Author: DragonLady
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: Monk is the property of USA Network
and Mandeville Films.
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 5
"How the hell did I let you talk me into this?" Monk glanced at the Captain
as they slid around another corner. "Because Sharona's life matters to you too;
could you speed it up a little?" Stottlemeyer raised his brows, then pushed the
car even faster.
Faulkner smiled.
Monk closed the glove box just as they came to halt before a dilapidated residence
far beyond the capabilities of modern medicine. "How are you so certain he's here?"
Monk shrugged. "He wants to be found."
Stottlemeyer made no attempt to send Adrian back to the car. It would have been a
fruitless gesture, and time consuming. Instead, he allowed Adrian to approach the front
while he ran to the back of the building, gun drawn. He never felt the club connect with
the back of his head.
Adrian carefully pushed the door open with a Kleenex shrouded hand. Then he stopped
to listen. Nothing, not a hint of sound. His lips twisted with disgust at the piled up
dishes, strewn clothes, and scattered bottles littering the main room. He spun suddenly
as he heard the door groan open. Nothing, the breeze had caught it. Forcing his heart
back to its regular pace, Adrian made his way forward. Faulkner was nearby, had to be.
His purpose had been to get Adrian here. It was just a matter of figuring out the game.
Another sound stopped Monk in his tracks. It was a steady pattering, like a shower just
after it had been shut off. He cocked his head, the sound came from downstairs. Fresh
disgust, mixed with fear, crossed his face. God, not the basement! Of course it was.
Clasping his arms tight to his body, Monk proceeded down the stairs; wondering, as he
did, where Stottlemeyer was.
Faulkner breathed deeply. He'd always loved the rich, oily smell of gasoline. It mixed
so well with the smell of sulfur.
Monk smelled it, the heady odor brought tears to his eyes. Gas, it was everywhere. It
soaked the wood of the railing, and ran down the cement walls of the basement. The
pattering sound that had led him downstairs had come from an elaborate sprinkler
system that had been hooked up to an exterior gas tank. One turn of the knob had
soaked the entire room. He shuddered, hugging his arms even closer. The smell was
sickening. He glanced nervously, once, at the overhead lights. The room was dim and
close. It had the thick feel of a swamp. There was so much gas in the room that objects
tended to waver slightly. A closed door caught his attention. As did the sound of the
stair creaking behind him. "Go ahead, open it." Monk turned, Faulkner stood behind
him, two stairs down from the top. An unlit lighter was held between two fingers.
"In about thirty seconds, I plan to light this place. You have that much time to save the
woman." Faulkner gestured to the door. "She's right inside. I gave her my room, I
wanted to be a good host." Monk lowered his brows. "You're insane." Faulkner
laughed deeply. "That's funny, I heard the same thing about you." His laughter
ceased almost as quickly as it had started. "Fifteen seconds Monk."
Without another thought, Adrian ran to the door and turned the handle, then turned it the
other way. Faulkner laughed again. "Oops! Sorry, I forgot, I locked it!" Adrian
turned again as Faulkner dragged his finger down the lighter, blazing it to life. "Sorry,
time's up my friend." Monk cringed, then jerked at the sudden bang. It took a moment
to realize the room had not roared to life. He glanced up, and watched as Faulkner made
a slow drop, crumbling down the stairs to end up in a heap on the floor. The unlit lighter
rolled to a stop next to him. Monk looked back to the top of the stairs to see a bloody
Stottlemeyer wavering on his feet, gun drawn.
"Captain..." Stottlemeyer raised his hand. "No time, this place could go any second."
Monk raced to the fallen Faulkner and began searching through his clothes.
It took only seconds to find the set of keys in his breast pocket. He raced back to the door
and slid the key in place.
The door was heavy, and Monk had to lean back in order to pull it open. Behind the door
was a small room. A bed was the only piece of furniture inside. Sharona was sprawled on
top of it. "Oh god!" Monk ran to her, kicking into an empty cardboard box in the process.
She was unconscious, a trickle of dried blood ran from a gash on her temple. Her hands were
cuffed to the bed. Adrian pulled out the set of keys and quickly located the one that released
her. She made a small noise as her arms were lowered, but otherwise showed no sign of
waking. Quickly, Monk put his arms under her and lifted her from the bed. The door had
started to swing shut again while Monk was occupied, so he kicked it back open with his foot.
Back in the main basement area, Stottlemeyer hunched against the wall, hurrying them
along. "Come on, we gotta get out, now. Monk shifted Sharona slightly as he turned to
tackle the stairs. They had just made it to the top when the heard a sickly grunt emerge
from the foot of the stairs. They turned, then froze as the dying form of Bruce Faulkner
grinned up at them from the darkness. "Ahh, don't go, this is jus' getting' good!" He
held up the lighter. Stottlemeyer regained his wind instantly. "Go!" He grabbed Monk
by the arm and literally propelled him towards the front door. They were barely out the
door when there was a WHUMP, and a sudden sensation of air sucking backward.
They dove behind the police car, and instantly the house behind them shattered in a blast
of white flame. The vehicle they cowered behind shook, and half lifted from the ground
before laboriously dropping back onto its tires. After an interminable time, fragments
of the structure began raining down from above. Stottlemeyer stood slowly, surveyed
the wreckage for a moment, then pulled open the door to his battered car. While he called
for an ambulance, Monk stayed on his knees and cradled Sharona close to his chest.
She opened her eyes slowly, wincing at the light that seemed glaring, but was actually
quite dim. She was on something soft. God, I'm still here! Panicked, she sat up
quickly, and nearly screamed as two hands pushed her shoulders back down. "Let
go dammit!" The hands jerked away, and Sharona had just enough time to realize
she wasn't handcuffed when a voice soothed into her ears. "It's ok, you're fine, you're
safe. This is a hospital." She looked over to the man next to her, and cried as she
swiftly pulled him into a hug. "Adrian! Thank God!" Monk held her tightly as she
wept. His normal inhibitions seemed small and unimportant for the moment. At this
point, all he wanted to do was hold her forever. Sharona had no desire to let go either,
and clung to him as though afraid he'd suddenly melt away. Finally, though, she
forced her hands to unlock their death grip. Monk, reluctantly, allowed her to lean
back onto the bed. He kept one hand locked around hers however, not willing to give
up ALL contact. He watched her breathe for a few seconds, then spoke. "I called your
sister about half and hour ago. She and Benjy will be here later tonight." Sharona
smiled at his initiative. "Thank you." She rubbed her free hand over the bruise on her
wrist. "Faulkner?" Monk laid his other hand over their joined pair. "He's dead. The
house was destroyed." Sharona closed her eyes. Her voice was heavy as she spoke.
"He wanted to hurt you, I couldn't let him." Monk brushed a curl of hair from her eyes.
She made no move, she was already asleep. In the darkness, he sat at her side. He'd be
there whenever she chose to wake up again. For now, he was content.
He'd be the guardian this time.
End
"Every now and then when the world that we're livin' in's, crazy, you gladly hold me,
and carry me through. No one in the world's ever done what you do for me, and I'd be,
sad and lonely, if there were no you." -Garth Brooks