Chapter Twenty-Six--
A/N: First of all, I would like to say this to the reviewers that pointed out my accidental faux pas: In my first draft, I had included some medical jargon from one of my other favorite shows - ER. I did have it credited. But alas, in the process of cutting and pasting it was lost along with some personal thank-yous. Instead of fixing this however, I decided to just let you all know in this chapter that I had borrowed some terminology from another show. I was, by no means, trying to pull one over on anyone. I'm sorry, but I am not a doctor and do not have the time or resources to research the correct terms. All of the medical jargon in this chapter is entirely mine, written using the few terms that I do know; so don't bother checking it against another episode. It is not meant to be 100% correct, but is only used to enhance the story. I did the best that I could. Just remember, all: fanfic is supposed to be fun - please don't take things too seriously.
I would like to give an extra warm thank-you to Stella, Joey, Sandra, Me (you know who you are), Lynn, Angy and Crazy4JnJ. You guys have been so awesome, and I cannot thank you enough!
To everyone else: I am utterly flattered that you approve of my work and hope you continue to take pleasure in reading it!
**********
He blinked, unconsciously hoping that perhaps the millisecond of darkness would erase the horrible sight that played out before his eyes like a barbarous stage show. He wished nothing more then to free himself from the gripping display and rid his hands from the drying blood that stiffened his palms and fingers as it encrusted his skin, but found himself rooted to the floor, unable to move.
Soft sobs and cries made their way into his immediate hearing, but the noises radiating from the trauma room overwhelmed them, smothering out anything and everything that interfered the sounds that he so desperately struggled to hear and comprehend. The loud shouts of the doctors as they diagnosed, the nurses frantically calling out vitals, and the erratic beeping of the EKG monitor filled his ears, becoming louder and louder until they reached a deafening climax, a screeching crescendo of shrill sound.
V-fib.
His erudite brain automatically recognized the shriek and reminded him instantly what the treacherous resonance meant. Words from his med school textbook echoed throughout his head, tormenting him with the terrible realism of the situation. "Ventricular fibrillation is a pulseless arrhythmia in which the heart immediately loses its ability to function as a pump."
He'd lost a few patients due to the irregular arrhythmia, and his heart sank at the thought. The next few minutes were crucial, and if the right measures were not taken and/or the body refused to respond, Bosco could be dead within a half hour.
Doc found himself holding his breath as he silently begged his friend to hold on.
Com'on, Bosco... You gotta fight this, man... FIGHT dammit!
**********
The disarray of the once-sterile trauma room completely disregarded all laws of nature, painting a picture that only a horrendous act from man could have consummated. The image was like that of a sadistic horror movie, immorally bloody and erroneous - something Dr. Kevorkian would have deemed worthy. In spite of the madness that had rudely disrupted the midnight calm just minutes ago, all was still - waiting. The tranquil hush that settled the room into an awkward silence was deceivingly loud.
The bright blue of hospital scrubs clashed with the crimson blood spattered across them, the white of clean, latex gloves lost under a thick, even coating of the fluid. Soaked four-by-fours littered the industrial-grade linoleum floors, spotting the ground like a perverted case of chicken pox. Three or four empty saline bags had been carelessly tossed on a metal tray, along with surgical clamps clutching blood-saturated sponges and hastily drained syringes.
Twelve pairs of eyes were anxiously glued to the EKG monitor, twelve sets of ears yearning to hear the musical beeping of a normal rhythm, yet simultaneously dreading the shrieking wail of V-fib or deadly asystole. The last electrical jolt that had been administered had yet to sound its results.
The officer that held their full attention was one of many that had entered the ER in the recent weeks, but each being either tragically DOA, or barely alive. They had done their best with every fallen officer, but the killer had done his job well, leaving six corpses and a comatose patient in his wake. These morbidly true facts kept their resolve strong, pushing the practiced team to use every technique and remedy possible to keep the young man alive. They couldn't and refused to lose another. It would not happen again. They would literally fight to the death.
