Another point of view

 Wow.  And I do mean wow.  I looked toward the ceiling, and caught the barest
piece of siloette of her as she left my room.  Now that's one helluva gal.  Great, just great.
I got this psychopath vigialantie who's got the hots for me, and I really have got no idea
what in the heck ta do.
 It was ten-thirty, according to my watch.  I wasn't gong to see a wink of sleep,
that's for sure, so I turned the idiot box on.
 The news was on the local UPN station, and then a local editorial.  It was the
mayor and the police chief being raked across the coals for the actions of The Cat.  When
will this vigialante be caught, is she human, what photographs do you have, etc, etc.
 Boring.  As of this evening, I was officially pulled off of the task force that dealt
with the manner of the cat.  I talked with the Captain, we discussed a lot.  I said that I was
beginning to be freaked by her.  Now I really was.  A knock on the door.
 "Yea?" I asked.
 Harry walked in, in uniform.
 "Just had a call in and thought I'd give you a check out." He smiled at me.  I
grinned back.  I knew what kind of check out he ment.
 "She came ta see me.  Got me fixed up damn good." I swung over and stood up.
His jaw dropped.
 "Damn." He said.
  "I can sorta kinda walk."
 "I wonder what the rehab people are going to say." Harry stated.
 "I'm gonna keep it onna QT.  Maybe I'll even have her abduct me.  Harry, I gotta
tell you something."
 "Yea?" Harry looked into the ex-detective's cool steel-blue eyes.
 "She kissed me." I said.  He looked dumbfounded.
 Harry said nothing, and sat down beside me.  He could feel my tension.  I could
see the shadow of his hand as he began to reach for me, and then, stopped short.  I nodded
up and down.  His hands kneaded my shoulders, with the power and strength only another
man could muster.  My head lopped down.
 "You're still stiff." He observed.
 "She said I should do a cobra before every meal."
 "Cobra?  You mean the yoga excercise?"
 "I guess.  I dunno."  He whispered into my ear.
 "It's gonna be okay, big guy."
 For some reason I felt like crying.  The overwhelming surge of emotions, a  rush, a
passion, feelings.  This was the part of self I hated.  I despised it.  It angered me, infuriated
me, I feared it, and it ruled over me like an overlord.
 I began to cry.  Softly.  I tried to be quiet, I was reminded of all of the times as a
child I cried, I needed the attention at night, but they never came, my parents, they never
came.  But now, someone was here.
 "Let it out." Harry said.  I knew what would happen.  Harry knew, whether he
wanted for that to happen in the long-term or not, that's what would happen.
 The tears flowed, and after a time lessened.  Harry felt taller than me, like a foot or
more, for some reason.  He reached to my face and lifted a tear off  of my face.
 "I can remember the last time I saw your tears." Harry said, with compassion.
 "So do I." I replied.  A sly smile had come upon my face.
 "The trip." I said simply.
 That trip, that damnably wonderful trip which had screwed me up so fucking
badly.
  Harry's hand moved from the base of  my chin, to the bottom of my eye where the
last tear had formed.
 Gently, he caressed it from my face, and stuck the entire finger into his mouth -
gently, and then slid it free.  I inhaled deeply.   My lips pulled back from my teeth.  I
watched him swallow.  Suddenly I realized I was tired, oh, so very tired.  He seemed to
immeadietly realize it.  I began to crumple toward the back.  He eased me back like a child
being gently comforted.  He then stood, and gently eased my legs upon the bed.  Grabbing
a chair, he sat it up against the bed, and folded his arms upon the back.  He looked at  my
eyes, red, swollen, and puffy.
 My left hand turned upward.  The signal was distinct, and could not be
misunderstood.  His hand dipped down, and held mine.  I saw him in the light of the
sodium streetlamp purse his lips.  Gently I lifed our clenched hands.  He brought the
bundle of sinewy flesh to his face, and kissed my hand, oh, so tenderly.
 I felt, a thousand feelings.  The fire, almost as great as the first time, yet, kindled
with the wood of feeling, and, possibly something more.
 When my hand touched his face, I could feel the pulse in his body.  He, too, felt
the fire.  I sat up, in bed, turned my head, and kissed his hand, looking into his eyes as he
looked into mine.
 For an eternity we were locked into embrace.
 It broke by a harsh chirping noise.  Harry's eyes closed.  His lips went grim.  I
heard a horrific shattering noise.
 "Gee.  My walkie-talkie dropped and hit the pavement a little too hard."My
eyebrows went up.
 "And the noise will attract every nurse on the floor."
 "I don't care, if you don't." He said.
 "You're the married one.  Mine didn't last this long."
 "A marrage of pure convenience.  I sleep in the motorhome."
 "Why does this not surprise me." I replied.
 The door opened.
 "Detective?" The nurse called.  In a swift motion, Harry pulled out his fire badge,
and flashed it impressively.  He turned to profile and addressed her.
 "Official investigation.  Please leave us alone."  He said.
 "Well it's past visiting hours.  What was that noise?"
 Harry pointed to the shattered communicator on the floor.
 "An accident.  These things happen." Harry stated.
 "Are you with the unit downstairs?  They were looking for someone."
 I looked toward him.
 "Can't win for losing."  I said.  He shook his head and stood up, his back to me.
 Sometimes you just gotta say what the hell.  I goosed him, but good.  Gotta say,
he didn't react.  The nurse closed the door.  He turned toward me, his eyes flaring.
 "I'll have to get you for that." He said.
 I looked at him.
 "What you gonna do?" I asked saucily.
 He lept upon the bed, pinned my hands, and kissed me fiercly.
 "That."  He rolled off, picked up his hat, and walked out the door.  I sighed.
What, did I do to gain such affections?  Hells bells, I am not an attractive man.  A
confused man, prehaps, but not an attractive one.
 Two kisses, both genders.  Oy vey, I was a very confused man. I reached into a
backpack I had a friend bring me from the precent.  I got out my daylog, and wrote three
or four pages - thoughts, feelings.  I was feeling good in many ways, not so good in
others.  I daydreamed, wrote, sketched.  No one every saw this part of me, just like, until
a few months ago, no-one ever thought of me as anything other than heterosexual.
 I flipped back pages until I found the references to the camping trip.  I found
teardrops on the pages, they had smeared the ink of the felt-tipped pen.  My feelings,
hasitly scratched while Harry was outside.  I had dozens of these logs, stacked, at home.
A biography of my life, and it's concepts.  One day, I'd somehow collect them all, and
make something of them, not that anyone would every believe it.
 In the previous book, I had had it with me, I wrote down everything I knew about
The Cat.  Who she was, who I suspected she was, the psychology that went into her.  My
feelings about her, the rage, the fearlessness that must drive her.  Those concepts which
drive her.  A lot of good policework is psychology, as well as sociology.
 Tiredness crept in, again.  Easily, I closed those logs, tucked them into the
backpack carefully, and then drifted off, to the sleep of the damned.