Disclaimer: I don't own anything CSI: Miami related.
Companion piece to "Dear Lieutenant."
Spoilers for Nailed. Nothing else. The story is told in first person from Charlene Hartford's view. Hopefully it's good.
Happy reading!
I make another mark on the pad of paper I keep hidden under my bed.
Markus calls me. He is the only guard trusted to escort "gentle" prisoners to the visiting chamber alone. Most of the prisoners are so violent they need two guards. I am not most prisoners.
I have a visitor. I never have visitors. No one has come to see me in so long that I've forgotten that the people outside are actually still there. The only thing that is real is my swollen stomach. I'm seven months pregnant, as near as the prison doctor and I can estimate it. I've been in here for six months. it's Gary's child.
I haven't heard from anyone, aside from my regular correspondence with the boss of the Miami Dade Crime Lab, Horatio Caine, in months. I mentioned this to Beth, the mailroom clerk, and she told me stories of other inmates stealing letters, especially from fiancés of the girls inside. I hope my letters have brought satisfaction to those who have stolen them.
Markus yells at me again, but I can't help dragging my feet. What if it's Lieutenant Horatio Caine, whom I've requested audience from more times than I care to count? What if he's finally listening to my pleas?
I hurry then, almost stumbling over my feet as Markus leads me to the chamber. My heart soars at the thought of lessening the sentence. I did not mean to shoot that young man. I had no idea that leaving him would mean a prison sentence.
Sentenced to seven years, only three weeks in, and I'm ready to give up. Only the prison doctor and my baby are keeping me going. I sit down at a table, looking around for the Lieutenant. Markus leaves and comes back quickly, leading someone who is definitely not Horatio Caine.
Ryan Wolfe sits down across from me, fiddles with the hem of his shirt, and smiles shyly. I want to stand up, but Markus puts his hand on my shoulder.
We wait in silence. Ryan keeps moving, fingers tapping against the table or tangled in his shirt. He also pinches the bridge of his nose frequently.
After a few more moments of uncomfortable quiet, Ryan fixes me with a stare so open I think I see his soul watching me.
"I don't blame you, you know," he says softly, rubbing a spot still covered with bandages next to his right eye.
His words shock me. I thought the entire police department hated me for endangering one of their own. "I shot you," I point out, staring at the bandages until he drops his gaze. "I left you to die." And he almost did. No one confirmed this, I just guessed it from the cold tone of Lieutenant Caine's letters.
"Flight or fight. You did both." He smiles at me until I smile too, but neither of the smiles are perfect, both tinged with too much sadness to be real.
"You're okay though?" I venture, wincing inwardly. He shouldn't be okay, and he should blame me, hate me. "Besides having a nail in your eye?"
"I wasn't in my eye," he leans closer to me, pointing at a small red dot a few millimeters from the corner of his eye. That's why it's still bandaged.
Markus clears his throat, warning us that time is almost up. Ryan glances up at him.
"Have you gotten your mail yet?"
"No," I answer slowly. "Why?" Why does he care if I've gotten my mail?
"Um," he pauses, starts again, stops, and then sighs, "your fiancé…he, uh, he broke up with you in a letter."
I can feel my jaw aching from opening and staying open. I never got that letter-Beth's stories come to mind-but that explains why I haven't heard from Gary in so long, almost since I was arrested and my trial was prepared.
"I'm sorry." Ryan wraps an arm around me despite Markus's threatening growl. He pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to me. I am crying. It feels like something is breaking inside my heart, and my stomach reacts by churning violently.
"That's it, time's up," Markus shoves Ryan away and calls for the prison doctor. The scared look on Ryan's face is one that I'm sure will stay with me forever.
I think I black out because next thing I know I'm back in my cell, calmed down and watching Markus walk away. I sigh, thinking of Ryan's visit. Without warning, the tears start again.
I sit down on my bunk. My cellmate, not the toughest woman on the block, but definitely not the most affectionate, hands me tissues as I cry at the thought of being forgiven. Inspiration strikes and I grab my pencil and pad of paper. The first words are the easiest, the others are harder, but I am determined.
If Ryan Wolfe can forgive me, God can too, and so can I, and so can he.
"Dear, Lieutenant Horatio Caine…"
~ The End ~
A/N: I remember being asked in a review to create a story that would back up the "letter" I wrote. I hope this fulfills that request.