WARNING: In this chapter is a sexual reference to 'south of the border.' If this offends you, do not read this page.
CHAPTER EIGHT March 30, 1995 (Thursday)
JULIE'S EIGHTH DAY IN MIAMI
ALL IS FORGIVEN
Horatio got up a little later this morning. Julie was stretched out all over the bed. One arm was over him, the other was hanging over the side of the bed. She was on her back, and her right leg, the one with the cast, was hanging over the side, the left leg folded under the right one. She didn't look very comfortable.
He stood up and tried to re-arrange her. He couldn't get her fully awake, but he did make her understand that he wanted her to stay in bed and rest, and try to stay off that leg, per doctor's orders. She nodded sleepily.
After he dressed and ate his usual breakfast of coffee and a donut, he picked up the zip-lock bag of pills lying on the kitchen counter, and looked at them. He knew she would have enough to get her through the day. He saw the two pieces of paper with her written prescriptions on them lying next to the zip-lock bag, and he stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He intended to get the prescriptions filled for her.
He proceeded to work. At about 10:00 he called from his office, but she didn't answer. He hoped she wasn't out, running around somewhere. Knowing her as he did, his instinct told him she would not be an easy patient. He called again from his vehicle at 11:30, from across town.
"Hello?" A sleepy-voiced Julie answered.
"Piper. Horatio." He knew he had awakened her, and was sorry, but he just wanted to know that she was alright.
"Uh--mm--"
"You okay?"
She sounded annoyed, and a little weary as she answered, "Horatio, you woke me up."
"I'm sorry, honey. Just wanted to know you were okay."
"My leg does not hurt now. Not like it did before."
"That's good." He hesitated a moment. "Don't forget to take your pills."
"I won't."
Another pause, as he couldn't think of anything else to say. "Okay, sweetheart. Go back to bed and get some rest."
No response.
"Piper?" Still no answer, but he could hear her breathing.
"See you tonight, babe."
"Okay. Bye," she answered drowsily, and hung up the phone.
She went to the kitchen, took one of her pills, and returned to bed, putting the pillow over her head. An hour later, she rose from the bed, fixed herself some lunch, took a different pill, and washed the dishes. She was tempted to practice walking around outside the apartment, with and without her crutches, but remembered what the doctor had said about staying off her feet.
More importantly, she recalled what Horatio had said, when he told her to stay off the leg and rest as much as she could. She knew already how he would react if he found out she was out moving around, in direct violation of his instructions. She wasn't eager to incur his annoyance, having experienced it once already, on the night of the concert, so she took her stuffed bear and retired once again to the bedroom.
During the day, Horatio's thoughts kept turning to Julie, and her scars and injuries. He was concerned about that healed femur, the scar on her right thigh, the one at the back of her neck, and he thought about what she had told him about the burn mark on her lower back. He considered the burn on her back to be abuse, and he wondered if she had been further abused, and by whom. She hadn't told him much, but then, most women wouldn't. Would it be safe to allow her to return to Connecticut? Or, was he just trying to think of an excuse to keep her here with him? Maybe both, he thought.
He stopped at the pharmacy on his way home from work, to fill the doctor's prescriptions for Julie, even paying for the pills himself. His next stop was The China Dragon, and he picked up some good food to take home for the two of them.
Throughout the day, Julie took up her pencil and note pad, and wrote down anything that came into her mind. She began writing at the kitchen table, then lay down flat on the floor and wrote while holding her pencil and pad up in the air, with both of her legs elevated onto the sofa. Afterwards, she lay down in the middle of the living room floor with Brandon Care Bear, and dozed with her right leg elevated on two pillows. She woke up and looked around, bored.
She picked up Brandon, her pencil, and note pad, and moved outside onto the ledge opposite the kitchen window, and that is where Horatio found her when he came home from work that evening.
Brandon Bear was sitting on her lap. She didn't see Horatio, so intent was she on her writing. He didn't see her either, at first, but as he approached the garden level steps, he spotted her.
He went down the steps and approached her, and spoke. "There she is."
She looked up, and put her pencil down. She stretched her right leg and wiggled her toes inside her sneakers..
