|
Author's note: I began this story in 1994, but put
it aside due to lack of time. I have since finished it, altering it to
include present day characters. Bank robbers were common in those days
and I suppose it is only natural that Beth Sullivan would write such a
tale as well. While the episode "The Hostage" had the same
premise, my story is quite different. I hope you enjoy it. Warning: This story
contains some violence and adult material.
Written by: Diane Schlichting Copyright July 17, 1997
"I love watching you with Katie," she said to Sully, reaching out and stroking her daughter's arm lovingly. "I love bein' with her." He paused, smiling seductively at her. "And you." He leaned over to kiss her, his lips barely touching hers when the front door banged open and Brian rushed in. "Ma, Pa, you'll never guess what I heard in town." Sully and Michaela drew apart, giggling at the intrusion, their eyes holding promises for later. Brian was oblivious to what he had interrupted, so excited with his news. "What did you hear, Brian?" Michaela asked, going back to preparing supper while Sully placed Katie on her blanket on the floor. He sat down at the table and, listening to Brian, kept his eye on his young daughter. "I was at Mr. Bray's after school, and Hank came in. He was real mad. He started yellin' at Jake who was there buying some tobacco. Seems there's this man who robbed a bank and killed several men who ran out of Denver last week and Hank thinks he's comin' this way. He wanted Jake to get a posse together to get him before he comes to town." A sudden tension filled the room at Brian's words. Michaela and Sully had had experience before with the town forming a posse. This was not good news. Dinner was temporarily forgotten as Michaela focused her attention on her son and his story. "Why does Hank think he's comin' here?" Sully asked, trying not to show too much concern. "He said he heard one of his customer's talkin'. Sounded like the guy knew him. Do you think he's comin' here, ma?" Brian sat down next to Michaela and she gently stroked his shoulder, trying to reassure him. "I doubt it, Brian. There are many towns around for him
to go to. He probably won't come this way."
Michaela smiled as she glanced over at Katie, asleep on her blanket. She lay in the small portion of the room Sully had fenced off to keep the adventuresome baby from walking off or getting in the way while Michaela was doing her doctoring. Finishing off the last patient record she tucked her pen away and straightened the papers on her desk. A glance out the window confirmed that it was nearly sundown, the grumbling of her belly reinforced the thought of dinner. Just then the door burst open and a man entered the clinic. He was every inch a disreputable character, from his long, stringy hair to the dirty, torn clothes that he wore. "Where's the doc?" he demanded, swinging his arm to indicate the empty room. Michaela stood up, a quick sideways glance revealing that Katie still slept. As discretely as possibly she pushed Katie's blanket from the side of the rail, coving the sleeping child. "I'm the doctor here. What can I do for you?" The man gazed incredulously at her. "You're the doc?" "Yes, I am." "Well then," he grinned lasciviously, his stance becoming slightly threatening. He approached the desk, placing both hands flat upon it's surface and leaned toward her forcing Michaela to back up. His breath smelled strongly of tobacco and whisky. A small trickle of fear began to edge through her system. "I got a friend that needs doctorin'." Michaela struggled to maintain her poise, her outward coolness, although her belly was beginning to tighten with fear. "Well, perhaps you should bring your friend here so that I can examine him." "That ain't possible. I need you to come with me." The man advanced toward her and Michaela quickly edged away. She backed up toward the medicine cabinet, away from the corner where Katie slept. "I couldn't possibly leave right now. My husband will be here any moment to take me home." She had gone as far as she could. Her back was to the cabinet and he stood inches away from her. She grimaced as he breathed on her and shrank back when his hand closed over her arm. "You're comin' with me. Now," he growled. He began to tug her toward the door. Michaela dug in her heals, pulling back, trying to wrench her arm out of his grasp. His fingers dug deeper, pressing nearly to the bone. "Please. I need my bag." Her mind raced as her gaze fell on her medical bag and surgery tools lying in a basin of disinfectant. If she could go to her bag, she could pick up one of the scalpels and use it as a weapon. The man stopped, glaring at her. "Get it. And get some medicines too," he added as an afterthought. He went to the door and carefully peered out. The sun had now set and the town was bathed in the eerie light between day and night. His back to her, Michaela rushed over to the table and picked up her bag. She examined the scalpels sitting in the bowl and reached to pick up the largest one, it's one inch blade razor sharp. As she started to turn back toward him, his hand suddenly came over her mouth, his left arm grasped her around the middle and pulled her back against him. "That ain't very smart, doc. You go on and put that down now, ya hear." His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, his foul breath enveloping her once more. She could taste his filthy hand against her mouth; sweat, tobacco and dirt. She didn't move, but gripped the scalpel tighter in her hand. The arm around her middle tightened, squeezing the breath from her. "Drop it or I'll hurt you," he hissed. His hand clamped tight against her mouth, his fingernails digging into the skin of her cheek. With a sudden flair of desperation, Michaela raised the scalpel and drew it swiftly across the hand over her mouth. The reaction was instant. An angry howl of pain burst forth as he released her. Michaela spun around, swinging her medical bag and catching him on the side of the head. She struck out again with the scalpel, striking only air. Recovered from the shock, the man raised his hand and struck her, his fist slamming into her cheek, throwing her off her feet and onto the desk. Papers flew everywhere, bottles of ink and medicine where knocked over and onto the floor, shattering. Pain exploded in Michaela's head when his fist struck her. She gasped as she hit the desk and lay there, momentarily disoriented, bright pin-points of light flying before her eyes. She tasted blood and carefully probed her lower lip, feeling where she had bitten it. She raised a hand to her injured cheek, touching the bone with tentative fingers. Not broken, she had time to think before he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. He pulled her roughly against him, her scalpel gripped in his filthy hand and held inches from her nose. "Don't scream and don't fight me or it will go badly for you," he hissed. There was a stirring in the corner as Katie, awakened by the noise, struggled to stand up. Michaela glanced in that direction, a new fear rushing through her. He mustn't see Katie. He mustn't know that she is there. She began to struggle, trying to jerk away from him, grunting and crying out to cover any noise that Katie might make. "Let me go!" she cried, then, louder, "Help!" She never saw his hand strike out. She felt only a moment of pain as stars shot across her vision and then everything went dark. The man grunted as Michaela crumpled before him. He hauled
her up over his shoulder and grabbed her medical bag. Looking carefully
out the door, he headed out and around the building to the alley and
behind, where his horse waited. Throwing her over the back of the animal
he quickly tied her hands together and then mounted, kicking his horse
into a gallop, wanting to get away from town as quickly as possible.
