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wheelsy_sheriff) wrote2009-03-24 01:45 am
wheelsy_sheriff) wrote2009-03-24 01:45 am
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After dropping Kate and Doc off at the airport Bill finds a diner and orders breakfast. He doesn't eat very much, they had eaten before leaving the house and he's got things on his mind killing any appetite he might have left over.
Sitting in a booth drinking coffee he watches the time; marking when Kate and Doc's plane should have taken off; calculating how long until Kate said they should be in Dallas; he figures the time it's going to take him to get back for his appointment; and then he watches the minutes tic by as he faces indecision again.
Long after his plate has been taken and the waitress who's been filling his cup disappears he finally gets up, pays, and heads back to the truck. Pulling out the paper he'd written the directions to the state hospital on.
*****
The place is sterile and cold, the hallways are long with high ceilings but it still feels confining; boxed in.
"Can I help you?"
The attendant at the desk is a large man with a nightstick on his belt. He studies Bill carefully and keeps his attention divided between him and the bank of monitors beneath the ledge on the desk.
"Yeah, I’m here to see someone."
"Doctor or patient?"
"Patient."
"Name?"
"Lawson, Eric."
*****
"I’ll be right outside." The orderly’s words sound like assurance and warning at the same time before he pulls the door closed.
The man in the bed looks pale and thin; just a ghost of what Bill remembers from the gas station.
A monitor beeps away steadily against the wall and Bill can hear Lawson’s slow breaths rattling on each exhale.
This isn’t the man he faced before, the one who almost killed him, the one who killed another cop and very possibly other people.
It is him, though. Lawson’s face is gaunt and almost lifeless, but it’s still the man behind the gun, the one Bill sees in those nightmares he still can’t get rid of; in bad thoughts that strike during the day; and in the dark recesses of his mind.
Bill's hands are tight against his sides as he faces the man in the bed from across the room. He’d get closer, but his legs won’t let him and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s afraid of the man or afraid of himself and what he might do if he closes the distance.
His eyes drift over the small room, over the monitors and bed, the barred windows and white walls and he's remembering his own hospital room with its cold sheets, humming machinery and the almost impossible distance between his bed and the door he kept hoping would take him to Kate.
The doctors still don’t expect Lawson to ever come out of the coma Hargrove’s bullet put him in before the trooper was killed, and Bill can’t help the part of himself that thinks that’s good; or the part that feels like Lawson shouldn’t be breathing, period.
When he decided he was going to come here he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. When he made the call to set up the visit he’d been half-hoping they wouldn’t let him. And now, standing in the middle of Lawson’s room he’s uncertain.
He feels like he should say something but he doesn’t know what. The fact that the man can’t hear him doesn’t bother him, he just doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing here.
So he just stands and stares, mind running over all the things that have happened since the shooting. The pain, frustration, anger, guilt, and fear he’s felt; the arguments with Kate and his mother and others; being stuck on leave; the therapy sessions; restless nights, and just all of it; it’s all because of this man.
Bill’s jaw tightens and he thinks about that little girl, the one who will never know her father, her widowed mother who has to raise a child alone; it isn’t fair, what’s been done to them. Whether or not part of the fault is his it was Lawson who pulled the trigger.
Eric Lawson.
"Son of a bitch."
Bill’s feet finally move and he goes to the side of the bed and glares down at the man laying there.
"I bet you don’t even care what you done."
He shakes his head and works his throat.
"I can’t understand that, I can’t understand you an’ I really don’t wanna. I’m just glad you ain’t out there anymore."
It's a relief, knowing that Lawson's in custody instead of out there hurting more people. He thinks about Kate and how her worrying about Lawson had ruined their night out. He hates himself for what happened that night. It's something he'll never forgive himself for, accident or not.
He's not the only one guilty, though. If it wasn't for the gas station the situation with Kate would never have happened.
"You pull through this or we meet somewhere else don’t expect me to forgive you. I don’t think you’d have the heart or guts to ask, but I’m tellin’ you now anyways that I’m holdin' onto this bit of hate I got for you, an’ I’m gonna use it on the next asshole who tries to hurt me or someone I care about."
Lawson isn't the only one who's hurt or threatened him. The phone call Kate received was an ugly reminder that there are others out there like him. It makes him angry, but in a way it also strengthens his resolve.
"It ain’t fair that people like you are out there ruinin’ the lives of others. It ain’t fair or right an’ I think you got what you deserved. Now I know you got friends, but I ain’t scared of you or them. I got friends, too, an’ I got my job. I’m goin’ back, you can lay here an’ rot for all I care but I’m movin’ on with my life."
He's going to try his damnedest to, anyways.
Breaking his eyes away from Lawson finally, Bill unclenches his jaw and pulls in a slow breath.
"What you did… it changed me. I’ve tried hard to put myself back together but it ain’t all the same anymore."
Pulling in a slow breath he lifts his eyes back to Lawson.
"I’m gonna be all right, though. An’, however long it takes me to get the rest of the way past this won’t be nearly as long as you’re gonna be lyin’ there in that bed. An’ that’s it, I get to be the one to walk out this time an’ leave you there. I think I can live with that."
