the Light
Chapter 5 (Pt 1)
Same day.
The cloud cover that has cloaked the sky above the city since mid-morning began to thicken toward late afternoon having adorned
itself with menacingly dark ragged patterns. The first droplets of rain splattered on her windshield, as Lt. Colonel Sarah Mackenzie was pulling out of the JAG parking lot. By the time she reached her partner's place, the long-expected thunderstorm broke out in full force. It was as if the sky had opened up, spilling out all of the water it had conserved over the past few exceptionally warm and dry days. Strong spurts of rain lashed down mercifully on the roof of her car; the water cascading down the windshield so forcefully that her wipers were hardly able to keep up.
Mac parked the car and hesitated, eyeing with a bit of apprehension the fairly wide space between her car and the entrance to the apartment; a space that seemed so much wider now that her car was but a tiny island in the midst of a raging storm.
"Great," she mumbled to herself, mustering her courage to get out. "Just great."
She opened the car door, instantly greeted by a rush of cold air and water in her face. Sighing at the hopelessness of her situation, she
got out, slamming the door behind her, and sprinted toward the safety of the building. By the time she reached the entrance, however, she was soaking through.
Shaking her head in a futile attempt to shake off the excess water, she headed upstairs to his apartment, the drenched uniform cap clenched tightly in her hand.
The echo of her knock reverberated inside the empty hallway, and Mac frowned, listening to the sounds behind the door. Silence. She knocked again, harder this time, until her hand began to hurt.
"Harmon Rabb, Jr., you open this door right now or, I swear, you'll be sorry!" She punched the door one more time for emphasis. "Damn it, Harm! I'm soaking wet out here!"
She heard some kind of a commotion and what sounded like the clinking of a glass, and, finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the door cracked open.
He stood in the doorway, an indistinct profile of a man immersed in the shadowy twilight. The room was dark and quiet behind him - almost eerily so.
"Now's not really a good time, Mac," he ventured hoarsely; his words somewhat slurred. He moved to close the door, expecting her to leave.
"Boy, you must really not know me at all if you expect me to just walk away," she thought in astonishment. "Fat chance, Flyboy!" Unceremoniously, she pushed past him into the apartment, flipping the light switch as she did so. Then, turning around with a defiant look, she watched as he slowly shut the door and leaned back against it, squinting angrily at the light.
"Turn it off," he asked quietly, raising his hand to shield his eyes.
"Why?" she retorted sharply, throwing her wet cap onto the couch and crossing her arms on her chest as if to emphasize that she was not going anywhere. When she walked in, she was close enough to him to smell the strong stench of alcohol on his breath, and it didn't escape her attention that there were at least three empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter. A fourth one, still halfway full, was clutched in his right hand.
"You told Harriet you went home to catch up on a few things. Is THAT what you were going to catch up on?!" Her hand shot out angrily, pointing at the empty bottles.
Instead of a response, he reached forward, turning off the light. In the newly restored semi-darkness, she could see him walk by her
toward the counter. Coming to rest against it, he took another sip from the bottle before placing it on the counter next to him. The room plunged into deep silence, broken only by the incessant rapping of the rain on his windowpane.
Mac shivered, unsure if it was due to her cold, wet clothes or to the chilly atmosphere in the room. She knew that, if she were to leave right then, he wouldn't so much as blink. He'd probably go on drinking himself into oblivion. Well, she just couldn't ... WOULDN'T allow it. Shrugging off the icy feeling, she stepped forward, determined to get through to him.
"Harm, you testify tomorrow. Don't you think that you should-"
"What? Get ready?" He laughed, a short scathing laugh that sent another shiver down Mac's spine. "I'm getting ready as we speak,
Colonel." He grabbed the bottle again and held it up to ensure she understood his meaning. "Can't you see?"
She shook her head in disbelief. Harm, Harm, what are you doing to yourself? Clasping her hands in front of her to try to get control of her raging emotions, she crossed the short distance between them, standing so close that she could clearly see every little feature of
his face even in the murky twilight.
"You are pathetic, you know that?" she began, trying to keep the shaking out of her voice. Ignoring his raised eyebrows, she pushed on, "You think that getting yourself dead drunk is going to make the pain go away? Well, it won't! It WON'T!"
He hung his head, and Mac thrust her hands forward, pushing against his chest as if to shake him out of his semi-stupor. "Look at yourself! The great Harmon Rabb, Jr. - a self-pitying, sad excuse for a human being; a pathetic drunk who's so afraid to face reality that he hides from it at the bottom of a liquor bottle."
Harm listened to her tirade with his eyes squeezed shut; his back pressed against the counter. But something stirred in him at her last words, and he shot forward so suddenly that she drew back on a reflex.
"Reality?!" He bit back. "Do you have ANY idea what my reality is, Mac? The place I return to EVERY time I close my eyes?" His voice grew louder, making her cringe at every word. "And you wanna know something? I AM afraid. I'm afraid of closing my
eyes at night and finding myself back in that cave. I'm afraid of the night, Mac! How's that, huh? ... And I am scared to DEATH that when I go into that courtroom I'll-"
His voice broke suddenly; his breath caught in his throat. He felt as if the very air around him was choking him. He couldn't breathe.
Frightened, Mac reached for him, but he stumbled back, raising his hands to his head in a faint attempt to block out everything in the room. The bottle that was still clutched firmly in his right hand came into his view. He stared at it, as if only now becoming aware of its existence. And then following a sudden impulse, he threw it violently to the side, sending it flying across the room. He watched in a trance-like state as it hit the windowpane, shattering the glass into a thousand little pieces. The wind and the rain burst through the
jagged opening, flooding the room with cold damp air, and he walked slowly toward the broken window, taking deep ragged breaths. Placing his hands on the windowsill, feeling the cool raindrops splash on his face, he looked out into the thick darkness, lost in thought. All of his anger seemed to have dissolved in that single violent act.