Michaela slowly drifted back toward consciousness. Something was pressing hard into her stomach and she became aware that she was bouncing up and down. She was beginning to feel very nauseous and her face ached terribly. As her scattered thoughts gradually melded back into coherent thought, she realized that she was lying on her stomach on the back of a horse and tried to sit up. A strong hand pressed down on her back and a gruff voice snarled, "You just stay down, doc. You ain't gettin up yet." She didn't recognize the voice right off, but it struck a note of panic within her. She was lying across the saddle, her hands tied behind her back. Her hair swung loose by her face, obliterating any peripheral vision she might have had. She could see nothing but the short, bristly hairs of the horse. The pain in her abdomen and head became worse and her stomach was beginning to react violently to the pressure and jostling. "I'm going to be sick," she whispered hoarsely. The only response she got was a firm hand pushing down on her shoulder, tilting down her head. It was fairly dark, the sun having set about an hour ago and the moon had not quite risen yet. She tried to look around her as the horse trotted on, through the long curtain of her hair, but was unable to make out any clear landmarks in the darkness. She could barely see the dirt and stones of the rough path they followed. "Where are you taking me?" "I told ya, I got a sick friend needs tendin' to." "I don't understand . . ." "Shut up!" He pushed her down again, and urged the horse on. The horse sped up, jostling Michaela even more. The pain and pressure in her belly increased and before she could help herself, she vomited. The man stopped immediately, pulling her off and hauling her away from himself. He swung her around so her back was to him and let go of her arm abruptly. Michaela fell to her knees and vomited again, splattering her clothes and her hair, unable to get them out of the way with her hands still tied behind her back. When it was over, she leaned back, wishing she could wipe her mouth and rinse it out with a drink of water. Without a word, the man grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, walking briskly through some low-lying brush away from the path. He untied her hands and pushed her forward. "There's a stream here. Take care of yourself and don't think of tryin' anythin'." Surprised, Michaela walked toward the sound of the water, rubbing her sore wrists. She bent down at the water's edge and scooped up a handful of water. It tasted clean and fresh and she quickly washed out her mouth and drank several handfuls. She relished the coolness and clean taste after the bitter taste of vomit and the dry taste of dust. The coolness relieved some of the pain in her cheek which she gingerly explored with her fingertips. The skin was hot and puffy; she imagined it would be turning a nasty shade of purple by now. She quickly rinsed off her hair, face and her clothes, as best she could with only her hands to scoop up water. When she was finished, she was cleaner, but wet. She shivered in the coolness of the night. Having stood behind her during her ministrations, the man grabbed her arm again and pulled her up. "That's enough. We're goin' now." He pulled her hands together and brought out the rope. "No, please. Don't tie them again. I won't try to get away. I promise," Michaela pleaded. He looked at her and then turned her roughly around. He
quickly tied her hands together. "I don't trust you," he
whispered into her ear. He pulled her back to the horse, mounted and
then pulled her up, again laying her on her stomach. He kicked the horse
to a start as Michaela pleaded with him to let her sit up. Her pleas
fell upon deaf ears and she closed her eyes, trying to will away the
uneasiness that had returned to her belly. She tried to figure out what
to do, how to get away. Perhaps when he wasn't watching her she could
make her escape. The horse walked on as clouds drifted across the sky,
periodically dimming the moonlight and the road dust once again coated
her mouth and throat.
Sully paced the kitchen, looking from Brian who sat at the table doing his homework to the clock on the mantle. It was late. Michaela should have been home over an hour ago. He was worried. "Maybe ma had to see a patient," Brian offered, worried himself and needing to hear from Sully that everything was okay. "Maybe." Sully glanced out the window and looked back at the clock. He made a decision. "Brian, you get yourself some dinner. I'm goin' to town an' see what's keepin' your ma." Brian nodded and Sully headed out, glad to be doing something. He went out to the barn and saddled his horse. He rode off, urging his horse to a gallop, feeling a need to hurry, but not knowing why. When he finally got into town, the moon had disappeared behind some clouds. The saloon was lively with piano music and laughter. There were lights on in some of the buildings, but not the clinic. He reined in his horse and jumped down, quickly looping the reins around the post. He entered the clinic, calling out, "Michaela?" At the sound of his voice Katie began to cry again. She had been crying for a long time, but when no one had answered her plaintive wails, she had drifted off to sleep again. Hearing the familiar voice of her Pa, she wailed louder, wanting comfort in her confusion of being abandoned. Sully was shocked to hear his daughter's cries. He hurried across the room in the darkness towards her. "Katie? Sweetheart?" he called. He reached the fenced off area he had created for her, stubbing his toes on one of the posts. He reached down in the dimness for his wailing daughter. When he found her, he picked her up, hugging her to him. "Ssshhh," he crooned. "It's okay. Pa's here. It's alright now, Katie. Hush." Sully cuddled his daughter, stroking her head, rubbing her back, trying to stop her crying. He turned to the wall where he knew the matches were kept and struggled to light one with one hand. When he finally had the lamp lit he turned around, his hand against his Katie's head, pressing the small, round softness against his shoulder. What he saw sent fear racing through his blood. The room was a mess. Things that had been sitting on the desk had toppled over or were lying on the floor. Some bottles of medicine were lying broken on the floor and glass crunched under his feet as he walked toward her desk. He looked down at the papers lying there and saw drops of blood strewn across them. "Michaela!" he yelled, feeling very frightened. Something had happened to Michaela. Someone had taken her.
Sully knew it deep within himself. She would never willingly leave Katie
here alone. Fearing for his wife's safety, Sully walked out of the
clinic and headed down the street to the sheriff's office.
The man pulled up on the reins, uttering a guttural "Whoa!" and the horse came to a stop. He slid off the animal and pulled Michaela down roughly. She tried to stand, but found that her legs had gone numb from the awkward position she had been in. She slid to the ground in a heap. The man grunted at her and left her, leading his horse under some trees to tie it up. Michaela tried to get to her feet, wanting to use this moment alone to escape. No such luck. She had barely managed to stand before he was back, his hand rough on her arm as he pulled her along with him. "Come on," he growled, tugging her after him. He cut through the brush on the other side of the path they had ridden along. Unable to hold the branches back as they passed through, Michaela felt them slap at her face and scratch at skin and clothes. She closed her eyes and struggled along beside and half behind him. Finally they were through and the man stopped for a moment. The moon reappeared from behind the drifting clouds and Michaela saw quite clearly where they were. He had ridden into the hills, at the base of the mountains. Her heart felt heavy with dismay. Too many places to hide here. Sully would never find her. It suddenly occurred to her to leave a trail of some sort, something that he could track. As the man tugged up the incline of the hill, she fumbled with her hands at the back of her where they were tied. She pulled her blouse out of her skirt and tried to rip off a piece of fabric. They were halfway up the hill before she managed it. As they passed a low bush, she flung the piece of fabric onto it, hoping against all hope that Sully would find it. It was a struggle to climb the rocky hill without the aid of hands to keep her upright. She stumbled often, forcing the man to stop and haul her to her feet. He was getting angry with her and their slow progress. She could see it in the lines of his face and the glare of his dark eyes. The next time she fell he had enough. He let go of her arm with frustration. "God dammit, woman! Can't you keep to your feet?" He stood above her, his hands on his hips. Michaela turned onto her side, looking up at him and panting from the exertion. "If you would untie me I could manage better. I need my hands to keep my balance." He grunted and glared. He ran a large, dirty hand through his hair and sighed. "All right." He pulled out a large knife and cut the rope that bound her wrists. Michaela pushed herself up to a sitting position and rubbed the feeling back into them. "You better not make me regret untying you. Get up," he ordered. Michaela struggled to her feet. He immediately pushed her in front of himself and gave her a hard shove to indicate she should start walking. It was much easier going now, her hands and arms out for balance. She climbed up the rocky incline, slipping now and then, but staying upright. Her arms were scraped from the sharp rocks, but she kept going, knowing now was not the time to stop. A hand on her back stopped her. "There," he said, pointing up to her left. She could barely see the dark outline of the cave in the moonlight. The path, which had been steep to begin with, now became steeper. She would have to climb the rocks. "I can't climb up there," she said, turning to face her captor. She thought she could make it, but decided to try this tack and see where it would lead. He eyed her, his gaze traveling up and down her body. "Yes, you can." He coughed and spat, grinning at her. "If not, I'll just put you over my shoulder and carry you." He reached out an arm to encircle her, his hand resting on her bottom to demonstrate how it would be. Michaela jerked back. She looked up again and the steep incline. "Perhaps I can make it after all." He laughed as she turned and tried to find footholds. It was relatively easy, there were plenty of