Dr. Bradford stood stoically, a frustrated frown on his tired face, reflecting the collective sentiment that nobody else in the room took the precious time to show. Thoughts and ideas raged madly inside his head as he tried to think, tried to formulate a hasty plan in case their efforts continued to fail miserably.
A low murmur could be heard, startling some as the unexpected voice urgently prompted, "Com'on...com'on..."
Seconds dragged on into short eternities, eons and eons seeming to pass leisurely as the circle of anxious personnel watched and waited, each silently imploring the man's heart to regain enough strength to begin pumping once more.
Again, the shrill shriek.
"V-fib."
"Push a bolus of Amiodarone and charge to--"
Soft, melodic beeping suddenly filled the room, sluggish and uneven -- but a heartbeat no less. Enough of a good sign to light nervous smiles on a few lips.
"Sinus tach!" somebody yelled out unnecessarily. "He's back!"
Dr. Bradford took a relieved step backwards, exhaling the deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his experienced eyes scanning the EKG machine's digital readout. He obviously wasn't happy with the results.
"Sinus tach, yes - but he's throwing PVC's! Forget the Amiodarone - give him 1.5 mgs of Lidocaine and hang two more units on the infuser. He still has pulmonary edema... I want chest tubes run bilaterally, and up his oxygen to 100 percent. We need to get him stabilized and upstairs ASAP!"
"You want type specific?"
"Right now whatever we've got, but I want eight of type specific sent up with him and that foley changed out quickly. The rest of you, prep him for a laparotomy."
The team worked frantically on and around the officer, valiantly trying get him to the OR before it was too late. Two residents inserted thin, plastic tubes into his chest, rapidly draining off the fluid that had collected in his weakened lungs. Bags of vital donor blood were quickly infused into the lifeless body as his shredded side was smeared with dark-brown iodine, sterilizing the 'field' so the waiting surgeon would have one less thing to do.
"How many units have we given him?" Bradford inquired.
"Six," Proctor answered flatly, shaking her head.
"Okay, alright..." he sighed, once again racking his brain for answers. "How many large-bores do we have running?"
"Two, wide open. Pressure's 80 systolic."
"Temp?"
"102.5."
"Not good... must be getting an infection. Watch that closely and give another mg of Lidocaine in three minutes."
"You got it. We're having a hard time keeping his pressure up, though..."
"Yeah, I anticipated that - there's too much bleeding. It's probably not going to budge until he gets into surgery..." his voice trailed off in sort of a discouraged miasma, but then his tone changed abruptly to an urgent shout as he snapped into action. "He needs to go now, alright? Let's hurry it up people!"
The commotion in the room intensified to a dizzying speed as the team battled Fate and Time, their greatest foes. It was a race against Time, a strategic game to outplay Fate. The winner would take all and claim the young officer's life as a prize, and Dr. Bradford wasn't about to lose.
"He's ready!" Proctor announced a few moments later, unplugging several cords to aid in the swift departure of the gurney.
"Okay, good - let's get him upstairs."
**********
She stood, only a mere twenty feet away, her trembling hands covering her mouth as she attempted to stifle her relentless, hysterical cries. Tears of shock and dismay ran silently down her cheeks as she watched the frantic uproar that lit the trauma room with panicked shouts and harried movements.
The room milled with confusion, hands and bodies whirling from task to task at alarming speed as the doctors and nurses fought to keep her partner alive. Tubes, bags, and bloodied rags were tossed around from person to person, used here and there, and then unceremoniously discarded. Blood seemed to have had a hand in varnishing everything and everyone with a crimson tinge.
Faith could barely see his body though the din, but her stricken, tear-filled eyes saw enough to instill the feeling of dread that burned her throat. He was completely limp. Unmoving. Lifeless. Dead?
Her quivering lips bit back another sob as her mind fought to assure her that Bosco was still living. He wasn't dead... He couldn't be dead. God would not be so cruel... would he?
A piercing shriek cut through the concentrated tension that filled the ER, wailing and screaming as her partner's heart gave out, his weak and weary body finally calling it quits.
