Changes
Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, CSI: NY and its characters still wouldn't belong to me.
Summary: Her best friends were dead, and it was all her fault. She buries herself in schoolwork, and it was only until she met him that she knew changes aren't all bad. Maybe they could even change for the better. AU, Dantana one-shot.
A/N: Before we go on with the story, I would like to make something clear. First, this is the first time I'd ever written a story in present tense. Second, I haven't really watched "Silent Night", so please, bear with me if I made a mistake, grammatical or otherwise!
They say animals could predict disasters – earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, everything. Then why didn't they behave abnormally, instead of going about their usual businesses? The sky should have been dark and overcast, lightning flickering through the clouds. There should have been a hurricane, an omen of what was about to happen in a few short hours. But nothing of the sort happened, and so we had no warning, no time to bid farewell.
-Flashback-
"I still couldn't believe I wasted all my money on this," Layla groans as if spending money on clothes is the biggest sin in the entire world. I glance down at her hands. There is only one shopping bag hanging from the crook of her arm.
"It is not a waste of money," Jasmine insists, shaking her head. Her light blond hair whips the two unlucky people walking next to her, who happens to be Kelly and me. Grimacing, Kelly echoes Layla's complaint. "Shopping is a waste of money – and time." She scowls at her purchase. "I don't see why I need a miniskirt of that length!"
"You never know, Ellie," Jasmine shrugs, skipping along the pavement. "It's like what you always say – it's good to be prepared. What knows what will happen?"
Kelly smiles and I laugh as Jasmine quotes one of her favourite sayings. "Well, it's nice to know that Ellie is finally rubbing off you, anyway," I pipe in.
Chuckling, we link arms, heading for the local café – Dancing Cat, even though no one suggests going there. That's how close we are – we could communicate without words, almost like reading minds.
The glass bell fixed to the top of the wooden door jingles merrily as we push the door open, unclasping our hands to fit through. We make for our usual booth, sighing with relief as we sink into the soft seat after a whole afternoon of walking through the mall.
"I've never felt so good," Layla murmurs, her eyes shut. "I think I'm in heaven."
"Chocolate heaven," I joke as the waitress, Maggie, walks towards us, notepad in hand.
"What would you have?" she grins, knowing our answers before we spoke. "The usual?"
"Definitely," we chorus, bursting into giggles when we look at each other. Maggie acts terrified, recoiling from us. "You know how it's really creepy? The way you speak at the same time?"
"Yes, it is creepy," we all agree, laughing once more. Maggie chuckles, making for the kitchen. "Four chocolate milkshakes," she called inside. "And don't forget the sundaes with extra chocolate sauce!"
Layla gives another sigh. "You're right, Linds," she says to me. "It is chocolate heaven."
"Duh," I reply, rolling my eyes. "Of course I'm right! I'm Lindsay Monroe, the great prophet!" I raise my hands towards the ceiling, trying to look all-knowing. Layla snorts, Kelly bends over, clutching her middle, but Jasmine just grabs my arm, tugging it down.
"Be quiet," she hisses, an air of urgency around her. "He'll think we're crazy!"
Kelly turns to look at Jasmine, a predatory glint in her emerald eyes. "Who's 'he'?" she asks, a smirk hovering at the corners of her lips.
Jasmine's cheeks flares red, and she bows her head. Kelly ignores her, searching for the mysterious male. It didn't take long – there is only one man. "It's the chef, isn't it? That man with the pointed chin and hair the same shade as yours?"
Jasmine finally looks up, her face still scarlet. "It is not!" she protests violently. "I do not have a crush on him!"
"Yeah?" Kelly raises her eyebrows. "That's the first sign: denial of feelings."
"No! I'm positive he doesn't even know who I am," she insists, but her eyes still dart towards the object of her affections.
"Second sign: you downplay yourself," Kelly continues, as if reading from a textbook.
"What? No, I –"
"I don't blame you," Layla joins the argument. "I mean, just look at that silvery-blond hair, and those wonderful brown eyes –"
"His eyes are grey," Jasmine corrects instinctively. "A beautiful, stormy grey." She sighs, propping her chin on her hand – the very picture of a girl with a crush.
"Ha!" I exclaim, pointing my index finger at her accusingly. "You know what colour his eyes are!"