places for her to put her feet and hands in the old rock. Some places where large enough to stand on to take a momentary breather. However, after the first such break the feel of his large hand on her backside encouraged her to move on without any more stops. It was a relief to finally negotiate the last of the twenty or so feet of climbing. She stood on the ledge and leaned against the rock face, catching her breath. Her right hand rubbed against her forehead, trying to dispel the persistent headache from the blow he had given her. "Come on," he said gruffly, take her by the arm and pulling her into the darkness of the cave. It was still and quiet inside, slightly damp too. She could see a faint light towards the back. As they neared the site she could see that the cave turned back on itself, forming a small hideout, which would have been completely hidden from the entrance of the cave, even if there had been enough light to see by. "Here," her captor said, shoving her medical bag against her chest. "My friend's over here," Michaela held on to the bag and looked over to where he walked. She could see the man clearly now, in the light from the oil lamp set on the floor beside him. He lay under a blanket, tossing his head. His face was a pasty white colour, coated with a sheen of sweat. Michaela stepped up to him and knelt down. She pulled the blanket aside and gasped when she saw the shirt her captor had stuck against the wound in the man's belly. The once gray material was mostly red now, soaked through with blood. Carefully, she pulled the material away. It came off the man's skin with a small slurping sound as the seal made by the seeping blood was broken. The wound was large and, Michaela saw at once, fatal. A knife wound. The man's belly was slit open from naval to hip bone. The wound was oozing blood and smelled putrid. She carefully examined the wound and was not surprised to find that the knife had also nicked the man's intestine, the source of the awful smell. Michaela sat back on her heels, looking up at her captor. "This man won't live," she said grimly. "The wound is deep and the intestine's been ruptured. The infection has already started." Her captor appeared startled by this news. "Can't you take care of that? Can't you sew him up?" Michaela looked down at the dying man and shrugged. "I could disinfect the wound with alcohol, stitch up the intestine and sew him up." "Well, then. What ya waitin' for? Get to it!" Michaela rose, staring him down. "I don't have the proper equipment. I don't have any alcohol or the right medicine." The man turned and rummaged in a sack. He turned back, a bottle of whisky in his hand. "Here," he said holding it out to her. "This oughta do it." Michaela knew that whisky would not be enough, but she saw that she had no choice. She turned and set to work, disinfecting her hands, her needle and thread. "I'll need to you hold the wound open while I sew." The man paled at this and shook his head. Michaela rounded on him. "You drag me out of my clinic and all the way up here to save this man's life and then have the gall to stand there and say you won't help? I need you to hold open the wound. Are you going to do it or are you going to let your friend die?" Her captor shook himself and then approached. He knelt down on the other side of his friend and held the wound open with the clamps she handed to him. Michaela carefully poured some whisky into the open wound. The injured man screamed, lurching upward, trying to escape the burning pain in his belly. Her captor reacted quickly, slapping his hand over the injured man's mouth and pressing him down to the ground. The clamps fell into the dirt. "Shut up, Ethan. The doc is gonna fix you up." Pale eyes stared glassily with pain at Michaela then back at his friend. Ethan nodded slightly and the hand was removed from his mouth. "Doc," he mumbled, "Please help me." Michaela looked into his blue eyes and smoothed her hand over his sweaty brow. "I'll try. Lie still." She disinfected her hand and the clamps again and set to work. It was delicate surgery, certainly not the kind to benefit from being performed on a dirt floor in a cave with insubstantial lighting. She did the best she could. After sewing up the intestine, she rinsed the wound once more with whisky. Ethan had passed out from the pain long ago. Michaela dabbed up the liquid and blood with a bandage from her bag. Then she sewed up the wound. Ethan remained unconscious, twisting his head in pain and muttering unintelligibly. She sat back and wiped her hand on her skirt for lack of a better place. "That's all I can do. If he survives the night, then he might live." She looked up at the man who had taken her. "What's your name?" she asked warily. The man stared at her, trying to decide how much to tell her. The woman already knew Ethan's name, thanks to his own blunder. He didn't want to add more information. "Name's McKay." He glared at her, as though daring her to refute this information. Michaela sighed, knowing he lied. She rubbed a hand over her eyes and winced as she touched her swollen cheek. "McKay. I'd like to go back to my family now. They'll be worried. My husband will be looking for me." McKay grinned, picked up the whisky bottle and took a long swallow. He grunted as it burned his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You ain't goin nowhere, doc. Not til' my friend here gets better. I figure he's gonna need doctorin for a while yet." Fear rose in Michaela as his words sunk in. "You can't keep me here," she cried, trying her best to sound indignant. She got to her feet, her fists clenched at her side. "You take me back to town right now, McKay." His laughter surprised and angered her. McKay put down the bottle and reached for her. She struggled, but he hauled her up against him, his left hand twined in her long hair, pullin her face back from his slightly while his right hand groped for her buttocks. "I can keep ya here. I can do what I like." To prove his words, he brought his mouth down on hers. Michaela clamped her lips shut, twisting her head from side to side to escape his. Her struggles where futile though as he was much stronger than she. He raised his head and grinned down at her. She did the only thing she could think of; she spit in his face. McKay jerked back, roaring in disgust and fury. He took her by the arms and threw her against the wall of the cave. Pain erupted along her body where it struck the jagged rock. Before she could slide to the floor in a state of semi-consciousness he was on her again. He pulled her up and shook her hard, shouting at her through clenched teeth. "Don't you ever do that again!" With a final burst of fury he threw her down to the floor of the cave. Michaela fell heavily onto her side, sliding up against the rock wall and striking the back of her head. She lay still, barely breathing as pain raced through her body. Tears filled her eyes and welled over against her will. She couldn't see for the black dots and tiny lights that exploded in front of her eyes. She shrank back when he approached her again, whimpering "No, please no." She raised her hand defensively over her face. He didn't take notice, only yanked her hands behind her once again and tied them up, tighter than before. He then tied her ankles together, disabling her completely. She lay still on the ground, trying not to breath too deeply as then she sucked in dirt as well as air. She watched through blurry eyes as he sat down opposite her, next to his friend. He took several more long drinks from the bottle of whisky and then pulled out something from the nearest pack. It looked like meat, beef jerky. As her stomach grumbled in affirmation that it was indeed food, McKay took his supper without offering her anything, merely grinning at her across the dimness of the cave. Struggling and wiggling, Michaela was finally able to heave herself to a sitting position. She watched silently as McKay finished his meal, then drank from a water flask. He went over to his friend, lifting the man's head gently as he tipped the flask to give him some water. Michaela's own mouth felt dry and gritty and she ached to feel the cool water filling her mouth and sliding down her throat, rinsing away the grime. McKay sat down again, leaning against his sleeping role. He took out his knife and began to whittle a piece of wood with it. Michaela tried to concentrate on him, tried to watch for an opportunity to escape, but tiredness gradually crept up on her and she drifted off. "Ethan! Ethan! Wake up, Ethan!" Michaela jerked awake, struggled to get up before she remembered that she couldn't. She looked over to where McKay was shouting at his friend to wake up. The panic in his voice told her clearly what had happened. "Is he dead?" she asked, her voice rough from sleep. She cleared her throat. "Untie me and let me see him." McKay looked at her then approached and untied her hands. He dragged her over to where the man lay, his eyes closed, his skin a funny gray colour. Michaela quickly examined him in the poor light. She looked up at her captor. "He's dead. He was too badly injured to survive." McKay looked from her to the body of his friend. His expression, one of shock and disbelief, slowly hardened into one of hate and fury. He turned smoldering eyes back to her and she shrank back from the hatred that emanated from them. "You killed him!" he growled at her. "His wound killed him," she cried defensively. "If you had brought him into town where I could have operated properly, with the proper medicines, I might have saved him. You killed him with your own negligence!" He glowered at her as his anger built and then he exploded. He smacked her across the face, causing her to fall flat onto her stomach while tears burned her eyes. He grabbed her by the arms and dragged her to the back of the cave, the swinging lantern in his other hand casting strange shadows on the rock face. The rough rock tore at her clothes, scratching the skin on her legs, arms and hands. He roughly tied her hands behind her back again and gagged her with a filthy cloth he pulled out of his pocket. He left her there without another word, taking the light with him. As he rounded the bend, the last of the lantern light disappeared, leaving Michaela in total darkness. Had she been able to put her hand before her face, she would not have been able to see it. She lay on her side, the bare rock beneath her damp from
seepage and tried to think of Sully, the children, anything to get her
mind off her present situation. Desperate, she began to pray, asking God
to help Sully to save her.
