It's barely begun, but I can feel the unwound tension in the room. The
detectives are questioning me left, right, and center.
I make damn sure to tell it to them straight. The whole story, front to back. I'm tired of being Cruz's wind-up toy.
Really, I just let my mind disconnect from my mouth, because I can trust that my mouth will tell the truth. It's when I start thinking that problems begin.
I'll bet you're at Mercy now, getting those ribs looked after. Fred's probably on his way, and he might have Emily and sweet little Charlie with him.
But the questioning is ending, and I'm really surprised that they're ushering me out.
"I wouldn't be too worried, Officer Boscorelli," the detective advises gruffly, "We might have to call you later, but it sounds from your account," and here he emphasises that last word, "that you were just taking out a bit of trash."
He sounds really cynical, like each of those lines on his face have been earned with bitter experience.
That thought was way too insightful, but I forget about it as Det. Briscoe and Det. Green lead me out.
It's not too late out when I finally get out of the station. I'm surprised at this, 'cause I was sure it was night when I came in. But the proof is there - people are wandering around, and there's light. Maybe it's morning and I'm losing track of time. Or my head. Which ever.
But I'm not ready to go home, even though I've been up for about 19 hours. I stand dumbly on the steps of the Precinct, trying to think of what to do next.
Don't want to go home - it'll be quiet there, and it will be me and my thoughts, and I'm not ready to get that personal with them. Ma's isn't open yet, and there's no other bar I want to visit like this. So the best answer is to visit you.
And I don't even give myself time to doubt, I start over to Mercy hospital.
That damned fast-forward button on time has been hit again, because I get there way too fast. Maybe it is my damned head, but I'm already looking up at the entrance and wondering what I'm doing, pushing past these doors like I belong here.
Once I'm in though, I freeze. You might not be here. Fred's probably tried to get you out of here as soon as he can. Can't say as I blame him.
A weight settles in my gut. You probably don't want to see me. It's my fault you're in here. I asked you for help, and the only thanks I can give you is you getting shot. What kind of friend or partner does that?
I'm about to leave when a sweet laugh fills the air, and Charlie has found me and grabbed my hand. I'm not sure why I let him, but he's pulling me along, and I'm not gonna be the S.O.B. that makes his voice break because the truth is that his Uncle Bosco's the reason his mom is here in the first place, and that Papa Fred would probably like nothing more than to run Ol' Bosco through with an IV stand.
"I told Mom you'd come, Uncle Bosco," he tells me in that unbreakable tone of his, and he's already leading me through the crowds, as if he looked inside me, saw my fear, and decided that I'm stupid enough to run away.
But he's dragging me towards a door, and I'm trying to slow him down, but there's no stopping a determined kid when he's going somewhere. And he drags me right into your room, where there's you, layin' on the bed.
Oh shit.
You're awake.
I didn't think I'd have to see you while you're awake.
Charlie quietly shuts the door behind himself as he leaves, and I'm moving towards you and I'm taking your hand and all I can think is that you have every right to slap me.
But instead, you say, "Hi."
I make damn sure to tell it to them straight. The whole story, front to back. I'm tired of being Cruz's wind-up toy.
Really, I just let my mind disconnect from my mouth, because I can trust that my mouth will tell the truth. It's when I start thinking that problems begin.
I'll bet you're at Mercy now, getting those ribs looked after. Fred's probably on his way, and he might have Emily and sweet little Charlie with him.
But the questioning is ending, and I'm really surprised that they're ushering me out.
"I wouldn't be too worried, Officer Boscorelli," the detective advises gruffly, "We might have to call you later, but it sounds from your account," and here he emphasises that last word, "that you were just taking out a bit of trash."
He sounds really cynical, like each of those lines on his face have been earned with bitter experience.
That thought was way too insightful, but I forget about it as Det. Briscoe and Det. Green lead me out.
It's not too late out when I finally get out of the station. I'm surprised at this, 'cause I was sure it was night when I came in. But the proof is there - people are wandering around, and there's light. Maybe it's morning and I'm losing track of time. Or my head. Which ever.
But I'm not ready to go home, even though I've been up for about 19 hours. I stand dumbly on the steps of the Precinct, trying to think of what to do next.
Don't want to go home - it'll be quiet there, and it will be me and my thoughts, and I'm not ready to get that personal with them. Ma's isn't open yet, and there's no other bar I want to visit like this. So the best answer is to visit you.
And I don't even give myself time to doubt, I start over to Mercy hospital.
That damned fast-forward button on time has been hit again, because I get there way too fast. Maybe it is my damned head, but I'm already looking up at the entrance and wondering what I'm doing, pushing past these doors like I belong here.
Once I'm in though, I freeze. You might not be here. Fred's probably tried to get you out of here as soon as he can. Can't say as I blame him.
A weight settles in my gut. You probably don't want to see me. It's my fault you're in here. I asked you for help, and the only thanks I can give you is you getting shot. What kind of friend or partner does that?
I'm about to leave when a sweet laugh fills the air, and Charlie has found me and grabbed my hand. I'm not sure why I let him, but he's pulling me along, and I'm not gonna be the S.O.B. that makes his voice break because the truth is that his Uncle Bosco's the reason his mom is here in the first place, and that Papa Fred would probably like nothing more than to run Ol' Bosco through with an IV stand.
"I told Mom you'd come, Uncle Bosco," he tells me in that unbreakable tone of his, and he's already leading me through the crowds, as if he looked inside me, saw my fear, and decided that I'm stupid enough to run away.
But he's dragging me towards a door, and I'm trying to slow him down, but there's no stopping a determined kid when he's going somewhere. And he drags me right into your room, where there's you, layin' on the bed.
Oh shit.
You're awake.
I didn't think I'd have to see you while you're awake.
Charlie quietly shuts the door behind himself as he leaves, and I'm moving towards you and I'm taking your hand and all I can think is that you have every right to slap me.
But instead, you say, "Hi."