Okay, after several days of battling with the real world, I finally had time to finish this part! Enjoy!

Unrecognized Screams Part Four
Rated: PG

The field was just as vast, haunting, and mysterious as it had been in MacGyver’s dreams. The open emptiness of it swallowed him, and an unsettling stillness fell over the area. As his dark, searching eyes scanned the landscape, he felt uneasy. He knew this was where he had almost died. Still, he was nowhere close to understanding why. Brief flashes of memory came to him as they had in his dream, mostly of him walking alone. He imagined what he must’ve looked like when Cathy found him, picturing his pale, unconscious body drenched in blood. He gasped slightly when he saw himself in the vision, looking so close to death, so fragile and vulnerable.

“This is where I found you,” Cathy said, pointing straight ahead.

MacGyver looked where she pointed, finding nothing to mark the grassy spot and distinguish it from other parts of the field except for a lone pine tree standing nearby. Even in the daylight, the scene looked eerie, the tree casting a dark shadow directly over where his body was found. Beyond the field, bordering it and almost abruptly cutting it off, was a dense forest. A deeply worn trail in the grass led to the forest, and looking above, MacGyver saw mountains towering overhead. The area was such a contrast—flat, grassy fields and then dense, rugged mountain forests.

He couldn’t imagine why he would choose such a place to commit suicide. He supposed the isolation had something to do with it. Maybe he was too ashamed of whatever was afflicting him to want anyone to find him dead. He remembered the sheriff’s words. No identification was found on him. Now, with his memory affected, he was essentially the man without a name. Whatever he had done to want to commit suicide in such a way must’ve been quite traumatic, yet MacGyver didn’t feel depressed and couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would feel desperate enough to kill himself. All he felt was confusion and maybe some sadness for the man he was before who had been driven to such an act. If he could figure out why and regain the memories of that night, he might be able to understand so he could prevent himself from doing it again in the future. In a way, he considered himself fortunate that he couldn’t remember. It was an opportunity to learn and change.

“Are you all right?” Cathy asked, watching him carefully. The expression on his face was sad and tormented with thought.

MacGyver looked at her with his stormy eyes. “I think so,” he said.

“I know how difficult this must be for you,” Cathy said, glancing at the stark white bandages on his wrists. “If you’ve changed your mind…”

“No, I want to know why I did this.”

“Dr. Swanson says it might take some time for you to recall the events, let alone other memories of your life. I don’t know what you expect to find, but you need to be patient with yourself. I told you we’ll figure this out together,” Cathy said, gently placing a supportive hand on his arm.

“Tell me what happened that night,” MacGyver said.

Cathy sighed. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” She asked. She kept remembering how close to death he had been, how even in the darkness with only the benefit of her flashlight she could see the gory extent of the damage to his wrists, the blood covering his pale body, his lips icy blue.

“Please.”

“Well, I live nearby. I’m one of those people who’s a sucker for living miles away from civilization. My dog Alex ran away, as he does frequently. Sometimes, he’s gone for days. Maybe it’s my paranoia or my inexperience as a first time dog owner, but I always feel I have to chase after him. Anyway, I found him out here in the middle of the night, standing over you…” her voice drifted away as she stared intensely at the spot near the tree. She fought back tears, wiping them away with trembling fingers. “I really thought you were dead. You were lying there, soaked in blood with a knife loosely in your hand. You had cut your wrists open.”

MacGyver shivered thinking about it. Once again, he imagined how he looked that night, barely clinging to life. Could he have done that to himself? Something about it didn’t feel right. “You didn’t see anything else?” He asked Cathy gently, placing his hand on her back and rubbing it, soothing her.

“No,” she said, looking up at him with moist eyes. “Just you. Nothing else looked suspicious.” She thought about the scratches on his back again.

“Cathy,” MacGyver said, “I really am sorry you had to find me like that. It must’ve scared you to death.”

“I was more scared for you,” she said. “I didn’t want you to die.”

“Well, I’m grateful you came along when you did.”
MacGyver’s eyes scanned the field again, and Cathy watched him.

“You really don’t remember how you got here or what happened before, do you?” She asked.

MacGyver squinted, focusing intensely on the field. “That’s why I wanted to come back here,” he said. “I thought it would trigger something, but nothing’s coming back. I vaguely remember walking and driving, and that’s about it.”

“Did you say driving?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Sheriff Colvert has a jeep he found near here at the station. Maybe it’s yours. We should go take a look at it if he’ll let us. That might help spark something.”