Sully reined in his horse and scanned the countryside. He was tired, having only stopped for a few hours rest. Matthew and others from the town were out searching the hills, but Sully felt more comfortable looking on his own. Wolf had lost the scent hours ago. Sully didn't know where to turn. He had been following the road into the hills and there was still no sign of her. The light rain that was falling now in the early hours of the morning was obliterating any traces there might have been. Sully could not remember feeling so helpless in years. He thought back to when the Dog Soldiers had kidnapped her. At least then he was able to follow the trail, to keep her within sight. It was only a matter of biding his time, waiting for the right moment. Now, he didn't even know if they had left the road or stayed on it. There was nothing to give him a clue. Lacking any other ideas, Sully urged his horse on down the road, away from town, Wolf following alongside. The rain was terrible. He was cold, wet and hungry, not having brought enough to eat. He hadn't thought clearly about that, simply rode off into the night after leaving Katie and Brian with Grace and Robert E. Every now and then he paused, calling out her name, hearing
it echo back from the hills at times, but never hearing an answer. Where
could she be?
Michaela woke up slowly, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings. Her hands were tingling, her wrists burning from the tight rope. Her left leg felt heavy, disconnected somehow. Her left shoulder ached painfully and it seemed that her clothes were wet on that side. She shivered as she became aware of the cold wetness. There was a foul taste in her mouth; like sweat and grit. She opened her eyes and saw nothing. She felt a moment of panic before she remembered why she couldn't see. It was still pitch black in this section of the cave. She turned her head, feeling the rough dirt and stone beneath her cheek. There, at the far end, she could see a faint lightning of the darkness. That was were the entrance was. She shifted position, easing off her shoulder and leg and onto her other side. She stretched out her legs and felt the prickly sensation of blood coursing back through her numbed limb. She clenched her teeth together against the sudden pain it caused and waited. Several minutes later, the pain eased and her leg felt normal once again. She didn't know what time it was, although from the brightness of the cave around the bend it appeared to be daytime. Her stomach ached for lack of food, but there wasn't a noticeable difference from last night's empty feeling. Another problem made itself known with a sudden intense pressure in her belly. She needed to relieve herself, but found herself unable to do so. "Hello," she called, her voice muffled by the gag and her word unclear. There was no response. She called again, then several more times. There was no movement or sound from around the bend to indicate that anyone was in the cave with her. Her problem was getting worse. She began to struggle against her bonds again, the tight hemp cutting her soft skin easily. She worked her hands back and forth, twisting and turning, feeling her hands grow slippery with blood. She gave up with a sigh. Michaela turned her head again, looking toward the bend in the cave. Maybe if I could get over there, I could ask for help. She brought her knees up to her chest and dug her heels into the ground. She pushed up with her shoulder, hoping that would move her along the cave floor. She only succeeded in pushing her feet away and moving her body about an inch. Michaela struggled some more in this fashion before she gave it up as useless. She lay on her side, breathing hard through the filthy gag, thinking. An image came to mind of the inch worms Brian had collected last week, watching in fascination as they arched their backs, bringing their tail to just behind their head and then straightening out again, moving forward at quite a speed. Michaela wondered if she could do the same. She turned onto her stomach and realized immediately that her face would be a problem. Trying to keep her head turned to the side, she leaned her body weight onto her right shoulder and tried to bring her knees forward. Her skirts were a hindrance, but she managed finally to bring her knees up slightly. She pressed her knees against the ground and pushed, trying at the same time to raise her upper body. It was more difficult than she imagined, but she had managed to move about a foot closer to the bend. She felt relief well up inside as she realized that her plan just might work. Feeling renewed strength, she brought her knees up again and digging in, shoved hard. Her shoulder scraped painfully against the rocky floor of the cave and she knew she was scraping her skin off, but her progress made it worth the pain. Minutes passed as she inched her way toward the dim light. Her urgency was momentarily forgotten in the effort, but when she reached the bend and stopped to rest, it returned. One last shove and she could look around the bend. She raised up slightly on one shoulder, holding her head off the ground and stared in amazement. The cave was empty. There was no sign of McKay and Ethan except for a sleeping roll and several packs. She was alone! She could escape! Another thirty feet over rough rock and she would be at the entrance to the cave. The light there was dim, reassuring Michaela that it was daylight, but very overcast. She stared at the length of ground before her and gathered her strength. As she began to move forward in her awkward fashion the entrance brightened briefly and thunder was heard, rolling across the heavens in the distance. Ignoring the oncoming wrath of nature, Michaela continued her slow, painful progress toward the mouth of the cave. Her shoulder was on fire, pain shooting down her arm and into her neck with each sliding movement. But each movement brought her closer to her freedom and she fought down the growing desire to stop and rest. She could rest when she was free. What had started out as a desire to relieve her urgent need had become an effort towards freedom. Ten more feet. Michaela struggled on, grunting with the effort and pain. Tears streaked through the dirt on her face as she closed in on her goal. Six feet. She could smell the rain outside, could see it clearly when the world was momentarily lit up by the lightning. She felt the cold breeze that wafted into the cave now and then. Four feet. She grunted and heaved herself forward again, wrenching her knees up beneath her and shoving herself another foot closer to freedom. She became frantic now, with effort. She was so near her goal, she struggled harder, crying out behind the gag with pain, effort and a final yell of joy as she reached her goal. She lay still in the open, the cold rain washing the dirt from her upturned cheek, but turning the ground beneath her into mud. She had made it to the mouth of the cave! Relief surged through her as she looked around, the rocky crags and small bushes jumping into bright relief as lightening flashed again. On her right was a large jagged rock, jutting up through the rubble. She shoved her way over to it and began to frantically rub her bound wrists against the jagged edge. She closed her eyes against the pain as the sharp rock cut her arms and hands. She rubbed harder and felt the rope break. She stopped, momentarily surprised at the release of tension in her arms and then wiggled her hands until they slipped free of her bonds. Her shoulders and back flared with sudden pain as the tension was released. Carefully, slowly, she pulled her arms back around in front of herself, gritting her teeth against the stabbing pain. Her arms felt numb and she gently rotated her shoulders, trying to bring life back into them. In the next flash of light she was able to see the damage that had been done to her hands and wrists. Blood mixed with the rain and dripped to the ground. Remembering her reason for trying to escape, she drew up her legs and untied the rope around her ankles. She fumbled for a while with the knots, but they eventually came loose. She then undid the gag, throwing the filthy cloth to the side. She tried to stand, but found her legs wouldn't support her. She looked around her, decided on a route and scooted forward on her behind. She made it around the ledge and took care of her pressing need. Her whole body sagged with relief. Resting a moment, she looked for the best route back down the hill. She wondered briefly where her captor was, but pushed that thought out of her mind. