Gratitude
Part Twenty
�Damn it!� she muttered furiously to herself, �What the hell is wrong with me?� She couldn�t think, couldn�t move, couldn�t even breathe. The sights, the sounds, the feelings, they were all pressing down on her until she felt like she was surrounded. Hot tears of desperate frustration started streaming down her face as she felt herself drowning in the flood of emotions. She began gasping for air, until she finally slid down and sat with her head between her legs to keep from hyperventilating. She frantically tried to calm herself down. Rocking back and forth, she started to work on her breathing. When she had that mostly under control, she began to fight her way through the panic.
�Come on, Marine,� she whispered, still a little breathless, �You can do this. Just calm down. Calm down and figure out what�s going on. You�re not doing anybody any good curled up on the floor of some strange bathroom. You have to get control, now. Come on, Harm�s waiting for you. If you stay in here too much longer, he�s going to come in after you. You know he will,� a small smile appeared as she pictured Harm bursting into the ladies room, trying to find her with a hand over his face to keep from seeing anything he shouldn�t. A small measure of calm fell over her, �That�s right, think about Harm. Think about your flyboy. He needs you to be strong, Sarah. He needs you to finish what he started. He came all that way, gave up everything, to get you out of Paraguay. The least you can do is get yourself off the bathroom floor.�
Mac eventually got command over her rampaging emotions. Now she just had to figure out what the emotions were and what was causing them. She started with the easy one. Panic. That one was the same as always. She had begun to feel as though someone was watching her. And considering both the crowd of people and her emotional state at the time, it was easy to explain that one away. Fear. Well, that one wasn�t so hard, either. �I saw someone I loved with blood on his hands. That would make anyone afraid,� she thought. �The question is, why did I see it?� She started to pick apart what she saw in her mind. Could it be a memory? It�s not like she�d never seen Harm with blood on himself. She sifted through her memories, but didn�t find anything that matched up. So it was her imagination. Why would she come up with something like that? Did it have something to do with Paraguay? Maybe some sort of guilt reaction about what Harm went through to save her? But if that was true, why did she have visions of blood on Sturgis and Bud and the Admiral? And how did her recurring nightmare fit into the whole thing?
Mac sighed in aggravation. She was so close; she could sense that the answer was just out of reach. Maybe if she went back out and talked to Harm and Sturgis, they�d be able to help her figure it out. Or maybe Bud or the Admiral would have some insight. Either way, she was tired of just sitting here. Besides, she had been in here for...thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds. If she stayed any longer, Harm really WAS going to come in after her. She picked herself off the floor and stepped out of the stall. Pushing her way through the mass of women congregating in front of the mirrors, she quickly checked her appearance. Not too bad, she reasoned. You could tell she�d been crying a little, but other than that she looked okay. Thankfully, the jeans and dark blue sweater she was wearing didn�t make her stand out as much as her uniform. She had changed before she left work; she had wanted to be as comfortable as possible tonight. And she didn�t want to make Harm uncomfortable by being the only one not in uniform.
Satisfied that she looked as well as could be expected, she exited the restroom and began to make her way back to the table. As she got closer, she noticed that there were only three people at the table and they were all in uniform. Where was Harm? Oh God, please tell me he didn�t actually follow me into the ladies� room.
Glancing around, she spotted him amidst the sea of people huddling at the bar. That was the good thing about Harm�s height; it made him easy to find in a crowd. She watched as he pulled away and began to move back to the table with her drink in his hand. She felt a little guilty, he must have been standing there the whole time she was in the bathroom, trying to get her a drink. She saw him look at their table, when he didn�t see her he stopped and began searching for her. It was difficult to see through the smoke, so she waved a little to get his attention. He relaxed when he saw her, and jerked his head toward the table. Nodding, she made her way over. She was just a few feet away when the others turned at her approach.
Blood. The vision slammed into her. Blood on their uniforms. Blood on their hands. Even as her mind registered what it was seeing, she started to back away from the table. The small part of her that was trying to tell her that it wasn�t real, that it was only some twisted figment of her imagination, was drowned out by the rest of her telling her to run.
Run, Sarah. Run now. Get away. Get the blood away from them. You have to get it away. It�s coming. You have to run. You have to run now. There was nothing but the voice now, telling her to run, yelling for her to get away. And there was nothing to do but listen to the voice and do what it said. Stumbling back, she turned and ran for the door.
There were people everywhere. She tried to push her way past them and get to the exit, but the harder she pushed, the more they pushed back. Shadows everywhere she looked, their faces obscured by the smoke, preventing her escape. She fought, struggled harder to move past them, but she just kept getting shoved back into the crowd. Frantically she turned, searching for another route, and rammed into a man who had moved to stand just behind her. He lost his footing and stumbled back. She heard the sound of breaking glass as his drink fell to the floor. She instinctively bent down to help him pick it up. Without thinking, she began to collect the fragments of glass in her palm until she felt the man�s hand on her wrist. Looking down, she realized she had cut her finger on one of the shards. Everything around her stopped as she focused on the drops of blood trickling down her finger. She heard the muffled sound of voices and felt a new hand on her shoulder. She tried to focus on what was happening. �It�s too late. Don�t bother, Sarah. It�s too late.� The words hit her, bringing her back to the here and now. It was just like her nightmare, she thought as she struggled to understand what was going on around her. The voice, telling her it was too late. But whose voice? She looked up, but the smoke and her tears blurred her vision and turned everything into shadows. Pulling her hand away from the man kneeling on the floor with her, she swiped at her eyes until her vision began to clear. She started to level her gaze on him, but got no more than a passing glance when the hand on her shoulder squeezed a little to get her attention. Looking up, she saw Sturgis� familiar face tight with worry.
