This is a response to The Lyrics Challenge set by TheDeep. The challenge is to pick your favourite character and/or pairing and a song. The goal then is to incorporate the song into the story you write with the character you choose.
My favourite character is Mac Taylor and the song is Unknown Soldier by Breaking Benjamin. Disclaimer : I own nothing. All characters are the property of Anthony Zuicker and CBS. The lyrics are the property of Benjamin Burnley, Breaking Benjamin Music, Seven Peaks Music and Hollywood Records.
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Unknown Soldier
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Set in Pre-Season 1
The dank smell of rotting foliage fills my nostrils as I crouch hidden among the foliage. Another more rancid, distinctly animal smell lurks beneath and I try not to think about it. I breathe deeply forcing air into my lungs as I peer into the tangle of trees and shrubs trying to distinguish dark from light, shadow from form, black from white. If only it was like that. Black and white.
I must keep moving, pressing forward. He is out there waiting for me, my prey caught within the border line. Dr Hawkes' explanation suddenly comes back to me, his grave, evenly pronounced words a warning and a plea.
"Post-traumatic stress disorder and borderline personality disorder commonly co-occur. Both stem from the experience of traumatic events and their symptoms overlap. He will have difficulties managing his emotions. He'll experience intense feelings, have constant mood swings. Such people, especially those who have lost a loved one, have fears of abandonment. Witnessing that woman's murder was probably the catalyst forcing him to relive painful memories. He's not necessarily responsible for his actions. He's angry and he's afraid Mac. He's a very dangerous man."
A cold breeze chills me to the bone. Now that night has fallen, the temperature is dropping rapidly. I tighten my hands around my weapon. It's been a while since I've held a rifle but its form is familiar to my hands as if they have never forgotten it. As my eyes try to penetrate the gloom, my mind tries to penetrate his.
"Why you?"
Stella's anguished question jumps to my mind. I cringe at the memory of the short, sharp response I gave her. I still see the hurt in her eyes. It wasn't an answer. She has to know why it has to be me. Not so long ago I was a soldier like him going to war in foreign fields. And not so long ago, like him I lost a loved one. Deeply buried feelings threaten to surface but I push them away. Too dangerous to let them out. It is better to feel dead inside.
A sharp cry and a flapping of wings forces my head to the left. Something has disturbed the sleeping creature. I leave my hiding place and head towards the sound. I pause for a moment listening for movement, sniffing the air to pick up a scent, trying to spot anything that is out of place, anything that will lead me to him. The moon suddenly appears in a gap in the clouds and my surroundings are lit under it's silvery glow. Moisture sparkles on the leaves and shadows ebb and wane as the breeze pushes gently against the boughs that creak and groan in complaint. The dark shadow of an owl out hunting passes over me and an involuntary shiver ripples up my spine. In the distance the sounds of the city play on like the music in a restaurant, a constant and soothing melody mostly ignored until there's a lull in the conversation and suddenly it jars the senses.
The moon disappears and I'm plunged into darkness once more. Something moves to my right, a tiny sound, a rustling impossible to pinpoint accurately and I try not to flinch. It's probably just a mouse or a squirrel. I sense something moving overhead. The hunter is back for it's prey. For a moment I wonder which I am but the familiar form in my hands is a reminder and I hold on tight. Too tight.
I press forward, my eyes flicking back and forth in the half-light. It's not completely dark. It never is, even here in this mighty wilderness, this sprawling park in the centre of a city whose concrete arms wrap round it so firmly. Buildings, people, noise and light are not that far away. I'm not alone. I'm never alone in this seething metropolis but I might as well as be. I feel a bubble of laughter rising up inside of me at my crazy thoughts but I don't mind, falling to pieces.
"You can't go in alone!"
A picture of Danny, my new young recruit pushing his glasses up his nose, his face a mask of incredulity pops into my mind making me smile.
"Count me in."
And he would have too but for a direct order from me. I know that a dozen officers would have come, Stella, Aiden and Danny in the front of the queue. But there's been enough violence. Enough loss of life. No sense to let anyone else get hurt. I'm alone. It's better that way.