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth, catching raindrops on her tongue. The small amount of water did little to quench her thirst or ease her hunger, but it cleaned out the taste of the foul rag and the grit. Michaela started down the path. Within moments of being outside of the cave the rain had soaked her to the skin. Her wet skirts were an encumbrance, sticking to her legs and trying to prevent movement. Stones rolled out from underfoot and threatened to throw her off her already unsteady feet. She paused when lightening flashed, looking up in that moment to see her surroundings more clearly. However, the afterimage of the surroundings were burned upon her retina, making it difficult to see anything else for the next few seconds. She was more than halfway down the hill and beginning to feel confident in her escape. The thunder crashed loud directly above and she shrieked in surprise. A moment later a searing bolt of lightening struck a tree nearby. Michaela paused, watching the blue arc of light as it danced along the limbs of the tree. The smell of ozone filled her nostrils. With a loud crack, the lightening split the tree. Sparks showered in every direction as half the tree fell and the other remained standing, a burning torch. Frightened by this awesome display of nature's power, Michaela hurried on. She kept her head down, eyes on the treacherous path before her. So when she ran into something, she uttered a shriek of surprise. She looked up to find McKay grinning at her evilly from under his hat. The rain continued to sluice down, her hair hung in thick streamers down over her face. She hastily brushed them away. Her heart sank as she realized that her brief escape was over. The energy that had been sustaining her during her perilous flight down the hill suddenly left her, leaving her feeling limp as a dishrag. "Goin' somewhere?" McKay asked. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her along with him back up the hill. Michaela didn't struggle. She didn't have the energy to try to get away again. It seemed hopeless. It took a while to negotiate the slippery path back to the top of the hill. The burning tree had guttered out in the pouring rain and stood with black limbs reaching as a brutal reminder of nature's fury. Once inside the cave, McKay pulled Michaela along back to his place. He pulled out another length of rope and turned to tie her up again. "Please. Don't do that. I won't try to escape. I promise." McKay stared, looking her over. He saw her injured shoulder, the scratched face, the rawness of her wrists. He threw the rope down and in one swift motion had his hand around her throat. He brought her face an inch away from his own as she struggled for breath. "You try to get away again and I'll kill you. Understand?" Michaela nodded, gasping for air. He let her go then and she turned away, choking and coughing, trying to draw breath through her injured throat. "Sit over there," McKay growled, giving her a shove in the direction of the opposite side of the cave, placing himself between her and the opening. Michaela leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. She drew her knees up and hugged them against her chest, shivering. McKay made a fire and cooked himself some stew for dinner. The smell was driving Michaela crazy. All she could think about was food. She watched him from under a curtain of wet hair as she shivered in her wet clothes. She was too far away from the fire to benefit from it's warmth. McKay was enjoying his stew. He murmured to himself how good it was, purely for her benefit. After he finished one helping, he had another, dipping chunks of bread in the broth. Michaela couldn't stand it any longer. "Could I have some?" she asked, raising her head and meeting his gaze. His hand paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He studied her for a moment, deciding, then brought the spoon the rest of the way and slurped it's contents. He carefully set the tin plate down and reached into a burlap sack at his side. "Well, maybe I got somethin' for ya in here. Mmm, yes, how's that?" He tossed something in her direction and she reached for it unsuccessfully. It fell to the dirt floor a few feet away from her. McKay laughed as Michaela crawled toward it on hands and knees. She picked up the hunk of cheese and hurried back to her place against the wall. Using her skirt, she wiped off as much dirt as she could then took a bite. It tasted old, stale and slightly moldy. Grit crunched in her teeth. She chewed slowly and closed her eyes. It was a little bit of heaven. Three more bites and it was gone. The cheese had done little to satisfy her appetite, but it did give her the courage to ask for more. "Is there any more?" McKay held up his tin plate of stew. "Want some of this?" He taunted. Michaela studied him. He was offering her some stew and it smelled delicious. Probably rabbit stew. She could almost taste it. On the other hand, she was suspicious. She nodded however, and rose, walking over to him slowly. McKay nodded to the blanket lying on the ground next to him. "Have a seat." Michaela lowered herself, her eyes skipping warily over him. The plate of stew was just out of reach. "What'll you give me for the food?" he asked. Michaela's head jerked up to see the lecherous glint in his eyes. He put the plate down on his other side and reached for her with his hand. Michaela drew back automatically. "Uh, uh. You want to eat, you gotta give me somethin' in return." She froze. Every muscle was held rigid in horrible anticipation. His rough hand smoothed her wet hair away from her face, stroking her cheek. He let his fingers brush over her lips like a lover's caress. Michaela shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to keep her mind on the food he had promised her. He brought his other hand up and cupped her face with both of them. She felt his breath on her face and opened her eyes. He kissed her, his mouth hot on hers. His tongue pressed against her lips, but she closed them tighter. Her mind screamed out in protest, but she held herself still. His hands pressed against her face, painfully and she relented, opening her mouth to his probing tongue. She cringed against the invasion, tasting stew, tobacco and whisky. She tried to block it out of her mind as his mouth continued to press against her, his tongue searching, roving. Then it was over. McKay drew back, chucked her under the chin and laughed. "That was real nice." He reached behind him and brought out the plate of stew and handed it to her. Michaela took it from him cautiously. When he didn't say or do anything, she slowly started to eat. As the warm food filled her belly, and McKay made no overt moves, she relaxed slightly and ate faster, dipping the chunk of bread he gave her and savoring every bite. Too soon it was gone and she eyed the pot hungrily. Without a word McKay took the plate from her and filled it again. He added another chunk of bread and handed it back to her. Michaela looked up, surprised. There was nothing in the steady gaze that met hers, no evil look, no leering. Michaela accepted the plate and ate, slower this time. The fire was slowly drying her clothes out and she was beginning to feel warm again. She was aware of his watchful look as he smoked his cigar. She tried to ignore him as she finished the meal, but it was difficult. His presence was overwhelming, she could not escape it. Finished, Michaela placed the empty plate on the ground and wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Manners didn't seem appropriate here. She held her hands out toward the fire to warm them, then, when he didn't object, she scooted closer to warm the rest of her. Her hair was slowly drying, soft wisps of it floated around her face. McKay, his cigar finished, pulled out his bottle of whisky and took a hearty drink. He reached it out toward her companionably. Although not a drinking woman, Michaela took it nonetheless, knowing that it would begin warming her from the inside out. She wiped the bottle with her sleeve and took a small drink. She coughed and sputtered as the alcohol burned it's way to her belly. She passed the bottle back amidst his laughter. "Guess you ain't a drinkin' woman," he chortled. "No, I'm not. I'm a doctor," she replied tartly. He drank some more, the strong fumes of whisky surrounding them. He stowed the bottle back in it's place and put more wood on the fire. "Time for bed," he said, eyeing her across the flames. Michaela looked up, fear etching her features. He patted the blanket beside himself as he stretched out on top of it. Michaela's heart seemed to stop, then resumed it's beating, double time. Her palms grew sweaty and her throat closed with fear. She tried to swallow and found her mouth dry. "Come here," he said with a grin, patting the ground again. "I ain't givin' ya a choice. I'm givin' ya an order." His grin had vanished and his voice deepened with anger. Michaela slowly got to her feet. Her eyes were wide with fear, luminous in the firelight. She crossed over to him and sat down, her back to him, facing the fire. His hands were on her shoulders and