Chapter Eleven
Nightmares
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Floating. The idea was absurd, but what other term could explain the way Calleigh moved so effortlessly down the hallway? It was as though her feet never hit the ground. She almost craved to hear the steady, comforting clack of her own heels against the tile floor, but no matter how much force she directed into her steps, the resulting sound was immediately swallowed up by the surrounding silence.

It was an unnerving silence, almost as unnerving as the pure, white walls, the spotless white floors. Even the doors were white, and suddenly, Calleigh felt very out of place in her all black attire. She stuck out; she didn't belong there.

A dash of color caught her eye, standing out brightly against the bland white tile. Closer examination confirmed her worst fears - the deep red liquid was none other than blood. Being a CSI, seeing blood was part of her everyday life, but here and now, it was different. The sight of this blood twisted her stomach into knots, made her dizzy. It wasn't just anybody's blood.

As she moved, the single spot of red seemed to grow, spreading itself more and more over the white tile, until no longer was the tile white, but red. Calleigh hastened her pace, as though trying to outrun it, but the faster she moved, the faster the blood seemed to accumulate. She knew that nobody who'd lost that much blood could ever, ever hope to survive. It was just too much.

It seemed to pool just outside of the last room on the left, the room which Calleigh somehow already knew was her destination. It was as she approached that room that the first semblance of sound reached her ears - Calleigh could hear the distant hum of hospital monitors, as well as muffled voices. There was an urgency in the words spoken; an urgency which infused itself into Calleigh's steps as well.

All too soon it seemed she reached those double doors, and as she looked through the windows, Calleigh was overcome with such a strong sensation of dizziness. She felt as though she would collapse, and part of her wished she would. The sight which she had beheld wasn't something she ever wanted to see.

It was Eric. He was the one hooked up to all the monitors. He was the one whose blood was on the floor. He was the one whose life hung in the balance. He was the one who lay on the table unconscious, blood pouring from the wounds in his leg and head, despite the efforts to stem that bleeding.

It was a horrific sight - watching the doctors and nurses flit about the room as if they had not a clue what to do, and, with a jolt of fear, Calleigh realized that they probably didn't. It wasn't everyday that they even tried to save somebody injured as badly as Eric; usually those patients were dead before they ever made it to the ER. They'd probably done about all they knew to do, and still Eric was unresponsive.

The sharpest alarm of all suddenly filled the air, and Calleigh pressed her face to the glass in fear as she realized what exactly that alarm signified. The trauma team realized it too, each of them moving a bit more frantically; one grabbing the paddles in anticipation, another on the phone sending out an urgent page for more help, one performing compressions…all of it wasted effort. Nothing was changing; Eric was slipping away. "We're losing him!" called a nurse, taking a quick look at all the monitors. Eric was flatlining.

The doctor merely shook her head, unwilling to give up. "Not yet," she said, her voice commanding authority throughout the small trauma room. "Push another amp of epi, stat."

The nurse protested. "But he's already had -"

"I don't care what he's already had," the doctor snapped, "give him another"

"He's been down for forty-seven minutes," piped up an intern. He cowered under the glare of the attending physician, his momentary nerve fading quickly.

"I don't care how long he's been down," the doctor roared. "We have to save him. That's our job; we're here to save lives! Now somebody page me a damn surgeon!"

"Doctor, he's not going to make it to surgery. He's lost too much blood; he'll never be stable enough."

The doctor refused to listen to reason, however. Outside the glass, Calleigh bit her lip anxiously as the team continued to work on Eric. Her own heart pounded frantically, just as frantically as the doctor performed compressions on Eric's chest. Electricity passed through Calleigh's body each time they shocked Eric with the paddles.

Still, he was unresponsive. He'd been unresponsive for longer than Calleigh could remember. It was chilling, seeing Eric lying there on the table, his eyes closed, his heart not beating on its own, his life quickly slipping away…or perhaps it already had. She could hear the alarms sounding from the monitors, a shrill, deafening, unending echo. Calleigh wanted to scream at the doctors, to make the noise stop, but as she opened her mouth, no sound would come out.

Holding the paddles, the doctor in charge lifted her head, and Calleigh let out a strangled gasp. In the scrubs, wearing the pristine white coat, trying so desperately to save her best friend's life…it was none other than Calleigh herself. The logical part of her would've admonished her for thinking she could be in two places at once.

The problem was, there was no logical part of her. Logic had ceased to exist the moment Eric was wheeled into the ER, gunshot wounds to the leg and the head. Logic had ceased to exist the moment that losing Eric became a possibility.

"He's gone, doctor. You need to call it."

