To Fly
By: syko4bosco aka A. Lalad
Disclaimer: My psychiatrist tells me I don't own them. And if you
sue me, I won't be able to pay you, cause I'm not
making any money off of this and all her advice has
sucked my college fund dry.
==*==
It's a cold day today. It's windy and raining and miserable.
It's a perfect day for the task at hand. Reminds me why I'm
doing what I'm doing. Leaves no room for doubt. I find the
dreary slush and the colorless sky comforting. I watch as the
smog lifts above the city, enveloping it in a sickening haze and
I smile.
It won't be long now.
It's 37 degrees with the wind chill, but I'm not cold. I don't
have time to think about being cold. Cold doesn't matter. I'm
not even wearing a coat. I embrace the cold.
It helps me remember. It clarifies.
It brings out my senses and allows me to feel so much more going
on in my body. My heart, my lungs, my stomach...they all feel
naked and I commit the sense of them to my memory.
I stop in front of the building. 1121 King St.
Faith and I busted our first perp here. 11 years ago. God, it seems like yesterday.
It's much different now. I'm surprised it's still here. Back
then it was an apartment building. Now it's deserted. The windows
are broken and boarded up. The brick walls are crumbling. The
decorations in the cement architecture on the 6th floor roof
have been worn away by the New York acid rain. Another perfect
addition to this perfect day.
It doesn't take more than one kick to get inside, and in this
neighborhood, no one lifts an eyebrow when an abandoned house is
broken into.
I'm surprised at how many memories come flooding back as I step
into the main hallway. I didn't even know I remembered these things,
but I do, and for a minute, I stand there, transfixed and waiting
for more. I try and search for little pieces of memories to
elaborate on the brief flashes of color and sound that appear in
my mind's eye, but I can't.
It take the 6 floor climb slowly, stopping on the 4th to see if I
can remember which apartment it was. I do.
Faith had run up here quickly, and I, shocked at the amount of
speed and stamina coming from my brand-new chick-partner, stalled
and watched her in awe before continuing on after her.
She had the guy on the floor, cuffed, before I could even get to
the room. I think it was then that I fell in love with her.
The paint is peeling. The ceiling drips. The appliances have all
been scavenged.
I can remember how she casually leaned back on the wall that day
as I entered the room, her boot placed firmly on the criminal's
shoulderblades. She smiled and crossed her arms in front of her,
as if to say "I told you so." I acted like I was mad that she'd
gone in without waiting for me--for backup.
Really, I was mad that I'd been so wrong about her.
I touch the wall...lean on it like she did so many years ago. My
cold, numb body turns warm for a second--or maybe I'm imagining it.
The roof top awaits me.
It's even colder up here. The wind is less trapped and the thin
tee-shirt I'm wearing is blown tight against me. I don't care.
I don't notice.
I look down at my watch. 14 more minutes. Not long now.
I survey the roof: walk the perimeter and glance down at the
street below. I finally sit down facing east.
I reach in my back pocket, and panic, not feeling it at first. But
it's just my cold hands. I pull out her picture, smoothing out
the rough and folded edges.
Another look at my watch. 12 minutes.
Her smiling face looks up at me from a happy day years ago. I
still feel like she is here with me sometimes because I can remember
her so well. Sometimes, I blur the memories and the reality and
it scares me.
It scares me and it comforts me and it reminds me.
Just last week I walked into the locker room and I could have sworn
on a stack of Bibles that she was standing there, clear as day,
buttoning up her shirt and smiling at me as I walked in. It startled
me when Officer Gavin walked right through her, and I must've said
her name. A couple of the guys changing raised their eyebrows,
and I heard someone mock a cuckoo clock under their breath.
They think I'm crazy. I hear them talk about it all the time.
I never thought I would rather have people talking behind my back,
but I am grateful that no one has ever confronted me.
Maybe I am crazy.
I can't talk to people any more. I don't even try and explain, or
fight their taunts or play the game. I do my job, which lately
has been menial audio surveillance. I don't care. I'd rather be
alone and without a gun.