she winced as he pressed down on her raw skin. He exerted enough pressure to force her to turn around, then he pressed her down to the blanket, on her back. Michaela closed her eyes, terrified. "No. Please don't," she whispered. She felt his hands in her hair, stroking her face, her shoulder, running up and down her arm. She shuddered in disgust and fear. She opened her eyes to find his face inches from her own. His whisky breath washed over her as he leaned down to kiss her. Michaela's first reaction was to resist, but she remembered his earlier threat of death and she knew he wouldn't hesitate. So she lay, limp and unresponding, allowing him to kiss her as she tried to close her mind to what he was doing. He raised his head and looked down into her face. He grinned. "You are some woman. So pretty, so soft." His hand touched her breast through the fabric of her dress. His touch broke through her wall of denial. She couldn't help herself; she rolled away from him, turning her back to him, her heart racing with fear. He chuckled and lay against her, spoon-like, his arm draped over her waist. He twined his left hand in her long hair and tugged gently, so she would know he held her in place. Within moments, he was snoring. Michaela's heart began to ease it's frantic pace as she realized that he slept. He would not force himself on her tonight. Although relieved, she found herself unable to sleep and lay awake, staring into the flames, tears of despair dripping onto the blanket unnoticed. It was near dawn before she succumbed to sleep. Her rest was light, fitful. She tossed and turned, reaching out for Sully, who wasn't there. She came awake abruptly, sitting up on the blanket. McKay sat beside her, grinning. He handed her a chunk of bread then set about packing up his stuff. She watched silently as she ate and only when the last crumb was gone did she speak. "What are you doing?" McKay paused in tying up his pack. "We," he emphasized, "are goin' to meet the rest of my gang. My friends, they'll be waitin' for us down in Snake Valley." "Leave me here, please!" she pleaded. "I won't tell anyone where you're going. I swear to you!" McKay put down his pack and knelt in front of her. "Leave a pretty thing like you? No way. Me an' the boys could sure use a woman round the house. You'll do just nicely." He patted her cheek and went back to packing up his stuff. "My husband will come looking for you. He'll find me. It's only a matter of time." McKay pulled out his knife, a wicked looking ten inch piece of sharp steel. "I don't think so, doc. Ain't no ever gonna find you again. Here," he tossed her the sleeping roll. "Let's go." Michaela followed him out of the cave and down the path. Escape was ever-present in her mind as she tried to bide her time, to find a moment when his guard was down and she could escape. He walked quickly down the path, a wicked looking knife held in his hand. She knew that if she tried to escape now, he wouldn't hesitate to use it. She would wait until he put it away, then, maybe, she would be able to get away. They mounted his horse at the base of the hill. He sat behind her, his arm tucked securely around her waist, the knife pointing into her belly. It was threat enough. Michaela sat quietly while they rode, watching constantly for landmarks to help her on the way back. McKay wasn't taking any chances however. He never put the knife away, it was always there, in plain sight. A constant threat and deterrent to any thought of escape she might have. They rode farther and farther away from Colorado Springs. Her hopes that Sully would be able to find her grew slimmer and slimmer with each passing hour. They rode all day and well into the night. The sun beat down on them relentlessly and with only a little water and some bread for meals, Michaela was feeling light-headed and weak by the end of the first day. They made camp several hours after sundown. Michaela was grateful to be off the horse. She sat down on a rock to rest, but McKay soon had her on her feet cooking supper. He heartily ate the stew she made, offering her only some bread and a small helping of stew. It wasn't enough to satisfy her hunger and her belly gripped with hunger pains. When it came time to sleep, McKay beckoned her over again. With a sinking feeling in her chest Michaela went. He pulled her down to him and kissed her, his hands reaching for her. Michaela pushed him away and turned on her side, her back to him. McKay chuckled and put his arm over her waist, pulling her against him. "One more night, doc. That's all I'll give ya. Tomorrow you'll be mine." Michaela stared into the flames of their campfire, her heart racing with fear. She felt sick as his hand caressed her hip and stomach idly as Sully often had. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to block out the feel of his hand on her, the feel and smell of his breath in her hair. She tried to think of Sully, but McKay's presence interfered. Once again, she cried herself to sleep, her thoughts on tomorrow and how she couldn't, wouldn't let it happen. The next day's routine was much the same. They rose early and rode all day. Michaela had no idea where they were now. She only knew that they were headed west up through the hills. The land looked dry with little greenery. They paused at a stream around noon to fill the water bag and give the horse a drink before pressing on. The hours passed slowly, painfully as she was becoming saddle sore. When they finally dismounted to make camp, she found she could barely walk. Her legs ached abominably. She pressed a hand against her lower back and tried to massage out the pain. McKay tethered the horse and took down his packs. He started a fire and got out the fixings for supper. Then he sat back and smoked his cigar while Michaela did the cooking. Beans and dried meat. A tasteless, tough supper. Michaela eyed McKay across the flames, her stomach in knots with fear of the coming night. Her time was up, no more chances. She had to get away now. She looked around their campsite, looking for something, anything that would be of help. They had made camp on fairly flat ground, but off to the left there was a crevasse in the rock that went down about ten feet. It was wide enough to jump down into and a small stream ran through the bottom. She turned back to find McKay ginning at her. She swallowed and felt a lump of fear in her throat. McKay had put his things aside and now patted the blanket next to him. "Time's up, doc. I'm a wantin' you." The logs shifted on the fire, sending up a column of sparks. Michaela looked up at the night sky, clear with only a quarter moon. The stars shone, oblivious to the terrible drama being played out below. "I really don't feel well," she offered lamely. She tried to scoot around so that the fire was completely between them, but he sensed her intention and was beside her in an instant. "I've waited long enough. I want what's mine. Now." He grabbed her arm and pulled her back over to the blanket. Before she could struggle he had her pinned on the ground, the length of his body pressing down on hers. Terror rushed through her and gave her strength. She fought him as he kissed her, his hands tangling in her long hair to hold her head still. She cried out as he pulled her hair and tears sprung up in her eyes. She moaned and pushed at his shoulders with her hands. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth she bit down without hesitation. McKay yelled, rearing up and holding his hand to his bleeding mouth. "You bitch!" he cried and smacked her hard. He reached across them and pulled his knife out of his pack. He pressed the blade against her throat. "You do that again and I'll kill you." Michaela stopped struggling, barely breathing. