It may have been a mistake, trying to get home.
Their latest number had taken them to New Jersey. The case had finally been resolved that evening, and they were left with the decision to either find a motel for the night or drive back to the city. Weather reports had been conflicting: all had mentioned snow, but all differed as to where, when, and how much. As they finished their meal in the diner they decided they would all prefer to sleep in their own beds that night. It was chilly, but the sky seemed clear and they thought they could probably get back before any accumulation if they started now.
Reese was driving, and Finch was riding shotgun so that he could stretch out his bad leg from time to time. Which left Fusco and Shaw squabbling in the back like little kids. Reese just knew Shaw was bumping the back of his seat deliberately – there was plenty of room back there and she wasnt that tall to begin with! But apparently Shaw was feeling hemmed in, pushing at Fusco and complaining that he was hogging up the back seat. Lionel was outraged at the implication, but his complaining was drowned out by Reese growling "Don't make me come back there."
John sighed as it quieted down. Ever the peacemaker, Finch was trying to find a station everyone would consent to listen to with no luck. Fusco and Shaw were quietly arguing over best rock ballads. Whatever. So long as no one started singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall—if they did John was gonna have to pull his weapon. He peered through the windshield at the lessening visibility. The flurries from earlier had changed to big fat flakes, and visibility was getting poor as the headlights could barely cut through the curtain of falling snow. The clouds and the trees that now lined the highway didn't help, as no light from the moon could shine down to help. Even worse, the wet snow was quickly beginning to accumulate on the road. Reese slowed the car to almost a crawl, unable to see more than a few feet ahead and worried about the wind causing drifts on the highway. He caught a sudden glimpse of something large darting across the road just beyond the reach of the headlights and slammed on the breaks. The car skidded and fishtailed as the tires couldn't get traction in the wet snow. With a sound of breaking glass the car came to a stop in a ditch on the side of the road.
"Everyone Ok? Harold, are you alright?" John asked with concern when he saw that the passenger side window was broken and snow was blowing in on his friend.
"I am ...fine, Mr Reese. Just a little shaken up."
Everyone except Harold exited the car to take stock of their situation. Apparently their slide had caused them to run into a mailbox before they ended in the ditch. Reese and Fusco worked to move the broken remains of the mailbox out of the way and open the passenger side door, while Shaw entered the driver's side to check on Harold.
"He's got a nasty cut on his forehead. Probably gonna have a lump there soon."
"Really, I am alright. No need to worry..."
"Well we cant stay here. With the wind picking up and the window broken the car wont be enough to keep us warm. And who knows how long until we can get any assistance. This mailbox means somebody lives here, hopefully there will be some kind of shelter at the end of this drive. Shaw, hand me the flashlight."
Shaw retrieved the flashlight from the glove compartment and handed it to Reese. Fusco and Reese helped Harold out of the tilting car, while Shaw crawled back out the driver's side. Then they set off. Reese took the lead with the flashlight along what he assumed was a driveway winding a path uphill through the trees. Fusco followed behind, the both of them trying to tramp down the snow as much as possible. Harold struggled along in their wake, Shaw close by his side. Finally they rounded a curve and saw an old 3-story house before them. There were no lights, and the shutters were closed on the windows, giving the impression that there was no one at home. The cold and struggle through the snow had taken its toll on Harold, who was unashamedly leaning on Shaw for support while struggling for breath.
The lock on the door was old, and Reese was easily able to pick it to let them all inside. He searched about on the wall and, breathed a sigh of relief when the lights came on when he found and flicked the switch. They were out of the wind and snow, but the vacant house was not too warm at the moment. Spying a fireplace in the living room through an open door, he led them that way. The couch and chairs were covered with sheets indicating that no one had been around for some time. Fortunately there were some dusty logs beside the fireplace and Reese began arranging them in the hearth and searching for something to add as kindling. Shaw helped Harold struggle out of his soggy coat, and handed it and then his hat and scarf to Fusco while she settled Finch on one of the couches. She began carefully patting the blood from his forehead and took the opportunity to examine his injury in better light. "You have quite the lump there, Harold" she commented, but Harold was too tired and cold to reply, and simply sat and shivered. Fusco placed Harold's garments on a nearby chair and said "I'll check the kitchen for some canned goods. Some hot soup should help warm him up."
