Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY.
Notes One shot. NB Possible spoilers for current storylines on the show. I thought I'd try something a bit different here - this started out, and almost finished, as a Mac/Stella story, but somehow became an angsty Flack/Angell story instead. The title, and very, very loosely the premise, is based on a movie - details in the end notes. Thanks to iluvCSI4ever and Blue Shadowdancer for reading :D Please review - always replied to if logged - I'd love to know what you think of this.
Sunset
For breath-stolen seconds, before anything else registers, she knows it hurts like nothing on earth. Like nothing she can find words, a voice or even a sound for. Like nothing she's ever going to feel again. Vision blurring, she's falling as she feels the cry of pain she can't release wrapping round the inside of her throat…
……………………………….......
Ten heartbeats left.
My eyes jolt open and I'm sitting beside Don; feeling every sense pared to the bone; feeling the leather of the seat under me; the plastic of the door handle I'm holding onto as the car lurches round corners, even though there's no real need for me to do so. There's a sharp scent of something: I look at Don, note the trickle of sweat down his temple, and I know he's afraid.
I'm not afraid anymore.
An old sedan crawls along in the middle lane, and he slews to one side to overtake it, causing me to bump against the door; a protest slips out of my mouth before I can stop it; but it doesn't register with him. It doesn't matter. I'm not hurt.
Doesn't stop me sending a glare in his direction though. Don't get yourself killed, Don. No matter how fast you drive, this is one time you're not going to get there soon enough.
Not now. I know that now, and it takes the fear from me.
I'm not afraid to die.
………………………………..
The cry, released, tears the breath out of her mouth and she lets it because there's nothing else she can do. The sound hits the walls which have become too close and bounces back, ringing in her ears. She's choking and still falling and hitting the floor, limbs turned to melting wax. Her face strikes the floor. Hurts. Her hand falls at her side. Hurts…
………………………
Nine heartbeats left.
Ignoring my glare, Don doesn't slow down; and there isn't a thing I can do about it, except keep the good thoughts going to keep him safe, and hang on for the ride. It's one hell of a ride, but that feeling as we're hurtling through the streets of Manhattan's something I've never gotten tired of, nor wanted to if I'm honest; the adrenaline of a speed-breaking drive though the city sure takes some beating, especially if I'm the one behind the wheel. Which is where I'd rather be. Ordinarily, I'd trust him driving. No question. This is different though. His thinking is the same as mine would be in his place; you know the road, you drive fast; you take a few risks. Especially when you know what's at stake.
Taking risks. Yeah, and chances too, I've taken a few of them over time. Maybe too many. But it was worth it this time, oh it was worth it in the end for bringing him down. I don't regret taking the risk.
I don't regret what's been taken from me.
It was worth the cost.
………………………………....
Can't move. It's all she can do to drag air into her lungs. Can't breathe. Bombarded by senses gone into overdrive. Hurts. It hurts. Sensations; blinding, deafening, overwhelming. So many and suddenly so few as she begins to lose everything but that last beating echo in her chest; that last pounding in her ears…
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Eight heartbeats left.
Still beside Don. Still watching the road. Watching him. Another corner taken too fast; we're veering to the left, and I swear he almost tilts the car onto two wheels. I know that look on his face; it's mirrored on my own often enough. That look of sheer determination and screw the consequences. Lips pressed together and a frown almost crushing his eyes, he accelerates. I find myself pinned back in the seat soon as the tyres have found the tarmac, and gravity, again. Almost there and now more squad cars are swooping in to join the flight. A whole flock of blue, red and white behind us. Makes one hell of a racket, but doesn't raise an eyebrow from most of the population. You want to pick out the tourists in the city? Run a squad car down a busy street, and they're the ones stopping and staring, mouths hanging open; gets them every time.
I'm not looking at the sidewalks or the pedestrians or behind at the road we've just slalomed along; I'm looking at what's in front, even as I'm remembering the route I took myself before, at a similar speed.
I took it alone though, and that made all the difference.
But I don't want to die alone.
……………………………….
Still breathing, still hearing, still seeing, even if there's a blood red kaleidoscope in front of her eyes and a sound like liquid bubbling in her chest. And she finds she can still move; can still make her hand reach and fumble for her holster. This isn't over. There's still time. But not much. Not much…
……………………………
Seven heartbeats left.