Bosco! No! Oh, God, no...
She could hear the frantic calls of the doctors as they vaulted into an even faster pace, making her vision swim as her eyes strained to keep up. Unconsciously, she felt herself moving towards the glass doors, her body charging forward as her very soul arrested. Ruthless feelings of absolute surrealism flooded her body like a rush of warm water, drowning out every sound and sensation as it took her senses over completely. Closer and closer she floated, her eyes begging to close out the horrific sight.
Please...please...no....
"Faith..."
Doc's arm stopped her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back, away from the frenzied shouts. She struggled, trying to be free of his firm but gentle grasp, lunging towards her partner with the inclination to save him herself. The doctors obviously weren't doing a good enough job...
"Faith! Faith, easy... It's okay," Doc murmured as he turned her shuddering body away from the dire, calamitous scene, twisting her around until she faced him. His tone was kind but strong, the look in his dark eyes one of pure empathy and trepidation. "Everything's gonna be okay. Trust me. The doctors gotta work, they gotta have room. You need to stay out here and wait, okay?"
"Nooo..." she sobbed, "H-he's...gonna...die."
He took her quivering chin in his hand, gently lifting her head until she raised her tearing eyes from the floor.
"Look at me. Everything's gonna be okay. Bosco's a fighter. He's gonna be alrigh--"
Another loud shriek interrupted him, sending a violent shiver through her body as her knees buckled underneath her. Doc was prepared for this, fortunately, and he quickly caught her up in his arms before she crumbled to a heap on the floor.
"Oh, God..." she sobbed against his shoulder as she clutched him in a terrified death-grip. "God...please..."
"Com'on, Faith - you don't need 'ta see this..." Doc murmured as he pulled her away, half-carrying her out of the noisy hall and into a small room of some sort. She barely felt herself moving, her hear wrenching violently and a part of her dying as the shriek continued to ring out.
The stark quiet of the room differed from the shouts and mechanical screams so much that it made her ears ring. She sank to the floor, sobbing as she struggled not to hyperventilate.
Her partner was dead. He was gone. Bosco was dead. She would never see him again. He was gone...
Doc squatted down next to her, rubbing her shoulder with a warm, consoling hand, trying to comfort her. But his efforts were lost amongst the overwhelming anguish and grief that washed over her as a wave of sickening despair. Her heart literally ached for her partner, silently lamenting its own stricken sorrow.
I'm sorry, Bosco... I'm so sorry... I tried...I'm so sorry.
**********
He'd never seen anything like this.
Okay, maybe he had once or twice... but this time it was worse somehow. It was bloodier, gorier, more chaotic... more personal. He'd worked as a paramedic for years, seen his fair share of graphic wounds, but none had made him feel sick. Not like this at least.
Perhaps the sudden nausea had to do with how incredibly tired he was, or maybe he was still feeing guilty about the fit he'd thrown earlier that night, or it could have been the fact that Bosco's partner was sobbing in grief not two feet away from him, but it was there nonetheless, strong and bittersweet in his throat.
His eyes parted from their fixated gaze, pausing only to glance at Faith, who was nearly beside herself as she watched the tragic drama unfold in front of them. He winced at the blood that still covered her hands and clothing. Oh, that's just wrong...
Doc stood stoically not two feet away from her, his fists clenched perfunctorily at his sides, the muscles and tendons in his hands nearly bulging from pressure. His deep brown eyes flew from Faith to the spectacle before them, uncertainty strongly showing in his fleeting gazes. His mouth hung slightly agape, parted lips implying the amount of dread and shock that was settling in on his partner. Just the sight of his mentor's own repulsion made Carlos feel sicker
The commotion within the glass doors once again caught his eye, and he paid close attention to every movement. The doctors and nurses of the night shift were clearly trying their best to resuscitate the body that lay limp on the gurney before them, doing what appeared to be their darnedest to revive the man from the ventricular fibrillation that loudly threatened to end his life, refusing to give up or be disheartened at all. Over and over they shocked the officer, and his rapt eyes never lost count.