“Yeah, I remember him asking me if it was mine,” MacGyver said. “I don’t know if it is, but you’re right—I need to take a look at it.”

***

As MacGyver examined the jeep in the lot at the sheriff’s office, Cathy and Duane watched him from a distance.

“Sheriff, I have to tell you something,” Cathy said. “When I visited this man in the hospital, I saw some scratches on his back that looked new. I don’t think anyone committing suicide would have those kinds of marks on their back.”

Duane raised a frosty eyebrow and glanced sideways at Cathy. “Are you suggesting that someone forced him to the ground, held him down to do this to him?” He asked.

“Why not? That’s one of your theories, right?”

Duane frowned. “Cathy, I’ve done a thorough search of the area. There’s no evidence of a homicide attempt. The only person out in the field that night was him,” he said, looking at MacGyver. “Only his prints are on the knife, and the only footprints we found were his.”

“Then how did those scratches get there?”

Duane shrugged. “My best guess is that he slipped and fell when he was walking. We did find some scuff marks near his footprints that would seem to indicate that he fell.”

Cathy watched as MacGyver searched the jeep. She imagined him wandering aimlessly in the field in the middle of the night, distraught over something, debating whether he should commit suicide in that lonely, empty area or not.

“I guess it’s possible,” she said.

“Look Cathy, we still haven’t ruled out the possibility that someone else could have done this to him,” Duane said, “but in the meantime, the only evidence we have supports suicide.”

Cathy continued to stare at MacGyver, who looked at the jeep as if he’d never seen it before, almost as if he was checking it out in a for sale lot rather than a police lot trying to identify it as his, touching it gently and peering inside it.

“Maybe if he begins to remember what happened to him, we could straighten this all out,” she said.

“Let me ask you something,” Duane said, looking at her with his stony eyes. “Do you think he really doesn’t remember what happened, or does he just choose not to remember?”

***

“You have a nice place,” MacGyver said to Cathy, admiring her warm red sofa and the rich, dark cherry wood of her other furniture. He sat on a wrought iron stool near the island in her kitchen.

Cathy smiled and placed a plate of food in front of him. “I’m glad you approve,” she said. “Now, eat this. You’ve had a long day, and you’re still recovering.”

MacGyver looked at his bandages again, a bemused expression on his face. “Yeah, recovering,” he muttered. He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, trying to hide the bandages. He felt awkward and ashamed with them showing.

Cathy watched him in deep sympathy. “I promise you’re going to like this,” she said, doing her best to smile and put him at ease.

MacGyver looked at the salmon and pasta on his plate. It was the perfect color, looking like something from a food magazine cover. “It looks good,” he said.

They began to eat silently. Alex, Cathy’s wayward German shepherd, trotted into the kitchen, completely ignoring her and going to MacGyver instead. He sniffed his hand as if intuitively knowing that he was the same man he had found bleeding to death that night in the field. A sweet expression that was rare for a dog with his sharp, almost militaristic features was on his face, and he whimpered slightly. He began to lick at MacGyver’s hand.

“Hey buddy,” MacGyver said, smiling. He patted the dog on the head and offered him some salmon, dropping it on the floor. He looked back at Cathy, a boyish, guilty expression on his face. “I hope that’s all right with you,” he said.

Cathy shrugged and looked at Alex, smiling. “That’s fine,” she said. “He’s always begging. It looks like he likes you.” She closed her eyes, trying not to remember how Alex found his blood drenched, pale body, standing over him with his amber eyes glowing in the beam of her flashlight.

“What is it?” MacGyver asked, noticing the tension creases on her forehead.

Cathy rubbed the back of her neck. “Nothing,” she said. She looked at him. “I’m just remembering how he found you…”

“Oh.”

They were silent again for awhile. Alex, satisfied with his scraps, sighed heavily and lay down on the tiled floor at MacGyver’s feet. MacGyver bent over to pet him again, trying to soothe his troubled spirit.

“So, do you remember anything yet?” Cathy asked. “Did looking at that jeep help?”

MacGyver shook his head. “It didn’t help much more than seeing the field did, I’m afraid,” he said. “It was completely stripped, just as the sheriff said it was. I didn’t find any registration or any other papers, and the license plates were gone. It looked clean, like a brand new vehicle that hadn’t been driven before.”

Cathy noticed the frown on his face. “That bothers you, doesn’t it?” She asked.

“Of course it bothers me,” he said.

“I can understand why.”

“Yeah, I mean, why would I go through all that trouble? What did I do? Cathy, I’m telling you, the closer I get to this, the less I understand.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling exhausted.

