Disclaimer: The only thing I own here is Melody. And the plot line.
So, nobody noticed in Chapter 3 where Melody had an encounter with Eric and Marisol Delko? I was surprised. I thought you guys would be all over me for that one.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has ever died in service to their country, be it law enforcement, military, or anything else. God bless.
Chapter Six: It Wasn't Supposed To Be This Way
One year later
Melody's POV
The
radio crackled. "All units in the 17th and Bay area,
this is PT-171, requesting assistance at 312 Crystal Avenue. We have
multiple gunmen pinned down here, shots fired, need immediate backup
to control the situation."
Andrew and I glanced at each other,
and he picked up the radio to respond.
"Unit
171, this is PT-104. We have your location, ETA five minutes. Do we
need to go in quiet?"
The reply was choppy, and shots could be
heard in the background. "Negative...blocked
off...road...civilians..."
Andrew looked confused. "Did you
get that?" he asked me.
"Yeah."
"Copy that, 171. See
you in five."
With lights on and siren screaming, we headed towards our fellow officers. Now was not a time for joking. Now was one of those dead-serious, all-out days that requires all of your efforts just to survive. The atmosphere in the car was urgent, charged with energy and adrenaline and heavy with the ever-prominent possibility that someone would be dead before this day was over. I contacted Dispatch as Andrew navigated the Miami traffic.
A minute or so from the house we started hearing gunfire. It sounded like a lot more than two policemen and a couple of guys with guns. It sounded big. I got that heavy feeling in my chest again, that awful cold paralysis that is fear. With a shudder I forced it away and began to prepare for what was to come. I checked my belt, feeling for my sidearm and spare ammunition. Everything was in order, as always. OCD doesn't allow you to be unprepared. I reached over, unbuckling Andrew's seatbelt and my own, preparing to spring from the car at a moment's notice if necessary. We turned onto the street, Andrew now driving singlehanded, unbuttoning his holster and drawing his weapon, double-checking everything just as I had.
"Locked
and loaded?" I asked.
"Locked and loaded," he confirmed.
This was our ritual, a way of keeping ourselves in tune with each
other and with reality.
The gunfire grew louder and we could now
see the house, or half of one, as it were. It appeared to be
undergoing construction, and the entire front of the house was gone.
Almost
time. I began counting down evenly from ten, completing the last bit
of ritual. On three, Andrew skidded to a halt and the rear end of the
car swung around. I kept counting. "Two." We looked at each other
and locked eyes. "One." We nodded in unison and disengaged the
safeties on our respective weapons. "Go!" We flung open the
doors, weapons aimed and ready to fire if need be. We moved in a
crouch toward the pair of vehicles blocking the driveway. At that
point Andrew and I split up, him taking cover behind the patrol car
and I behind a civilian car. I asked the officer that was beside me,
"What's going on?"
"There were three or four of them to
begin with. We got one for sure, and there's two still
shooting."
"Any casualties on our side?"
"Um, no. It's
just me and my partner. And he's still here." He pointed to the
patrol car, where Andrew had joined the other officer, who has
obviously this guy's partner."
"Yes, I can see that. Is
there anyone in the house besides the shooters? Do they have any
hostages? Have they threatened anyone?"
"No, nothing. We got a
report of suspicious activity and they told us to go check it out.
Soon as we got out of the car, they started shooting. We're at a
stalemate. They've got us pinned down, but we've got them pinned
down too."
"Okay-" I broke off, having just noticed motion
inside the half-house. I fired, catching a dark shape in the side.
There was a cry, and almost instantly a hail of gunfire came from the
second-story windows.
"There must be more of them up there!"
cried the officer next to me. I could see at least four, all wielding
what appeared to be assault rifles. Our 9mms and .38s were no match
for those.
I fired again, saw two of them go down with shots to
the head, one from me and one from Andrew. Realizing that my weapon
was empty, I took a second to reload, and it was then that I noticed
motion out of the corner of my eye. The officer that was with Andrew
was moving backward, toward the trunk of the patrol car.
These
guys must be new. Everyone knows that's the absolute worst place to
take cover.
Andrew saw it too. I saw him turn, stop firing,
and say something to the other officer, who either couldn't hear
him or was ignoring him. And Andrew, being Andrew, couldn't leave
the poor guy out there so unwillingly exposed. He moved in a crouch,
sliding with his back against the car until he was close enough to
reach out and touch the foolish young officer. He spoke quickly and
urgently to the man, using his hands to emphasize his point.
Suddenly
another salvo of gunfire rained down on us, and Andrew pulled the
other officer down by his shirt. They huddled there, helpless, and
the other officer and I fired again and again, trying to buy our
partners some time.
The man on the left is standing still.