After some effort Reese had managed to coax a fire to light and finally had the logs ablaze, driving some of the chill from the room with its warmth. Reese went and sat on the other side of Finch, asking quietly "How're you doing, Harold?"
"I am fine Mr. Reese" Harold said with a tremulous smile. "It is just a little bump. No need to trouble yourself."
John put greater weight on the worried look on Shaw's face, snapping impatiently "Where the hell is Fusco with that soup?" He grabbed up the flashlight and started for the door Fusco had left through. With a reassuring squeeze to Harold's shoulder Shaw got up to follow. They passed through the elegant formal dining room into the kitchen. A can of soup and a pot stood on the counter, but there was no sign of Lionel. However, the kitchen door was ajar and a small drift of snow had blown in to settle on the kitchen floor.
"What the...why the hell would he go outside?"
"Dunno, maybe he heard something out there?"
They headed to the open door and peered outside, not able to make out much beyond the light streaming through the doorway due to the falling snow. "I'm going to check things out. You go back in and stay with Harold."
Reese turned up the collar on his coat and slowly went outside, casting the flashlight about on the ground in the faint hope of finding any indication of where Fusco might have gone. But the wind and continued snowfall had obliterated any tracks that might have once been there.
"Fusco! Fusco! Lionel, where are you!" Reese called, but there was no answer.
Just the rustling of the nearby tree branches and the moaning of the wind. Frustrated and at wits end how to find Lionel, Reese had to concede defeat and went back inside. After forcing the door closed through the snow that had accumulated on the floor he headed back to see if Shaw or maybe even Harold had any ideas how to find their missing team mate.
Entering the living room he found Harold slumped sideways dozing on the couch. After a quick look around he went over and gently roused the other man
"Harold, wake up. Where's Shaw?"
"wahh?"
"Shaw, where'd she go?"
"I must have dozed off when you two left. I don't know what happened after that."
"Dammit. Where's everybody going."
Then the lights flickered twice before going out, leaving only the glow from the fireplace to illuminate the room.
"What the hell is going on here!"
"Just...give me a moment, Mr Reese, and I will help you search for our colleagues" Harold said as he started to rise.
"No. We are going to stay here." John said as he gently pushed Harold back onto the couch. "You rest and I will keep watch. When day comes we can try and figure out where they went. Until then blundering around isn't going to do us much good. No telling how much longer the batteries will last in the flashlight." He then went and settled in the chair opposite Harold, turning it slightly to give a better view of the doorways and placing his back towards the fireplace. After a moment he took his gun from his pocket and held it in his hand on his lap, casting his gaze from Harold to the doors and back again. Harold sat in a miserable ball on the couch, his head aching but too worried about their friends to rest. He didn't want to distract John with conversation, so just sat and suffered in silence counting the moments until dawn when this horrible night would be over.
Harold awoke from a drowse some indeterminate time later. He struggled into a sitting position and settled his glasses back in position. The fire had burnt down, and now the room was filled with looming shadows cast by the last flickering flames and the glowing embers.
"Mr. Reese?" Harold called quietly. "John?" But there was no answer.
Harold didn't know what to do. He managed to lever himself up out of the couch and made his way haltingly over to the fireplace. He clutched the poker and turned to survey the room once more, hoping to find some clue as to what had happened to his friend. Nothing. He limped over and retrieved the flashlight from the end table where John had placed it. Checking that it still worked, he gathered his courage and went to the door leading to the foyer. He opened it and cast about with the light, but still didn't see any evidence that anyone had been there. He closed that door and started to make his way to the door to the dining room. He was about half way across the room when he felt a chill down his back that had nothing to do with the weather. Raising the poker he turned around...
The thick carpet of the living room muffled the thud as the poker fell to the floor. The remainder of the logs in the fireplace smoldered for a while longer before the fire finally guttered and went out, leaving nothing but ashes.