The voice, the voice must have been Sturgis. He was trying to tell her it was too late to help. She could see his mouth moving, but could only focus on his earlier words. She let him pull her to a standing position. Wrapping his hand under her elbow, he began to guide her back towards the table. Realizing this, she struggled out of his grasp and once again moved to pull away, this time ignoring the man when she bumped into him once again.
She had almost reached her destination; she could see the entrance from here. Suddenly a hand on her arm stopped her and pulled her around. Coming face to face with Sturgis, she heard him raise his voice and tell her to stop.
�Damn it, Mac! Stop!� His voice was full of frustration and fear as his other hand reached out and grabbed her. Holding tight to her arms, he said, �Slow down, Mac. Slow down and tell me what�s wrong.� He loosened his grip slightly and said in a more gentle tone, �Come back to the table and calm down a minute. You have to let us help, Mac. You have to let us help before it�s too late.�
�Too late,� she echoed, disregarding the rest of what he said. That was it. She could sense the answer, closer than ever. It was right there, waiting for her to reach out and grab hold. Somehow, it all came down to that one sentence. It�s too late, Sarah.
It�s too late, Mac. Mac. That�s what Sturgis had said. It�s too late, Mac. He had called her Mac. He always called her Mac. Mac, or Colonel. But he had never called her Sarah, not in the entire two years that she had known him. So why did he call her Sarah when she was picking up the glass?
He hadn�t. He hadn�t said Sarah. He hadn�t said anything. It was the other man�s voice. He was the one who had spoken. It�s too late. Don�t bother, Sarah, it�s too late. Why had he called her Sarah? How had he known that was her name if Sturgis hadn�t said it? Had he been by the table and overheard their conversation? No, that wasn�t right, either. The only one who ever called her Sarah was Harm, and he had only said Mac tonight. She would have remembered if he had said Sarah. She always remembered that. So how had he known her name?
�The dream,� she whispered as the pieces began to come together, �It�s happening just like my dream.�
In the nightmare, she had been in a club. She had tried to escape only to be pushed back in. Smoke and shadows, all leading her to that smooth, empty face, to that familiar voice whispering insidiously in her ear. And when she had touched that faceless man, he had shattered. Like glass, he had shattered like glass. Like the glass falling from the man�s hand. Fear flooded her soul as she reached back into her memories and focused all her thought on that one glimpse she had gotten of the man�s face.
Smooth, his face had been smooth. Smooth because he had no facial hair. When she had first seen him, he had been a sporting a dark, full beard. And the last time she had seen him, on a train in Paraguay, he had a small, grey mustache. He must have shaved it. Suddenly, she remembered what Clay had said in the hotel room.
He�s like a chameleon. He can look Mediterranean or Saudi or South American.
A chameleon. Changing his looks to hide in plain sight. Images began to flash in her head. The cemetery, the alley in front of Harm�s apartment, all those times, all those places she had felt like someone was watching her every move. And all those times, all those places, someone was.
The eyes were real. The panic was real. The blood was real. Somehow, he had managed to make it into the United States. Not a difficult thing for a chameleon. And not a difficult thing to find out her real identity, either. The police in Paraguay, Hardy, quite a few people had learned who she really was after Harm had gotten there. Harm. It had gotten worse with Harm. Because he was the start of it, his coming to save her was what started it all. And it was more intense when Harm was near because the danger was greater when they were together. Because he didn�t just want her dead, he wanted them both dead.
He wanted Harm dead. Harm, with blood on his hands and his face full of pain. Harm; back there in the club, not knowing that he was being hunted. And she had left him with the hunter.
�Oh God,� she whispered, her voice full of horror. She repeated it, louder this time, �Oh God. Oh God, it was real. It was real. Not flashbacks, not nightmares. Visions. They were visions.�
�Mac, what the hell are you talking about? What�s going on?� Sturgis� angry voice cut through the fear that had paralyzed her. She had to stop this. She had to stop him. She had to save Harm. Save him like he had saved her. She looked at Sturgis.
�It wasn�t my imagination, Sturgis. It was real. Everything was real. It was a vision. And I have to stop it from coming true,� she could see the confusion and frustration wash over his features. She wished she could explain better, but she didn�t have the time. She had run out of time.
�Sturgis, call 911. Get someone here as fast as you can,� she was already moving back into the crowd, back to Harm.
�What?!� Sturgis yelled. He didn�t understand anything she was saying, �Mac, I don�t understand. What are you talking about?�
�Sturgis, I don�t have time to explain,� her voice matched his in intensity, �Just call 911. Get help here. NOW!�
�And tell them what, Mac?� Sturgis asked. His voice was heavy with sarcasm as a result of his confusion, �What the hell am I supposed to tell them? That my friend is having visions again and she�d like you to come help her out?�
Mac glanced back once. Her eyes were full of horror, but her voice was full of certainty when she answered him.
�Tell them you�ve found a terrorist named Saddiq Faad.�
Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Mac pushed her way into the crowded ladies room. Maneuvering past the various women primping in front of the mirrors, she managed to find an open stall. She quickly stepped in and shut herself inside. Leaning back against the door, she fought to regain control. She had told the Admiral the truth, it was worse this time. Much worse. She had seen it again, blood on Harm�s hands. She had hoped it was over, that she wouldn�t have any more of those strange flashes. She hadn�t had one since that night in her apartment when Harm had grabbed her. She was so sure that they wouldn�t come back.