People try and get me to talk, but they just don't get it. Sullivan
and I always butted heads, and Jimmy and me...but suddenly they think
they can act like my best friend and I'll forget everything else. I
have left our petty problems in the past, but I don't need sympathy
buddies. They don't understand anyways.
They haven't killed their partner. Their best friend. The person
they loved more than anyone else in the world.
It haunts me every second of every day.
I stopped sleeping because I can't deal with the nightmares. Some
nights I'm lucky enough to have insomnia. Others I get through with
a couple caffeine pills and pots of espresso.
How many countless times have people told me that it wasn't my fault?
It wasn't my fault that she was taken hostage. It wasn't my fault
that she moved in front of the bullet meant for her captor. It wasn't
my fault that she died by my hand. It wasn't my fault she died.
I was only trying to save her. He had the gun to her head and I
thought I had the perfect shot. My world stopped the second that
bullet hit her body.
I don't remember too much after that. I wandered for quite some
time caught up in a surreal hurricane of confusion. I vaguely
remember the funeral, and the memorial service at the station, the leave they put me on and yet another counselor I had to see...
I remember everyone telling me that it wasn't my fault.
But I knew it was.
I stumbled about life for the past year, not really letting anything
touch me. After some incidents that occured on the job, the department
declared me 'unstable' and 'with no regard to his own personal safety'
and put me on audio surveillance.
They were going to fire me but Swersky pulled strings. I appreciated it, but I wish he hadn't gone through all that trouble for nothing.
Only 7 minutes now.
Last night I went down to the bank and transferred all of the money
I had into my mom's account. At least I can make sure that she's
taken care of financially. I would like to hope that one day Mikey
will straighten out and protect her, but I know there is a good
chance that won't happen.
I've convinced myself she'll be fine. She survived my father, she
can survive anything. I feel guilty, but there is no other solution.
Aside from my guilt, the pain is overwhelming. I can't think of
anything but Faith. I've become obsessed with her memory. I hadn't
realized that I needed her around as much as I do.
I realized when she died, my one tether to humanity had been broken.
My connection to the rest of the world had been destroyed. I needed
her to make me a better person. Without her, I'm nobody.
The dull ache of her absence resounds in my heart and my body. Sometimes
it is so bad it actually becomes physical.
So many regrets...of course the fact that she even DIED is my worst one,
but next to that is the fact that I never told her...
I never told her I loved her. I know she loved Fred, and her kids...but...
I loved her too. I always knew it could never be the way it was in my
dreams between us...but I loved her anyways and I never told her.
I never told her.
I used to hate people who comitted suicide. They were cowards. I've
realized now, so am I. I can't bear to face another day alone with
myself. I can't stop thinking about her. I can't relate to anyone
else.
I can't move on.
So I'm going to stop trying.
I sit for awhile just thinking. Replaying memories of her over and
over in my mind...memories I conjured up so many times each day.
I was trying to save her. How could it have gone so wrong?
I am nothing without Faith. No one can fill the void that she left
when she died. I could never allow it.
4 minutes.
I've tried hard not to think about what is going to happen to me
after this. I was brought up to believe that those who took their own
lives were destined to Hell.
I know that Faith went straight to Heaven, and more than anything I
hope I end up with her--not because it's Heaven, but because I need
Faith.
If I do go to Hell, which wouldn't surprise me much, I know I deserve
it. Besides, it couldn't be much worse than what I am going through
now. At least I'd be warm. Haha.
I realize how cold it is now. Maybe it's because it's getting later.
Maybe it's the fact that I am dressed for spring.
Whatever the case, I only have 2 more minutes to deal with it. I
should relish it, really. Enjoy the pain--enjoy my last feelings
of my body.
I watch the seconds click down on my watch and I try and push down
the wave of nausea that hits me.
1:19...1:18...1:17...1:16...
I stand and walk to the ledge, and slowly step up onto it. Life
continues below me in it's eternal constant craze, no one stopping
to care about anyone besides themselves.
