- Janice Skyers
- This story
is strictly for amusement purposes only. I don't own the characters,
although I wish I did, and it would be foolish of me to think
that I do, considering that MTM Enterprises and Lord knows who
else might sue me and take all my worldly possessions. This story
is the property of Janice Skyers © 1999.
- [If while reading this story
you say, Hey this reminds me of "Dreams of Steele"
and you know something, you'd be right. The story actually picks
up after Laura was knocked over the balcony by that blonde (always
a blonde have you noticed) and we see a frightened Remington
looking as though his life suddenly came to a crashing halt.
I'd like your feedback on my story. A girl can sure use some
"Laura!!" Remington Steele yelled out desperately.
His world had suddenly come to a crashing halt. Laura Holt who'd
just taken a fall from the balcony was just lying there, lifeless.
Oh no. Oh God no. Please, dear God. Please. He pondered
for a second. What now? Where the bloody hell is Mildred?
"Mildred come quickly. Laura has been hurt." He shouted.
Mildred Krebs joined him on the balcony in no time flat.
Stunned and frightened, the woman's eyes widened. Laura appeared
lifeless. Managing to pull her nerves together, Mildred looked
up at Mr. Steele, his blue eyes reflecting what she was feeling
inside at the moment.
"Oh Boss-," was all that came out of the poor frightened
"Mildred," he started off harshly. "Call an ambulance
Later he would apologize for speaking so harshly to the woman
but right now his priority was to get Laura to a hospital and
With no time to waste, Mildred ran inside the apartment. Entering
the living room, she dialed 911 to request an ambulance be sent
immediately. Mildred hung on impatiently while she awaited a
Remington Steele was frightened. Well, a little more than frightened.
What if she doesn't survive the fall? It seems a pep talk was
in order here. Erase that thought from your mind this instant
mate. She'll pull through - she has to - she must. Where's the
Immediately he heard sirens, an indication that the ambulance
had arrived in the neighborhood.
In no time flat, they arrived at the hospital. Laura was taken
to the Emergency Room.
"She's going to be alright Mr. Steele," the doctor told
him while he was setting up the I.V.
"I hope so- I really, really hope so," he said in a
barely audible voice.
"Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get yourself
a cup of coffee," the doctor suggested in a quiet tone of
"Thanks doctor - but when she wakes up I want to be here,"
he said, looking very worried.
And there was no arguing that point the doctor realized.
"Well I guess my suggesting that you should go home and get
some sleep would be useless as well."
"It would," Remington confirmed, smiling sadly as he
glanced down at Laura, lying there, motionless. He wondered if
Laura could feel the tip of the needle that the doctor was inserted
into her vein.
"Alright- If she stirs even just a little, ask one of the
nurses to page Dr. Whitney," the doctor said, now finished
with the task of setting up the I.V.
"Yes she'll be taking over the case, I'm officially off duty
as of now," he told the worried blue-eyed gentleman.
"Good luck Mr. Steele," the doctor said, as they shook
hands. "She's going to pull through so stop worrying so much,"
the doctor added thoughtfully.
The doctor left the room, leaving Steele alone with Laura and
Was she really going to okay? He wondered, as he plopped his tired,
overworked lanky body onto the chair. If only she could open her
eyes or mumble something just anything to let me know that she'd
be okay. What if she didn't pull through? She's going to pull
through mate. She has to pull through, not just for her sake but
for yours as well. Those words echoing in his brain over and
over again gave him some hope. He was so tired, so sleepy; so
very tired and sleepy. He tried stifling a yawn but didn't succeed.
He wanted to be awake when Laura came to but his eyelids got heavier
and heavier. He needed to sleep; so very tired. He needed to sleep.
Sleepsleep...came at last
Remington Steele's buzzer went off on his telephone. He looked
down at the beige-colored instrument, grumbling to himself. He
had half a mind to pick up the bloody thing and toss it out the
window. But that would be pointless since the windows don't open
from the inside. So not given much choice, he lifted the receiver
to his ear, pushing down on the button that was lit up on his
"Yes Mildred," he answered harshly, sighing deeply.
"What is it?" he finished through clenched teeth.
