All right, as promised, here is my new story! Enjoy!
Unseen Part One
Rated: PG
The car struck MacGyver’s motorcycle with incredible force, throwing him with great velocity a distance of 30 feet. His body smacked against the pavement with a sickening thud and rolled, the impact causing numerous bones to snap and crack. When at last he stopped rolling, his body lay in a twisted, broken heap, his limbs bent in unnatural positions. The accident happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to react and was barely aware of what had happened until it was too late. Instead of stopping to help him, the driver who had hit him sped away, the car’s entire front end dented in and mangled, leaving the victim to die on the remote stretch of desert highway where few cars traveled and the prospects for rescue and survival were minimal at best.
Barely conscious, all MacGyver could feel was intense, excruciating, unbearable pain. His entire body hurt, and there was nothing he could do to alleviate his suffering and unendurable torment, unable to move, his body screaming in protest if he tried, new waves of sharp, agonizing pain racing through him. Vaguely cognizant of his surroundings, he knew he was slowly dying, feeling warm, sticky blood pool around and saturate his crumpled form, the blistering desert sun beating down on him. Birds shrieked and cried overhead, scavenger birds, prepared to circle, knowing they would soon have fresh carrion on which to feed. Fading in and out of complete blackness, his vision blurred, distorted, and hazy, he felt dizzy and dazed as if floating, separate from his badly damaged body, the pain the only thing that kept him connected to it. As he lay there helplessly with no hope or chance of rescue, he waited until that final moment of oblivion would end and relieve him of his intolerable misery, where he would know nothing more.
“MacGyver…” a voice whispered, faint and echoing around him.
Opening his eyes to mere slits, unable to expend any more energy to open them any further, he saw a fuzzy, undefined shape standing over him. Gradually, as it came into clearer focus, he saw it was a woman. He had never seen her before, and she was cast in an aura of radiant, shimmering, and almost otherworldly glow that gave her an angelic appearance. She was beautiful, her long, flowing golden hair blowing in a gentle breeze, her soft green eyes kind and benevolent. She was smiling pleasantly down at him as if to reassure and soothe him. He tried to speak to this vision but he couldn’t, too weakened with pain, still barely conscious. He wanted to know who she was, where she had come from, and if she was real. He didn’t believe in the supernatural or the divine, and he knew she was probably a hallucination, a product of his dying brain, but somehow her presence comforted and calmed him, made him feel less alone and afraid as the infinite darkness approached and threatened to swallow him.
Help me, he said in his mind.
Oh God, help me… Her image evaporated, replaced with the figures of several paramedics hovering over him, speaking rapidly in some random gibberish he could not understand, expressing the urgency of the situation. He felt hands on him, touching him, examining him, the slightest pressure they applied to his broken body making him scream. A bright, piercing light flashed into his eyes, causing him to squint and flinch. He released a series of low moans and whimpers, pleading with them to stop, to leave him alone, trying to fight them off but unable to, more searing pain shooting through his uncooperative, non-functioning limbs as he tried to move. Something or someone held him down, further restricting his already feeble movements, and he groaned, writhing. His body was lifted onto something and it began moving. Voices spoke to him and around him, their almost unintelligible murmurs sounding like intermittent, halting radio transmissions, the choppy reception fading in and out, the signal interrupted. Their lips moved, but seemed oddly out of synch as if they were merely mouthing someone else’s words.
“Can…hear…?”
“Be…all right…”
“Get…hospital…”
“Stay…with…” His body was being loaded onto something, and it was the last thing he was aware of before slipping fully into unconsciousness.
***
When MacGyver regained consciousness, he felt numb and queasy, his body light, fragile, and drifting, the terrible pain he had experienced moments after the accident absent. Someone was gently squeezing his hand, and as he slowly opened his eyes he saw that it was Pete, smiling tearfully down at him, the sterile backdrop of the hospital room behind him.
“Damn it, Mac, how many times do I have to tell you motorcycles are dangerous?” He asked, his voice angry and filled with deep concern, sounding like a stern, worried father, staring down sadly at his friend’s body, half of it encased in plaster casts.