I wasn't expecting to feel this way. More memories than I knew I
had run through my mind and my heart and breath speed up. I'm still
holding her picture. I look at her, then to the sky, and say the
words I've said to her more times than I can count.
"I Love You Faith. I never meant to hurt you. I'm so lost without
you. You took my heart and soul when you went...I love you so much..."
I put the picture back in my pocket, right next to the letter I've
written explaining everything. I left a copy of it, my will, and
all of my legal documents on the kitchen table.
Save everyone the trouble of looking for things.
I know that once I step off the ledge, it'll be over in a heartbeat.
All the pain will be gone. After Faith's death, I had a multitude
of horrific nightmares, but one good dream, which I have been
feeding off of for months.
She was with me, and we talked and laughed, she was so beautiful...but all I really remember is when she picked me up and we flew.
I have never been more at peace in my life.
That is all I want now.
To fly.
For my feet to leave the boundaries of gravity. To be weightless. To have one moment of tranquility.
My watch alarm goes off. Exactly one year ago today, I, Maurice
Boscorelli, accidentally killed my partner during a hostage situation.
Now it's my turn to die.
I close my eyes and I think of her one last time. Suddenly I can't
breathe. The wind wraps around me like a blanket: warm and calm but
fast at the same time.
All the pain leaves my body, and I smile for the first time in months.
My feet leave the ledge.
I can feel colors and sounds and lights and warmth all around me. I
feel so weightless I can't explain it.
The warmth leaves me and I open my eyes.
I've stepped back from the ledge. I'm on the roof.
My watch reads 12:01 am.
A quick gust of warm wind rushes past me then, and I know I hear her
voice--FAITH'S VOICE--in the breeze:
"I love you too, Bosco"
Shaking, I sit down again.
The tears come before I can control myself, but my soul is soaring.
I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Faith is with me
right here, right now.
And for that, I am flying.
=============================
The End.
Didja like it? This was a quick-fic...I've got a vey temporary writers block for Abyss...I originally was going to kill him off and then the idea came to me...I went with it, and I'm pretty happy with the end result...I dunno, I hope it worked out for you guys!
By: syko4bosco aka A. Lalad
Disclaimer: My psychiatrist tells me I don't own them. And if you
sue me, I won't be able to pay you, cause I'm not
making any money off of this and all her advice has
sucked my college fund dry.
==*==
It's a cold day today. It's windy and raining and miserable.
It's a perfect day for the task at hand. Reminds me why I'm
doing what I'm doing. Leaves no room for doubt. I find the
dreary slush and the colorless sky comforting. I watch as the
smog lifts above the city, enveloping it in a sickening haze and
I smile.
It won't be long now.
It's 37 degrees with the wind chill, but I'm not cold. I don't
have time to think about being cold. Cold doesn't matter. I'm
not even wearing a coat. I embrace the cold.
It helps me remember. It clarifies.
It brings out my senses and allows me to feel so much more going
on in my body. My heart, my lungs, my stomach...they all feel
naked and I commit the sense of them to my memory.
I stop in front of the building. 1121 King St.
Faith and I busted our first perp here. 11 years ago. God, it seems like yesterday.
It's much different now. I'm surprised it's still here. Back
then it was an apartment building. Now it's deserted. The windows
are broken and boarded up. The brick walls are crumbling. The
decorations in the cement architecture on the 6th floor roof
have been worn away by the New York acid rain. Another perfect
addition to this perfect day.
It doesn't take more than one kick to get inside, and in this
neighborhood, no one lifts an eyebrow when an abandoned house is
broken into.
I'm surprised at how many memories come flooding back as I step
into the main hallway. I didn't even know I remembered these things,
but I do, and for a minute, I stand there, transfixed and waiting
for more. I try and search for little pieces of memories to
elaborate on the brief flashes of color and sound that appear in
my mind's eye, but I can't.
It take the 6 floor climb slowly, stopping on the 4th to see if I
can remember which apartment it was. I do.
Faith had run up here quickly, and I, shocked at the amount of
speed and stamina coming from my brand-new chick-partner, stalled
and watched her in awe before continuing on after her.
