Re: Ghosts - ch.36 -- The Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman Fan Exchange

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Date Posted: 12:00:58 04/20/03 Sun
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: Ghosts - ch.36
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: Ghosts - ch.35" on 07:13:33 04/19/03 Sat

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Sophie opened the door to the cabin and was greeted instantly by the sights and smells of a time and place that would always be a part of her, no matter where she traveled or how old she grew.

Slowly, she squeezed her way into the crowded room. Gianni wasn't kidding about the junk! The once sparse cabin was now filled with a melange of tattered furniture and assorted brick-a-brack from renovations gone by.

Navigating carefully past box after box of stored items, Sophie narrowly avoided bumping into a stuffed bear that used to reside in the lobby and small totem pole that graced the flagstone patio.

Peering into the first box she came to, Sophie discovered Gianni's collection of Sinatra records - all scratched beyond repair. The find brought a smile to her face. Only the digitally re-mastered CD's would do for Gianni now, even if he'd never admit it - or part with the originals.

In spite of the inn's romantic reputation, families still vacationed there occasionally. On an old rocking chair, Sophie found perched an assortment of children's toys, from a navy blue sailboat to a bright red fire truck. Each, probably long forgotten by Gianni's younger guests; and, yet, he wouldn't dream of disposing of them, lest the families ever call for their return.

Everywhere in the room there were objects filled with other people's memories, it seemed. But Sophie's memories were far less obvious - indiscernible, in fact, to anyone but her�and Peter.

Wading past the overflowing sea of storage, Sophie reached the stone fireplace with the fur rug in front of it; the antique dresser; and, the rustic bed piled high with handmade patchwork quilts.

Ten years ago, this cabin had held little more...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"The bus station was warmer," Peter complained, dropping his duffel bag on the cabin floor with a thud.

"So, light a fire�" With her crutch, Sophie gestured to the stone fireplace. "You do know how?"

"Sure, I do," Peter shivered, running his hands up and down his arms.

Sophie stood quietly observing him. It wasn't that cold in there. Peter was beginning to show signs of withdrawal from the drugs his system craved so relentlessly. It would only get worse. She knew it and Peter knew it, too.

"Hey, whaddya say we find ourselves a nice restaurant?" Peter stumbled a bit and grabbed onto the bed for support. "Maybe get a couple of beers?"

Obviously, Peter was willing to substitute alcohol for drugs, until something better came along.

"Only nice restaurant's up at the inn," Sophie explained flatly, "and Gianni doesn't think you're ready for that yet. He'll bring you by a plate later."

"And just who the hell died and made him boss?" Peter railed, pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

Noticing the sweat beading on Peter's forehead, Sophie ignored his ranting and kept on talking. "His wife, actually," she answered him. "She died about a year ago and Gianni's been running the place alone ever since."

Even in his distress, Peter was affected by the news. "You known him long?" he asked contritely, wrapping a quilt from the bed around his shoulders. It might as well have been paper for all the good it did him. Peter's shivering was growing worse.

"About a week�" Sophie took a match from the mantle, crumbled some old newspapers and started the fire going by herself.

"What are you, Wonder Woman?" Peter snapped, rifling through his duffel bag. "You learn people's life stories in a day. You can start a fire - even on crutches. You rescue drug addicts from emergency rooms. Have I left anything out?"

"I can parachute out of a plane at 10,000 feet�" Sophie smirked proudly.

"Great�" Peter was only paying minimal attention. He had finally found what he was looking for - a tiny bottle of scotch, like the kind given out on airplanes. Peter had discovered it - unopened - in a trashcan a few days ago. He'd been saving it for a special occasion. Feeling as if he were about to die seemed to qualify.

His hands shaking, Peter began to twist open the cap and raise the bottle to his lips.

In a calculated move, Sophie walked toward him on her crutches, pretended to stumble, and "accidentally" jostled the bottle out of Peter's hand before he knew what was happening.

"Oops�" she shrugged, apologetically.

Stunned, Peter could only watch as shards of dark glass and amber liquid covered the floor near the bed. Sophie's entire body froze wondering what Peter would do next.

If she'd misjudged him, she could very well be dead. More than one person in her lifetime had told her she had a death wish. Maybe they were right?