The sun sinking between the skyscrapers makes me squint; blinding me through the window. I realise I can still taste coffee in my mouth, even though the last scorching sip I had was hours ago, back at the precinct. Seems a lifetime ago; I was leaving, and Don asked me where I was going. For a moment I thought I'd given myself away; freezing in my tracks, with heat rising in my cheeks. My hand stilled on the door, and I stood there; half in, half out of the room. A moment of silence while I scrabbled desperately in my head for an answer.
He knows…
But he didn't say anymore than three words when I failed to tell him the whole truth.
"Take care, Jess."
I gave him some smart ass retort and a bright smile; the thud of my circulation and a guilty conscience was too painful for anything else. I left him looking after me, as I breezed away feeling heavier than lead.
I did as he asked though. I took care. I took care of what I had to.
Take care of yourself, Don.
………………………………......
She gets her hand around her piece, drags it out of the holster, feels it slip… Hold on, don't let it go, don't let go yet. Footsteps walking away. Precise, heavy tread. Shoes with a thick sole, favours his left side, rolls his hips as he walks. She can't stop noticing even now. She's trying to focus, raising her piece, holding it steady…
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Six heartbeats left.
It doesn't take long to get there, even in the early evening traffic rush; see, that's the beauty of flashing lights and sirens. Minutes. It only takes minutes. Same as the event. Somehow I thought, I don't know, I thought it would've taken longer. Maybe it did, I lost track; it took forever, and then it took no time at all. But in the end, all the time in the world slipped through my fingers. Minutes, seconds, moments, whatever. All used up.
All run out.
We didn't have enough time.
………………………………......
Her piece is too heavy. What the hell's wrong with it? She thinks. What the hell's wrong with me? Her hand won't work properly, her fingers keep losing their grip on the handle of the Glock, and he's walking further away, not stopping, not turning around. Arrogant. The job's done now, he thinks. He has his back to her. But he made a mistake doing that. She's in control now. Not him. So now it's her fingers that tighten and squeeze the trigger…
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Five heartbeats left.
The thud-thump of my heart slows. A beat smashes against my ribs, making itself felt. Nearly all gone. All that's going to be left is their time, their heartbeats and what they're going to do with them, seeing as I've used up my lifetime's allowance. I just wasn't expecting it to use it all up today. My own fault though; mine and his anyhow, hell, I'm not taking all the blame here. Even if I should have listened to advice. But there's that pride in me, that stubborn pride; the pride that's kept me living all this time. What else was I supposed to do? Sometimes you've got to do what your heart tells you, even if your head tells you otherwise. Sometimes you've got to do what you know in your heart is right.
Even if it stops your heart.
I would have given you all of my heart.
………………………………
The noise of the shot fills the room with a shriek of echoes. She hits her target, she knew she would. He stops, stumbles, half turns and falls to his knees with a bang. She hears it with satisfaction, and sees with satisfaction his hand raise to his chest. Exit wound. He pulls his hand away, it trembles in front of him and then sags. He falls, his hand twitches, and is still…
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Four heartbeats left.
I don't make mistakes. Not this time, not ever. We were right, Stella was right. But I guess we could have done things a little differently.
Something about this case, something about that man though, I knew we had to stop him. And we did; I did. But at a higher cost than I realised. Higher even than the cost of that little gold coin. Such a little thing. It was the coins we got him with in the end though; fake coins and greed. Always follow the money. So many deaths for a handful of money; but, I got to say, this wasn't the death I was expecting for myself. Guess I had grand hopes of a grand exit, some time in the very distant future.
But perhaps this was how it was meant to happen; even so, it doesn't get rid of the regret that I'm not the only one this has hurt. Even though they don't know yet, they still don't know. Not yet.
I think Don knows now. I can tell by the set of his face as he pulls up, sending the tyres into a spin in the dust. First out of the car and running, with Danny close behind him. Mac's pulled up too, and I'm thankful to see Stella with him. It's not her fault. I chose to do this; I didn't have to, it was my decision. If my actions have cost anyone else in any way, then I'll never forgive myself.
Maybe I'll be a haunted soul… I don't think. Haunted isn't my style. I don't believe in that kind of crap; it's for kids' stories, or the kind of bad horror movies I don't waste my time watching. Anyhow, ghosts and horrors aren't meant to exist behind a street of fashionable boutiques on a Thursday evening in January. No, they're not meant to… but sometimes they do.
They're all coming closer now, rounding the corner, and I can't do anything to save them, from what they're about to find.
The ghosts and the horror.
I can't protect you from them anymore.
………………………………..........
