Entering the unavoidable Horatio could feel his skin crawl, his very fibers contort and expand simultaneously. As if by black magic tinny fire ants dug their way underneath his skin and paced up and down, biting every so often to make themselves present or simply to fuck with his mind.
He swore he'd been dropped off in the middle of the Twilight Zone because nothing made any sense, he couldn't even understand the noise that filtered the room. Everything, including Eric and Ryan who stood shell shocked, seemed to mix together with the blood splatter covering the white walls. Recreating a frightening nightmare only visible through the eyes of Edgar Allan Poe. The only thing that stood out like a sore thumb was the rising sun, but not even that cast a promising future because it not only reflected Horatio's fury, but an anguish far beyond his own comprehension.
At the thresh hold, he stood motionless. Unable to move, too stuck in denial. Body there, but mind reeling back to the night before. How he wished to be there now rather then here, staring at the lifeless body of Benito.
"H, are you alright...H?" A light hand upon his shoulder dragged him right out from his deep reverie.
"Hmm?" He stoically replied, his face still glued to the cold, drained body.
"Are you fine?" Eric asked, his tone and composure holding tight. He couldn't show weakness, not now.
His thoughts though a bit cloudy understood Horatio's close friendship with the old man. His boss had spoken on numerous occasions of the withered grape fruit. However, seeing Horatio void of specific emotions he could tell that what he thought was nothing compared to what he now knew. Horatio's stoic stare spilled a million and more revelations. Revelations too murky for him fathom till today that is.
Glancing at his friend, Eric's heart went out to the man who saw more death then a funeral parlor.
"Blinking embers, tell me true....where are those armies marching to, and what the burning city is that crumbles in your.....furnaces." Horatio said, knitting his brows to understand the words somehow.
Marching, marching where? To nothingness, to no where....into the dark abyss. What city? Metaphorically or literally? City of stupidity and greed or political corruption?.....The city of right and wrong of poor and rich of....of thorny crowns and crying fairies or....or...damn, the game of win or lose that is our society?
"H."
"Oh, yes......yes, I'm fine." Horatio shrugged his shoulder and let Eric's hand slip from it. "Benito's favorite poem, Armies in the Fire."
"Right." Clearing his throat he repeated the poem by heart. "The lamps now glitter down the street; faintly sound the falling feet; and the blue even slowly falls about the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom the red fire paints the empty room; and warmly on the roof it looks and flickers on the back of the books. Armies march by tower and spire of cities blazing with staring eyes, the armies fall, the luster dies. Then once again the glow returns; again the phantom city burns; and down the red-hot valley, lo! The phantom armies marching go!"
Like on cue Horatio joined, but now his smile returned. "Blinking embers, tell me true where are those armies marching to, and what the burning city is that crumbles in your furnaces."
Ah, yes, of war, of crimes against society, but engraved somewhere in that city lays the plaque of hope, of faith.....of some day.
"Robert Louis Stevenson." Ryan added, walking up to the the pair.
"What makes one so cold?" Horatio asked no one in particular.
"Many things, madness firstly, secondly, sanity." Ryan uttered, staring at the man he always considered a brave hero.
"Look, H, if...well, if you can't handle it I can understand, he was like a father to you."
"No, no, I'm fine, really." Staring at Eric he grinned his sincerity. "Besides, the day is growing old, old and worn." Stepping beyond the door Horatio took his place beside Tom. "What do we have?" He asked, placing hands on hips, staring down at his dead friend.
"Stab wounds to the stomach, back, and throat, all lethal...Horatio, it seems they.."
" Wanted him alive." Staring over his shoulder, he saw Eric and Ryan deep in conversation.
"Yes, long enough for him to suffer." Bringing Benito's wrist up he examined what appeared to be rope burns. Dark red, veins broken. Limp wrist in hand he revised his meaning of compassion. Hating having insight on stupid shit, fucking crap he couldn't do anything about he thought of how unlucky Horatio truly was. First, his mother, his young CSI, his beautiful wife and his brother, now adding his close friend. Damn, how can a man still stand knowing everyone he loved fell and those still remaining could finish their journey in a blink of an eye."Looks as if they restrained him, visible marks." He added, continuing even through his deep contemplations.
