Yearning
By: Olivia
"I have that within that passes show; these are but the trappings and the suits of woe."-William Shakespeare-"Hamlet"
"Murder most foul, as in the best it is,/But this is most foul, strange, and unnatural."-William Shakespeare-"Hamlet"
Monica stood at the periphery of the mourners. She shared their grief and yet for some reason she could not share her grief with them. Her grief was different than it was for the people who surrounded her. She had been the lead investigator to find Luke Doggett. In finding him, Monica had succeeded, in finding Luke dead and no murder suspect, Monica had failed miserably.
Someone's head blocked her view and so Monica moved slightly to the left. Then she could see the priest standing over the little white casket speaking words of comfort that no one felt. Monica could see John standing there, stone faced, holding his grief inside as he held his wife who was sobbing uncontrollably. Luke had been their only child. Monica could already sense that once things calmed down this tragedy would probably rip the marriage apart as well. While working the case, Monica had heard John's wife accuse him, of his job on the police force, as being the cause of this tragedy. The accusations had pierced John's soul. Monica wondered whether he would leave his job.
Knowing that sometimes a murderer would attend his or her victim's funeral, Monica scanned the crowd. She saw no one suspicious. It was a last attempt at a case that had died with its victim. There were no answers. And even if there were answers, there would still be no comfort. Luke was dead. There was nothing to bring him back.
The priest finished his sermon and invited the mourners back to the Doggett home. Monica had no intention of going. She had failed and Luke was dead. She couldn't face these people. She refused to be a reminder to these people that she was the reason they felt so bad. In her head she knew that Luke's killer was the reason why they were here. But in Monica's heart, she blamed herself. If only she had make connections sooner. If only..
As Monica started to head back to her car and disperse with the rest of the mourners, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around she found that the hand belong to John.
"John, I'm..."
"I told you before, it's not your fault."
Monica tried to smile at John's words but failed. His kindness towards her, even in the midst of his own much deeper grief, amazed and touched her. "I was the lead investigator. I failed Luke and I failed you."
John shook his head. When he did speak, his voice was full of carefully controlled grief, "You promised me you'd find my son. You did. It was not as we had hoped or planned, but you found him."
There was an awkward pause. They had been brought together to find Luke and now that it was over...
"Will you be coming back to the house?" John asked, partially wanting an answer, partially to make conversation. He knew that Monica had tried everything to find his son and bring Luke back to him alive. She had worked the case as if it were her own son and for that John would be eternally grateful. John wanted to take away some of the guilt he was feeling. He would take her grief and pile it on his own if that would help.
But Monica just shook her head in response of his question. "No, but thank you. The case on your son has been made inactive. It's still open, but pending any new evidence..."
"I know," said John. He was frustrated, but without any new evidence, there was no place left to look for Luke's killer.
"I've told them to forward any new information that comes up to me in New Orleans..."
John looked at Monica confused. "New Orleans?"
"Yes, I...um...an opening in the FBI field office opened up for someone with a background in ritualistic murders. I've been looking to do some out of the main stream FBI work for awhile and it just seemed like a good time for a change..."
John shook his head. As much as he respected and admired Monica in the short time he had known her, this paranormal mumbo-jumbo was where they went their separate directions. Yet for some reason he felt a sharp pain at the thought of her leaving New York. He had assumed that she would be around. But he admitted to himself that he had thought about leaving this place behind. It was too full of memories of Luke, or all that he had lost. His wife certainly wasn't helping him with all her accusations. Even when she wasn't verbally accusing him, her glares at him said it all. It was his fault and yet he had to cling to the belief that he had done all he could. The thought of Monica leaving, the one person who hadn't accused him, who had seen him through his darkest days, hurt him. He was losing her too.
John tried to smile. He realized that he had to go now. His wife was waiting in the limo to take them back to their home filled with their grieving family and friends. And yet he didn't want this meeting to end. He didn't want this to be the last time he would see her. He extended his hand. "Thank you, Monica. I mean that."
Monica tried to match his smile as she shook his hand. She too did not want this to be their last meeting. But all things must come to an end. They had different lives to get back to. She felt John needed to rebuild his life now that Luke was gone. What form that would take, she did not know. She only hoped it would not end in John self-destructing himself with grief. "If you need anything, anything at all, just contact me."
John nodded gratefully. He watched Monica walk away to her car. After she got in and drove away, he turned back to head towards his waiting wife. There was a difficult road ahead of him. He was being forced to live a new life, a life without his son, a life he was unprepared to lead. Despite all this he felt some positive change was also on the horizon as well. And he wondered if somewhere, down the road, his paths and Monica's would cross once again.
