Disclaimers in Chapter 1.
~~~~~ Chapter Four: Every Rose Has Its Thorn ~~~~~
Calleigh came to slowly, awareness climbing out of a cold, unfeeling void in halting steps.
Without warning, inky nothingness was instantly overtaken by mind- shattering pain, its exact location a mystery, as recognition and consciousness dawned, bringing with it the realization that not only did her head ache dully, but her shoulder muscles were straining, pulled into an unnatural position behind her back. She tried to wriggle her fingers to alleviate their unaccustomed numbness, only to find that her hands and feet were bound with what she assumed were silk scarves, their cool softness in bittersweet contrast to the bite they inflicted to the tender skin of her wrists and ankles.
She impatiently shoved away the fuzzy, static-covered scenes her addled brain currently supplied in favor of a lucid, more detailed observation of her situation, knowing she would need all her wits about her if she were going to get out of this predicament alive.
The first thing she saw clearly was her assailant pointing a gun at her and leaning heavily against the arm of her living room sofa several steps from where she now sat. Next, she recognized the pungent tang of blood in the air, the source of which became obvious when a warm trickle flowed down the side of her face.
Huffman gave Calleigh only a few seconds to prepare herself mentally before he began to speak.
"So, Blondie's finally awake. I see you've been getting my roses." He nodded his head at her, gesturing toward the box at her feet.
He came to stand directly in front of her and raised his hand intending to stroke her cheek, but Calleigh jerked her head away from the impending touch.
A demented, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. "Ooh, a feisty one. Do you know who I am?"
Calleigh looked him straight in the eye and, without flinching, delivered a reality check-"Your name is Clyde Huffman. You killed four women."
She caught just a brief flash of fear in his eyes before he turned away from her.
"The reporters are calling you the 'Rosebud Killer'."
At that, he pivoted back toward her, his evil expression a sickening sight. "Yeah. Kinda cool, ain't it?"
"No, Mr. Huffman. There's nothing 'cool' about murder."
Huffman's face fell slightly. Sensing that she could gain the upper hand from him, Calleigh continued on unhindered.
"Apparently, you think I'm next on your list, but I can tell you for certain, that's not going to happen." Calleigh's voice remained outwardly calm despite the quivering in her belly.
"You won't be able to keep away from me for long. Don't you know how happy I could make you?" The look in his eyes was half wild, half pleading.
Calleigh laughed scornfully. "You don't have what it takes to make me happy, you son of a-"
Huffman grabbed her viciously by the hair, yanking her head back so that she was forced to look up at him towering over her.
"Shut up!" he screamed, shoving his gun in her face. "You know, I was gonna handle you just like all the others and shoot you and get it over with, but I think I'd rather have a little fun first instead."
Calleigh shivered at his words, trying valiantly not to let her building terror show.
A prisoner in her own home, her hands and feet bound and useless to her at the moment, Calleigh did all she could think to do-she began rocking the chair from side to side in an effort to avoid Huffman's advances.
He fought briefly to subdue her, but was unable to stop her maneuverings. An unexpected forceful slap to her face brought the scuffle to and end, Calleigh's body going still out of sheer instinct for preservation, the criminalist in her remembering that cooperation with one's attacker was the key to survival. Breathing heavily now, she could feel her cheek beginning to plump from swelling. She could only imagine the angry-looking bruises she would have when this was over.
"Now that's more like it," Huffman drawled.
His gun mere inches from her face and his body situated so close to her own that not so much as a sheet of paper could be placed between them, he hunkered down and untied Calleigh's feet. His proximity eliminated the option of kicking or kneeing him in the chest. Just to feel him touching her made Calleigh cringe. She fought back the bitter taste of bile that threatened to rise in her throat at the thought of what this monster was undoubtedly planning to do to her.
Moving around behind her, Huffman held the gun to the back of Calleigh's head while he untied her hands and brought them more accommodatingly down in front of her, keeping them held tightly with his own, preventing her from striking out at him. Coming back within her field of vision, he hauled her roughly to her feet and pulled her away from the chair toward the middle of the living room floor.
With no preamble, Huffman shoved Calleigh to the floor and crouched above her, her body pinned helplessly between his knees. Adrenalin surged powerfully, giving Calleigh the momentum to squirm and struggle with her aggressor. The harder she fought, the angrier he became, his face a mask of wickedness and determination. Calleigh's frustrated groans and whimpers were met with Huffman's disaffected grunts as they volleyed for control.
Calleigh was able to free one hand long enough to reach up and scratch at Huffman's face, leaving jagged, bloody claw marks on his skin. For her impudence, she was rewarded, or more accurately, punished, by having her hands once again bound, yanked above her head, and secured to the leg of the nearby coffee table.
Her helpless moans became desperate cries as she tried and failed to evade him.
She was defenseless against him now.
Girding herself for the inevitable, she retreated within, determined not to be emotionally present for the onslaught that was to come. As such, she was only vaguely aware of Huffman savagely tearing at her blouse, the ruined fabric no longer a barrier between them.
He leaned in to paw at her, his foul, hot breath robbing her of what little air she currently panted to breathe.
Calleigh's body went limp, her eyes glazing over, the here and now a far less inviting place than the alternate reality deep inside her own mind.
Above all else, she wanted to see visions of a happier time and place, to remember good things, beautiful things, to block out the ugliness about to unfold around her. She focused all her energy on that task, and for a few moments, she succeeded. She saw brief flashes of times passed-walking along her favorite beach at sunset, her graduation day at the police academy, the decimated targets at untold numbers of firing ranges, a proffered cup of coffee from Horatio-
Horatio. Oh, God.
There was so much unsaid between them. So much left unfinished.