Defeated, Calleigh let the paddles fall from her hands. She cast a glance skyward, as though searching for divine intervention, though none was to be found. The Calleigh outside the glass doors screamed without sound. They couldn't just let Eric go.

She couldn't just let Eric go, could she?

Could she?

As though in answer to the unvoiced question, the Calleigh in the white coat slumped her shoulders and reached out, flipping a switch on the monitor. The piercing hum sharply gave way to a deafening silence.

It was a deafening silence that within seconds was broken; broken by her own, steady voice. She took the offered chart from a nurse and signed it, before ripping her gloves from her hands and tossing them to the floor.

"Time of death: 1:04 PM."

..

Calleigh awoke with a jolt. Breathing heavily, she stared into the darkness, not exactly knowing where she was. In time, her eyes adjusted enough to make out the walls and the ceilings of her own bedroom, and Calleigh breathed out in relief, though a small relief it was. Slowly she sat up, lifting a shaky hand to her clammy forehead.

Her heart continued to pound in her chest, and it took her a good few minutes to even begin to calm herself down and convince herself it had only been a dream.

But it had felt so real. She could still see Eric lying there, his empty eyes staring up at her as she stood helpless, unable to breathe life back into him. The image sent a shudder through her body, and Calleigh pulled the bedspread tight around her body, trying to ward off the shivers. It didn't help though; she was still just as cold while wrapped within the blankets. She felt like she had just jumped into an icy lake in the middle of January.

She half-expected to hear a sleepy grumble from her left, irritated at her for stealing the covers again, but it was a grumble that never came. Shivering again, Calleigh turned her head, distressed to find the opposite side of the bed empty; untouched.

Calleigh was still disoriented from sleep, but it was more than obvious that Jake had not come home. After the fight they'd had, Calleigh couldn't blame him, but she couldn't deny it would've felt nice to have him there beside her. She knew he would've woken her, had he noticed any kind of distress in her sleep. She knew he would've held her upon waking, reassuring her that she'd only had a nightmare.

She was reminded of one other time, so many years ago. A particularly harrowing case in New Orleans had gotten to her, back when she was still young, green on the job. As soon as she had awoken, she'd been locked in Jake's arms. He'd sacrificed the sleep he'd needed just to sit up with her and hold her until she drifted back into sleep, which Calleigh believed she was able to do only because he was there, holding her. He didn't speak, he didn't ask her to talk. He knew that what she needed was for him to just be there, and so he was.

So where was he now? Calleigh had been so sure that Jake would've come home tonight. She'd doubted it earlier, but as she'd slipped into bed for the night, Calleigh had convinced herself that he was okay; if he wasn't, she would've heard something. She had convinced herself that he would come home, because he always did. Even in the past when he was gone for weeks, sometimes months, he would always come back. And now, tonight, he hadn't come home. And while Calleigh certainly didn't need a man around in order to feel happy and safe, she couldn't deny that she felt...different. It was a feeling that she couldn't explain, but it was definitely there.

But even if Jake had been right there beside her, Calleigh knew she couldn't tell him what was bothering her. After the fight they'd had in the car about Eric, Calleigh couldn't possibly share with Jake that she'd had a nightmare about losing Eric. Just the very idea was ridiculous, and it wasn't a scenario that would end well either. Either Jake would be upset that Eric was still so firmly entrenched in Calleigh's mind, or he would be upset that Calleigh couldn't talk to him. It might've just led to another fight in the end.

Forfeiting the blankets, Calleigh pulled herself out of bed with a yawn. A glance to the clock on her bedside table revealed that it was half past three - only two hours after she'd first fallen into a restless sleep. It'd been barely an hour before that when Eric had brought her home, after their visit to the ER had deemed her fine. He'd seemed reluctant to leave her, though her insistence that Jake would be home soon had seemed to appease him.

But Jake hadn't come home, and Eric hadn't stayed, leaving Calleigh home alone. Usually, that was quite alright with her. But after the night she'd had, a little company would've been nice.

She pulled on her robe, tying it tightly around her body before quietly making her way out to the kitchen. For a moment she stood, staring blankly into the sink, as though looking for answers. She ignored the temptation, strong though it was, to turn on the faucet and splash water over her clammy skin. Instead, she settled for a glass of water, only to pour it back down the drain upon deciding she didn't want it anyway.