“Do you think someone else did this? That someone else got rid of the license plates and everything else?”

“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to wonder.”

“The sheriff didn’t find anything,” Cathy said, watching MacGyver carefully. “He says all the evidence points to you acting alone.”

“I know, but I’m not so sure I believe that anymore.”

“I’m not either. I saw scratches on your back, and bruises. Sheriff Colvert thinks you fell while you were walking, but…”

“I know, I saw those scratches, and I don’t know how they got there any better than how these happened.” He showed her the bandages again and sighed. “I just wish I knew.”

As Cathy watched him, staring at his food with his dark eyes, she remembered what the sheriff asked her. Was it possible he truly didn’t remember what happened, or was he choosing not to remember? Was there something he wasn’t telling her, or the sheriff, or anyone else because he was too afraid or ashamed? What if he didn’t want to tell anyone what really happened because he was worried whoever had done this to him might try again? She didn’t know. She hesitated asking him, because she probably wouldn’t get a straight answer. Or if she did, how would she know what to believe? She decided to ask him anyway.

“You really can’t remember, can you?” She asked.

MacGyver looked up at her with haunting dark eyes. “No,” he said.

“The sheriff thinks you might be withholding information about what really happened because you’re afraid.” She braced herself after saying this. She didn’t want to upset him, but she really wanted to know. She wanted to help him.

MacGyver placed his fork across his plate and stared at her. Was she right? He searched his mind, trying to retrieve any detail from that night, but once again, he came up with nothing. Only a few blurry, vague scenes of him walking or driving appeared in his mind, replaying constantly. It was as if he was trying to reach the truth about that night through those separate actions, questing after the details yet failing to reach them. At the end of each walk and each drive, there was nothing but blankness. The light from each memory dimmed, faded, and then finally disappeared beyond his grasp.

“I know the sheriff doesn’t believe me,” he said. “But I’m telling you Cathy, I honestly don’t know what happened in that field that night. I do know that I want to keep looking, before something like this happens again.”

***

After spending hours talking and trying to figure out the solution to MacGyver’s confusing puzzle, both of them were thoroughly exhausted, making little progress. Their conversation had continued late into the night. Cathy decided to let MacGyver sleep on her sofa that night. She pulled out some sheets and pillows from her linen closet and busied herself making the sofa into a bed for him. MacGyver watched her, feeling uneasy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

Cathy looked at him. “Of course,” she said. “Why not?”

“Well, I mean…you hardly know me. I don’t even know myself right now. What if I do something dangerous? What if I try to hurt myself again?”

“You still think you’re crazy, don’t you?”

“It had crossed my mind. Look Cathy, I just want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m more worried about you. You have nowhere else to go right now.”

“That’s true, but…”

Cathy stopped what she was doing and put her hands on his arms, squeezing them lightly. She looked into his big, deep brown eyes. Beyond the sorrow and confusion she saw in them, there was also softness to them, revealing a kind, somewhat innocent person. She told herself not to be completely naďve and trust only in appearances alone, but she sensed something in him. She could tell he was genuine. She felt completely comfortable around him.

“If you were going to hurt me, you would’ve done it already,” she said. “You care too much about hurting me to actually do it.”

“But what about me? What if I do something to myself again?”

“I don’t think you will. You’re going to be fine, I promise. If something does happen, I’ll call Dr. Swanson, okay? Don’t worry.”

MacGyver looked down at her. “All right,” he said.

“Goodnight. Sleep well. Try not to think about this too much. We’ll get to the bottom of it. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks,” MacGyver said softly.

He watched her as she walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. Once she closed her door, he looked at the couch and settled in, Alex curling up beside the sofa near him. He smiled and stroked the dog’s soft yet slightly bristled coat again, doing his best to calm himself and forget the anxiety of not remembering. It seemed to help, because he began to grow drowsy. Soon, he began to drift away to sleep, feeling the warm, protective, and comforting embrace of the sheets and the pillows. It felt good to finally release himself, and he allowed it to happen fully.

Soon, however, the peacefulness of an easy sleep gave way to disturbing dreams about that night once again. This time, he was walking, but he wasn’t alone. He felt someone grab him. Several hands were on him, restraining him, gripping him tightly. He fought and struggled, and they threw something over his head so he couldn’t see them. All he had seen before they placed a hood over him were several shadowy figures. They said nothing to him, revealing nothing about their identities. The dream images shifted abruptly, and he saw he was back at the field. The men holding him forced him to the ground. He still couldn’t see them, even though the hood was removed from his eyes. They were faceless strangers.

