Never Let Me Go

Chapter 4

1997

Andy Flynn felt absolutely rotten. It had been his day off originally, and he had spent most of the last night in a bar celebrating with his buddies for some reason or another. He had the mother of all hangovers and probably shouldn't even be on duty at all. The problem with that was that Vice had really messed up this time. They had lost an undercover operative three days ago, which meant every available officer was being pulled into the search. Personally, he didn't hold out much hope that they would find the Lieutenant from Professional Standards before the creep killed her. LA was a big place and apart from the description and license plate of a car that could possibly belong to the person who had taken her, they had a whole lot of nothing.

The entire idea of that tough-as-nails Lieutenant being anyone's victim was hard to grasp. Only a few months ago, she had ripped him a new one over some bullshit charge of misogyny from a cute young detective in traffic, sending him to one of those new sensitivity training classes she seemed to be so fond of. She had pissed him off beyond words with her infuriating calm and those incredible legs that had tempted him to make a comment. He would still swear that she had only been waiting for that but he had managed to control himself, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

As much as she had annoyed him with her stupid rules, he had liked her. Apart from being easy to look at, she had a wicked sense of humour behind all that sarcasm and snark and he wished he had a chance to get to know her a little better outside of work. It probably was too late for that now.

Cases like this were a big part of why he spent most of his time off in bars. Too often they were behind the dirtbags, always a little too late, always lacking the key piece of evidence only to find yet another dead body, another life destroyed. He wished he were still drunk instead of just mildly intoxicated. It would make dealing with the frustratingly fruitless search so much easier. Between his pounding headache and the prospect of spending another four hours sitting in a car with his partner, Andy wanted to scream, almost tasting the bourbon as it slid down his throat.

While they drove through the quiet streets of some run-down neighbourhood, dusk slowly settling over the city, he vented some of his frustrations in the form of a well-practiced rant. Rodriguez, who had been his partner for close to a year knew it only too well. He stoically stared out of the window, keeping his eyes on the road as he listened to Andy complain about his ex-wife, about how she hadn't let him visit for Nicole's birthday, how he hadn't even had a chance to give his little girl a present. Amanda was unreasonable and unfair, blaming all the problems they were having on him, his work, his drinking, his uncontrolled anger, and whatever else she thought was wrong with him. He was so sick of it all. He was sick of life being such a struggle all the time.

They almost missed it. Andy was in the middle of a passionate narrative about his unloving, cold-hearted wife, hands flying wildly in front of him when he suddenly paused mid-sentence and yelled at his partner.

"Stop, stop! Pull over. I think I saw something. Turn off the headlights and back up a little."

Rodriguez did as he was told, backing the car up several meters until Andy could get a closer look at what had caught his attention a moment ago. In the overgrown driveway of a shabby old house, stood a car that looked like that of their dirtbag suspect. He turned to his partner, one hand already checking to see if he had his gun at his side.

"Call for backup and then come around the back."

With that he was out of the car and on the way to the front door, weapon in hand. The sudden rush of adrenaline cleared his head immediately, leaving him focused as he carefully walked up the wooden steps. The old door wasn't locked and surprisingly, didn't squeak as he pushed it open with one hand. Peering into the long, dimly lit corridor, Andy couldn't make out anyone. He stepped inside listening carefully for any sounds that would indicate the location of their suspect.

He was halfway down the hallway when a floorboard creaked somewhere above him. Whirling around, he made his way upstairs as quickly and as quietly as possible, hoping his partner would hurry up and get there. Doing this without backup wasn't exactly procedure and as he considered every possibility for someone to take him down, he began to see the purpose of some of the rules. But he was too far up the rickety stairs to turn back or wait. Besides, Rodriguez wasn't exactly one of the fastest people he knew.