Once... Twice...
Faith then lost it, but Doc caught her up in his arms, showing the deep compassion and strength that Carlos had respected for years. His veteran partner quickly ushered her out of the hall and into an adjoining lounge, wisely pulling her away from the sight of her partner's death.
On a normal day he'd have helped Doc, but he found himself just watching numbly as the whole drama unfolded - unable to move from pure shock and fatigue, it seemed.
The doctor gripped the paddles and once again shot a jolt of electricity into Bosco's chest. The eerie thumping sound of the lifeless body's response pealed around the room. He felt himself involuntarily cringe and wince.
Ouch - that was three times now.
Aw, man...
He found himself leaning forward as he strained to hear the product of the latest surge of current, clenching his fingers so tightly that they burned. He'd defibrillated many a patient before, and knew that the longer the doctors had to keep trying to restart Bosco's heart, the worse chances they'd have of actually getting him back.
Com'on...com'on...
That damn shriek again.
Shit.
He closed his eyes, knowing exactly what drugs they would be pumping into the officer's veins, what the doctor was going to shout out before he'd even uttered a word. And he was right; the doctor prescribed the drug of choice and then called for them to charge the defibrillator to...
The damn shriek was suddenly replaced by what he'd been waiting to hear - what they'd all been waiting for: something, anything.
It wasn't much, an erratic heartbeat that was far too weak and unstable for his liking... but hey, it was a start.
He let out an unexpectedly heavy sigh, dark eyes closing once again, but this time in grateful relief.
Thank God.
**********
Footsteps echoed faintly off of the blood-drenched floors, creating an eerie, haunting ambiance in the abandoned apartment. Lights had been turned on to aid sight, and only added to the sinister atmosphere by casting dark shadows around the rooms like ghosts of the night.
Sam licked his dry lips as he paced the hall outside the devastation, his eyes flitting to peer into the depths of the destroyed bathroom every once and a while, only to be rewarded each time by the unfortunately familiar, grisly images.
Stopping for a second from his mechanical stride, he glared at the crumpled body of the killer. Blood from the explosive chest wound he'd received had mixed with his victims, creating the sticky, syrupy mess that coated the floor evenly. The blood wasn't what had caught his attention though, but the sadistic expression that had froze on the man's malevolent features. An impious smile warped his lips, and Sam felt his body involuntarily shudder in repulsion as he realized this.
What a sick, sick, bastard...
He started somewhat when he heard the floorboards creek behind him, and turned his head towards the sudden sound.
Matt appeared from the shadows, looking quite disturbed and disheveled as he slowly walked to stand beside him. His eyes held a raw, haunted look of pure culpability and consternation, the usual sparkle of his young, fresh fervor replaced by a dark, ominous guilt. His hair -always a little disorderly- had been raked into a twisted, blond mess, nearly standing on end and giving the young detective a 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' look.
"You okay?" Sam asked, watching his friend closely.
Matt just looked away, disregarding the question. He cleared his throat, but the effort didn't mask the unevenness of his voice. "The CSI's here - just saw them drive up. Coroner too."
"Good, I don't want to baby-sit this mess anymore."
Sam sighed as eyes traveled once again to the corpse that was strewn across the floor, wishing away the dread that suddenly welled up in his throat. Even though the case appeared to be closed, he had a niggling feeling that something was missing - or rather that they had missed something.
God, I hope not...
**********
Dr. Bradford stepped back, letting the elevator doors closed him in. He leaned against the cold, metal railing that lined the walls, closing his eyes for a moment as he relished the calm after the storm. His job was done, but the surgeon's had just begun - and judging from what he'd seen of the wounded officer, the operating room staff were in for a long night.
Beside him, Mary Proctor slowly stripped her hands of her bloodied latex gloves, turning them inside-out and wadding them into a tight ball. She and three residents had joined him in the race upstairs, and now accompanied him back to the ER, all of them nearly breathless from exertion and horror, silent in obvious shock and concern for Officer Boscorelli's life.