He smiled down at her.
She looked up at him briefly, then lowered her eyes wanly, not giving him any hint of a smile.
"Honey--about yesterday. I--I had a rough day."
"Was I to blame for that?" She stared at her cast. Although it was a lightweight cast, to her it felt heavy and cumbersome.
"No--um--I'm sorry, okay?"
"I really do not want to be with you right now. I just want to write." She gathered up her stuff, hopped off the ledge onto her left leg, and went into the apartment, passing him by with a stiff gait. Looking over her shoulder, she added, "I do not want to deal with you right now." She hardly noticed the large plastic bag he was carrying in his right hand, or the delicious smells arising from it.
He followed her into the apartment, a little hurt and bewildered by her rebuff, and placed the large plastic bag on the counter next to the stove. He knew very well she was giving him a taste of his own medicine. He made the first move by putting his arms around her. To his amazement, she didn't fight, but neither did she respond to him. She just stood inside his arms quietly, her back to him.
His chin was resting on the top of her head. He breathed slowly and steadily, and finally whispered, "If I could take back last night, I would. I--don't know what else to say--forgive me. Will you do that?" His voice was pleading and a little shaky.
Julie sighed deeply. She put her weight on her left leg. "All I wanted to do was be close to you, and play with you a little. I--I like you a lot, and I do not know how else to show you."
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, you are acting like you don't like me at all." He relinquished his hold on her and turned her to face him. "Someone said that if she was going to pay half a months' rent, she would make this work." His face was very close to hers. He waited for her response. His head lowered and his dark blue eyes searched hers.
"That was me, Horatio. I said that." A smile began to crease her face, and her arms went up to wrap around him. She hugged him tightly.
"Mm hm. Yes you did." His embrace was firm, and he hoped she had forgiven him.
"I am sorry too, Horatio. I can be a real bitch sometimes." She sighed deeply, hugging him tighter.
"I want to touch you, 'Ratio. Touching you makes everything alright."
"Then touch me, sweetheart. I want you to touch me." He wrapped around her.
"Honey, I care about you. If I--"
"It really does not matter, does it? I am leaving in nine days, and we will not see each other again." She pulled away from him abruptly, her face a mask to hide her feelings.
He said nothing. Her head was turned away from him, so she did not see the look of pain that crossed his face.
She turned back to him with a worried expression.
As though the misunderstanding of the night before had been forgotten, she said, "I am concerned about my little blue mare. She has not foaled yet, and she was due three days ago."
"Foal--foaled?" Horatio was not sure what Julie meant. "I don't--do you mean--she's pregnant?" His brow crinkled, trying to understand.
Julie nodded, turning to face him. "It is her first foal. I wish I had waited to come to Miami. Until after. I wish I was home with her now."
"Little blue horse, huh?" Horatio cocked an eyebrow dubiously. Pictured in his mind was a plastic toy horse of a bright blue hue. He thought she was telling him a tale to try to lighten the moment.
Julie hugged him again, firmly, without looking at him, and, of course, he reciprocated.
"When one has horses, it is very rare to be able to take any time off at all." Her words were spoken into his chest.
"Horses keep you that busy, do they?"
"There is always something going on. Training, showing, foaling, breeding--"
"Racing?"
"Only on the trail." She headed away from him, down the hall.
"Where are you going?"
"To the bathroom," she answered, over her shoulder.
"Hm."
"Chinese?" He called to her as she turned into the bathroom.
"They are alright!" she threw back over her shoulder.
"Uh--what?"
"The Chinese are alright," she called, from the bathroom. She left the door ajar.
"Um--"
In the kitchen, Julie's notes were scattered on the dining table. Horatio straightened them up a little, to make room for the Chinese food. He couldn't help noticing some of what she had written, sort of like a journal. He read something about building a board fence, and how much better it would be than woven wire. She had jotted down some notes about a horse that had gotten a hoof caught in a woven wire, and taken out an entire row of fencing, and splintered a wooden fence post before he was caught. He sustained a gash on his leg, but did not require stitches, according to what she had written.
Horatio lay the papers aside, and set two plates down on the table, and took the Chinese food out of the boxes. Piper had not yet returned from the bathroom.