She had the guy on the floor, cuffed, before I could even get to
the room. I think it was then that I fell in love with her.
The paint is peeling. The ceiling drips. The appliances have all
been scavenged.
I can remember how she casually leaned back on the wall that day
as I entered the room, her boot placed firmly on the criminal's
shoulderblades. She smiled and crossed her arms in front of her,
as if to say "I told you so." I acted like I was mad that she'd
gone in without waiting for me--for backup.
Really, I was mad that I'd been so wrong about her.
I touch the wall...lean on it like she did so many years ago. My
cold, numb body turns warm for a second--or maybe I'm imagining it.
The roof top awaits me.
It's even colder up here. The wind is less trapped and the thin
tee-shirt I'm wearing is blown tight against me. I don't care.
I don't notice.
I look down at my watch. 14 more minutes. Not long now.
I survey the roof: walk the perimeter and glance down at the
street below. I finally sit down facing east.
I reach in my back pocket, and panic, not feeling it at first. But
it's just my cold hands. I pull out her picture, smoothing out
the rough and folded edges.
Another look at my watch. 12 minutes.
Her smiling face looks up at me from a happy day years ago. I
still feel like she is here with me sometimes because I can remember
her so well. Sometimes, I blur the memories and the reality and
it scares me.
It scares me and it comforts me and it reminds me.
Just last week I walked into the locker room and I could have sworn
on a stack of Bibles that she was standing there, clear as day,
buttoning up her shirt and smiling at me as I walked in. It startled
me when Officer Gavin walked right through her, and I must've said
her name. A couple of the guys changing raised their eyebrows,
and I heard someone mock a cuckoo clock under their breath.
They think I'm crazy. I hear them talk about it all the time.
I never thought I would rather have people talking behind my back,
but I am grateful that no one has ever confronted me.
Maybe I am crazy.
I can't talk to people any more. I don't even try and explain, or
fight their taunts or play the game. I do my job, which lately
has been menial audio surveillance. I don't care. I'd rather be
alone and without a gun.
People try and get me to talk, but they just don't get it. Sullivan
and I always butted heads, and Jimmy and me...but suddenly they think
they can act like my best friend and I'll forget everything else. I
have left our petty problems in the past, but I don't need sympathy
buddies. They don't understand anyways.
They haven't killed their partner. Their best friend. The person
they loved more than anyone else in the world.
It haunts me every second of every day.
I stopped sleeping because I can't deal with the nightmares. Some
nights I'm lucky enough to have insomnia. Others I get through with
a couple caffeine pills and pots of espresso.
How many countless times have people told me that it wasn't my fault?
It wasn't my fault that she was taken hostage. It wasn't my fault
that she moved in front of the bullet meant for her captor. It wasn't
my fault that she died by my hand. It wasn't my fault she died.
I was only trying to save her. He had the gun to her head and I
thought I had the perfect shot. My world stopped the second that
bullet hit her body.
I don't remember too much after that. I wandered for quite some
time caught up in a surreal hurricane of confusion. I vaguely
remember the funeral, and the memorial service at the station, the leave they put me on and yet another counselor I had to see...
I remember everyone telling me that it wasn't my fault.
But I knew it was.
I stumbled about life for the past year, not really letting anything
touch me. After some incidents that occured on the job, the department
declared me 'unstable' and 'with no regard to his own personal safety'
and put me on audio surveillance.
They were going to fire me but Swersky pulled strings. I appreciated it, but I wish he hadn't gone through all that trouble for nothing.
Only 7 minutes now.
Last night I went down to the bank and transferred all of the money
I had into my mom's account. At least I can make sure that she's
taken care of financially. I would like to hope that one day Mikey
will straighten out and protect her, but I know there is a good
chance that won't happen.
I've convinced myself she'll be fine. She survived my father, she
can survive anything. I feel guilty, but there is no other solution.
Aside from my guilt, the pain is overwhelming. I can't think of
anything but Faith. I've become obsessed with her memory. I hadn't
realized that I needed her around as much as I do.
I realized when she died, my one tether to humanity had been broken.
