. He's
really dead."
"I know," admitted Hardcastle, averting his eyes for a moment.
"Hauk confessed. Said he did it to get to me."
"You said he wanted to kill me, too. Why?"
Meeting McCormick's eyes, Hardcastle explained, "Seems he had this
crazy idea that I'd mind."
"Gee, I can't imagine why he'd think that." McCormick smiled
wearily, wincing when the ambulance went over a bump in the road. "He
must be some kind of bad judge of character, right, Milt?"
"Yeah, probably." Hardcastle managed a tight smile before launching
into a scolding. "And you deserved what you got, McCormick! What kind of
a hot dog stunt did you think you were pulling?"
"Somebody's got to take care of you, Judge, 'specially when you
don't have the sense to do it yourself." The ambulance slowed, stopped
and went into reverse. McCormick couldn't bite back a gasp of pain as
the movement jarred his side, and Hardcastle's grip tightened on his
hand.
"Hang on, kiddo," he urged. "Won't be long now."
Then the paramedics moved the stretcher and McCormick lost all
interest in the proceedings.
* * *
The next time Mark woke up, it was morning, or maybe afternoon, and
a sleepy-looking Hardcastle was sitting beside his bed, talking in low
tones to Frank Harper. Neither man looked like he'd seen a bed in a long
time, and both needed a shave. McCormick watched them quietly for a
moment, not at all surprised to find they were arguing.
"I don't know why you couldn't tell me he was pulling a stunt like
that, Milt," Harper was insisting. "If I'd known for sure that Hauk was
able to get into the house, I would have taken more drastic precautions
and maybe Mark wouldn't have been hurt."
All the fight went out of Hardcastle. "I should never have let him
get involved."
"Try stopping him. He's your friend, for God's sake, and he was
worried about you. No matter what anyone said he would've done what he
thought necessary, and you know it."
"He didn't believe that I was having nightmares. Got the idea that
Hauk had rigged it. I still don't understand how it worked."
"Hauk had most of the equipment on him when he was caught."
Hardcastle looked up at Harper. "He couldn't have carried it all.
We tore the place apart and didn't find anything. How come?"
"Some of it was inside the walls. Hauk had a remote control switch
and he's drilled a little hole in the molding around the ceiling. All he
had to do was pop the cover back in, rub it down and nothing would be
visible unless you were right on top of it. It popped out when he
activated his controls. Then he'd be outside the window when he did the
voice so you'd get real answers, not a prerecorded tape. If you want to
take a look, I'll show you the stuff later."
"No thanks."
"Cheer up, Milt. Mark's going to be fine. You heard the doctor.
Nothing too serious and they'll probably discharge him tomorrow. What's
the matter? You couldn't have known that Hauk would pick him as a
target. Hauk's crazy. No way to second guess the way his mind works."
Harper tried to offer comfort, but Hardcastle was taking any.
"McCormick figured out the nightmares were a hoax. He worked out
most of the details and I didn't buy it. Now look at him."
McCormick closed his eyes quickly. This was almost too good to
interrupt.
"He'll be fine Milt. And nobody made him try to stop Hauk. He did
it because he cares what happens to you. Is that so hard to accept?"
Hardcastle didn't answer. Realizing that it probably was that hard
for him, McCormick hid a grin and came to the other man's rescue. "Hey,
Judge, maybe now I can qualify for hazard pay. I've always said you
didn't pay me enough."
Wiping a smile of relief off his face, Hardcastle demanded
suspiciously, "How long you been awake, kid?"
"Who, me?" Mark donned his best innocent-little-boy expression.
"Not long. Why, have you been saying nasty things about me?"
"What else? And you deserved every one of them," retorted
Hardcastle gruffly. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark caught a glimpse
of Harper heading out the door, leaving them to their reunion.
"If that's all the thanks I get--" He eased himself up cautiously,
careful not to disturb the IV he suddenly discovered in the back of his
hand, and caught at his side where a thick pad of bandages covered the
wound. "How bad is it?" he asked, feeling the blood drain from his face.
"You'll live." The Judge pushed him back against his pillow and
cranked up the head of the bed slightly. "Made me miss all my favorite
TV shows sitting here with you, too."
"Oh, yeah? What shows? Donahue? Soap operas? I'll bet." Mark fell
into the familiar banter automatically.
"You're more trouble than you're worth sometimes."
"I know. I work real hard at that." He looked at the older man
through narrowed eyes. "Are you all right? You know it wasn't
nightmares?"
"Yeah, yeah, we settled that in the ambulance. Maybe you don't
remember?" The Judge's face clouded over again, but Mark spoke quickly
to relieve that concern.
"Not remember your touching concern for my well being?" He grinned.
"How could I forget?"
"I never talked to you about Tommy," said the Judge, switching
gears abruptly.
"No," Mark replied, completely serious. "And I never asked. It's
your business, and--"
"Maybe one of these days, if you can put up with it, I'll tell you
about him." For once there was no hint of reluctance in Hardcastle's
manner when he spoke of his son, only fondness.
"I'd like that," responded Mark, a grin blossoming on his face as
he added, "If he was anything like you, I'll bet there'll be some great
stories to tell, huh, Judge?"
Hardcastle smiled in return. "Now yer cookin'."
The end
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