By: Olivia
"I have that within that passes show; these are but the trappings and the suits of woe."-William Shakespeare-"Hamlet"
"Murder most foul, as in the best it is,/But this is most foul, strange, and unnatural."-William Shakespeare-"Hamlet"
Monica stood at the periphery of the mourners. She shared their grief and yet for some reason she could not share her grief with them. Her grief was different than it was for the people who surrounded her. She had been the lead investigator to find Luke Doggett. In finding him, Monica had succeeded, in finding Luke dead and no murder suspect, Monica had failed miserably.
Someone's head blocked her view and so Monica moved slightly to the left. Then she could see the priest standing over the little white casket speaking words of comfort that no one felt. Monica could see John standing there, stone faced, holding his grief inside as he held his wife who was sobbing uncontrollably. Luke had been their only child. Monica could already sense that once things calmed down this tragedy would probably rip the marriage apart as well. While working the case, Monica had heard John's wife accuse him, of his job on the police force, as being the cause of this tragedy. The accusations had pierced John's soul. Monica wondered whether he would leave his job.
Knowing that sometimes a murderer would attend his or her victim's funeral, Monica scanned the crowd. She saw no one suspicious. It was a last attempt at a case that had died with its victim. There were no answers. And even if there were answers, there would still be no comfort. Luke was dead. There was nothing to bring him back.
The priest finished his sermon and invited the mourners back to the Doggett home. Monica had no intention of going. She had failed and Luke was dead. She couldn't face these people. She refused to be a reminder to these people that she was the reason they felt so bad. In her head she knew that Luke's killer was the reason why they were here. But in Monica's heart, she blamed herself. If only she had make connections sooner. If only..
As Monica started to head back to her car and disperse with the rest of the mourners, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around she found that the hand belong to John.
"John, I'm..."
"I told you before, it's not your fault."
Monica tried to smile at John's words but failed. His kindness towards her, even in the midst of his own much deeper grief, amazed and touched her. "I was the lead investigator. I failed Luke and I failed you."
John shook his head. When he did speak, his voice was full of carefully controlled grief, "You promised me you'd find my son. You did. It was not as we had hoped or planned, but you found him."
There was an awkward pause. They had been brought together to find Luke and now that it was over...
"Will you be coming back to the house?" John asked, partially wanting an answer, partially to make conversation. He knew that Monica had tried everything to find his son and bring Luke back to him alive. She had worked the case as if it were her own son and for that John would be eternally grateful. John wanted to take away some of the guilt he was feeling. He would take her grief and pile it on his own if that would help.
But Monica just shook her head in response of his question. "No, but thank you. The case on your son has been made inactive. It's still open, but pending any new evidence..."
"I know," said John. He was frustrated, but without any new evidence, there was no place left to look for Luke's killer.
"I've told them to forward any new information that comes up to me in New Orleans..."
John looked at Monica confused. "New Orleans?"
"Yes, I...um...an opening in the FBI field office opened up for someone with a background in ritualistic murders. I've been looking to do some out of the main stream FBI work for awhile and it just seemed like a good time for a change..."
John shook his head. As much as he respected and admired Monica in the short time he had known her, this paranormal mumbo-jumbo was where they went their separate directions. Yet for some reason he felt a sharp pain at the thought of her leaving New York. He had assumed that she would be around. But he admitted to himself that he had thought about leaving this place behind. It was too full of memories of Luke, or all that he had lost. His wife certainly wasn't helping him with all her accusations. Even when she wasn't verbally accusing him, her glares at him said it all. It was his fault and yet he had to cling to the belief that he had done all he could. The thought of Monica leaving, the one person who hadn't accused him, who had seen him through his darkest days, hurt him. He was losing her too.
John tried to smile. He realized that he had to go now. His wife was waiting in the limo to take them back to their home filled with their grieving family and friends. And yet he didn't want this meeting to end. He didn't want this to be the last time he would see her. He extended his hand. "Thank you, Monica. I mean that."
Monica tried to match his smile as she shook his hand. She too did not want this to be their last meeting. But all things must come to an end. They had different lives to get back to. She felt John needed to rebuild his life now that Luke was gone. What form that would take, she did not know. She only hoped it would not end in John self-destructing himself with grief. "If you need anything, anything at all, just contact me."
John nodded gratefully. He watched Monica walk away to her car. After she got in and drove away, he turned back to head towards his waiting wife. There was a difficult road ahead of him. He was being forced to live a new life, a life without his son, a life he was unprepared to lead. Despite all this he felt some positive change was also on the horizon as well. And he wondered if somewhere, down the road, his paths and Monica's would cross once again.