Aim. Deep breath. In. Outandfire. He went down with my bullet in
his chest and there was silence. Andrew stands and motions the
younger man in front of him. Wait. What are they doing? They can't
break cover while there are still gunmen up there! It's suicide!
And before anything happened, I knew.
"Andrew! Get down!" My voice sounded strange in my ears. All of a sudden I was hyperaware of everything around me. The harsh, staccato tat-tat-tat of the assault rifles. The soft grunt of the young officer as Andrew pushed him out of the way. The sharp sounds of shattering glass. And finally, the unmistakable double thuds- the first one the wet sound of a bullet striking deep into flesh and the second one the softer falling of a body to the ground.
I saw everything in fine detail. The way his body crumpled to the ground, joints already too loose for a living human's. Red blood hungrily devouring the khaki of his shirt.
I forced my eyes away from him to the too-sharp outlines of gun and gunman. Fired- one, two, three. Three hits and he was blown backwards. Dead.
All was quiet. I ran to where my partner lay too still on the ground, in a pool of his own blood. Desperately I searched for signs of life, finding only blood and more blood. Is he breathing? No. Is there a pulse? No. I started CPR, just as I had been trained. Ten compressions. Tilt the head back. Clear the airway. Five breaths. Anything? No. Try again. Again. Again. Again. Again, even though your arms are tired and your hands are stiff with his drying blood.
Don't give up. Don't give up. You can't give up on him. He wouldn't give up on you. Keep trying. Keep trying,
It was no use. You have to pick your battles. He wouldn't delude himself.
He's gone.
I let my hands fall to my sides, bowing my head and closing my eyes as I struggled to contain my emotions. I could hear more vehicles arriving by the moment, but all the new arrivals seemed to know enough to give me a wide berth. So I sat there next to the slowly cooling body of my best friend, allowing a soundless montage of images to play through my mind. I saw everything, from the first day we met, the day we became partners, our first arrest, all leading up to those last fateful minutes.
I don't know how long I sat there, indulging in the luxury of sorrow. Time passed strangely there for a while, until I felt a hand on my back. I started, but Horatio was quick to calm me.
"Hey," I acknowledged dully. "What are you doing here?" He gestured behind me, where a pair of Hummers were parked and a trio of CSIs were talking quietly amongst themselves. "Oh."
"Are you all right?"
"What do you think? My partner's body is lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood." He understood. Sliding a hand around my shoulders, he walked me away from Andrew's body. I tried to resist, but Horatio kept me going.
"It's okay," he soothed. "Let my team do their jobs. Let's take a walk." He led me across the street, where Alexx was talking to two younger men, one of whom was holding a camera, and the other his kit. When Alexx spotted us, she sent the men off to the crime scene and came over to us.
"Oh, honey, what happened to you? You're covered in blood!" Her face wore a look of concern and she reached out to touch my arm, as thought I might be injured.
I felt horrible, as though at any second I might break down completely. I was barely comprehending what was going on around me, and I knew that I was in danger of going into shock. I wasn't injured, but I knew from experience that the loss of a partner was more than enough to do permanent damage. But I knew what I had to do. Put on a mask, pretend. Be smart and businesslike and untouchable. Save the falling apart for later.
"I'm fine, Alexx. It's… it's not mine."
"Whose is it?"
"It's my partner…Andrew…he was shot." I could tell from her expression that she understood.
"Oh, I'm so sorry…" She moved forward to hug me, but I stepped back and gave her a half smile.
"Watch out, Alexx. I'm evidence."
She laughed, "Good girl, Melody."
"So I take it you'll need my clothes and weapon?"
"Not now, but soon, if that's okay."
"I'll bring them by the lab this afternoon."
"Will do. You gonna be okay, sweetheart?"
"I think so."
"You ever need anything, you come find me, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Alexx."
"You hang in there now." Then she walked away, leaving Horatio and I alone. We sat down on the curb nearby, and I could tell that he had seen straight past my façade.
"Are you all right?" His dark, dark blue eyes pierced mine, and I was too tired to resist.
"I don't know… He was my best friend. There's no one in the world that I care for more. Except you, of course. It makes me remember things, you know? I get close to someone, start to trust them, tell them some things, get attached, and then what do you know? They're gone… another one… I don't know how much more of this I can take…"
"I know, I know," he murmured, holding me against his chest despite my initial struggles. His soothing words and comforting embrace brought down my defenses, and for the first time in years I let myself cry. Tears slid silently down my face, soaking into Horatio's blue shirt.
I felt safe in his arms, just another little girl being held by her dad. He was the one who chased the nightmares away when the nightmares became horribly real. He tucked me into bed when my bed was in a hospital. He made me lunch when I hadn't eaten in days. He became my father when my only family was gone.