As he reached the top floor he spotted a door that stood ajar, soft light from the room behind it illuminating that end of the hall. Creeping along the wall, Andy inched towards the door, trying to get a good look at the situation inside. He had to nudge it open a little bit further to see them. A guy who matched the description of their suspect sat on the edge of a bed at the far side of the room, leaning over the naked, motionless body of a woman, who was tied to the bed. The guy seemed almost tender in the way he drew the small knife over her chest. It made Andy's skin crawl and her quiet whimper sent a chill down his spine. With a firm kick, he flung the door open all the way and, weapon drawn, he charged into the room, ordering the man to drop the knife and get down on the floor.

It was pure instinct that had him act in time. One second it looked as if the dirtbag was giving up and the next he had the serrated blade pressed against his victim's throat. Andy double-tapped, causing the man to fall forward onto the bed and the prone figure on it. Rushing across the room he moved the unconscious man to the floor, pausing only long enough to check if he was still alive. Noticing that he hadn't fatally wounded him and that the wounds probably wouldn't kill him before an ambulance would reach them, he turned towards the bed, removing his jacket and covering the small woman with it. He had just started removing her restraints, careful not to spook her with any hasty movements, when his partner burst into the room, ripping a frightened scream from her throat. Never taking his eyes off her face, Andy tried to reassure her before he instructed Rodriguez to call for two ambulances and get him a blanket from the trunk.

As soon as he had untied her, he took one of Raydor's hands in his, holding her wide-eyed stare with a gentle gaze, his voice calm and soothing, belying the rage that boiled underneath.

"I've got you. You're safe now. He won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

She didn't say anything, she didn't even blink, but her hand curled around his in a death grip, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. Mumbling quiet words to her, not really caring what he said as long as it sounded calming, Andy waited for Rodriguez, keeping half an eye on the dirtbag to make sure he didn't get any ideas, but so far he hadn't stirred.

His partner returned a minute later, this time being careful not to scare Raydor. Handing Andy the blanket, he peered at the injured woman briefly before he let his questioning gaze return to him.

"I've got her, Miguel. You take care of that over there."

He indicated their suspect with a dismissive flick of the head, his attention on the blanket he had been handed. As she wouldn't let go of her hold on him, Andy did his best to unfold it and spread it over her with only one hand while he continued to talk to her, hoping in vain for some kind of reaction.

Moments later, several pairs of feet stomped up the stairs, announcing the arrival of their backup. He wanted the paramedics to take care of her first, but they quickly assessed the situation and went to work on the bleeding dirtbag, leaving the traumatized officer for the second team, reassuring him that the other ambulance had only been a few minutes behind them and would be here any minute.

The activity of the paramedics drew Raydor's attention to the unconscious man on the ground, her eyes glued to him as her body started shaking. This was not the reaction he had hoped for from her and, looking at the scene at his feet, he figured that they'd take a while to stabilize the guy for transport. Andy didn't want her to be forced to stay in the same room with this asshole any longer.

Standing up, he gently extracted his hand from her grip and tugged the blanket more firmly around her.

"It's okay, I'll get you out of here. Just let me know if I'm hurting you."

She flinched several times as he adjusted the blanket to make sure that she was decently covered. When he slid one arm underneath her back and the other under her knees to lift her, she whimpered into his chest and he was almost ready to put her down again, but she curled her fingers into his shirt, clinging to him.

Carefully carrying her downstairs and out of the gloomy house, Andy spotted the second ambulance pulling up behind the first and he made his way over to the waiting EMTs with his precious cargo. They had obviously seen his approach and were already busy getting a gurney ready. He gently laid her on it, letting her hold onto his hand again once he had gotten her settled.

Shouting a short distance away drew his attention and Andy spotted a bunch of photographers struggling with several patrol officers, trying to get a good picture. Giving the paramedics an eye roll, his free hand waving in the direction of the commotion, he watched as they loaded the gurney into the ambulance. He managed to stay out of the way and still hold onto Raydor's hand, as she didn't seem willing to let go of him. The paramedics worked around him, one of the men maneuvering him into a position where he didn't block access to their patient. He tried hard to keep his eyes focused on her face as they peeled away the blanket to assess the extent of her injuries, but even out of the corner of his eye he was able to see enough to make him feel sick.