"He faught?"
"It appears so, Lt."
"Then he should have DNA, under his nails, correct?"
"Maybe?"
It fascinated him how Horatio could go on with Benito's body in sight. Knowledge of horrible acts was haunting, torture was wearing, a soul destroying misfortune, but more daunting was the knowledge that someone was numb to reality. Like they were blindfolded to the world.
"Or maybe not, they likely wore protection."
"H?" Eric called out.
Turning around he followed Eric's view, to his surprise he saw a blood trail lead to the closet. Drawing their guns, Eric and Ryan carefully approached the closed door and turned the knob. With a load thunk a males body, face hidden by a black mask, fell out. His clothes filth in his and Benito's blood. Gun wound clearly seen behind the head, coming out through the front, hole still fresh. Cat litter not only on and around Benito, but also covering the boys body. Obviously to hide the stench of death.
"Its looks like we have a double homicide on our hands, gentlemen." Horatio announced from his location.
Ryan frighteningly nodded his head to Horatio's statement. "Boss, I'm guessing if we find DNA it'll no doubt belong to this bastard."
"Aren't we jumping ahead of ourselves." Eric smiled, making joke of Ryan's observation." But yet again you've always been a fortune teller, haven't you."
Kneeling down, Ryan pulled at the mans mask. "H, I think you might know this man, he role played paparazzo."
Strolling over to where Ryan stared closely at the boy, crunched low. "Cameran, but....but he was so young."
"And naive." Eric commented. "We gave him a chance, H, he just didn't accept."
"That he did, didn't he, Delko....that he did."
Standing above the lifeless body of the young boy, Horatio stared out the window. Who knew such a beautiful day would welcome him with a nightmare. Just yesterday, Benito and Horatio were playing chess and drinking coffee over a conversation that included Benito's rarely mentioned son.
Benito's last words rang through, over and over, in his head. As clear as day.
"He was everything I had left, son."
And to that note, Benito had been a father to him. Benito had lost his son to a stupid war and Horatio in turn lost his father to a stupid murder.
"Lets play." Horatio whispered beneath his breath. "Lets play, sir."
Turning on his heel Horatio left the room in search of a better answer. He knew exactly who the puppeteer behind the strings was, Heather. A fucking crazy chick who would cut off, kill, and manipulate people without a worry or sway. All she needed to do is call on her connections, beauty and other resources to accomplish such a task. Not a problem when it came to her. She was the best of the best and she perfectly knew and relished it.
"H, where you going?" He could hear Eric exclaim from within the room. "H?"
"For our murderer."
Following closely behind, Eric trailed him towards his Hummer. "Eric, stay here, I can handle it. Go, go find out what you can then report. Seek witnesses, anyone who may know anything, I don't care how senseless it may seem, I want them interrogated."
"Sure, need backup?"
"Not with this person, no."
"I can call, Frank."
"No, no one, Eric.........no one."
Jumping into his Hummer Horatio drove off in a fury, his distention known by heart. He was going to THE GARDENS MOUTH, the snake surely slithering its scaly body in the greens.
"Sir, I understand."
"Please, I must see Heather....now." Horatio said between gritted teeth, his lungs bursting with rage as he tapped on the two-way keypad.
Head tilted Horatio was greeted by a hefty man, his eyes covered by black shades. Taking off his own pair, Horatio stared at the man standing behind the gates, his stature not at all menacing to him. If the man's motivation in building mass was to scare the living lights out of any man, Horatio wasn't buying the, to put it blankly, crap. He could see right through the fake facade of strength.
"I'll not repeat myself, I want to see, Heather."
"The lady in question is at the moment bathing. If you prefer, you can wait in the living quarters."
"Yes, I'd prefer that very much." Placing his sun-glasses on the rim of his collar's shirt, he waited to be let in.
With a light hush the gates slowly revealed its inner self, walking in Horatio was thrown aback, just a bit. To his right he could see lush gardens, without question that's how the estate got its name. The Gardens Mouth. To his left, a beautiful lake, right ahead, the mansion. White, red door, of course, it had to be red. Blood red. Three bay windows sprawled across the face of the two story and exotic trees lined the granite path to the home. Extending his arm out the guard directed Horatio down the pathway.