The phone rang, and when he answered it, the girl on the other end asked for a Julie. Horatio thought she had dialed a wrong number. She was sure she had not misdialed, as this was the number she had been given.
"Who am I speaking to?" the feminine voice inquired.
"Horatio Caine," came the answer. "Who are you?"
"Mallory. I want to talk to Julie."
"Ma'am, there is no Julie here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am, I am."
"Alright then, I am sorry to have bothered you." She hung up.
Horatio finished putting the food onto the plates, arranging it in an attractive manner.
This simple phone call from Julie's younger sister Mallory got the family tongues to wagging ninety miles an hour. Mallory was sure this was the right number Julie had given her. Who was the man who had answered the phone? Was Julie really staying with a man? Why would he not let her talk to her sister? Was she safe? Was this man dangerous? Had Julie been kidnaped? Was he holding her hostage? This one phone call became the main topic of conversation for days as the family speculated.
A few minutes after the phone call, Horatio went to check on Julie. She was sitting on the bathroom floor, shaving her legs with a hand razor as best she could, considering she had to work around the cast.
"Hey, lady, your food is getting cold. You gonnu be finished soon?"
She kept on shaving. "Horatio?"
"Talk to me." He moved closer and stood in the doorway, looking down at her.
"Did you mean we are having Chinese food for dinner?"
"Yeah, babe. Is that okay with you?"
She nodded. "I will be done soon."
Horatio had to go to the bathroom, but she was taking over the space. He had a moment of indecision. He didn't want to disturb her, and he wanted a little privacy, so he went back into the kitchen, took a tall cup from the cupboard, and peed into it. He poured it down the drain, rinsed the sink out, then sat the cup on the counter next to the sink.
A moment later, Julie exited the bathroom, strolled stiffly into the dining area, and they sat down to their dinner.
She noticed the painstaking way he had arranged the food on the plates. "Mm," she breathed deeply. "That smells good."
She eyed the meat on her plate before taking a bite of it. "What is that?"
"Lemon chicken."
Her eyes lit up excitedly.
"Egg drop soup, snow peas, bamboo shoots--" His arm waved over the food on her plate.
She took a bite and savored it. "Oh, this is really good." She licked her lips eagerly.
Her happiness made him happy.
"Rice! Rice!" She exclaimed. Excitedly, she spooned some of her egg drop soup over her rice, and tore into it with a starved vengeance.
"You been resting that leg?"
"I have."
"I want you to take it easy after dinner, okay? Lay down on the couch, and let's watch some tv."
She was silent and thoughtful, so he talked about his day. He spoke about the mound of paperwork he had on his desk, and the new car he used at work, a car that was equipped with special equipment that he needed, and that helped the criminalists do their job of collecting evidence at a crime scene. She looked at him cheerfully, and paid attention to every word he said. The food was good, and she gobbled it down.
Although she said nothing while he talked, he knew she was storing all the information in her head, and she would not forget it. In their limited time together, this was one thing he had come to know about her. She had a mind like a steel trap, able to retain and hold information for future use.
He took a bit of snow peas and rice, chewing it slowly. He swallowed, put his fork down, and folded his hands under his chin.
"Honey, whatta you think? How would I look with a beard?" He ran his hand over his cheek and down to his chin.
She stopped eating to look at him. She studied his face for a moment, then shook her head.
"No?" He looked surprised at her answer.
"They won't let you do that on the job." She stirred her rice. "Cops have to be clean-shaven. I thought you knew that." She looked at him with a sense of pity, as if to infer that he had been a cop for so long, and yet did not seem to know law enforcement rules of etiquette.
"I'm thinking of taking a vacation to South Carolina." (In reality, he was thinking of taking an undercover assignment, and considered that a face with hair might be a good cover.)
She waited for him to continue. When he did not, she asked, "And when would that be?"
"Sometime in June. I thought I'd go to Hilton Head." He took a bite of lemon chicken, and wiped his fingers on the napkin beside his plate. "Take in some sun, do a little camping out, some fishing--"
Julie said nothing at first, but thought about it for a minute or two. She was thinking how wonderful it would be to go with him on this 'vacation.'