"I –" Jasmine broke off when she realizes she is cornered. "Fine! I do have a bit of a crush on him."
Layla smiles triumphantly. "So, what's his name?"
Jasmine reddens once more. "I don't know," she confesses. "This is so weird. I have a crush on him, and I don't even know his name!" She buries her face in her hands.
"That won't be a problem," I say, an idea popping into my mind as I watch Jasmine's crush saying something to Maggie, gesturing towards the restrooms. "I have an idea. Save my milkshake – and don't you dare try stealing my sundae!" I warn, rising from my seat. "I'll be back soon."
I strode towards the women's restroom, taking care to look absorbed as I flip through my previous text messages on my phone. Sure enough, as I know I will, I bump into Jasmine's crush.
"Oh my God!" I exclaim, looking up at him to confirm the fact that he had grey eyes. Huh. Jasmine was paying close attention – very close attention. "I'm so sorry –?" I pause, hoping he will give me his name.
"Arcturus," he says with an easy smile. "I know it's a weird name, but my parents were obsessed with astronomy, so they named me after a star."
"I see," I reply, nodding politely. Uttering another apology, I rush towards the restroom, mobile clutched in hand.
As soon as I lock myself in a cubicle and close the cover of the toilet, I sit down and text Jasmine.
"His name'sArcturus. His parents are astronomy freaks," I type quickly on the keyboard, hitting the send button when I was done. I stay a bit longer in the cubicle to keep up the pretence of going to the toilet, and I was about to flush the handle when a scream rang through the entire café.
"What the –?" I mutter, confused. Who is that? Is someone playing a trick? My hand reaches out to unlock the door. Just as I am about to turn the lock, a loud bang sounds, and I stop.
I know that noise from TV. A gunshot. I know I may be overreacting, and that I should open the door and see what is going on, but my muscles are frozen in place.
Another scream, another shot. Horror coursed through my veins. I know that scream.
Another two shots. There is no sound this time apart from the bangs.
There seem to be something choking me as I count the shots. Four. There are only six people in the café, including me. I don't have to be Einstein to know what that means.
"No," I whisper, sinking to my knees, knuckles white from holding onto the toilet bowl. "No!" Desperately, I bargain with God.
"Please, please, if my friends were only injured, not killed, then I swear I would never, ever complain if my mom asks me to do housework or errands again," I pray, forehead pressing against the cool porcelain. "Please, God, please..."
I don't know how long I stayed there in that cubicle, breathing in and out slowly, trying to ignore the black spots at the edge of my vision and the illusion that everything is spinning – signs of fainting.
It seem like days have passed until I shakily push the door open, but later, I discover that it had only been five minutes or so. The time didn't matter to me; all I cared about at that moment was undoing everything that happened.
I can't hold back the torrents of tears that shake my body when I saw the scene. My friends are sprawled on the floor – it is as if they have just chosen to have a nap out of the blue. There is only one thing that ruin the image – dark red stains across their clothes, and a jagged hole in their T-shirts where the bullet enter their bodies.
Bodies. That's what they are now, nothing more than corpses. There is no life in their limbs – and my last hopes are dashed. I take a cautious step towards them.
Their eyes – blue, green, and brown – are all glazed over. There is no spark of life – the lights have gone out. A film – what was it? Death? – covers their orbs, and I finally accept what have happened.
And I pass out, into the blissful unawareness of unconsciousness.
*Changes*
That time of my life was a period I desperately wanted to forget. I still recall how I coped with Layla, Kelly, and Jasmine's deaths – by shutting myself away.
-Flashback-
"Lindsay!" My dad pounds on the door, trying to get me to open up. "Lindsay! Open this damn door!"
He keeps up the racket, but gives up soon. I ignore the sound, staring into space, relieving that day over and over again.
The ringing of the shots, the screams...
All the blood, lying on the floor in puddles...
Their bodies, lined up in a row like they were at a slumber party...
Their eyes, glazed over, staring in space...
I wake with a start, panting as I jolt upwards. A slick layer of sweat covers my body, and my cheeks feel feverish. I take no notice of this, just closing my eyes and allow the tears to flow.
"Why?" I want to shout at the heavens. "Why did you let them die, and leave me all alone? I should have been there with them!"
I break into sobs – it is quickly becoming a nightly routine. There are times when I will wake up, thinking all this is nothing but a nightmare. Only when I look at my night table, where my photo of the four of us sits, will I come to my senses, and realize this is reality, no matter how harsh it is.