No movement from him, and she knows the shot was fatal, as intended. But where does that leave her now? Victim? Perpetrator? Or both? She's blurred the lines. But she knows what she doesn't want; she doesn't want to be a helpless victim, and she isn't. She chose this. It was her decision to do this. Which gives her the power. She's taken that one step deliberately further into the grey shades. The grey she knows Don fears, because it doesn't fit what he knows should be right…
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Three heartbeats left.
It shouldn't have happened here, it shouldn't have happened now. But when is it supposed to happen? Got to happen sometime, right? Life runs out eventually. But what makes me mad is how everyone's going to be finding out in a few minutes time, and how they're going to have to deal with this without me able to help them. I didn't want that to leave the aftermath for everyone else to deal with. Not that I don't trust their skills, or their work, it's that I can't do anything about what it's going to do to them. I'm not flattering myself, least I sure hope I'm not; it's more I know how I'd feel in their place; if it had been one of them fallen; if it had been Stella instead of me, and it could so easily have been. One of our own. Or if it had been Don. One who was my own.
I would have been yours for all time.
……………………………….............
Her hand falls now, now she's done what she had to. The Glock clatters to the floor, fingers still wrapped round it, cooling already. In her other hand she feels her radio and sends out the last signal she needs to. Flesh, plastic and metal. The last touch she feels. She wishes it had been another…
…………………………….
Two heartbeats left.
I'm alongside Don, who's pressed close against the brickwork that smells of ice and damp soaked into the stone. The few puddles on the ground have skinned over in the cold and smash as his feet crash into them. Splinters of ice everywhere as everyone slithers on them behind him; breath clouds float and fog in the air. I can almost feel the heat of the adrenaline as they're running, bumping, knocking into each other. No time for any apologies though. I realise then just how cold it is; freezing, bitter cold, even with the heavy wool coat I'm wearing. Feels like the cold's biting into my face and hands, biting all of me. All of me's cold now.
I'm noticing everything, seeing it all, everything around me, feeling every sensation, every sight. The sky; the sky looks like it's on fire, never seen such a sunset, almost like the sun's melted between the buildings, almost gone… Oh very poetic, Angell. Since when do you notice sunsets? Since now. Since today. The last day.
The last sunset.
Last night we watched the sun set together, and the sun rise this morning.
………………………………....
She sees through the open door the cloud filled sky, swelling with snow that she'll never see. She sees the sun sinking in a blaze of ruby and orange and wonders in a last burning away of seconds what else she could have done. What could she have done differently? What could she have done tomorrow? What could she and he have done in all the tomorrows that will never come? The radio crackles with unreal voices at her side as her fingers uncurl and lie slack. A blood red tear falls from parted lips…
…………………………….
One heartbeat left.
Everyone stops. The open door is in sight, and everyone fans into position; weapons drawn. Don holds up his hand. Listening. Only the puffs of white in front of their mouths are proof that anyone's breathing. He kicks the door wide with a shout, rushes in with me right beside him.
Even though he doesn't know it.
I'll always be there beside you.
………………………………......
A rushing of cold air, her chest lifts and falls once more and is still. Her eyes half-close and glass over, blind. The sunset burns across her face, spills sanguine across the floor and she does not blink. Not even as the dying light sparks on the surface of a single gold coin, fallen from a dead man's hand…
……………………………..
No heartbeats left.
All that he sees is all that's left of me. Don drops beside me, shaking fingers on my neck, my hand in his. Nothing. Danny crouches behind him, hands shielding his face. Frozen white anguish sweeps Stella as she stops dead and her arms fall limp at her sides.
I'm sorry…
No pulse to find. Too late. Don's horrified cry of denial echoes on everyone's lips. He stands, my hand falls back to the floor, and the echo of me that is left recoils for a moment at the fury rushed into his face. But it's not at me, never at me, I know that.
I'm so sorry, Don…
The rage, the fury, the useless anger in those eyes I could have drowned in is all for the man whose body lies a few feet away from me, who Mac kneels beside, shaking his head as his fingers also fail to find a pulse. The man I killed.
The man who killed me.
Leaving a twilight of blood, the sun sets on the city at the end of the day. The end of my days.
The movie is 'Sunset Boulevard', 1951, directed by Billy Wilder. This is, I guess, slightly different in style, so I'd really love to know what you think. Was it too confusing? Too dark? Please review and let me know what you think. Thank you, Lily x
PS A new story by myself and Blue Shadowdancer 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' is now posted! Under the name Lily and Blue :D