My connection to the rest of the world had been destroyed. I needed
her to make me a better person. Without her, I'm nobody.
The dull ache of her absence resounds in my heart and my body. Sometimes
it is so bad it actually becomes physical.
So many regrets...of course the fact that she even DIED is my worst one,
but next to that is the fact that I never told her...
I never told her I loved her. I know she loved Fred, and her kids...but...
I loved her too. I always knew it could never be the way it was in my
dreams between us...but I loved her anyways and I never told her.
I never told her.
I used to hate people who comitted suicide. They were cowards. I've
realized now, so am I. I can't bear to face another day alone with
myself. I can't stop thinking about her. I can't relate to anyone
else.
I can't move on.
So I'm going to stop trying.
I sit for awhile just thinking. Replaying memories of her over and
over in my mind...memories I conjured up so many times each day.
I was trying to save her. How could it have gone so wrong?
I am nothing without Faith. No one can fill the void that she left
when she died. I could never allow it.
4 minutes.
I've tried hard not to think about what is going to happen to me
after this. I was brought up to believe that those who took their own
lives were destined to Hell.
I know that Faith went straight to Heaven, and more than anything I
hope I end up with her--not because it's Heaven, but because I need
Faith.
If I do go to Hell, which wouldn't surprise me much, I know I deserve
it. Besides, it couldn't be much worse than what I am going through
now. At least I'd be warm. Haha.
I realize how cold it is now. Maybe it's because it's getting later.
Maybe it's the fact that I am dressed for spring.
Whatever the case, I only have 2 more minutes to deal with it. I
should relish it, really. Enjoy the pain--enjoy my last feelings
of my body.
I watch the seconds click down on my watch and I try and push down
the wave of nausea that hits me.
1:19...1:18...1:17...1:16...
I stand and walk to the ledge, and slowly step up onto it. Life
continues below me in it's eternal constant craze, no one stopping
to care about anyone besides themselves.
I wasn't expecting to feel this way. More memories than I knew I
had run through my mind and my heart and breath speed up. I'm still
holding her picture. I look at her, then to the sky, and say the
words I've said to her more times than I can count.
"I Love You Faith. I never meant to hurt you. I'm so lost without
you. You took my heart and soul when you went...I love you so much..."
I put the picture back in my pocket, right next to the letter I've
written explaining everything. I left a copy of it, my will, and
all of my legal documents on the kitchen table.
Save everyone the trouble of looking for things.
I know that once I step off the ledge, it'll be over in a heartbeat.
All the pain will be gone. After Faith's death, I had a multitude
of horrific nightmares, but one good dream, which I have been
feeding off of for months.
She was with me, and we talked and laughed, she was so beautiful...but all I really remember is when she picked me up and we flew.
I have never been more at peace in my life.
That is all I want now.
To fly.
For my feet to leave the boundaries of gravity. To be weightless. To have one moment of tranquility.
My watch alarm goes off. Exactly one year ago today, I, Maurice
Boscorelli, accidentally killed my partner during a hostage situation.
Now it's my turn to die.
I close my eyes and I think of her one last time. Suddenly I can't
breathe. The wind wraps around me like a blanket: warm and calm but
fast at the same time.
All the pain leaves my body, and I smile for the first time in months.
My feet leave the ledge.
I can feel colors and sounds and lights and warmth all around me. I
feel so weightless I can't explain it.
The warmth leaves me and I open my eyes.
I've stepped back from the ledge. I'm on the roof.
My watch reads 12:01 am.
A quick gust of warm wind rushes past me then, and I know I hear her
voice--FAITH'S VOICE--in the breeze:
"I love you too, Bosco"
Shaking, I sit down again.
The tears come before I can control myself, but my soul is soaring.
I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Faith is with me
right here, right now.
And for that, I am flying.
=============================
The End.
Didja like it? This was a quick-fic...I've got a vey temporary writers block for Abyss...I originally was going to kill him off and then the idea came to me...I went with it, and I'm pretty happy with the end result...I dunno, I hope it worked out for you guys!