Save Me If You Can

Save Me If You Can Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All rights belong inarguably to USA Network, Jeff Easton and Warrior George. I don't receive on red cent for doing this.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.   Now, here's chapter 5. 

HAUSER'S PENTHOUSE

He had lost all track of time as well as the desire to know or care what day it was. What Neal once called life or living had diminished into compressed, mayfly-like moments of quasi-lucidity between lingering bouts of unreality that had left him trembling, exhausted and devoid of anything resembling the ability to fight. His stomach ached and roared with hollow hunger, but filling it was no longer a priority. The only time he drank water was when the Big Man, with his thick, hot hands, would force his mouth open and pour it down his throat despite his choking protests. Once or twice he remembered being released from the cuffs, being pulled to his feet and half carried to a bathroom by the Big Man, who insisted on remaining and waiting in the room until Neal had finished. At least the Big Man had had the courtesy to turn his back to offer Neal a morsel of privacy. Not that Neal cared about much of anything anymore.

There was only the haze.

There were no more cons or schemes to occupy his mind, to call upon his imagination and challenge his intellect. His instinctual need to leave, to escape, to be free had become like so much chaff blown by a strong wind. All he knew was the drug's all encompassing affect - the surge of incomprehensible euphoria, the roiling ocean of joy and terror, bliss and despair. Troubles no longer existed, worries had all dissipated. Pain was nonexistent, as evidenced by his wrists which were rubbed raw and bloodied, skin broken and soft tissue horribly twisted by the unyielding metal of the handcuffs. Neal had felt none of it. He no longer even felt or protested the prick of the needle as it penetrated his skin and vein.

There was only the haze.

After the first injection, Neal was no longer aware or concerned with Hauser's presence. His only concern was if the haze would continue. The first time, Neal had begged, bargained, and pleaded for amnesty. The second time he begged, even cried, feebly trying to hold onto his sanity as the natural urge to survive seemed as though it might just be slipping away. The third time, he laughed. It was a mirthless laugh devoid of any semblance of joy; it was morbid and even a bit perverse. It was a laugh that said Neal Caffrey was no longer there; he had given up, given in, and abandoned himself. After several more shots, which could have been ten or a thousand over the course of hours, days or weeks, Neal lost count. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

There was only the haze.

And the dreams.

Some were like vibrant revelations, dreams of hallowed mountain tops spewing lightning and lava, electric blue crackling skies and ultra calm seas. He was flying, soaring. He was invincible, immortal. He was rich beyond measure, powerful as a king, and far more clever than any man who had ever walked the earth.

Other dreams were dark nightmares, haunting portents where phantoms hid in wait and leaped from shrouded corners. Claws and teeth ripped through his flesh, shredding muscle and splintering bones. Hands came out of the mattress, hundreds of angry hands, determined to strangle him. Darkness became liquid and overwhelmed him. Voices from his past threatened him, taunted him, and castigated him for things he had done or merely imagined. Worst were the visions of people he knew and loved, his past and present come to haunt and punish him.

"Neal..."

He opened his eyes wide and felt his entire body became as ice when Kate appeared before him. She was wearing the same stunning black dress she was wearing the first time he met her, when Adler had introduced them. And her eyes were such an astounding, astonishing blue that they illuminated the entire room.