Disclaimer: I own nothing from the CSI: Miami show, Saltwater by Chicane, the Atlantic Ocean, red ties, little black crabs, or anything anyone may have encountered in their lives before reading this story—the idea is mine and that's it.
Author's Note: I have planned the idea a prequel and a sequel to explain why the characters are where they are and also to tie up any loose ends left after the completion of this story. This was meant to be a one-shot without the prequel and sequel—nothing else.
I originally wrote this story as a one-shot that could be read in three minutes and forty-seven seconds—the exact length of a YouTube video of Chicane's Saltwater. The lyrics in the story are from said song, although they don't occur in that order or nearly as frequently as I used them. They only serve the purpose to interrupt the character's thought and summarize how the character feels at that moment.
Like I said, there is an idea of a prequel and the launching board for a sequel to the story. I don't care who writes them or not, but I would like to offer a challenge—that in no way needs to be accepted—where a reader comes up with their own ideas for either or both. All the now-author needs to do is acknowledge the challenge in an author's note at the beginning of their story—should it be posted.
Good luck,
Happy reading,
And most sincere apologies for making you absorb a large amount of text before a—hopefully—interesting story.
~ * ~
Ryan Wolfe stands on an outcrop of rocks that dips into the ocean. His legs and feet soaked from the water. A cool mist sprays him every time another wave descends onto the rock. Something in his chest hurts, something is stealing his breath. His tie is choking him, so he loosens it slightly, feeling strange as its constant companionship is broken.
Open my eyes, saltwater rain
He closes his eyes, a sob welling up through his body, ripping itself from his throat and throwing itself into the sea to be swept away like the water running away from his feet. An image of little black crabs creates itself, running from his open mouth and spilling into the tide, polluting the water with his pathetic, insignificant problems.
I'm not inside, saltwater rain
Everything is broken again. Everything is wrong. He needs to heal, but healing is impossible. Another sob makes its way out of him, something else torn from his fragile body. He feels like porcelain, shattered from a tiny drop, destroyed by a simple action.
Open my eyes, saltwater rain
His hair is dancing in the steady breeze; droplets of seawater making it stick up in a style he hasn't worn in a long time. His shirt is soaked through, the scar on his shoulder outlined. Memories, stronger now than when they were being made, overwhelm him: more black crabs spilling from an endless wound inside him.
I'm not inside, saltwater rain
A sudden flare of pain from what can only be his soul forces him to his knees. Clutching his chest, he moans syllables of sorrow, begging for forgiveness he knows he needs. Help doesn't come. Help never comes. Not when he needs it and definitely not when he asks for it. He is becoming desperate, crying like he hasn't since he broke an arm and a leg trying out for street hockey.
Open my eyes, saltwater rain
A wave, higher than the others, sweeps over him, cleansing him. He stays kneeling for a moment longer before slowly getting to his feet. He still feels broken, but he has hope again. Behind him, he becomes aware again of the presence of people. Did he really just spend half an hour expelling feelings into the sea?
From across the bay
Somehow he feels better soaked beyond recognition. The salty taste in his mouth revitalizes him, and he believes he can fix what's wrong. He's surprised, and happy too, that his tie hasn't been pushed against his throat again, still lying across his shoulders.
From across the bay
A smile turns his mouth up. His eyes sparkle in a way they haven't for so long. He is alive. Nothing else matters anymore. Everything has an end and a beginning. His beginning is now. His life shall forever be known as the New Life of Ryan Wolfe—at least, until he gets tired of referring to himself in the third person.
From across the bay
Ryan turns from the sea, marching purposefully towards drier land. As he walks, his tie comes fully undone, floating over his shoulder with a gentle caress to his cheek as it floats down towards the ocean. It's following the little black crabs into the ocean to retire from making Ryan feel less than human.
From across the bay
He watches it flow away with the tide, where it goes to join his tears and his anger and sadness buried deep somewhere in the sea that won't let him let fall. Saying a silent thank you, he turns back to the shore where Jesse Cardoza and Walter Simmons stand waiting for him. Both have been silent since his outburst at the Crime Lab earlier.
"Thanks for letting me do that," he says as Jesse holds out a towel to him. How he knew to bring it, Ryan doesn't care to speculate upon.
"No problem, man," Jesse smiles and Walter nods enthusiastically. They seem happy now that he isn't bawling worse than Calleigh after she thought she'd shot Eric.
"You know, we're friends for life now," Walter holds out his hand to Ryan. They share a quick, one-armed hug, and they all spend a moment watching the sun set over the beautiful Atlantic. Something begins mending itself in Ryan's chest, muting a pain that has been constant since his first endeavor into the Miami Crime Lab.
~*~
Along a small beach, a young woman in an emerald dress walks, long black hair flowing behind her in a beautiful cascade, head held high in anger and pride, tears burning her clear green eyes. Something red blurs in front of her, and she stops to pick it up. It is a man's tie. Embroidered neatly near the thin end is the man's name and address. Miami, Florida. Sounds beautiful. Ryan Wolfe. Seems noble. She'll go there soon enough. Throwing a silent thank you into the ocean, she loops the tie around her neck. It will be the symbol of her renewed hope. She begins singing into the ocean wind.
Open my eyes, saltwater rain
From across the bay
The End
Author's Note: If there are any glaring errors, please let me know, and I will fix them.
Thank you for taking time to read this story.