There are also times when I will envy the mental patients, locked in their own world. They create their own universe, and they live in it. Everything they want to happen, happens. How cool is that?
I am also jealous of the dead – they don't have to worry about anything. Sometimes, I think dying is too easy: stepping out in the middle of the street, stabbing yourself or maybe slitting your wrists. I consider these options, but always, I chicken out at the last moment. I couldn't do it; I am afraid of death.
My dog, a Pekinese, leaps onto my lap, and I give a huff of surprise. His tongue lolls out, licking my tears from my face. Despite myself, I laugh, and stop almost at once. My best friends had died, and I'm laughing?
"You're so lucky, Jackie," I whisper, scratching him behind his ears just the way he likes it. "All you have to worry about is food, shelter. You don't have to feel that you're responsible for a person's death."
I try crying myself to sleep, and Jackie jumps off my bed. Even my dog is abandoning me. Who next?
*Changes*
I moved on, eventually, despite all odds, but yet my heart was still heavy with guilt, for surviving what my friends had not. I came out of my stupor, and threw myself into schoolwork, aiming for first place. I was determined to become a cop; my sorrow had hardened into vengeance. I would get revenge for my friends, even if it kills me.
Of course, I made a couple of friends. But they were never as close as the four of us. No one was; and no one will ever be. Or so I thought.
*Changes*
I got the necessary degrees; I applied for a job with the Bozeman CSIs. I got the job, and I worked there for three years until my boss told me something which would change my whole life.
I'm going to New York.
*Changes*
The city is so big, so noisy, and as different from Montana as can be. There is so much to do and to see, and everyone is rushing about, in a hurry.
I walk into my new workplace, only to be kicked out moments later with orders to go to Bronx Zoo. I hail a cab, and tell my destination to the driver.
We arrive soon, and I clamber out of the cab after paying the fare, suitcase in hand. I ask a security guard for directions to the tiger cage, and he kindly obliges after I flash my badge at him.
"You don't seem the type," he grins, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He lifts it to his lips, takes a long drag, then breaths smoke all over me. I make no attempt to hide my disgusted expression.
"It's that way," he gestures, tilting his chin. "Say, you free tonight?" He leers, and I shudder. "I'm afraid not," I say after shooting him a drop-dead glare, and I head for the cage, smoothing down my shirt self-consciously. What would my partner be like?
I reach the cage, and head for a stern-looking man kneeling inside, examining a tiger's mouth. "Detective Taylor?" I ask, not sure if I found the right person. For all I know, he could be one of the employees of the zoo. He gives a positive answer, looking me over briefly. I fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. "I'm Lindsay Monroe."
The rest of that morning slipped past in a blur. Only one event stood out in my mind.
Danny Messer. My first impression of him was: taller than me, blond, friendly attitude, New York accent. But that good image went down the drain when he tricked me into calling Detective Taylor "sir". I look over my shoulder for Messer, but all he's doing is swatting flies. Huh. Seems I've already got an enemy – not a good thing on my first day.
*Changes*
Now, I laugh when I remember what Danny had done to get my attention. Men are weird. Always.
The "sir" event, as we refer to it, is a turning point in my life. It unravels a long chain of occurrences, leading, at last, to our wedding.
The day after, I board a plane to Montana.
*Changes*
"Are you sure you'll be fine alone?" Danny asks, his eyebrows knitted together as he stares at me worriedly, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
"Yes, I'm sure," I assure him, forcing a smile. "I should have done this long ago."
"Linds –"
I cut him off with a gentle shake of my head. "You have to go, Danny," I say softly. "Remember? Meting your parents-in-law and listening to the whole 'if you even lay a hand on my daughter I'll kill you' speech. You can't be late for that."
"Well..." he hesitates, not wanting to arouse my father's anger, yet concerned for my well-being.
"I'll be fine," I insist. "Go!" And I practically push him into the car, and see him off.
"I'm come back for you in about an hour, okay?" he calls anxiously. I just nod and smile, waving at him.
When the car is out of sight, I push open the gates of the cemetery.
I find my way easily enough, as though I had only been here yesterday, and I come to a halt in front of three gravestones. I fiddle with the bunch of lilies, primroses, and daises, placing them in front of each respective grave. They had been their favourite flowers.