"So--what do you think?" he persisted.
She sighed. "It would be a mistake, Horatio."
"What would be a mistake?" He looked at her, puzzled. "Me taking a vacation?"
"No." She paused before taking another bite. "Growing a beard."
"It would be protection from the sun," he argued.
"Then--do not go into the sun," she replied. "Stay in the shade."
"Hm."
She put her fork down, and studied him. "Your face is lovely, Horatio. Your skin is clear, and smooth as silk. You have a face of classic beauty. Why would you want to hide it beneath a beard?"
"Well--um--I was only asking." Once again, she unknowingly had made him feel good about himself, and the color crawled up his neck to his ears.
They ate in silence for awhile.
She got up to get a drink of water. She reached for the empty cup sitting next to the sink.
He happened to glance up as she began to fill it with water. "Honey, not that cup."
"I am thirsty."
"Well, I don't want you to use that cup." Standing behind her, he took down a different cup from the cabinet above the sink, and handed it to her. "Here. Use this one."
"One cup is much like another," she said, but took the cup anyway.
"Humor me, okay?"
"Why?"
"Trust me, you don't wannu use that cup."
"But then, there will be an extra cup to wash," she grumbled.
Christ, he thought. Doesn't she ever stop arguing? Instead, he said, "Well, that's okay."
She used the clean cup to put the water in, and they sat back down at the table.
After the dishes were washed and put away, they went into the living room to watch a television movie called 'The Time Machine.' He sat on the couch, and she took her usual place on the floor in front of the couch, except this time, she lay on her back, with her head twisted backwards, so she could see the television screen upside down.
She lifted her right leg up, onto the sofa, next to Horatio, and he put his hand on her leg and rubbed it affectionately. To him, life didn't get any better than this; coming home from a hard day at work to someone waiting for him, welcoming him.
During commercials, she and Horatio looked at her cast.
"It is a lovely blue, isn't it, Horatio."
"Mm. Did you pick out the color yourself?"
She folded her hands behind her head and looked up at him. "No. It was chosen for me. I was too much out of it to pay attention to the color, you see."
"Mm hm. Get you some blue nail polish, and paint your toes to match."
He joined her in her laughter.
He rubbed her abdomen. His thoughts took a turn toward more intimate matters, and he thought of the different positions yet to be tried.
"So--you like south of the border, huh."
She was sleepy, and if she had not been so tired, she may have gotten the sexual meaning of his words, but instead she answered, "I have never been to Cuba."
"No?" He realized she had misunderstood his meaning completely.
She shook her head as she tried to understand why he would ask that question now. Her mind was still on their conversation at dinner, of him going on vacation to South Carolina. "I have been to Mexico, but I cannot go there now. I have to go back to Connecticut."
He shook his head with an amused chuckle. Was she being naive, or was she just playing innocent with him? He wasn't sure. He thought perhaps he had not phrased the question properly, in a way that she would understand. He decided to drop the subject.
She did not look comfortable to him, lying on her back, and twisting her head backwards, but she said it felt good to stretch her neck muscles in such a way. If it hurt too badly, she wouldn't be doing it. She bounced Brandon Bear on her chest and stomach, as though he were a human baby.
In watching her, he wondered if she were this good with her real babies as she was with a stuffed animal.
Horatio soon lost interest in the movie, and he disappeared from her sight, going out to smoke a cigarette on the patio. He came back inside, and she watched him as he headed down the hall toward the bedroom.
Julie continued watching the movie. After the show was over, she went searching for him. She found him in the kitchen, with his gun scattered all over the dining table. The dismantled Beretta was strewn about on a clean white bath towel, and he was cleaning it thoroughly.
It was very important to Horatio to clean his firearm regularly, and one of his biggest pet peeves was a dirty gun. During training sessions and clinics, he made it a point to tell the new detectives how important it was to keep a firearm and operational. The detective's life might depend on it. He cleaned his own weapon at least once a month, and more often, if he had used it.