"Knock, twice, doesn't like when people knock once or three times for that matter. Very superstitious."
Strolling further in Horatio could now make out five balconies, alright three, the other two were something else. Like told Horatio knocked but twice, he didn't need to wait, but fifteen seconds for the maid. Her outfit was not that of a typical house worker. Top showed a bit too much cleavage, skirt too high, beauty of a model. Black heels even along with the skimpy outtire. But that was typical of this city under the sun. Call it Miami heat, every women basically poured sex appeal.
"Welcome, ." Her Spanish accent thick. "Come in, come in. Would like some limeaide?"
"No thanks." He ambled in, the white marble flooring sleek like every other asset in this Russian mods hide out. "Do you know when the women, Heather, will be ready?"
"No, sir."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"No, coffee, soda, orange juice?" She offered.
"No thanks."
"Limeade?"
"No."
"Okay." Walking away, she disappeared into the long hall.
Sitting down on a black over sized sofa, Horatio toyed with his badge while awaiting Heather. Every possible scenario scanned through his mind. What if Heather had nothing to do with Benito's murder, what if Sarnoff was behind the murder, or could it really been all Heather's doing? Yes, that notion fit well with him. He didn't care that the women he thought responsible for his sudden and unexpected demise was carrying his child. She needed to be brought down, no matter what. She was evil and conniving, like her father and uncle. No good to society what so ever. Just as he was thinking of exploring this abode, to seek out evidence, any evidence that would put Sarnoff away a thunderous laughter erupted the quite and comfortable peace. Clapping soon followed by the appearance of a tall, Russian man. Dark hair combed back, blue eyes piercing. Standing up from his seated position Horatio came face to face with Heather's father.
"What brings my son-in-law home?" Alik, leaning on his mahogany cane, smiled.
Fresh from bathing, he drifted with musk and wood. Neatly pressed clothes just added to his over inflated ego which in turn made the whole scene that more laughable. Horatio didn't understand the need to parade oneself as God. Cocking his head, he opened his mouth and smoothly blurted out his annoyance with the Sarnoff.
"I'm sorry , sir, but I'm no son of yours."
"Rude, yet, so formal." Cracking his back, Akil, limped over to Horatio. The hollow thump, thump of his bum leg echoing off the ceiling. "It may not be now, but soon, especially when she's carrying your child."
"You know?"
"Oh, yes....yes, I do." Stretching out his hand he offered it to Horatio. "Names , Akil, but I prefer to be referred as father."
Ducking his head, he smirked. "What makes you think I'll marry her?"
"Well, because she's carrying your child of course and because if you don't you'll be receiving some really up-setting news." He warned, his tone not changing from a loving and caring man.
"I don't deal well with threats, sir."
"Who said I was threatening you, you just assumed. Am I right?" He moved to sit across from Horatio. "I mean, I can always move." His brow rose and he stared nonchalantly at him.
Breathing in low, Horatio sat back down, his gaze never leaving Akil's. Trying to dis-spell the unnerving tension he chose to change the subject. "Your daughter, how old is she?"
"What, you don't know?"
"She never told me."
Chuckling, he called out to the maid and ordered a frosted beer. "Twenty eight, born July 20. She was a beautiful baby, but that I don't have to say, she is still gorgeous as ever." He sipped at his drink and crossed his leg over the other. "Born premature, but survived. Strong will and determination runs in the family." He said with pride and something else hidden behind the phrasing.
Nodding Horatio fixed his eyes on the floor. "Ivan?" Was all he needed to say.
"My little brother, what has he done now?"
"Killed a women." Glaring into Akil's gaze he could see darkness, an empty room. His windows looking into an family empire spanning a hundred years.
"Oh, yes, that." Smirking, he tapped on his alligator shoe. Glistening blue skin hissing to watch your step. " Have you ever heard the fable of the fox and the monkey Mr..."
"Caine, and yes, I'm quite familiar with the story."
