Save Me If You Can

Save Me If You Can Chapter 7

All Rights - Jeff Easton, Warrior George, and USA Network.  All fun - me.

TWO MONTHS AGO

He was sitting on the terrace of a sumptuously appointed suite at Chateau Eza, overlooking the magnificent Mediterranean. He sipped a most perfect espresso and nibbled on warm bread, soft cheese and strawberries, while marveling at the incomparable beauty of the Cote D'Azur. How he longed for this place to remain his home forever.

He heard the sound of movement inside the room and remembered he was not alone. She would be emerging fresh from the shower, skin still warm with beads of moisture being happily absorbed in a soft oversized robe made of the most exquisite fibers. Her hair would still be damp and wavy against her shoulders, smelling of lilacs or roses or warm vanilla sugar. She would join him any moment, and they would share in the beauty of this magnificent view.

This was going to be his immediate future: He was going to tell her, say the words he had been meaning to say for so long. He was going to hold her hand, taste the sweet-tart of strawberries still lingering on her lips as they kissed, and tell her what his heart was moving him to say. And she would smile, he knew. She would smile and her eyes would sparkle and dance and her elegant reserve would be betrayed by a girlish giggle.

From somewhere, a suite just below them perhaps, the sound of music would drift from a window to enhance their moment. It would be Clair de Lune. He would stand, hold out a hand, and she would take his hand and allow herself to melt fully into his embrace. And they would dance, moving so slightly that it would appear to the naked eye that they were not moving at all. But they would dance this way until the end of the song, with the calm, salty sea as their only witness. They would never be closer, and no time would ever be as perfect as this. Neal Caffrey would finally know what it meant to be truly, unequivocally, irrevocably happy.

And then Kate would...

...or was it Sara?

"Wait..."

Wasn't it was always Kate and he who spoke of the Cote D'Azur?

But it was Sara's eyes, Sara's smile, and Sara's arms around him.

"Wait..." he said again, confusion tearing at his heart, clouding his brain, torturing his psyche. "Where am I? When am I? Sara...Kate...?"

Sara/Kate speaks. "Kate's gone, Neal. She's dead."

Kate/Sara speaks. "I'm here, right here in your arms. We can be like this forever."

Sara/Kate begins to cry.

"Why are you crying?"

"We didn't earn this," says Sara/Kate, "And I won't cross any line I can't come back from."

"I would never ask you to."

Then the music stops.

And Neal is suddenly, wretchedly, crushingly alone.

~WC~

Neal awoke with a harsh gasp that damaged his throat like steel wool to soft flesh. It graduated into a coughing spell that made his gut clench and ache. He was cold, chilled to the bone, even though the evening air was mild and humid on his sweat-slicked skin. The left side of his head throbbed; he touched it and felt something warm and wet. Blood decorated the tips of his fingers. He realized he was lying on the hard pavement, surrounded by darkness and dozens of overstuffed trash bags. The fetid smell of garbage was suddenly overwhelming as the rest of his senses gradually began to resume function.

Gagging from the stench, Neal fought to rise on wobbly legs, his head spinning. He felt strangely detached, as if only part of him were present and aware of what was happening to him, while the absent part of him watched from some faraway place, unable to help, unable to participate. He closed his eyes to listen, to see if he could identify his whereabouts by the ambient sounds. There was traffic – cars honking, engines revving and shifting gears as they passed by. There were voices – a few, but nothing strikingly familiar, nothing out of the ordinary. There was music – a low, thumping baseline keeping a repetitive dance club beat. He quickly deduced that he was somewhere along the main drag of the city's night life. Where there was night life, there was bound to be people who could help him.