"You think he's going to make it?" Mary asked softly, voicing what everyone else in the elevator had yet to.
Bradford exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I don't know, Mary. He's in pretty bad shape... But I think we might have gotten him through the worst. Let's just hope he doesn't crash again on the table...or they might lose him."
The elevator was still once more, silenced by the despondency that enveloped the small space. They had put up their best efforts to get him this far, and now it was the officer's turn to fight. The ball was in his court.
**********
He sat back on his haunches, his arm still around Faith's shoulder but starting to become numb from the lengthy span of time he'd spent in the same position. Minutes had passed, maybe nearly a half-hour - he'd lost all track of time.
The room in which they sat huddled against a wall, was deafeningly silent, the thick door advantageously masking whatever was happening on the other side. His thoughts had turned south when he'd gotten into the small room, his learned mind telling him that the outlook for his friend was undoubtedly bleak.
He grimaced slightly, suddenly realizing that he had taken Faith away from the dire display partly for his own benefit. He didn't want to witness the horrific scene any more than she did, and had brought her in there to get away from the devastating tragedy of sights and sounds. Selfish, that's what it was. But he'd done it, and did not regret it. He wouldn't have lasted much longer just waiting and watching.
The door creaked open softly and Carlos stuck his head in, his eyes displaying an odd emotion that Doc couldn't read. Could it be the knowledge of death that was lit in his brooding eyes? Or perhaps it was a rare sighting of sympathy...
"Uh, guys...? They, um...they got him back."
The words slammed into his chest, relieving the tight pressure that had suddenly surged in. Oh, thank God...
"They just took him upstairs. They're gonna operate."
**********
Grief. She was aware of nothing else. Her heart had broken in two, a part of her gone along with her partner. Even though she wasn't sure if he even was dead... she'd seen enough to deduce his ending. There was no way that he would survive; even her medically uneducated mind knew that. Blood-loss coupled with the severity of his wounds could only mean one thing: Certain death.
A thin wisp of hope kept her from being completely disconsolate, though - pulling her gently from the bottomless depths of despair. It wasn't enough, however, to keep her from breaking down. Tears of frustration, anguish, loneliness and misery sobbed though her trembling form, catching harshly in her throat as a massive lump as she fought to keep even a few pieces of her mind and body together.
Oh, Bosco... You didn't deserve this...you didn't... Not this...
The soft sound of a door opening disturbed the absolute stillness that gripped the room, forgoing the inclusive quiet that was strangely comforting and simultaneously disconcerting.
She didn't move to look though, instead bracing herself for the sudden onslaught of dreadful news that was sure to come. They would say that they were sorry, say that they tried everything, but he was too far-gone. This would only remind her that she had indeed left her partner off at his apartment alone, returned too late, and hadn't done enough to help him. Guilt quickly replaced the smothering grief.
But the voice that spoke wasn't a bearer of bad tidings, a messenger of death. It was the clear, yet troubled voice of an unusually soft-spoken Carlos that clashed into her consciousness.
"Uh, guys...? They, um...they got him back."
For the first time in hours she felt the sweet sensation of reprieve wash over her, breaking though the guilt and grief that had wrapped her body tightly. Her limbs quickly turned into jello, the uptight tension melting away, relaxing rapidly as she struggled to grasp the words that her ears had just received.
He isn't...dead? He's alive? How...?
Disbelief filled her chest as a crushing panic. Was this a cruel joke? Was her mind fabricating this...this obvious lie to ease and reassure her discombobulated body?
Her eyes begged to open and see if there was indeed a form to the voice - to find out if in her overpowering grief she had purely invented it.
She blinked, foggy vision smudging the shadow that filled the doorway. A second passed as she sat in complete shock, skeptical about what she was seeing, yet assuring herself that the silhouette it was undeniably factual, not contrived from a brutal trick of her strained and weary psyche.
It had to be true. She couldn't be dreaming. That was Carlos standing before her, was it not?