"Then you also know it's not good to accuse someone for you have no evidence." He looked passed Horatio, his eyes fixed on the person behind him.
"Well, hello." Came Heather's voice, her hair flowing, cascading down to her shoulders. "I didn't know you were coming by."
"Heather," Horatio stood, grabbing Heather by the arm, "let's go."
"Let me go," she pushed his hand away, glaring. "I'm not going anywhere with you, not until you tell me what's going on."
"What's go on is that you killed Benito."
Tossing her hair, she giggled. She perfectly knew what Horatio spoke of, but she wasn't about to rat herself out. "Humph, your funny, I never even seen the old bastard."
"Denial isn't good for the baby." Horatio dryly joked. "I'm not dumb, Heather."
"Well, I wasn't born yesterday, honey.....Unless you can prove I've done anything wrong I don't see why I have to keep speaking with you." Staring at her father, she ambled away, leaving both men to stare each other down.
"Contrary to popular belief dog's are not color blind, they...."
"And neither am I.." Glaring at Heather's retreating back he stormed off after her. "Heather?"
"Horatio?" She mocked him, knowing he wouldn't leave her alone.
"Benito was found stabbed to death in his apartment today." Eyeing the stainless steal chief kitchen, Horatio continued with his accusations. "We've also found......Cameron."
"Whose Cameron?" Toying with him, she implored.
"Cameron West, your uncle's personal photographer.....so, don't tell me your not somehow involved."
"I'm not involved." Pushing her way past the maid, she strolled into her room. "Now, unless your going to strip naked and..."
"No, Heather, this is no joke...I've had enough of your antics."
"Killing isn't an antic, that's first degree murder."
Placing his hands on his slim waist, Horatio glared at her, his rage boiling. He didn't understand how Heather could make light joke of this, this was no joke. This was Benito dead, this was complete childish, immature, stupidity, this was a crazy women believing she could get away with whatever she desired. This was his way out, his pathetic and anguished escape.
Running a finger over his lips, Heather peered into his gaze. The feeling of triumph over riding her, he didn't have anything to pin her down with, Cameron was dead. Just like her uncle wanted. Gone was the worry of the loser slipping again, of being caught red handed and bringing down what their family worked so easily for. She was free from the system, but Horatio would never be freed from her. That just made her so damn happy and so damn reassured. Tip toeing, she slipped a hand behind his head and brought him to her.
"Now, what do we say mommy and daddy get reacquainted?" Kissing him, she giggled.
"There will be no such thing going on." Pealing himself from her grip, he stared into her eyes. "Heather, before this child is born mommy will be in jail, so start saying goodbye to little Caine."
"Your too damn cute, honey." Sitting on her bed, she fiddled with her sun dress. Yellow lellies wrinkling with the pintch of two fingers. "Horatio, have you ever wondered what Benito was thinking right before he went....away."
"Yes, and I also know what he wasn't."
"Do you think he was thinking of his son?"
"I thought you didn't know him."
"Like I told you before, you talk in your sleep." Lulling her head back, she ran a finger down the side of her neck, sighing. "David Leonardo Bianchi, third generation American Italian."
"How do you know so much?"
"I checked him up." She stood, swaying her way towards Horatio. "I wanted to be sure I knew everything about your friends." Planting a peck on his cheek, smiling. "You proud?"
"Proud of what? For googling a fallen boy?" He smirked, his eyes boring into hers.
"Why do you have to say it like that? No, I did much more then that, baby."
"Heather..
"I paid someone to track down every possible picture, document.... both birth and death certificate......his rank, down to his last dying words."
Searching her gaze he couldn't pin point her intentions. Why did she want to know everything even about a nineteen year old child's military career? What was the use of looking through every possible person he knew, unless she was planning to do something with the information.
"You want a photo of Leonardo?"
Nodding his head, he decided he had enough of this small charade. If Heather thought this was done with then she had a blow coming her way, he wasn't about to give up that easily. Not when she killed an innocent man. Putting on his shades, he firmed his glare on her. "This isn't over, Heather, far from it." Stepping out of her room, he strode down the long, marble flooring towards the door.