Mildred paused and swallowed real hard, dislodging the huge lump
formed at her throat, before responding. Mr. Steele had informed
her earlier that he didn't want to meet with or speak to any
clients. How long should this request be honored, she wasn't
sure. But since Mildred felt that it was time that he started
to act like the head of the agency, she forged right ahead. "Mr.
Porter is on line 1," she told him, holding a breath in
awaiting his response.
He responded harshly. "Mildred, I thought that I told you
in no uncertain terms that I didn't want to speak to anyone-"
She tried again. "But Boss-,"
He interrupted her quickly. He was a very impatient man these
days. "No buts, Mildred! No calls please. Have I made myself
"Yes Mr. Steele," she said slowly, her voice filled
Mildred released the hold button on the telephone after the conversation
ended with Mr. Steele. Sighing deeply, she gave Mr. Porter some
flimsy excuse as to why Mr. Steele couldn't take his call. Never
one to give in, she rose from her chair, and walked over to Mr.
Steele's office door, tapping lightly on it. He instructed her
to come in. When she entered his office, a look of loneliness
and despair on the face that was once so clean-shaven, cheerful,
warm, and friendly, struck her hard. He'd knocked off a few pounds
from his body that already was too lanky for someone his height.
His face was looked very withdrawn and almost ghost-like and
his blue eyes reddened from lack of sleep. That man who used
to walk into the agency looking like a model from out of GQ magazine
was replaced with someone she didn't recognize. The navy blue
suit he was wearing was wrinkled and the silk tie which didn't
go well with the suit, hung loosely around his neck. And now
she realized that she had to do something to pull Mr. Steele
out of his depressed state.
"Mr. Steele," she began reluctantly, afraid that she
might get her head lopped off. "Don't you think it's time
that you got on with your life."
"My life," he shouted angrily. "My life - I have
no bloody life without Her."
"I kinda understand how you feel - I mean, Miss Ho-"
She halted. Did she really understand how he feels? How could
she possibly know how he feels. What she does know of their relationship
is mostly through observation. She could tell that they both
cared deeply for each other just by the way they'd looked at
each other when they thought she wasn't paying attention. Although
Miss Holt did confide in her once about their relationship, admitting
that there was "something" going on between her and
Mr. Steele. What exactly was that "something" Mildred
was left to ponder.
"Mildred," he pleaded with her. "Please DON'T
- don't say her name - it hurts too much."
"But," she started off in a quiet tone of voice. "Don't
you think that it would be better if you talk about Her."
He was practically on the verge of tears. "I can't Mildred
- don't you understand. I can't.
She was my whole life and now she's gone forever. I'll never
see her lovely face. Not ever again. Those shiny brown eyes that
use to light up" He added, his voice trailed off. Again
he shouted angrily. "There is no life without Her. I can't
even bring myself to go into her office. It's just so torturous
coming in here day after day. And what's the use anyway, I can't
even concentrate on work. I should have been the one who fell
off that balcony, not Her."
"Now I know that it hasn't been easy since-"
She halted when she saw his face take on a more saddened expression,
if at all possible.
"She would have wanted you to go on with your life and also
carry on the work here at the agency," she told him, softening
her words considerably. Her goal was to try and pull him out
of his depression.
"We were a team a team," he said in barely a whisper
but not really addressing Mildred. "A team," he repeated
again. "God I miss her. About this time of the day, she'd
come into my office and sit on the sofa just so I could read
the comic strips to her. She had such a wonderful sense of humor,
you know. And then there's that time-" He paused, rising
from his swivel chair, he went over to the window, gazing off
into nothingness, his blue eyes welled up with tears.
Mildred waited patiently for her Boss to come out of his stupor
but after a time she realized that that wasn't about to happen,
so she returned to her desk. Her heart was heavy with sympathy
for Him. She wanted to do something to ease his suffering, but
the only thing that could cure him, she couldn't provide, bringing
back Miss Holt to life. And since that was impossible, she would
have to come up with a plan - but what? In the meantime that
she was pondering all that, Remington Steele came from his office
and walked out of the agency. By the time Mildred realized that
he left, he was already on the elevator and on his way out of
She shrugged. Too many memories here at the agency. She
then walked away from the elevator and went back inside the agency.