"They just took him upstairs. They're gonna operate," he told them matter-of-factly.
Now she was positive, though the truth was entirely too hard to comprehend. She felt Doc squeeze her shoulder, the kind contact sending shivers of hope and comfort ricocheting down her spine.
My God...it's true... He's not dead.
She was vaguely aware of the sound that permeated her lips, a soft, thankful sob of relief. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sent up an unvoiced thank-you to the Man upstairs.
I owe you one.
**********
The headache had slowly made its way from the back of his head into the tender tissue behind his eyes, radiating pounding pain though his temples like small daggers. It was one of the few things that made the last few hours seem real, overriding the surrealistic sensation that came with the unbelievably unusual events that had taken over the night.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger; a small measure that he hoped would alleviate some of the pressure thundering in his skull. But it was to no avail - the relentless throbbing persisted, causing him to wince slightly as he opened his bleary eyes.
In his extreme exhaustion, he'd half-expected to find himself back in that gore-filled apartment, but instead was blessed with the familiarity of Sam's car. The smells were all wrong though - the black leather reeked of salty blood and the pungent scent of gunpowder radiated from the air freshener that dangled unceremoniously from the rearview mirror.
He knew his somnolent mind was fabricating this and he shook his head, begging the lingering aromas to leave him alone, but they remained, reminding him of...well, everything.
I need sleep...bad.
"We're here," Sam announced their arrival as he pulled into one of the parking spots allotted for the cities police force. The sign that lit the ER parking lot blared out an uncomforting phrase: Angel of Mercy Hospital.
Angel of Mercy, my ass. There'd have to be one hell of a merciful angel to save Officer Boscorelli.
"Yeah," he muttered to his partner, dreading their entrance. There would be, no doubt, a hoard of questions awaiting them, along with the pitiful tears of his cheated partner. The doctors, the Chief, and poor Yokas would all want to know one thing: Why.
Why they hadn't figured the case out in time, why they'd been ten minutes too late, why another officer had to die...
Truth be told, he had no idea why. He'd done his darndest to figure out the killer, and had succeeded, but again - he was too late. It had just played out that way, a cruel act from a merciless Fate. She had to be laughing up there - her and her equally nasty friend, Time. They had done this... God would never be so malicious.
The frigid early-morning air battered him as they ambled slowly towards the front doors, cutting into his cheeks and beating in a fresh dose of depression as it chilled his very core. The ramifications of the unplanned night of terror ripped into every muscle, reminding him of what he now had to do: Explain all of this...mess, and how and why it had been allowed to happen.
Oh, please...I don't want to do this...
But once inside, he was slightly taken aback to find the waiting area vacant, save the Chief and Lieutenant Swersky. He frowned, as he'd expected a multitude of eyes to glare at him when he'd entered, all disappointed, upset, and wanting answers.
This was a welcome surprise.
"Harrison, Taylor," the Chief nodded at them. "You want to tell me what happened tonight?"
Sam spoke first, relieving the responsibility of a reply from his young partner. "You want the long or the short version?"
The Chief shrugged, shaking his head. "We've got all night, boys."
***********
Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and twelve...now, thirteen seconds. That's how long she'd sat in that very room, waiting.
The walls all ran together now, blending seamlessly and creating the illusion of a cage. She knew she could leave at any time, get up and get a cup of coffee perhaps, or use the washroom to take care of the remaining blood that had dried and caked under her fingernails, but the cage-like room provided a strange sense of solace.
So she sat, hours and hours ticking by causally as if there wasn't a care in the world, time seeming to crawl with unnecessary slowness. Any minute now a doctor could come strolling in, announcing the results of the lengthy surgery, and there was no way in hell that she could move from her spot - she would be there for her partner, whether the news be good or bad.
Hours ago, Mary Proctor had come by and told her the details of his injuries, how severe they were and how the doctors and nurses of the ER had done their best to keep Bosco alive. Her kind and gentle voice was well received, exactly what Faith needed. She knew that her partner was literally at Death's door with one foot in the grave, but Mary's understanding honesty and compassion had eased her troubled mind considerably.