I focus my mind. Me and him. A man with no name. A man described only as homeless, living rough, dirty clothes, bearded face, in need of a wash, wearing camo and dog-tags and a wedding band. No description really. I know nothing about him. Only that he's a man who saw something he shouldn't. A man who has seen too much. Who is he? This man I hunt? I don't know. I only know what he was. A soldier. And what he is. He's a soldier with a gun. A soldier who shot and killed two New York police officers protecting a crime scene. My crime scene. He's here. Hiding. Hiding from himself and his memories. Hiding from the angry men and women that stand on the border line wanting justice for their fallen colleagues. Hiding from me.
Instinct pushes me forward. I have to keep moving because he won't be. Like a fox to a hole, he'll have found a place of concealment not daring to leave until it's safe. Does he even know why he's hiding? Does he know what he's done? Does he know what awaits him? Does he know I'm coming?
"Let's begin."
Stanton Gerrard's voice had boomed across the room calling the officers to order. The tension was palpable. They wanted justice. They wanted revenge. Mine was the only voice of dissent. I had to make them see sense. To stop them from turning a manhunt into a witchhunt. To stop them sending dozens of angry men to track down one lost one. To stop them feeding the sickness. The sickness that will lead to more death.
In the end they listened. In a moment of clarity the captain met my eye and knew I was right. It was better this way.
How do I simplify? It takes one to know one. One unknown soldier tracing another. I know nothing of him. He knows nothing of me. Yet we are alike. We are the same. Men trained to fight. Trained to kill. Dislocate the enemies on the way. Men who have loved. Men who have lost. Men who have known fear. Full of fear.
I pull my mind back to the present and move across the stretch of open space towards the next stand of trees. All is quiet. Not silent. It's never silent. The melody is there, ever clear. I'm getting closer. I can feel it. My senses are in overdrive. Each sound, each movement, each new scent attacking me like darts into my skin. I can feel him watching me, listening for me, sniffing the air trying to catch my scent.
"You're a cop now. Not a soldier."
Aiden, the practical one, the outspoken one. Never afraid to say what's on her mind. Her stance, her face, her eyes told me she was worried as I changed from my suit to something more appropriate. How easy it is to change. Change the clothes, change the man. Except I have never really changed. I'm still the soldier. Still the Marine. I'll be here, fighting forever.
Curious that she was the one who followed me to the gate. She didn't say anything else merely watched as I left. Alone. I could sense the eyes of other officers watching me. Feel their stares. Hear their whispers. Feel their rage and their disappointment at being deprived of the hunt. Resigned. Angry. Venomous.
I freeze. He's here.
A distant siren pierces the night like a warning of what is to come. The moon is once more hidden behind thick clouds and dampness fills the air. It's going to rain. The air is chill but I don't feel it. My heart is pounding and I fight to control my breathing. My skin is slick with sweat. But so is his. I can smell him. Sweat and dirt and fear.
Ahead of me lies a tunnel. By day a short passage from one wooded bower to another but at night it's transformed. The ground dips towards it like the path into the jaws of hell. I take a cautious step towards it staying in the shadows of the trees, the bony fingers of their branches lining the route pointing the way. I feel as though I am descending into the lower world. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps here in the centre of the city I serve I will make my last stand and you'll find me climbing to heaven.
I push the thoughts away. Focus. Is there movement in the tunnel? Or is it my imagination? Fear creeps up on me and it takes all my strength to repel it's sharp claws. Never mind, turn back time.
You'll be fine, I tell myself.
A small bump in the smooth shadow that forms the far end of the passageway. He's there. I lift my weapon. The shadows moves. An infinitesimal movement that would go unnoticed if I wasn't watching it carefully.
"Don't come any further."
His shout echoing in the confined space makes me jump.
"I'm a police officer. I am armed."
Silence.
"I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."
No response. I peer into the obscurity. Has he moved? Could he have gone? I can feel my pulse quicken, my stomach tighten, afraid that I will get left behind.
"It's too late for that." Despair. Agony. Confusion. Fear. Bullets.
I throw myself to one side rolling across the rough gravel of the path as the air around me is filled with missiles. I feel the heat of a bullet pass my head singing my hair as I plant a foot firmly on the ground in front of me. I can feel the sharp stones digging into my knee as I crouch gripping the rifle. I didn't want it to come to this but deep down I knew it would. My fingers seem to operate independently of my mind. Without conscious thought my weapon is raised and it fires, a series of double taps. I'm forced to move again as he responds. Bullets ricochet from the ground in front of me sending sparks flying in all directions. A wild desperate burst of fire forcing me to respond. He moves. I see him move, the flashes from the muzzle lighting the tunnel creating a perfect target.