There were cuts and bruises all over her body and something that looked like cigarette burns. Dried and fresh blood covered her body, apart from other things he didn't want to think about. As the guys started taking her vitals and checking her over for more severe injuries, she began to whimper again, trying to turn onto her side and curl up. The younger of the two EMTs attempted to hold her down, which only made her thrash about in panic, screaming at them to leave her alone. Her voice was hoarse, so unlike her usual deep, smooth tone and the thought that she had possibly been crying for hours without anyone hearing her made his stomach drop.

Andy leaned over her slightly, careful not to crowed her too much and whispered calming words into her ear, trying to reassure her that no one would hurt her anymore, that she was safe and that they would take care of her, make sure she would be alright. His voice and the fact that the EMTs had backed off made her settle down a little, but she was still agitated, on the verge of panic and definitely not up to being subjected to any kind of examination.

The older paramedic had obviously recognized the problem as he approached with a syringe, briefly making eye contact with Andy to make sure he would be ready for any possible reaction. Grasping her hands between his, he held on tightly, never ceasing to talk to her even when the needle sliding into her arm startled her into struggling once more. Whatever she had been given, it worked quickly, making her body relax into oblivion. Gently laying her limp hands beside her, Andy stood to get out of the ambulance and deal with the mess that was their case. No matter how much he would like to stay with her and make sure she would be okay, he had a statement to give and someone from her unit would probably want to ask him how two bullets from his gun had ended up in that scumbag. He just wished his aim had been better and he hadn't just got him in the shoulder and arm.

Of course he didn't say that to Raydor's superior, who had personally come out to the crime scene to conduct the investigation, probably to keep knowledge of her role in this case and of what had happened to her as quiet as possible. Her job was tough enough as it was, without every officer with a grudge knowing how to get to her. If she ever returned to duty, that was. Not many people did, after something like that.

Captain Adams didn't make a big fuss over the interview, some of his remarks giving Andy the impression that he wouldn't have minded too much if Harris had ended up in a body bag instead of on a gurney. Raydor was one of his officers and a damn good one, too. It didn't take a psychic to know that Adams didn't like that she had gotten hurt – especially while doing someone else's job.

As soon as they were done at the crime scene, Andy had his partner drive by St. Catherine's on the way to the office. It wasn't really on the way, but he felt the need to check on Raydor, see if there was something he could do. Besides, they would need photos and any other evidence they could get. Making sure it was taken care of was as good an excuse as any.

He still heard her whimpers and screams, saw the raw fear in her eyes and felt the desperate grip with which she had held onto him, his mind playing the images of her terrible injuries in a constant loop. Sitting in the car with nothing else to do, his imagination was only too willing to come up with detailed scenarios of what might have happened to her. He wasn't a rookie anymore, had seen is fair share of violence, but that didn't help him deal with what he had seen earlier. The more he fought to push it out of his mind the more vivid the images became. Rage finally broke through his tight control, making his heart beat faster and his breaths come in short gasps. His stomach clenched painfully and he had the sudden urge to be sick.

Yelling at Rodriguez to pull over, Andy jumped out of the car and hurried over to a tree at the edge of a small park, bracing himself against it as he heaved up his meager lunch. His partner walked up to him, putting a hand on his back and asked him if he was okay. Andy just shook him off a little more roughly than necessary and walked towards the park.

He needed to get away from everyone, the impulse to punch someone too strong to suppress. He wanted to run away from it all, just run until his legs gave out. He wanted to open a bottle of bourbon and drink until he passed out. It wouldn't change anything, though. It wouldn't make anything better - certainly not for her. Andy couldn't imagine how anything could ever make this better for her and he despised himself for whining about his own little problems, for feeling sorry for himself, for thinking his life was unfair when he had just witnessed an entirely different level of unfairness. His own problems paled in light of what he had seen earlier and he felt ashamed for thinking he had it tough. As he strode along the small path, he did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He prayed.