Doc had stayed with her and was still there, slumped down into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, his face as solemn as it had ever been.
"Officer?"
The sudden word startled her, snapping her eyes immediately from their downward gaze. There was a doctor standing in the doorway, his scrubs soaked in sweat and spattered here and there with the brown of dried fluids. His face was somber, not expressing any emotion.
Doc sat up a little straighter in his chair, leaning forward as he waited for the doctor to continue.
"The operation went well..."
**********
"What?!"
He was incredulous, not because he didn't believe that it could have happened, but rather that it actually did.
Running into the Chief of Police in the corridors of the vast hospital had been surprise enough, but the abysmal news had totally caught him off-guard.
He'd gotten Bosco? The killer had struck down one of the toughest cops at the precinct? The expression on his face must have only amplified his obvious disbelief and concern, and the Chief nodded his head and reiterated the truthful nature of his information.
"It's true, Sullivan. He's up in the ICU as we speak."
He shook his head in wonderment, reaching up unconsciously to scratch the back of his head, a gesture he only committed when he was disturbed or perplexed. "I... How's he doin'?"
"He's probably going to be okay... The guy did a pretty good number on him, I'm afraid."
"Probably?"
"Well, there's always a chance of infection, that sorta thing. How's your own partner, by the way?"
"Davis? He woke up this morning. The doc says he'll be fine..." he stated flatly, more interested in the health of another fallen friend. Davis would make a full recovery, but Bosco? "I just...I can't believe it..."
"I know, but we got the sick bastard. Yokas shot the hell out of him."
"Good God..."
"Yeah," the Chief agreed, patting the dubious Sully on the back. "That's what I said."
***********
Her breath had been stolen from her, taken swiftly away by an unseen force. All airflow stopped at her lips, refusing to pass and continue down into her lungs. She felt herself waver slightly and grabbed onto the wooden frame of the door, her knees unable to support her weight fully.
The sight was shocking.
There were so many tubes and wires, all connecting to a different part of her partner's limp body. Machines generated noise in the small curtained-off area, assaulting her ears with their rhythmic beeps and chimes, and crudely reminding her of their role in his current state of existence. They were doing all of the work - pumping the air that filled his lungs, dripping the life-sustaining drugs into his blood stream, calling out the condition of his feeble heartbeat. It was the machines that were really alive, not her partner.
She moved into the room slowly, each step forward showing off a little more of what the killer had done to Bosco. The man had left him with a body that was barely functioning, a future that remained grim.
His face did not reflect the same youthful energy that had greeted her each afternoon, but that of a weary, spent soul. The pallor of his skin could be classified as sheet-white at best, his fingers and lips tinged with a contrasting shade of blue. His hair was still matted with long-dried sweat and blood, twisted this way and that from a nurse who'd stroked his head comfortingly.
The gurney's rail was cold beneath her fingers as she gripped it, her already reddened eyes fighting back tears once again. This was not the man she knew and loved, but a mere shadow of what he'd once been.
"Bos..." she whispered. "I'm so sorry..."
**********
Black. There was so much black. It was deep and dark, crowded and spacious at the same time, causing an inert sense of claustrophobia to settle into his very bones. Numbness accompanied the black, adding to the stifling despondency that overwhelmed him.
All sensations were gone, or at least he was unaware of them, his body, mind and soul floating in the sea of pure oblivion. His thoughts remained, however, and he struggled to figure out where he was, what had happened.
Am I dead? Am I sleeping? Is this some kind of sick dream?
He felt himself slowly floating towards the surface, up where the darkness wasn't so think, so ominous...so petrifying. Propelled by his terror of the dark, he used every ounce of strength that he had, forcing his exhausted body to cooperate with his panicked brain. He willed himself to swim to the top, but he inwardly screamed in terror.
God, I'm scared. It's too dark... I'm so scared...
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: Light.