With heavy steps, Calleigh made her way to the living room, pausing only for a moment to gaze toward the front door. Part of her wanted desperately to go look out, but she knew it would only make her feel worse. With an unsettled sigh, she turned on a lamp, blinking a few times as the low light met her weary eyes. Still rather shaken, she lowered herself gingerly onto the couch, wincing slightly. Aside from a few cuts and scratches, Calleigh hadn't been hurt at the scene, but now that she was home, the bruises were beginning to grow. She reached out for a pillow, holding it to her chest as she bit her lip. She was unwilling to admit it, even silently, but Calleigh was almost afraid to tempt sleep again.

The only thought that served to calm her was, strangely, the fact that she had wrecked earlier that evening. Calleigh didn't often have nightmares; usually, they only plagued her sleep after a trauma such as that. She'd grown up with nightmares, but they'd disappeared once she'd left home. Sparingly she'd had them over the past ten years, but never without Calleigh being stressed just before she'd gone to sleep.

She had only had two nightmares over the past year. The first happened the night after she'd been run off the road into the canal; the night after Jake had first crashed back into her life. And the second time…

The last time she'd had a nightmare, it'd been the night after Eric had been shot. It had been on Horatio's orders that Calleigh had finally gone home that night. For hours she'd tossed and turned, watching the hours tick by on the clock at her bedside. And no sooner than restless sleep had found her, she had woken again; drenched in sweat, heart pounding, unable to breathe.

Just as she'd awoken only moments before.

She knew it was because of the wreck. She knew it was because of trauma. For those reasons, she never let herself read too much into her nightmares. And it was a good thing too; Calleigh wasn't sure if she could handle whatever messages her subconscious mind was trying to send her.

Calleigh shook her head, hoping desperately to clear it, allowing her eyes to stray to the side table. A third object had joined the cordless phone and the picture that Calleigh so deeply treasured. It was a vase of roses; the roses Jake had presented her with the last time they'd gone out to dinner. They were by no means wilting, but the very first petals had begun to fall, collecting on the tabletop below. And somehow, Calleigh just couldn't make herself clean them up.

The irony was not lost on her; even on her side table Calleigh couldn't decide what she wanted; who she wanted. Was it Jake, who had given her the roses? Or was it Eric, who with his bright smile had pulled Calleigh close him for the photograph to be taken?

She had no idea.

With a slight groan of pain, Calleigh reached out, taking the phone from its base. Her hands shook as she cradled it, the need to hear a soothing voice suddenly raging within her. But as the minutes passed, she progressed no further than simply turning the phone on and off again. She couldn't bring herself to dial the number; any number.

And who could she call? Surely not Eric, though Calleigh knew he would willingly sit up with her all night, without her even needing to ask. But he was tired; she'd seen it in his eyes. He needed to sleep, and it was far closer to dawn than evening. She couldn't call him this late; she shouldn't really be calling him at all.

But Jake…who even knew where he was tonight? For all Calleigh knew, he never wanted to see her again. She knew he'd been more upset than he'd let on, and it wasn't all anger either. He'd been hurt, but Calleigh couldn't deny that his words had wounded her as well. But the fact remained; if he'd wanted to talk to her, he would've come home.

It wasn't about which one she'd rather talk to. It was that she couldn't rightfully call either of them. Not her best friend; not her boyfriend.

Still, Calleigh didn't want to spend the rest of the night sitting alone in the dark. Once more, she pressed a button on the phone, her ears filling with the familiar dial tone. She was left with one option. The one person who knew every one of her darkest secrets and fears. The one person who had shared those same dark secrets and fears, because he had lived through it too. For their entire childhood they'd both grown up depending only on each other; they'd always had each other's backs. It was the one person Calleigh had always been able to depend on, no matter what. He was the only one in their entire dysfunctional family that had always been there for Calleigh, even after both of them had grown up and left home behind.

And she needed that tonight. She needed to hear a familiar voice; she needed to talk to somebody, really talk. She couldn't go to Jake; she couldn't go to Eric. She had girlfriends, but after Janet had died, Calleigh had been almost afraid to get close to the rest of them. And, sad as it sounded, most of her friends were either in the lab, or at the police department itself anyway. Calleigh needed to talk to somebody, anybody, who had no connection to Eric or Jake, or even to Miami.

As her fingers tapped out the still familiar number, Calleigh briefly wondered about the time, but quickly she let that thought fall away. After all, it'd been with him that Calleigh had spent numerous late nights sitting on the stairs. She knew he still shared her same night-owlish tendencies; something they'd both gotten from their mother.

She hesitated for a moment as a voice sounded from the other end, and she couldn't help but smile slightly. Her instincts had been right - her brother's voice didn't sound remotely tired. With a deep breath, Calleigh summoned her voice, already feeling a little better than she had before. "Hey, Evan. It's me."