LETTER OF STEELE
By: June Dalmas
First printed: More Red Holt Steele #13/14
Summary: Remington talks to a comatose Laura.
Disclaimer: This “Remington Steele” story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with “Remington Steele,” the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.
Laura was in her Rabbit, speeding along a winding country road, chased by a murder suspect she and Remington were investigating. He caught up with her, pulled along side and forced her car over an embankment, leaving her for dead.
Remington found him, and after dealing with him--both on a personal level and via the police--he rushed to the hospital where Laura lay in a coma.
Remington crashed through the double doors and ran down the corridor to Laura’s room. He opened the door quietly and saw Mildred standing beside the bed, dabbing at the tears that were pouring down her cheeks. He went up to her and put his arms around her, attempting to comfort her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and patted her shoulder.
“How is she, Mildred?”
“Still in a coma, Boss. They say that if you talk to her, she may hear you and come around sooner.”
“Thanks for being here with her, Mildred. I think you should go home now and get some rest. You look as if you could use it.”
“Thanks, Boss. Now that you’re here, I think I will.”
After Mildred exited, Remington stood looking at Laura’s precious face for a long moment. He then bent over and gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He knelt down beside the bed and took one of her hands in his, carefully so as not to disturb the IV in her arm.
He looked at her cherished face and began to speak in a low, tired voice. “Laura, I hope you can hear me. I need you to come back to me. Please, Laura, please.
“For some reason that letter that I wrote to you at the sensitivity spa has haunted me these past few weeks. There were so many things I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t have the courage. I was so afraid of the pain of rejection, and I couldn’t stand being hurt again. I should have told you how much you delight me. How much I love you. How I love to run my fingers through your beautiful, silky hair. How I love the way you get that little wrinkle in the middle of your forehead when you are worried. How I love your deep brown eyes--I could look into them the whole day. And how I adore the dimples that appear when you smile.
“I love the freckles that you hate so much. And I love your soft, warm lips that taste so sweet when we kiss. And how I love that crazy Laura who showed herself the first time at that winery.”
Remington lowered his head to Laura shoulder, his tears getting the better of him. After awhile, his sobbing subsided. He was silent for a time until he could composed himself.
“You are so dear to me--your wonderful laugh, the way you love cotton candy and circuses and baseball. I love the way your mind works, the way you figure things out. I love your dogged determination--stubbornness might be a better word for it--that has saved my life more than once. And I love the tender moments we share--when we’ve had a quiet dinner and are dancing afterwards, when I can hold you in my arms and revel in the sweet smell of you, the feel of your body against mine, when you kiss me and I begin to think there may be hope for me.
“I even love it when you are angry with me. You are so beautiful when your eyes shoot out sparks. And making up is so sweet.
“Laura, there isn’t enough time in all eternity to tell you all the things I love about you. There are new things every day. Come back to me, Laura. I don’t exist without you. You made me and I need you just to stay alive. Come back, Laura. Come back.”
Remington rose from his knees and spied a wooden armchair in the corner of the room. He dragged it to the side of the bed and sank wearily into it. He took her hand again and bent over to kiss her on the lips. He leaned back in the chair, still holding her hand, and drifted off in exhausted sleep.
Although Laura had not stirred, there was a gentle smile on her lips.