Oh, man, I hope I'm not dead... Please don't let this be that stupid light at the end of the tunnel. I can't die. I can't be dead...
"Bosco?"
Someone was calling his name, whispering from somewhere up ahead, where the light was.
God? Oh, shit. I am dead.
Sudden alarm filled his being and he felt sick. Sensation was returning slowly as he floated towards the light, and he gave in, too tried to fight his way back to where he'd come from.
His options were few: go to the light and be dead, or struggle back down to the dark black. He made a quick decision, letting himself go, surrendering to the idea of being dead. Dead was better than the dark of Hell.
I'm sorry, Faith... I'm so sorry, Ma, I didn't mean to. I just can't be in the dark.
**********
"It's all over...yet I feel like we've missed something. Sam, from a man who's actually closed a case like his before, does it always feel his way? Almost incomplete?"
The question arose, as he knew it would. Matt was a smart young man and wouldn't have been so quick as to say, "Case closed." and move on. No, this particular detective would tie up all lose ends, push for all the answers until he could sleep completely peacefully at night, knowing that his job was entirely finished, lock stock and barrel.
He sighed, raking a calloused hand through his dark hair. He'd had the same misgivings, uncertainty tugging at his subconsciousness like an annoying no-see-um. Always there, buzzing around one's head, but invisible, impossible to find and kill.
Perhaps it was the sheer magnitude of the case, coupled with the abrupt and disturbing ending that endowed them both with this coy presentiment. Or perhaps it was a justified feeling - maybe there was more to this case than they originally thought.
And therein lay the problem.
The Chief had announced that morning that the case was officially closed and the investigation completed. The night before had solved and ended the murderous trial that had littered the precinct with bodies and stricken fear into the hearts of every officer that worked there. He'd praised his detectives for their hard work, their perseverance that had eventually lead to the first and final break.
To reopen this case would only serve to send terror racing through the newfound security of the 55th precinct. Something that neither detective wanted to do.
They would just have to live with the niggling feeling.
**********
"Bosco?"
His eyelids fluttered slightly as he made an intrepid effort to open them. Faith felt her heart leap at the small movement, her joy surpassing the earlier consternation that had teemed in her body.
"Bosco?" she whispered again, this time leaning forward until her lips were mere inches away from his ear.
She stared at his face, watching and waiting for a response - any response. He looked for all the world that he was only asleep, and that waking him could be accomplished by a mere poke or whisper, but the truth was far from that. Even though the ventilator had been removed a few hours ago and he'd been extubated, he remained in critical condition, still extremely weak and in danger of infection.
He stirred, moving his mouth underneath the oxygen mask that covered half of his face, eyelids twitching as he struggled to awaken. His hand moved within her own, fingers curling slightly against his partner's.
"Bos..."
Finally, his efforts paid off and he managed to slit his heavy lids open a crack, giving Faith a glimpse of his blue eyes. She nearly broke down then, having been convinced before that she'd never see them again and the deep, striking pureness that she'd known for such a long time.
"Hey," she smiled weakly, giving his hand a squeeze.
He responded with a rather pathetic squeeze of his own and the widening of his eyes as he strained to awaken fully and stay that way. He swallowed hard; wincing in pain, then opened his mouth to speak.
"Faith...?"
"It's over, Bosco. He's dead... It's over, it's all over," she soothed, running a hand over his forehead as tears of happiness ran down her cheeks. "You're okay, everything's okay. It's over..."
He nodded ever so slightly, repeating her statement as if to assure himself of its reality, his eyes faintly lighting with the mischievously happy sparkle that had been missing for so long. "S'over."
She smiled, this time fully, knowing in that moment that she'd never been happier. Bosco was alive, awake - and he would be fine. Her life had gone from a constant state of fear and uneasiness, to the warm feeling of absolute security. There was no man out there hunting her and her coworkers down, no menacing threat of death looming in the air, no fear for her and her partner's life anymore.
It was over.
**********
TBC... Tell me what you think... I'd love to hear from you! :o)