She stood behind him for a moment, observing. Arranged in a neat formation on the table before him was a stack of square white cotton cloths about four by four inches, a cleaning brush, and a small bottle of CLP (cleaner, lubricant, and preservative.) She came around the table, and settled herself into a chair on the opposite side of the table, to watch him work on the firearm. She yawned, and without a word, began to pay attention to him closely, following his every move as he cleaned and re-assembled the piece.
She was intent on every move he made, and followed his hands as they skillfully worked at cleaning the barrel inside and outside. He dipped the cleaning brush into the CLP, then inserted the cleaning brush from the barrel into the chamber of the firearm and scrubbed back and forth, coating generously the inside of the firearm with the cleaning oil. Next, he used the cleaning brush to shove a piece of the white square cleaning cloth into the barrel to retrieve the excess oil.
Julie saw that this action was helping the barrel to dry. He repeated this process until the cloth came out clean and dry. He needed to use more than one cleaning cloth to ensure that the barrel was properly cleaned out and dry.
Horatio picked up another cleaning cloth square to clean the locking block. He applied the CLP to the cloth, and wiped the locking block clean. Then he used another clean oiled cloth and went over the outside of the barrel. This done, he laid it aside next to the barrel.
At times, it seemed as though Julie's eyes would close, not to open again, but she fought them open to observe what he was doing.
Next came the slide, and he used his cleaning cloth soaked in the CLP to wipe the slide area, breech face, extractor, slide rails and the under breech. Once these areas were well coated with the cleaner, he took a different dry cloth and wiped it clean. Then, he went back over the slide with the slightly oiled cloth, adding just a little oil to the firing pin block and safety. Using his finger, he activated the parts to ensure that there was free movement, after which the slide, too, was laid aside, next to the barrel.
Horatio turned his eyes to Julie's, but she had eyes only for his hands, and what they were doing with the dismantled firearm.
He picked up the recoiling spring and the spring guide. They did not need to be cleaned as regularly as the rest of the firearm, but he chose to oil them. He knew that after a long period of time the recoiling spring and spring guide should be cleaned, or if the firearm had been used excessively over a short period of time. His had not, but he wanted to clean it anyway. For regular maintenance, he lightly added the oil to help to ensure proper use to the recoiling spring and spring guide.
Julie's head drooped wearily, and she propped it up in her palms.
Horatio wiped the frame of the gun thoroughly inside and outside with the CLP, focusing on the areas where there was gun residue and other dirt. He used the cleaning brush to get all corners and creases cleaned properly. He wiped the frame clean with one of the soft cloths. Then he lightly went over the frame with a slightly oiled cloth, focusing on all parts of the frame that moved or could be disassembled. He cleaned all the magazines with the CLP and then wiped them clean. Lastly, he went over the magazines lightly with the slightly oiled rag. He laid the frame aside.
After the cleaning, before re-assembling, he went back over each piece, inspecting everything thoroughly.
She watched studiously as he deftly put the Beretta back together.
During the entire time she watched him clean, inspect, and re-assemble his weapon, no words were spoken between them. They adopted the persona of a teacher giving his student silent lessons in firearm cleaning and assembling.
Only after he had re-assembled his weapon did he speak. "One clean Beretta--ready for action." He raised his eyebrows at her, and held up the gun broadside for her to see.
She nodded sleepily with a smile.
They were ready to retire for the evening. He put his firearm into it's holster, then into a drawer next to the sink, along with his badge.
She turned the television off, and he doused the lights and checked the door lock, and they went toward the bedroom.
Standing next to the bed, he stared at her suction bruise on the side of her neck. It was still dark, but showed signs of beginning to fade around the edges.
He stepped closer to her and took her into his arms purposefully. "Should I have put it lower?" He wondered aloud, as he began nuzzling her neck.
She giggled, and moved away from him, thinking he was trying to give her another one. "It is not so bad," she said, from the opposite side of the bed, from where she had darted when he began nuzzling her neck.
She quietly pulled the covers down and climbed into bed. He followed a moment later.
She had trouble getting comfortable. He switched sides so he could put his arms around her and snuggle up to her back with her lying on her left side. Thus, she was able to sleep.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT SOURCE: "How to Clean a Beretta 92Fs Pistol", by Kelly Nuttall, eHow Contributor.