"Come by whenever you like, son." Akil said from within his comfortable living room. "Oh, and if you happen to catch my brother, tell him I said hi, will ya, thanks."
Slamming the massive oak door close, Horatio idly ambled to his car leaving behind Heather and her father, Akil.
"Horatio, there are two witnesses?" Eric informed Horatio as he stroll into CSI headquarters, his pace angered.
"Eric, eyes on Sarnoff." Horatio took off his glasses, cocking his head, he eyed Eric. Determination on dragging Heather and her corrupted family down strongly etched into him. His senses hyped on the very notion of seeing Heather from behind bars.
"Done with, Ryan and Natalia are watching him." Trailing Horatio down the corridor to interrogation room 2, briskly, he replied.
"Witnesses?"
"A elderly women, Georgia, says she heard noise thirty minutes prior to finding the remains."
"Neighbor?"
"Technically, no, lives atop, apartment, C 110." Handing a tan folder to Horatio, he kept up his walk with that of his brother-in-law. "It doesn't go any where beyond that."
"Okay, the second?"
Coming to a stop in front of the glass box, Eric turned to Horatio. Eyes wide with hope, hope that this boy had more information to give then his name. "A kid named Justin....Horatio, I didn't want to interrogate him, well, not without you."
"Alright." Pressing his hand against cool glass, Horatio led the way in. "Okay, Justin.." Skimming the document in hand, he sat across from the young man. "Justin Diaz, would you like anything to drink?"
"Nah, I'm fine, thank you, sir."
"Alright then, lets get down to what you saw."
Standing Eric leaned on the wall, his arms crossed, his attention focused.
"Well, I was....I." Justin stuttered.
"Its alright, you can tell us, it's important you do." H tried to calm him down, seeing his posture lean in. Hands clasped under the glass table.
Clearing his throat, the Cuban boy ran a hand through his hair. His nerves riding him, driving him to act strangely. Eric and Horatio could tell the boy was uneasy, they also they knew he was hiding something.
"Look, Justin, we're not going to arrest you..." Eric reassured the tense seventeen year old.
"Are you sure, cus." Pulling at his fohawk, sleeked by water, he kept his eyes on Horatio."Ah, you know I don't live there."
"That's fine, we're not saying you do." Eric replied, coming to stand by Horatio.
Digging his tanned hands into his fitted jeans, Eric knew what the problem was. The boy was a runaway, a boy on the lose and sleeping wherever his head hit.
"Justin Diaz, orphaned at age three, been staying in foster homes since age four." Horatio delivered, his tone understanding and somewhat sad. "Moved thirty times, now living with the Randolph's."
"Was living." Justin whispered. "I-"
"I know." Eric interjected, his voice soft. "What happened?"
"They kept a room.....locked...dark....no food if you, if you acted out. Didn't need to be anything big." Puckering his lips, he looked at Eric. "Ummm, may I have a sprite, please, sir?"
Staring into the eyes of Justin he could hear the low voice of a former kid trying to break free. He didn't understand how a person could destroy a young life without guilt, remorse or a care in the world. He knew Horatio would be able to coax him into talking, they shared a familiar trait. One he didn't want to experience, one that tore at his conscious.
"Sure. Ice?"
Shaking his head Justin glued his eyes back on Horatio. "No thank you, sir."
"Alright."
"Thank you, Eric." Horatio said, his eyes cast on green ones.
Strolling out Eric left both Horatio and Justin to speak.
"Ummm, Justin, jolly rancher?" Bringing out three brightly wrapped candies, Horatio offered Justin a piece.
Taking one, he mouthed it. "Thank you."
"So, seven-teen, that's gotta be something."
Smirking, he pocketed the plastic. "Next year is what I'm waiting for."
"Next year....your eighteenth...remember mine, your life will change."
"Yup."
"How was it?"
"Difficult." Staring at his feet through the glass table, he saw something that hadn't been there before.
"Yeah, I can relate.....abusive father."
"Abusive foster parent's."
"My son...my son was in foster care." Staring at Justin shoe's Horatio spotted blood drops on the tongue. "Justin, please stand."