I start from the leftmost grave. It reads in block letters:
LAYLA KO
BORN 31 OCTOBER, 1981
DIED 21 JULY, 1996
A cheerful, happy girl. It was the Fates' will that she be gone; but she will live on in our hearts, even in death.
I smile. The inscription is right. Layla was as cheerful and as jolly a girl you could hope to meet – cracking a joke at awkward moments to help break the ice: a useful talent.
I turn my attention to the photograph. She was smiling, and her black hair, unsurprisingly, was still swept up in her usual hairdo – a ponytail. Layla was in the tracksuit Jasmine gave her – "Well, I like clothes and you like sports, so it's a compromise, right?"
I move on to the grave in the centre. This one was in a flowing, elegant script, so much like the letters she used to write.
Kelly Greenleaf
Born 29 November, 1981
Died 21 July, 1996
A quiet, caring person. She did more than exist; she lived. She did more than listen; she understood.
I didn't smile when I read this; instead, my eyes moisten. The inscription was beautiful, and as true as the previous one. Kelly had always been a motherly person: fussing over us when we were sick, gently disapproving when we were doing something naughty. But yet, she would still always join in the fun with us despite what she said, and I would like to think I was the closest to her. Like the saying, she did more than listen; she understood. She would never push you away when in need, and try her best to sympathize. It pains me, that Kelly would never have a family of her own.
I focus on her photo. Kelly's chestnut brown hair was pulled back with a barrette on the side – her mother must have forced her to wear it. There was a sparkle in her bright green eyes as she beamed at the camera, one corner tugged higher than the other. Her hand was fingering the silver locket around her neck – a birthday present. Inside, I knew, was a photo of the four of us, all making ridiculous faces at Kelly's brother, who was the cameraman.
I look at the last grave. This time, it was an elaborate, somewhat romantic cursive.
Jasmine Spungen
Born 12 September, 1981
Died 21 July, 1996
A good daughter and friend. May she bring as much joy to the Lord as she had brought us.
I scoff slightly at "the Lord". I know for a fact that Jasmine was never a very religious person – only her parents were. She would get a kick out of that. But a good daughter and friend... I sober up. That she was.
I look at her photo. Jasmine's blond hair was iron-straight, and her eyes were a chocolate brown. She was showing her dimples, a trait she hated. Jasmine was dressed in what she called "the latest fashion", a dreaded phrase by us three. She was the only one with an obsession for clothes.
I mourn some more, then I begin talking. I talk about the period in my life when everything was so dark, so confused, that it was my own Dark Ages. I talk about my job; I talk about Stella and Mac and all the others at the lab; I talk about how Danny and I started dating; I talk about our wedding at the City Hall. I tell my friends every single little detail of my life, and I try to imagine their reactions.
Layla would probably ask for grisly details about the crimes I solve; Kelly, I was sure, would listen attentively, acting horrified when she knew I got pregnant before I was married; and Jasmine would likely want to know each and every date Danny and I went on. But most importantly of all, they would ask the ultimate question: Am I happy?
"Yes," I would reply, smiling. "I haven't been truly happy in a long time, ever since you guys... You know, died." I would swallow thickly. "But since I met Danny... He brings me back to life. Now, I am happy - with every particle of my being." Then they would nod, satisfied, and congratulate me on my wedding.
It is strange, that in my mind's eye, we are all still at the age of fifteen, because that was the last normal time we had together before things changed. It isn't until now, when I am kneeling in front of those graves, that I realize maybe changes aren't so bad after all. If things hadn't changed, then I would never have met Danny, and know such wonderful people.
I leave the graveyard with a lighter load, and a lighter heart.
I have moved on - truly.
~The End~
"As long as we can love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. You live on – in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here. For death ends a life, not a relationship." – Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom.
A/N: Hope you all enjoyed reading Changes, dedicated to Zoe tabbycatand AddictedtoReadingJC. This idea just popped into my head one night when I was trying to get my brain to shut down so I could go to bed. Weird, I know... But inspiration comes from everywhere, right?
This is the longest one-shot/chapter I have ever written, and so to reward me, press that adorable, beautiful, cute, dazzling, enticing, fantastic, gorgeous… Damn, I've ran out of adjectives. Anyway, review, people!
Bianca tabbycat :D