He's the only one. The only one who's always there. And now he's all I have left.
After what must have been a few minutes (although it seemed like hours), we returned to the house. I walked Horatio through the day's events, beginning when we heard the alert on the radio and ending where Andrew's body still lay on the ground, next to a body bag. He looked small and pitiful and unnaturally still. I stared at my feet, trying to get his blank face out of my mind's eye, but I knew I would be seeing it in my dreams for years.
"Andrew, what do you think about death?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"The realistic kind. Everyone dies. We're cops. We don't exactly have the safest jobs in the world."
"I know that. But why do you want to talk about it so badly?"
"Come on. Everyone has some ideas about death. I want to hear yours."
"I don't know. I mean, I was raised to believe in God and Heaven and all of that, if that's what you mean."
"Believe me, Andrew, I don't care how you were raised. I want to know what you think. What it's going to be like, what's going to happen to you afterwards."
"I don't know. A lot of people, especially around here, think that death is peace. At least that's what they tell people when their loved ones are killed. But what about the bad people who die? What about the death penalty? Are we giving them peace by killing them? I don't think that a serial killer or a rapist deserves peace."
"Well, what about Heaven and Hell? Being held accountable for your sins."
"I know. For a long time I clung to that. But then I started seeing things that didn't fit. The Bible says that if you don't accept Jesus as your savior, you go to hell, right? There's plenty of good people out there that aren't Christians, and they're a lot nicer than some Christians that I know. Do they go to Hell just because they never learned about God?"
"I have no idea. You're asking the wrong person."
"I know. That was a rhetorical question. But it got me thinking. And then I became a cop. I saw all kind of horrible things happen to people. Good people. Christians. Kids. Who would hurt a little kid? Why would God let that happen?"
"I'm going to assume that that's another rhetorical question."
"Yeah. But that's enough on that topic. What do you think of death?"
"Death itself? I think it's a transition. "
"Well, yeah- between life and death. It's about the biggest transition there is."
"No, it's more than that. I've always thought that the dead stay with us. So it would be more like learning how to influence the people around you without the convenience of a body, or a voice that people could hear, or any of that."
"Like ghosts?"
"Not really. I don't believe in the supernatural, or the paranormal, or any of that. I think we become more like a memory, living inside each person whose life we've touched, whether it's good or bad. And occasionally we can contact them, influence them."
"Like a killer who's haunted by the memory of his victims so much that he confesses?"
"Exactly."
"Then what do you do the rest of the time?"
"I don't know. Watch? Listen? Keep an eye on people so you know when to step in and help them out? I'm not dead. I don't know for sure. This is just what I believe."
"Wow… I like that."
"I'm glad."
"It's kind of comforting, you know? I've heard tons of people say that your loved ones live on in your memory, but the idea that they're more than a memory, a conscious being capable of influencing the living world, it helps."
"That's what I thought."
As I came back to the present, watching Andrew's body being zipped into a bag and loaded into a van, I remembered something, and I turned to Horatio.
"He wanted to meet you."
"He did, did he? Why's that?"
"I may have told him a little about you."
"Ah."
"I always meant to bring him around sometime… I just never expected it to be like this."
"You never expect something like this to happen."
"No, you don't."
Right, Andrew?
-------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Okay, I have to say I'm pretty proud of this one. I think it's my best yet. But hey, that's just me. I'd sure love to hear your opinions (hint hint!)
To My Reviewers:
LSG: Thanks! You're in the band? Me too!!! Oh man, now I have a million questions for you. But anyways, it sucks that your sister is in band with you. I don't think I'd be able to deal with that.
TJ: That last chapter was pretty short, wasn't it? I was glad when this one ended up being longer. Sorry I killed Andrew before he could start anything with Melody. But if I hadn't, where would Ryan fit in? I promise, it will all make sense in the end.
Daxy: Wow, it seems like a lot of people are seeing Andrew/Melody romance going on here. I must admit that I didn't intend for it to be that way. It seems like these characters really have lives of their own, and I'm pretty much just their way of communicating with the rest of the world.
JauntyChick: Poor Andrew is right. The guy has it pretty tough. And apparently he's got feelings for Melody, which may or may not be reciprocal. At least that's the vibe I'm getting from the reviews. Now we may never know if they were meant to be…
Jag Lady: Thanks so much for the review! And for calling me classy! I feel so special…
Leaf in the breeze: I hope this one was a hit as well! Thanks for everything!
To Everyone Else:
Please review! I welcome your comments, questions, suggestions, whatever. Keep bugging me to update, my ADD is not conducive to any sort of continuity.
And just to let you guys know, Ryan (and the rest of the team) will most likely be making their appearance in the next chapter or two.