Doing as told Justin stood and took off his shoes, knowing Horatio would be asking for them. Finger's twitching Horatio stood, fixing his attention on the outside sun. He knew this wasn't good, not good at all. He just starting liking the kid, a boy that reminded him so much of himself at that age.
"This isn't looking too good, Justin, I suggest you talk....now." Placing his hand's on his hips Horatio tilted his head, concerned.
"I...I....I"
Returning back with can in hand Eric knew things had taken turn for the worst. White sneakers sitting on top of the table, Justin in socks, that didn't add up to a great combination. Staring at Horatio with a questionable stare, he searched for answer's.
"Please, process, Eric." Leaning on a foot Horatio directed his focus on Justin.
"Sure, H." Placing can down, he took the sneakers and left the room.
"Justin we have no more time."
"My father abandoned me, sir, when that happened I was handed over to the state like property, so you see I'm really not that trusting of official's, regardless if......"
Holding his nostrills Horatio sighed. "Look, son, I...I was beaten when I was a kid, I understand what it's like. I would never do that to another, let alone a innocent child."
"Yes, I know. It's just that I don't want to go back."
"We'll not send you back, but we need you to tell us everything you know."
Swallowing his fear, he opened his mouth and began spilling. "I heard my dad was going to be back in the state, he's arriving in a week."
"What's your father's name?"
"Harris White."
The Harris White, the former mayor of Miami, close friend of Joseph Ratner, confirmed bachelor and heart-breaker. The one who helped hide many of Ratner's faults.
"Yes, go on." Horatio said, knowing full well who he spoke of.
"When I figured he was to land here I hitch hiked into the city intent of tracking my dad down.." Justin sat, running his fingers through his hair. "I....I couldn't stay there anymore."
"I understand." Sitting down Horatio looked through Justin's paper as he listened.
"When I arrived I had no where to stay, so I choose Sun Cavern. Checking under mats I eventually found a key, when I entered there was no one, they never came back, so I stayed. Today." He tapped on the glass table, rubbing at invisible marks."
"When you had breakfast?" He looked at Justin slouching in his chair.
Nodding his head he affirmed Horatio's question.
"What time?"
"Nine, nine fourteen." Shaking his head, he knitted his brow's in memory of the event's. " I heard yelling....banging and then.....and then someone broke in next door.....I was scared......I-I didn't know to do, I listened..I was going to call the police, but....." Staring at his hand's he felt guilt in not phoning the cops. "I couldn't....ah, it's my fault, but I couldn't, sir."
"At time's fear is useful, Justin...sometimes."
Toying with his sleeve, he banged his fist on the table. "Dammit, it's my fault the guy is dead and I'm making up excuses." Chuckling, he stood, pacing the short distance to the wall and back. "Sir, the man would still been alive if it wasn't for my....for my fear of being dragged back to that hell hole, for my fear of not meeting my dad, I was scared, that's not a good excuse.....I should have done something, anything, but I couldn't move, I...I-I froze."
"And all those are valid excuses. Your right, son, you should step aside and face what you fear, but that's in the past. One should not dwell in the past, it's not good for them."
Who was he trying to convince himself on the man who stood, tear's running down his cheeks. Glistening in his self pity, his shame, his guilt, clenching his fist's in hurt, in pain in losing the man who he never knew. He'd looked back when he dreamt of her, he was the delusional one, not the kid who hated himself for not acting.
"Please, go on." He uttered. "Go on, son."
Stopping, Justin gazed at Horatio, his thoughts momentarily halted. Looking closer at the man who sat, grasping record's, he saw familiarity in his face, in his posture, in his nature. The red headed lieutenant reminded him of boy he grew up with. That is when he lived in Miami a few years back. A kid he regarded as his best friend, a friend who had his back in thick and thin.
"Kyle?" Justin walked closer, placing his hands on the table. "Kyle Harmon?"
"That's my son."
Nodding his head, Justin smiled dryly. "You've met him....he always...we were friends."
"Kyle was your friend?"
"Yes, we were.....we were best friends, he had my back and I had his, that's the only way one stays sane."
Okay, I hope you like and I'm sorry for not updating sooner. PLEASE COMMENT, GOOD OR BAD DON'T MATTER.