He looks over the machinery again and then over Lawson. Nodding to himself he turns and walks back out, leaving the room, the hospital and Eric Lawson behind.
Sitting in a booth drinking coffee he watches the time; marking when Kate and Doc's plane should have taken off; calculating how long until Kate said they should be in Dallas; he figures the time it's going to take him to get back for his appointment; and then he watches the minutes tic by as he faces indecision again.
Long after his plate has been taken and the waitress who's been filling his cup disappears he finally gets up, pays, and heads back to the truck. Pulling out the paper he'd written the directions to the state hospital on.
*****
The place is sterile and cold, the hallways are long with high ceilings but it still feels confining; boxed in.
"Can I help you?"
The attendant at the desk is a large man with a nightstick on his belt. He studies Bill carefully and keeps his attention divided between him and the bank of monitors beneath the ledge on the desk.
"Yeah, I’m here to see someone."
"Doctor or patient?"
"Patient."
"Name?"
"Lawson, Eric."
*****
"I’ll be right outside." The orderly’s words sound like assurance and warning at the same time before he pulls the door closed.
The man in the bed looks pale and thin; just a ghost of what Bill remembers from the gas station.
A monitor beeps away steadily against the wall and Bill can hear Lawson’s slow breaths rattling on each exhale.
This isn’t the man he faced before, the one who almost killed him, the one who killed another cop and very possibly other people.
It is him, though. Lawson’s face is gaunt and almost lifeless, but it’s still the man behind the gun, the one Bill sees in those nightmares he still can’t get rid of; in bad thoughts that strike during the day; and in the dark recesses of his mind.
Bill's hands are tight against his sides as he faces the man in the bed from across the room. He’d get closer, but his legs won’t let him and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s afraid of the man or afraid of himself and what he might do if he closes the distance.
His eyes drift over the small room, over the monitors and bed, the barred windows and white walls and he's remembering his own hospital room with its cold sheets, humming machinery and the almost impossible distance between his bed and the door he kept hoping would take him to Kate.
The doctors still don’t expect Lawson to ever come out of the coma Hargrove’s bullet put him in before the trooper was killed, and Bill can’t help the part of himself that thinks that’s good; or the part that feels like Lawson shouldn’t be breathing, period.
When he decided he was going to come here he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. When he made the call to set up the visit he’d been half-hoping they wouldn’t let him. And now, standing in the middle of Lawson’s room he’s uncertain.
He feels like he should say something but he doesn’t know what. The fact that the man can’t hear him doesn’t bother him, he just doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing here.
So he just stands and stares, mind running over all the things that have happened since the shooting. The pain, frustration, anger, guilt, and fear he’s felt; the arguments with Kate and his mother and others; being stuck on leave; the therapy sessions; restless nights, and just all of it; it’s all because of this man.
Bill’s jaw tightens and he thinks about that little girl, the one who will never know her father, her widowed mother who has to raise a child alone; it isn’t fair, what’s been done to them. Whether or not part of the fault is his it was Lawson who pulled the trigger.
Eric Lawson.
"Son of a bitch."
Bill’s feet finally move and he goes to the side of the bed and glares down at the man laying there.
"I bet you don’t even care what you done."
He shakes his head and works his throat.
"I can’t understand that, I can’t understand you an’ I really don’t wanna. I’m just glad you ain’t out there anymore."
It's a relief, knowing that Lawson's in custody instead of out there hurting more people. He thinks about Kate and how her worrying about Lawson had ruined their night out. He hates himself for what happened that night. It's something he'll never forgive himself for, accident or not.
He's not the only one guilty, though. If it wasn't for the gas station the situation with Kate would never have happened.
"You pull through this or we meet somewhere else don’t expect me to forgive you. I don’t think you’d have the heart or guts to ask, but I’m tellin’ you now anyways that I’m holdin' onto this bit of hate I got for you, an’ I’m gonna use it on the next asshole who tries to hurt me or someone I care about."
Lawson isn't the only one who's hurt or threatened him. The phone call Kate received was an ugly reminder that there are others out there like him. It makes him angry, but in a way it also strengthens his resolve.
"It ain’t fair that people like you are out there ruinin’ the lives of others. It ain’t fair or right an’ I think you got what you deserved. Now I know you got friends, but I ain’t scared of you or them. I got friends, too, an’ I got my job. I’m goin’ back, you can lay here an’ rot for all I care but I’m movin’ on with my life."
He's going to try his damnedest to, anyways.
Breaking his eyes away from Lawson finally, Bill unclenches his jaw and pulls in a slow breath.
"What you did… it changed me. I’ve tried hard to put myself back together but it ain’t all the same anymore."
Pulling in a slow breath he lifts his eyes back to Lawson.
"I’m gonna be all right, though. An’, however long it takes me to get the rest of the way past this won’t be nearly as long as you’re gonna be lyin’ there in that bed. An’ that’s it, I get to be the one to walk out this time an’ leave you there. I think I can live with that."
He looks over the machinery again and then over Lawson. Nodding to himself he turns and walks back out, leaving the room, the hospital and Eric Lawson behind.