With a muffled sob, Peter fell to his knees and began dipping his fingers into the spilled scotch, bringing it pathetically to his lips. "No�" he cried. The taste was little more than a tease of what his body yearned for by the gallon.

"Here, let me help you�" Cautiously, Sophie offered him her hand.

Furious, Peter pushed it away, prompting Sophie to take a protective step backwards.

"Help me? You wanna help me?" he screamed. "Then, tell me where on this hellhole of an island that I was stupid enough to let you take me to, I can find some booze or some drugs�"

Silently, Sophie stood her ground and shook her head, not budging.

"Fine," Peter practically spit the word at her, his face growing red and his heart pounding as he flung off the quilt, grabbed his duffel bag, and headed for the door. "Guess, I'll just take the ferry back to�"

"No ferries until morning now," Sophie said softly.

Enraged, Peter hurled his duffel bag against the door, its contents tumbling out onto the floor. But, in his weakened condition, such an outburst proved far too much effort. Instantly, Peter swooned, his head spinning right along with the room.

Unable to regain his balance, Peter stumbled backwards and fell onto the bed, collapsing into unconsciousness.

"Whew�" Sophie exhaled into the room's sudden quiet.

Balancing on her one good leg, Sophie carefully disposed of the broken glass and sopped up the spilled scotch, using a towel from the bathroom. Then, she eyed Peter's belongings, strewn across the floor: a second set of jeans and flannel shirt, similar to the ones he had on; another white t-shirt; and one blue dress shirt. There was also some underwear, socks, and a few crumpled pieces of paper with cryptic names and phone numbers of people Sophie suspected were drug dealers in the area.

After tossing the papers into the fireplace, Sophie began to neatly re-pack the clothes. The duffel bag had an inside flap, where the manufacturer had thoughtfully included an "In Case of Emergency" card. Written in a much steadier hand than Peter had probably possessed in months was the name, Chloe Scarbrow - and a New York City phone number.

Intrigued, Sophie considered the possibilities. Mother�sister�wife?

Sophie was about to zip up the duffel bag when a small porcelain box caught her eye. It had rolled under the end table beside the bed. Luckily, it didn't appear cracked. Quite a pretty piece, actually. Sophie tried to open it but found it locked. She checked the duffel bag again for a key but found none. Could the box contain drugs? Curious, Sophie shook it, reassured by the rattle of objects within. Confident that Peter would have reached for it, rather than the alcohol, had it contained drug paraphernalia, Sophie placed the box back in the bag and zipped it up tight.

Then, she turned toward Peter. His symptoms of withdrawal were growing worse. Sophie placed her hand on Peter's wrist. His skin was clammy and cold and his pulse was racing. Alarmed, Sophie filled a small basin of water from the bathroom and proceeded to mop Peter's brow with the cool liquid.

If there'd been anything medically that could be done for him, Sophie would never have let him leave the hospital. But, unfortunately, Peter's body would have to rid itself of the drugs and alcohol all on its own. The DT's were just the first of many difficult steps on Peter's long road to recovery.

Lost in thought, Sophie traced Peter's face and neck with the wet washcloth. Thankfully, her gesture seemed to sooth him a little.

Then, she unbuttoned the top few buttons of his suede jacket, hoping it would help him to breathe more easily. The fabric felt damp to her touch. Worried, Sophie placed her hand on Peter's chest. His checked flannel shirt and the white t-shirt he wore underneath were both completely drenched with sweat. He couldn't possibly stay like that all night.

Startled by a soft knock at the door, Sophie looked up to see Gianni enter the cabin with a small tray of food. "How is he doing?" Gianni asked softly.

"Not good�but tonight should be the worst." Sophie prayed she was right.

"Would you like some company?" Gianni set the tray down on the end table.

"No, but�" Sophie hesitated, hating to impose on Gianni any further.

"Si?" Gianni waited patiently for Sophie to finish her thought.

"He's soaked," Sophie's palm was still resting protectively on Peter's chest. "Could you help me undress him and get him under the covers?"

"I suppose so�" Gianni sighed, certain that had he refused, Sophie would have attempted it anyway, even on her own - and on crutches.