“Wha…how long…?” MacGyver asked, stumbling over his words, unable to form them properly or completely, his throat dry, his mind in a drugged haze from the pain medication being given to him.
“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for several days. You really had me scared there for awhile. The doctor says you’re going to be fine, considering the extent of the injuries you suffered. I mean, a broken arm, broken leg, cracked ribs, a severe concussion—he told me you were extremely fortunate, given the circumstances, and especially considering you weren’t wearing a helmet,” Pete said in a scolding tone.
“Wha…happen…don’t…remember…” MacGyver said, his voice faint and trailing away.
“A hit and run driver,” Pete said in disgust. “Can you believe that? Whoever hit you didn’t have the common decency to help you and admit they were at fault. They just left you for dead. The police are searching for the driver now. It was a miracle the paramedics found you in time and were able to treat you, as isolated as that road is.”
A miracle. Through the fog of his mind, MacGyver remembered the ethereal presence of the woman standing over him as he lay sprawled across the road, his body shattered and broken, speaking to him as if she knew him, referring to him by name, calming and reassuring him.
“How did…find…?” He asked.
“Another driver, a Good Samaritan really, happened by at just the right time and called the paramedics,” Pete said. “God, you were lucky. If they hadn’t come by, you could be dead right now.”
“But…I thought…the woman…” MacGyver muttered.
Pete watched as MacGyver’s eyes fluttered and strained, struggling to remain conscious, stirring as much as his incapacitated body would allow him. He felt tremendous sympathy and pity for him, knowing how difficult and painful his recovery and therapy would be and how impatient he became when limited physically. He didn’t understand what his friend was referring to when he mentioned a woman, wondering if his drug-induced state had something to do with it.
“What woman?” He asked.
“There was…a woman there…with me…” MacGyver mumbled, his eyes half-closed.
Pete shook his head. “I’m sorry Mac,” he said, “but the passerby who found you and called the ambulance was a man, not a woman.”
“No…she was there…I…know it…I saw…” sighing heavily and mumbling something disordered and incoherent, MacGyver’s remaining energy reserves were weakened and spent, and he collapsed, slumping fully back onto his pillow, his body slack.
Pete watched him as he breathed softly, lost once again in sleep. Smiling in sympathy, he gently brushed his hand against MacGyver’s cheek.
“Get some rest,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right, I promise. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I’ll be here for you when you wake up again.”
He sat down beside MacGyver’s hospital bed and watched him as he slept soundly and peacefully, the pain medications no doubt helping ease any discomfort he might have otherwise felt. He thought about what he had said about a woman being present at the scene of the accident, wondering if it was a product of MacGyver’s drug-addled, confused brain. There had been no reports of anyone in the vicinity besides the driver who found him and the paramedics. Perhaps one of the emergency workers had been a woman, and in his disoriented state MacGyver mistook her for…what? Pete wasn’t sure. None of it made any sense. The way MacGyver had spoken about this mysterious, unknown woman, it was almost as if he was in awe, as if she were something special, some spiritual being. But that was nonsense, he knew. MacGyver didn’t believe in angels or ghosts or anything dealing with the paranormal or spiritual realm. He was a rational, practical man, a man of science. Still, it was not unusual for someone in severe distress to see unusual, unexplained apparitions appear. No one yet fully understood their relevance or significance, unsure whether to classify such phenomena as merely a product of the brain or something truly higher, beyond human understanding. Pete didn’t want to dismiss it and rule out any possibilities. He decided to wait and see if MacGyver mentioned the woman again as he recovered. If he did, he knew something might have happened that neither of them could explain, something out of the ordinary. If he didn’t, then he would know that his friend was only suffering from some kind of hallucination, something of little importance. He didn’t know what to think or expect. A part of him wanted to believe, wanted what MacGyver said he saw to turn out to be some extraordinary new discovery. Another part of him dreaded what they might find if it turned out to be true.
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
They are the worst. 