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, feeling the cold steel biting her skin. She gasped as he pressed down, drawing blood. McKay grinned as he saw the thin line of blood well up. "Maybe now you'll be still, huh?" With the blade of his knife, he slit the buttons of her blouse, opening it down to her waist. He grinned as his actions revealed her white chemise. He fingered the lace that rested above her bosom. "Nice," he said softly to himself. "Pretty. Soft too." Michaela tried to slow her rapid breath which made her bosom rise all too enticingly. Her body was tense, waiting for her moment, her chance. As he bent his head to kiss the soft, white flesh he had exposed Michaela reached out with her hand toward the fire. She picked up a log that had fallen off to the side, one end still burning in the flames, and ignored the searing pain as the smoldering wood came into contact with her skin. With a primal grunt of fear, anger and exertion, she swung the burning log in an arc. It made a satisfying thunk as it struck him on the back of the head. His cry was filled with surprise and pain. The flames from the log leapt to his shirt and the fabric caught immediately. With a scream of terror, McKay flung himself off Michaela and jumped wildly around, beating at his burning back with his hands, the knife falling to the ground. Michaela seized the moment. She grabbed the knife and headed off at a dead run for the opening in the rock that she had seen earlier. She stumbled over the rubble of rocks strewn about, tripping and falling to her knees just a few feet away from the edge and safety. She struggled to get up, McKay's cries had stopped and she didn't dare risk a look behind her. She was nearly there, her hands gripping the crumbling edge when he fell on her. His weight pressed her flat and she nearly dropped the knife. She tightened her grip as he struggled to turn her over. With his hand wrapped in her hair he yanked her onto her back and pressed her down with his body. "You bitch!" he growled, spittle flying as he spoke. His eyes were bright with pain. "You're gonna die now. I'm gonna make you sorry." He reached for her hand that held the knife. Grunting with effort, Michaela fought to keep the knife pointed up, away from her. He struggled with her, trying to wrench it from her grasp. As they each fought for a better position, Michaela suddenly became aware that her leg was between them. With one swift movement she brought her knee up, draining the fight from him immediately. Michaela shoved hard, throwing him to the side. She realized too late that in their struggles they had moved too close to the edge. Although McKay had stopped fighting with her he hadn't let go of her. As he fell over the edge and down into the crevasse, he pulled her with him. She screamed as they fell through the air. Although it was only a couple of seconds, it seemed to last a lot longer. Images of Sully and the children flashed through her mind and she wondered if this was the end. If she would never see her loved ones again. Her breath was knocked from her when they hit, her forehead striking a rock painfully. She lay still for a moment, struggling for air. Then she opened her eyes. They lay on the rocky beach of the small stream. McKay lay beneath her, his head turned away. Panic raced through her and she pushed herself up off his body. Then she stopped and stared. The knife she had held in her hand was buried to the hilt in McKay's chest. He was dead. She backed away from his body as though he might rise yet again. She pressed herself against the rock face, staring, waiting. When minutes had passed and he hadn't moved, she dared to go closer and check for a pulse. Nothing. He was dead. The nightmare was over. Relief washed over her with such suddenness that her knees buckled and she sat down hard. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. It was several minutes later when she quieted. She wiped her face on her sleeve, noticing the blood that was trickling down the side of her face, then looked around. A short way down the small streambed the sheer rock face was climbable. A recent shift in the land had caused a tumble of rocks that now lay piled against it. She could get out that way. She glanced down at McKay again and her eyes fell on the knife. It would come in handy, she thought and, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she pulled the blade from his chest. It came loose with a slurping sound and she grimaced. She wiped the bloody blade on his shirt, then went to the stream to wash it off completely. She couldn't stand the sight of his blood on it. She washed her hands clean as well and became aware of the burns on her left hand. Tearing a strip from the hem of her chemise she bound her burned hand to protect it from further damage. Tucking the knife into the waistband of her skirt she headed for the rock pile and began the climb out. She reached the top uneventfully, slipping only once and adding another scrape to the multitude on her arm. Once at the top, she hurried back to the camp site. She gathered up the blanket and dumped out his pack wanting to take only the necessary things. She was shocked to see bundles of money fall onto the ground. She stared at it, realizing that he had robbed the bank in Denver. Stuffing the money back into the sack, she packed what little food there was and tied it up. Gathering up the blankets and her medical bag, she tied them onto the horse and put out the fire, kicking dirt over it to make sure it was out. Mounting the horse, she turned him back down through the hills, the way they had come. It was daylight before she actually began to feel the tension of the night dissipate. She was far from the site of McKay's death and beginning to feel safe again. There was nothing around, just rocks, trees and brush. Michaela and the horse were completely alone. They rode into the rising sun as Michaela remembered they had traveled west before. She had fortunately remembered to take McKay's hat, but it did little to dispel the heat of the day. The landscape shimmered and by mid-afternoon she was beginning to see things she was so exhausted. When she finally reached a stream, Michaela brought the horse to a halt and dismounted unsteadily. She led him to the edge for a drink and crouched by it's coolness herself. She splashed water on her face, rinsing away dust, then slaked her thirst. Rinsing out the canteen and filling it once again, she tied it securely to the horse and mounted, setting off again. Nightfall came and the temperature dropped. She huddled under the blankets before the small fire she had built, her belly nearly empty. There was only one chunk of bread left. She didn't know how to catch animals for food other than the snares Sully had shown her how to make. There wasn't time for that though. She had to keep moving. With uneasy thoughts of hunger, pain and memories of Sully and the children, she fell into a fitful sleep. Her exhaustion was not eased by her unrestful sleep and when the rising sun woke her she was as tired as she had been before going to sleep. The last of the bread was gone by lunch the next day. All she had now was water. Even that ran out by evening and she urged the horse on until she found a small creek to replenish it. It was late when she made camp next to the creek. She was exhausted and hungry. Although the water was good and relieved her thirst, it did nothing for the constant pain that gripped her belly. She felt weak and tired and didn't want to bother with a fire, but knew she needed it for protection. The horse grazed a few feet away, tied securely to a tree. Michaela sat on a log, staring into the flames, unable to sleep. She ached everywhere, her shoulder burned from the deep cuts there, her left hand was a constant throbbing. She tried to push the pain out of her mind, to think about other things. She thought about the children, Matthew, Colleen and Brian. They would be worried about her, wondering what had happened. She knew that it would be too much for them to lose another mother. Then she thought about Katie and her arms ached to hold her young daughter. She closed her eyes and pictured her sweet face, the small button nose, the tiny ears, the soft spot at the back of her neck where her hair dampened as she slept. And she thought about Sully. An aching longing ran through her as she thought about the man she loved. She pictured him, standing before her, his long hair reaching his shoulders, the soft buckskins he usually wore, the white shirt, opened at the neck to reveal a tangle of soft curls. The beaded necklace that he wore during the day, that Katie loved to play with. Her heart ached for his strong arms to enfold her in his warmth, for the scent of his warm skin, a combination of hardworking sweat, salt and maleness that was uniquely Sully. She opened her eyes to look into the flames dancing merrily before her. "Oh, Sully!" she said aloud to the darkness.
"Where are you?" She drew her knees up to her chest, feeling
the burning pressure in her eyes. Her throat grew tight, as the pain of
her aloneness spread through her chest. Resting her forehead on her
knees, she began to cry. She had never been more scared or felt more
alone before in her life.
Sully was getting desperate. It had been five days since Michaela disappeared. He had search the countryside high and low. He had looked in as many caves as he could, known from his hunting and trapping days. Having ridden into town again to get some supplies, he discovered that the men had not had any luck either. Sully was beginning to wonder if he would ever find her, if she was lost to him forever. As he lay before the fire that night, he stared into the
flames, his imagination creating images he didn't want to see. He closed
his eyes and prayed to the Cheyenne spirits and to God, asking for help
in finding Michaela, asking them to keep her safe. As sleep slowly
overcame him a single tear rolled down his cheek.