Riding in the elevator, Remington Steele realized that trying
to erase the memories of what they shared wouldn't be an easy
task. So many times He and Laura rode up and down in this very
elevator together. And some of those times, they would take advantage
of those rare and precious moments to steal a kiss or two. So
many conversations passed between them, personal and business
related. And sometimes they would just ride in silence, passionate
and loving glances passing back and forth between them. He wondered
if Laura could see the love and passion in his blue eyes that
he secretly harbored for her. How I miss you. He stepped
off the elevator after it stopped on the first floor. And after
he walked out of the building, he signaled Fred, the chauffeur,
who was standing across the street to come over. He desperately
needed to get away from there in the worst way.
While riding in the limousine to Rossmore Drive, more memories
flooded his mind. Like drinking expensive champagne and sharing
passionate kisses in between sips. Momentarily, he was happy
that Fred wasn't much of a conversationalist. And Fred understood
perfectly well what Mr. Steele was going through, allowing him
to ride in peace for the duration of his journey.
Minutes later, Fred announced. "We're here Sir."
He thanked Fred for getting him home safely, climbed out of the
backseat of the limousine and immediately went inside the Rossmore
After Steele entered his apartment, closing the door behind him,
he removed his wrinkled jacket, throwing it on the sofa then
sat down, breathing a sigh of relief. Now he could finally be
alone with his thoughts. His tired blue eyes surveyed the room.
The fireplace was unlit but the image before him was that of
him and Laura lying in front of a roaring fireplace wrapped in
each other arms, kissing passionately. He shifted his eyes away
from the fireplace, smiling just a little. Bloody hell, he
cursed himself. Filled with loneliness and despair, he buried
his face in his trembling hands, weeping uncontrollably. Suddenly
a thought occurred. Picking up his jacket, he removed his wallet,
retrieving a snapshot of Laura from it. He managed a smile, recalling
how the photo came to be.
After they wrapped up the case in Acapulco, he managed to persuade
Laura to stay a few extra days so they could take in the sights,
sun and the sea. Surprisingly, she agreed without putting up
a fuss. She hated to have her picture taken, but somehow he managed
to persuade her to let him take a picture of her wearing a bathing
suit. Another surprise, she agreed easily. Gazing at that picture
now he whispered softly, "I'm so sorry Laura - it's just
that I thought we would be together for many years to come. I
just didn't think that - well what does it matter now. It's just
that I'm having such a hard time accepting your de-" he
interrupted himself. He just couldn't accept the fact that Laura
was gone. He gazed at the picture one last time before returning
it to his wallet. Rising from the sofa, he went over to the bar
to pour himself a drink. His hands shaking as he did so. How
will I ever manage to get through life without Her? How? And
after he finished that drink, he poured himself another and another,
figuring that it was just the medicine that he needed to cure
his loneliness and help to erase the memories of what he and
Laura shared together. Although the memories were good ones,
it hurt too much to think about them.
Deciding that he had enough to drink he left the living room,
wandering into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed backwards.
Closing his eyes, hoping to shut out the pain brought on by loneliness
and despair. When that didn't work, he cried out. "Laura,
why did you leave me. Why? There was so much that I wanted to
tell you . . . so much," he paused, listening carefully
when he thought that he heard the sound of her lilting voice
in his bedroom. Quickly he sat up in bed, surveying the bedroom
with his eyes. Was he hearing things? Or was it that he had too
much to drink? Chalking it up to the latter, he threw himself
down on the bed again.
"Laura, why did you leave me eh? Why Laura? Perhaps this
is all a great big joke," he said, then began laughing hysterically
like a madman. After the laughter subsided, he went on. "Perhaps
you got tired of waiting for me to make a commitment and so you
decided to teach me a lesson so I could see what it would be
like to live without you. Perhaps, you're in Connecticut, eh,
sweetheart, at your mother's, and then you'll probably return
when you think that I've learned a proper lesson eh?" Mentally,
he answered his own question. No, my Laura wouldn't play tricks
on me. She's much too honest to do anything like that. Suddenly
that soft, lilting voice that sounded a lot like Laura's filled
the room again, but this time he chose not to rise from the bed.
Was he going berserk?
"Laura," he said in very hushed voice, listening carefully.
Were his ears and mind deceiving him as well? Was that really
Laura's voice he heard in his bedroom?
"Mr. Steele," the lilting voice said softly. "I
came here to give you a message."
To Be Continued . . .
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