He tried to cry out, but he couldn’t. Something was covering his mouth. As he continued to struggle, someone appeared out of the shadows, pressing a knife to his wrist. The face flashed several times in front of him, as if his mind was desperately trying to make sense of it, trying to force the memory to return. MacGyver thought he should know this man, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen him before. He studied his sharp, angular features carefully, along with the man’s piercing, cold eyes. Still, he didn’t know who he was. The man laughed maniacally, and the laugh echoed in his ears. He remembered a laugh like that before, but where? Who was this man? Before he could try to identify him, he saw the blade slice into his veins.

MacGyver awoke with a start, scaring Alex. The dog ran to Cathy’s bedroom, scratching on her door.

“What? What is it, Alex?” Cathy asked as she opened the door, yawning and looking half awake. She stumbled out into the hallway, her hair disheveled. Carelessly, she draped her robe around her and patted Alex on the head. “What is it, huh?” She asked him.

She looked up, and even in the darkness she could see MacGyver’s silhouette. He was sitting upright. She turned on the light, and he jumped slightly, looking at her with frightened eyes. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he trembled. He stared at the floor, trying to compose himself.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She asked, hurrying over to sit beside him. She rubbed his back gently.

“Someone else was there,” he said, his voice distant.

“What?”

“Someone grabbed me…held me down…I…”

“I’m going to call Dr. Swanson.”

“No,” MacGyver said, taking her hand.

“You’re starting to remember something,” Cathy said. “We need to make sense of it.”

“No, I need time to think about it alone. Please, Cathy. I’m close to something. I need to figure it out on my own.”

“You said someone grabbed you?”

“Yes. I just had a dream. They grabbed me, Cathy. They held me down. Some man cut my wrists. It wasn’t me. I didn’t try to commit suicide.”

“Who? Who cut your wrists?”

“I…I don’t know.”

***

Pete was about to give up on his search. He had read through every recent news article he could find about the parks that MacGyver had brochures on, and nothing significant had appeared. As his eyes glassed over with fatigue, he almost missed one small snippet from a tiny local paper near one of the parks MacGyver had been to before.

“Unidentified Man Found in Travers Park, Possible Suicide,” it read. Once Pete’s eyes caught this headline, the energy that had left him hours ago suddenly resurfaced. He sat straight in his chair and read every detail.

“My God,” he said.

The article described MacGyver’s physical appearance perfectly. What puzzled Pete, however, was this mention of suicide. The article said the man had amnesia, but what happened? MacGyver wasn’t one to commit suicide. Why couldn’t he remember who he was? Something had happened to MacGyver, something traumatic. Someone had done this to him. Pete knew this when he read every gory detail describing the wrists being cut open and finding him bleeding to death in the field. Whoever had done this expected him to die quickly, but as usual, MacGyver disappointed the perpetrator. This meant that whoever did it would be after him again once he discovered his grisly plan had failed. Pete didn’t waste another minute. He bolted up from his chair and grabbed his coat, switching off the lamp in his office as he left.

“Hang on, MacGyver,” he said. “I found you.”

***

Pete wasn’t the only one engaging in late night reading. The dark figure reading by dim lamplight also happened upon the same article. A sense of familiar dread came over him, along with feelings of inadequacy and failure. How could he have possibly escaped that? He saw him that night, blood spilling from his wrists. He saw his limp, pale, unconscious body. He saw him slowly die. No, damn it! He couldn’t possibly still be alive! Angrily, the shadow pounded his fist on the table. His rage and hatred for MacGyver increased. How dare he escape such a brilliant method of killing! No matter what he did, this man just simply wouldn’t die! Not only was it frustrating, it was becoming a source of embarrassment. Certain groups were beginning to talk, beginning to doubt his abilities. He had already been reduced to training new recruits! Disgusted, he thought of what to do next. His reputation was at stake, and he wasn’t about to let MacGyver destroy it yet again.

To be continued…

Ooh, very nice. I like that Pete figured out that someone is probably still after Mac.

Mac's emotional state rings quite true; I can really see him being concerned for Cathy, even if he has no idea who he is.

Keep it coming.

Mac

Continue soonish I'm eager to read more

Why not? Didn't both of his wrist were cut? Isn't that almost impossible? Well, I'm no expert but I would think the loss of blood after the first cut will drain the energy that much that there's no energy left for the second wrist. Hey, c'mon Sheriff. See the evidence!

Who wouldn't?

Hey Murdoc, MacGyver is too good to die.

Great story. It's fun reading and I really can't stop, so the last last is due now.