I hesitate, just for second. I don't want to take his life but he fires again and again and I know that I must fire back.
The smell of cordite invades my senses blocking out the fragrant scent of the flowers around me. My ears echo with the silence in this tiny part of the city. My breathing is ragged. It sounds unnaturally loud. I look towards the tunnel but there is no movement. It only hurts just once.
I force myself to move. Force my mind to push my legs forward to approach the man lying there crumpled, like a rag doll, his arms thrown out, his empty eyes staring into the darkness. They're only broken bones but I'm afraid to go closer.
He moves.
I drop to my knees beside him and look at his face hidden behind a thin straggly beard. His face is thin. Too thin. His skin like paper, almost transparent. He looks at me with dark eyes. But not with hate. It's as though he's pleading with me.
"Forgive me." He coughs, a bubble of blood and saliva forms at the corner of his mouth and trickles down his chin. He raises his hand, reaching out to me. "Don't leave me."
My chest constricts. I can't speak. I feel I cannot breathe as he grips my hand like a drowning man holding on for dear life. Holding on too tight. I hate myself. I hate what I have done. Hide the hate inside. "I won't leave you," I whisper. His face blurs. I can no longer see.
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Cameras flash. People press forward holding out microphones, eager voices shouting questions, eager ears desperate for the sordid details. Brigham Sinclair, the newly appointed chief of detectives, clearly pleased with himself raises a hand for quiet. "At nine pm this evening the man responsible for the deaths of two New York police officers was shot and killed by a member of the NYPD." He held up his hand again like a Roman emperor silencing the crowd. "At great risk to himself, this officer pursued the perpetrator into the park and after being fired upon had no choice but to return fire. I can confirm that the perpetrator was armed with automatic weapons. Why he suddenly turned those weapons on the two police officers that were killed today, we do not know."
I sit in the semi-darkness, the only light that coming from the TV. I frown as Brigham Sinclair answers a question from a reporter.
"We have no formal ID on the perpetrator though we believe him to be a former member of the military."
I wonder why they are not giving out his identity. He was wearing dog-tags. Perhaps that his name is the same as that of a state senator has something to do with it. Politics. I might have known. The same reporter asks for the identity of the NYPD officer. I shudder dreading to hear my name announced to the world but Brigham Sinclair looks perplexed. His eyes look around nervously.
"I cannot divulge that information for the moment … until the investigation is completed."
He doesn't know. He doesn't know my name. If I could, I would laugh.
The screen switches to the news anchor in the studio, the title at the bottom. "Unknown soldier dies in Central Park."
I switch it off. My hand cradles the glass of amber liquid as yet untouched. I don't really want it. I want to sleep but as soon as I close my eyes I see his face, his dark blond hair streaked with grey, his deep blue eyes, his red, red blood.
Show me what it's like
To dream in black and white,
So I can leave this world tonight.
I feel sick. I grip the glass in my hand. It breaks. I can feel the liquid seep between my fingers, the blood welling from the cuts, the sting from the alcohol. I hold on tighter, the glass cutting deeper into my flesh. Holding on too tight. The physical pain is welcome. I feel at last I can breathe.
Breathe the breath of life,
So I can leave this world behind.
Perhaps I can sleep at last.
END.
Borderline, dead inside
I don't mind, falling to pieces
Count me in, violence
Let's begin, feeding the sickness
How do I simplify
Dislocate the enemies on the way
Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight
Full of fear, ever clear
I'll be here, fighting forever
Curious, venomous
You'll find me climbing to heaven
Never mind, turn back time
You'll be fine, I will get left behind
Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight
Holding on too tight, breathe the breath of life
So I can leave this world behind
It only hurts just once
They're only broken bones
Hide the hate inside
So I can leave this world behind
Show me what it's like to dream in black and white
So I can leave this world tonight
Holding on too tight, breathe the breath of life
So I can leave this world behind
Songwriter
Benjamin Burnley
Published by
SEVEN PEAKS MUSIC;BREAKING BENJAMIN MUSIC