With a grateful smile, Sophie finished unbuttoning the remaining buttons on Peter's jacket, then waited, until Gianni carefully lifted Peter enough for her to slide the jacket off his arms and out from under him.

Silently, Gianni marveled at Sophie's tender, attentive care. Even in spite of Peter's circumstances, he was a very lucky man.

The shirt and t-shirt followed. Then, Sophie took a clean towel from the bathroom and, slowly and gently, began to dry Peter's chest and arms. Gianni watched fascinated, as Peter's shivering seemed to ease with Sophie's every stroke. Perhaps Gianni had misjudged the young man�

Then, suddenly, without warning, Peter grabbed Sophie's wrist with all his might. It had happened purely out of reflex - borne of Peter's desperate desire to hold onto life in any way that he could - but Gianni was furious nonetheless.

"I shoulda known better�" Angrily, Gianni lunged toward the bed.

"No, Gianni, please, it's okay�" Quickly, Sophie masked her pain, while Gianni pried Peter's hand loose. "He's just cold. Please, we need to hurry."

Without even bothering to rub the circulation back into her wrist, Sophie hobbled to the foot of the bed and began removing Peter's boots and socks. Before she could venture any further, however, Gianni raised his hand in protest. "I will do the pants!" he proclaimed, in no uncertain terms.

Bemused, and a little disappointed, Sophie nevertheless complied willingly. "Anything you say�" she agreed, turning her back and facing the fireplace.

Patiently, Sophie stared into the flickering flames until Gianni announced, satisfied, "Finished, Signorina!"

Sophie turned to find Peter nestled snugly under the covers, his arms tucked in safely to prevent any further unexpected movements.

"Thank you, Gianni," she said, sitting on the bed and brushing Peter's hair from his forehead. "He'll be much more comfortable now."

Peter's shaking had subsided for the moment, but his head still tossed fitfully, back and forth on the pillow.

"You should not be alone with him�" Gianni feared for Sophie's safety.

"We'll be okay," Sophie insisted, hoping to soothe Peter with her words. "We'll be okay�" Her voice was convincing, calm, and confident.

"I'll check back later," Gianni promised anyway, closing the door behind him as he left.

"Mom?" Peter murmured in his delerium, his body still twitching in spasms.

"Sshhh�I'm here�" Sophie smiled, stroking his cheek gently. "Sleep�"

"Sorry�" he sobbed lightly. "I'm so sorry�"

"It's all right," Sophie hushed softly. "It's all right�"

Gradually, Sophie's reassurances took hold and Peter began drifting into a quieter, more restful sleep.

Yet, there was still the occasional mumble, as Peter's subconscious worked to strengthen his willpower any way that it could.

"Can't sell it�" he whispered, turning over onto his side, hugging his pillow tight. "Won't�" he vowed, gritting his teeth. "Won't sell the box�"

Puzzled by Peter's ramblings, Sophie made her way over to his duffel bag and removed the shiny porcelain box again for a closer look. Was this what Peter was talking about? Lightly, she ran her fingers over the delicate inlaid container - apparently the only personal object left in Peter's possession. How close had he come to selling this before, she wondered? Or had he pawned and redeemed more than once - whenever he'd needed a fix?

Although Sophie couldn't begin to guess at its contents or its value, she did know one thing. Over the next few months, even if Peter did manage to stay clean of drugs and alcohol, he would be tempted many, many times to fall back on his addictions. But, maybe without this box, it wouldn't be quite so easy?

Some day, if Peter really did make a clean break with his demons, maybe then, Sophie could surprise him with a gift that would have true meaning. But, until that day came, the least she could do was keep it safe.

Her eyes searched the cabin for a hiding spot that would go undetected, possibly for years. Fleetingly, the thought occurred to Sophie that addicts like Peter often don't have "years," but Sophie dismissed such pessimism from her mind. Also unacceptable was the thought that perhaps she and Peter would lose touch, that their friendship, or relationship, or whatever "this" was that Sophie felt so strongly she couldn't even put into words, wouldn't last.

Methodically, she paced the cabin, looking through the obvious drawers and closets. But, those storage spaces were all too public. The cabin would know other guests, after all, once she and Peter had left.