It was the third day of travel when Michaela came across a road. She didn't know if it was the same road that led to town, but it had to lead somewhere and was better than traveling the open land. Feeling a sense of renewed hope, Michaela urged the horse to a gallop down the dusty, lonely road. They traveled for hours with nothing in sight. She was beginning to wonder if this road led anywhere. She reined in the horse and dismounted, walking out the stiffness of her legs. She took a drink from the canteen and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She gazed up at the sun, directly overhead now and blazing down with summer heat. She was tired of riding, tired of traveling and not seeming to get anywhere. With a weary resignation, Michaela mounted her horse and started off down the road again at a slow trot. The horse was tired and thirsty and around mid-afternoon slowed down to a walk and then finally stopped, it's head drooping. Michaela gave it a gentle kick. "Come on!" she urged. The horse snorted, but didn't move. "You can't stop now. We have to keep moving. Come on." The horse side stepped when she nudged him with her feet. She dismounted and went to his head, pulling on the bridle. "Come on, you beast! Let's go." The horse whickered and tossed it's head, feet planted firmly. Michaela sighed, frustrated, but not quite angry. She looked around and noticed that there was nothing but rock and dirt with some scrub brush growing here and there. Off in the distance she could make out trees. Giving the horse a pat, she pointed out the trees to the animal. "See those trees over there? That means there's water around. You can make it that far. Then you can have a nice long drink and a good rest. I promise." She looked into the creature's big brown eyes. "All right? Let's just go that far, all right? Please?" The horse snorted, as though in agreement and she mounted, taking the reins and urging him on toward the greenness in the distance. The horse seemed to have understood her words for it went now without protest, but at a slow walk. She wasn't able to urge him to go any faster. The trees were farther than she thought and it was sunset when they finally reached their dark coolness. Michaela breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the forest, feeling the cooler air surround her. The horse seemed to like it too, his head came up and he snorted several times. They walked in peace until they came to a small stream and then she dismounted, leading the animal to it's promised reward. She herself simply sat down on a grassy knoll and put her head down on her drawn up knees, exhausted. The sound of a branch breaking caused her to raise her head sharply. She looked around, but saw nothing. Another crack and the horse lifted it's head with a nervous whicker. Frightened, Michaela got to her feet and pulled out the knife. She edged closer to the horse, holding onto the reins to the animal wouldn't run off. She stared into the dimness of the forest, trying to find the source of the sound. Rustling sounds off to the left. Michaela quickly turned, the knife gripped tightly. There was a shifting of shadows and a figure emerged, riding a horse. A moment of panic filled her before her brain registered what she saw. "Sully!" Her cry was filled with such relief that tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She ran across the small clearing, throwing herself into his arms a second after he had dismounted. "Michaela! Thank God I found you." Sully's relief was just as intense and the two were lost in each other's arms as the fear and tension of the last week slowly drained away. Michaela was sobbing, her composure gone, able to give in now to the pain, the fear and the desolation she had felt. Sully held her slightly away from him, looking at her. He noticed the large knife she held and removed it from her hand and put it aside. Then he picked her up in his arms and walked over to a small patch of soft moss. He settled down, holding her on his lap, his arms tight around her. He gently, soothingly rubbed her back, dropped kisses on the top of her head. When her sobs had lessened, Michaela tilted her head back to look up at the face she had thought she would never see again. Sully stroked her cheek, careful of the abrasions and bruises. "I thought I would never see you again," he whispered hoarsely. "I know," she whispered back. He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes. He kissed her eyelids, her cheek, the tip of her nose and then finally kissed her parched lips. Michaela drew back, her fear returning. "Sully, please. Just hold me. I just want to feel your arms around me. To know that I'm safe. That it's over." Sully held her close, rocking her, his hands moving gently,
soothingly on her back. He laid his cheek against the top of her head
and wondered why she had drawn away from him. Wondered what had happened
to her.
It was late, the moon was high in the cloudless sky. Sully and Michaela sat by the fire finishing a meal from the provisions Sully had brought with him. Half starved, Michaela had to force herself to eat slowly, although she wanted to devour everything in site. She knew if she did, it would make her sick, with her stomach unaccustomed to food. Sully gazed at his wife across the dancing flames. He put his plate aside and cleared his throat. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" His voice was soft, encouraging. Michaela looked up, met his eyes across the flames. She swallowed the last bite of her meal with difficulty. She put her plate on the ground as well and turned her attention to her hands lying in her lap. "He came into the clinic. He wanted me to help his friend, to come with him. I told him I couldn't. He hit me..." her voice trailed off as she touched the bruise on her cheek which was beginning to turn a yellow-green colour. "I was afraid for Katie, that he would see her and hurt her. I screamed and he struck me again. The next thing I remember is being on the back of his horse, riding out of town." Michaela looked over at him, questioning. "Is Katie all right? She wasn't hurt, was she?" Sully met her gaze. "She's fine. I found her at the clinic, squallin'. That's how I knew somethin' had happened. The place was a mess too. We tried to find you. Everyone helped search. Where did he take you?" She saw the unspoken question in his eyes, "What did he do to you?" Relief that her daughter was all right washed through her. She looked back at her lap. "I don't know. He took me to a cave, up in the hills. He wanted me to treat his friend, but he had been badly injured and he died that night. He blamed me." Sully felt the lump in his throat grow, making it difficult to swallow. His hands were clenched into fists on his lap, his stomach tied in knots. He felt such hatred toward the man who had taken his wife. And such fear at what he might have done. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to know. With difficulty, his voiced choked, he got the words out. "Did he hurt you?" Michaela heard the pain and fear in Sully's voice and looked at him. She moved closer to him, reaching for his hand and feeling his fist. She knew he was angry, angrier than he had ever been, but she also knew was afraid to hear the answer. "No. He tried to, but no," she said softly. Sully's head flew up, meeting her gaze. Emotions flew across his features too quickly for her to read. Finally he settled on relief and clasped her to him. "Oh, God, Michaela! I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you." Michaela pulled back, he needed to know the truth. "He tried, Sully. That first night, and every night after that. He kissed me, touched me. I fought him at first, but he fought back. He held back food unless I let him kiss me. He made me sleep next to him, touched me and held me while I slept. I had to let him, Sully, or he would have killed me." She felt Sully draw back, emotionally and physically. She knew that this hurt him, but she had to tell him. Had to relieve herself of the guilt she felt for complying. "The last night, he wasn't going to stop. He said I was his and he was going to have me. He tried..." she trailed off, gathering courage. What would Sully think of her when he knew? She couldn't bear it if he pushed her away, but she had to tell him. "I got away, tried to jump down into a crevasse. He caught me and he had a knife. He was going to kill me, Sully. I had to do it. I pushed him off me and we fell over the edge." Silence fell into the small clearing. Sully stared at her and knew she wasn't finished with her tale. He knew there was more and that it was tearing her apart. "I killed him, Sully." Two, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Light from the fire danced across her face, putting it in shadows one minute and lighting it the next. She looked at him with a pleading expression, wanting him to understand, to say that it was all right, that it wasn't really her fault. Sully glanced over at his pack where the knife lay that he had taken out of her hands when he had first found her here. She killed him with that knife, he thought. He looked back at her and saw she was crying openly now. He knew she needed his forgiveness. "You had to, Michaela. To save yourself and your children. You had to." He rose and sat next to her, pulling her close. She cried as she told him of her long journey here, then sat quietly as he told her of his and the town's efforts to find her. When they had finished speaking, they sat silently, holding each other, easing the emotional hurts and trying to feel comfortable with one another once again. When they lay down to sleep, Sully gathered her close, her head resting on his chest. They slept lightly, Michaela's dreams full of terror, waking her often with cries and tears. Sully comforted her through the night. They ate a quick breakfast at dawn's first light and then set off for home. They rode without speaking, Michaela remembering and Sully trying to come to terms with what had happened. He knew it would be difficult for her to overcome this trauma. He knew that he had to be strong for her. Yet when he thought about that man touching her, kissing her. . . he went cold all over. Although the actual nightmare was over, another one was beginning. They would both have to deal with their feelings of guilt, shame and anger. It would take time, but Sully knew that they would overcome this. Their marriage was strong enough to withstand this trial and he felt sure that Michaela would be able to recover. Michaela herself was trying to deal with her emotions. As they finally rode into town and the ordeal seemed to be behind them, she slowly came to terms with her guilt over McKay's death. And as she hugged Brian and held little Katie in her arms, she knew that she would be alright, she had to be alright, because her children needed her. When they rode up to the homestead later that night Michaela
and Sully looked at each other over their daughter's head. He smiled at
her, his eyes filled with love and compassion. Michaela smiled back and
began her journey down the road of healing.
Other Dr. Quinn stories I have written:
Disclaimer: Although this story is based on the characters created by Beth Sullivan, the content is the author's own and does not intend to infringe upon the copyrights of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, CBS or any other persons associated with the show. This story is not to be stored on any other server without the author's prior permission. However, please let me know if you wish to link to this site.
|
atie
gurgled as Sully lifted her up high. He gently tossed her into the air
and she rewarded him by laughing out loud. Michaela smiled, watching
from the table where she was preparing vegetables for their evening
meal. She rose from her chair, wiping her hands on a towel and dropping
it next to the plate.