No, it had to be someplace safe, someplace hidden, someplace no one would think of looking. As Sophie approached the fireplace, her left crutch hit upon a squeaky floorboard, over by the window.

Curious, she bent to inspect it. The board was loose. Grabbing a knife from the dinner tray, Sophie pried it up a bit. Underneath, she found a thick cushion of insulation shielding the floorboards from the foundation.

Tentatively, Sophie pressed at the insulation with her fingertips. It seemed dry enough. And there would be no danger that the box could slip through. The foundation below it was solid concrete.

But would the box fit, Sophie wondered, as she proceeded to pillow the tiny treasure safely amidst the cotton candy fibers. Yes! Sophie smiled, thrilled. Just as she'd hoped, the insulation had conformed to the shape of the box, allowing it to rest securely in a world all its own.

Carefully, Sophie replaced the loose floorboard on top. But, fearing that someone else might hear the squeak, and investigate as she had, Sophie decided on some quick, minor redecorating.

Using all her strength, Sophie slid the short antique dresser, which was beside the window, to just in front of it. The bureau was just the right size to cover the floorboard without obscuring the view out the cabin window.

Pleased with her ingenuity, Sophie patted the top of the bureau fondly. "Sleep tight," she smiled.

"Noooo!" Peter shouted, suddenly thrashing the covers off down to his waist.

"Peter, I'm sorry�" Sophie blanched, rushing to his side, afraid he'd seen what she had done. "I thought you'd�"

But, just one look at Peter told Sophie that her apology was unnecessary. Peter wasn't talking to her at all. As heartbreaking as it was to watch, Peter was still trapped hopelessly in a nightmare of his own making.

"You're wrong, Dad!" he ranted, punching the mattress with his fist.

"I'll make you proud� You'll see�" he whimpered, helplessly clutching the sheets.

"Peter�Ssshhh�." Sophie spoke low again, waiting until she thought he'd calmed enough to risk laying her hands gently on his chest.

It was a dangerous move, and she knew it. Gianni wasn't here to protect her if Peter suddenly turned violent.

But, oh, how good it felt to touch him� to feel his heart beating beneath her hand. As Sophie's eyes traveled Peter's naked torso, she couldn't help smiling. His strong pecs, covered with dark tufts of inviting chest hair�the solid outline of his shoulders and biceps�the way his waist narrowed to�

Guiltily, Sophie stopped there, re-positioning the blankets more tightly around him. Yes, Peter was in remarkably good shape, all things considered.

If he ever took up rock climbing�

Contemplating that tempting fantasy only briefly, Sophie shook her head back to reality.

"It's okay, Peter�" she promised, whispering softly in his ear. "He's proud of you. I know he is�"

Peter's face relaxed a little as he tried to focus on the comforting voice seeping into his thoughts.

"Sophie?" His voice was hoarse and his eyes barely open.

"Well, hey there�" Sophie said lightly, choking back the unexpected tears she felt at hearing him call her name.

"You're here?" Peter sounded so surprised.

"Of course, I am," she nodded, hoping Peter's worst moments had passed.

"I need you, Sophie," he admitted weakly, his eyes closing as he drifted off once again. "I need you so much�"

Sophie bit her lip, her emotions in utter turmoil. She'd felt drawn to Peter Scarbrow from the very start, wanted to help him more than she could say, fantasized about their being together since she'd heard his voice.

But, she'd spent her entire life running from personal attachments, from anyone who got too close. Needing someone� Well, that was the first step toward a commitment, wasn't it?

Sophie walked over to the fireplace, warming her hands by its steady glow. She always did love a fire. She loved the danger of it, of course, and the excitement of watching it flicker slowly and then light up a room. But, mostly, she loved the way it made her feel inside - all safe and protected.

This path she was on with Peter� It was like walking into a fire. Sophie didn't know where it would take her, or if she'd even be able to follow it without veering off. She was good at veering, at disappearing, at running. She had almost as much baggage as Peter did, only he didn't know it yet. She'd undoubtedly hurt him�he'd get burned - or even worse, they both would. Still, if she were honest with herself, there was little choice but to try.

More afraid than she'd ever been in her life, Sophie hugged her crutches and whispered softly into the flames.

"I need you, too, Peter�"

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Replies:

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