Now they would never get the opportunity to explore what might have been. He would never know how she felt because they'd been too afraid of opening up to each other, too unwilling to take a chance.
And if, by some miracle of fate she did survive this day, what then? What would he think of her? Would he treat her differently? Then there was that little matter of her hiding evidence...evidence that might have led to Huffman's arrest before the situation reached its present status. Horatio was her supervisor. There would be a censure for her, or worse. He would have no choice in the matter. My God, what had she done? To lose her job, the career she loved so much, would be difficult; but to lose Horatio before they had truly found each other, well, that would be unbearable in the extreme.
Even in her current state, Calleigh could feel hot tears swell and spill over her cheeks.
Huffman stilled, paralyzed by the notion that the fight had gone out of his victim. He looked down at her as though seeing her for the first time. Her head was turned away from him, her facial expression a blank slate. There was no satisfaction for him in this. He didn't want to take from her body-he wanted her dead.
He pushed himself up and away from her only slightly, locking his knees to create a firing stance. He raised his gun, poised to shoot. Closed his eyes. Calleigh turned to face him, to meet her fate head-on.
Was this how her life was to end?
No.
She would not let it be.
At the moment Huffman began to squeeze the trigger, his concentration was broken as pandemonium erupted around him.
Calleigh's front door was broken off its hinges as in rushed a double dose of justice--Horatio Caine and Frank Tripp--the duo flanked by a cluster of black-clad marksmen, their arrival heralded by thunderous shouts and heavy footfalls. The group swarmed the room with weapons drawn, surrounding Huffman and Calleigh.
Tripp took charge, yelling "Don't move! Don't even flinch, you sorry scumbag!"
Sneering, Huffman moved to pull back the gun's firing mechanism, Tripp's admonition going unheeded.
Without even pausing to think, Horatio took the shot.
The man's body slumped sideways, clinging to life by the barest of threads.
As Huffman's shoulder hit the floor beside her, Calleigh cried out, all her pent-up emotions suddenly escaping their floodgates.
Every instinct within him urged Horatio to help Calleigh, but he knew that at the moment, she could not be his only concern. He carefully untied her hands and turned to attend to Huffman. Before he could even get his bearings, though, Calleigh crossed in front of him and fell to her knees beside her attacker.
With all the strength she could muster, Calleigh rolled Huffman onto his back. His pitiful cries of pain went unheard as Calleigh began beating his chest with both her clinched fists, deep, guttural sobs wracking her frame with every impact. She was able to get in several strong blows before two powerful arms took hold of her and pulled her away from the mortally wounded man.
Horatio slowly led her to the sofa. Her eyes studied the floor during the entire process, never once rising to look directly at him. She dropped listlessly to the seat and instantly curled into a fetal position, burrowing into the space between the back cushion and the armrest.
Horatio's heart squeezed itself like a fist at the sight of her, bloodied and bruised, exhausted and terrified, but to him, never more beautiful. He gently draped his CSI-issue windbreaker over her shivering form and stepped back to allow a couple of paramedics, one, blessedly, a woman, to begin to check her over. Horatio was more than a little worried that Calleigh was still uncommunicative.
Huffman began to regain consciousness and laboriously turned his head to look at Horatio. Cold gray met even colder ice blue and stayed locked at impasse for several seconds.
In the earlier melee, the last rose had been dumped onto the carpet. Horatio stooped to pick it up, looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then tossed it carelessly onto Huffman's chest as the man lay dying.
"How's it feel to get a rose, hmm?"
Huffman winced in pain, but said nothing.
"Get him outta here, Frank, before I do something I might actually regret," Horatio growled, his eyes two warnings.
One of Miami-Dade's finest helped two other paramedics load Huffman onto a gurney and wheeled him to one of the waiting ambulances, leaving Horatio and Tripp alone in the middle of the room.
"What the hell happened, Frank? I though you said this place would be like Fort Knox. How did he get in here without any of your guys seeing him?"
Tripp was remorseful and angry at the same time.
"Looks like he caught my guys unaware outside. Clocked 'em and left 'em lying in the shrubbery at the side of the building."
It didn't escape Tripp's notice that Horatio had heard what he was saying, but his eyes remained locked on Calleigh.
"I'll take care of things on this end, Horatio. Delko and Speedle can process the scene without you here. Go. Go be with her."
Horatio turned and nodded to his friend, a look of compassion and shared understanding passing between them.
After a much-too-long struggle and a war of words, the paramedics were able to convince a stubborn Calleigh to go to the hospital. They had bandaged her head wound, but wanted to be sure of no further injuries. Calleigh slid onto the gurney of her own volition, unwilling to let anyone touch her.
As she was being wheeled out through the hole where her front door used to be, Eric and Speed walked up, ready to begin documenting the events that had taken place. This was Calleigh's home, but it was also a crime scene. They promised her that they would take special care with her things.
Horatio watched as the paramedics lifted Calleigh into the second ambulance. She still had not made eye contact with him. Her walls were up. She had gone fully into self-protection mode. He knew that, without a doubt, it would take all the love and care he could offer her to penetrate the fortress she had built in such a short time.
He only hoped his love would be enough to bring her back to him.
~~~~~ Chapter Four: Every Rose Has Its Thorn ~~~~~
Calleigh came to slowly, awareness climbing out of a cold, unfeeling void in halting steps.
Without warning, inky nothingness was instantly overtaken by mind- shattering pain, its exact location a mystery, as recognition and consciousness dawned, bringing with it the realization that not only did her head ache dully, but her shoulder muscles were straining, pulled into an unnatural position behind her back. She tried to wriggle her fingers to alleviate their unaccustomed numbness, only to find that her hands and feet were bound with what she assumed were silk scarves, their cool softness in bittersweet contrast to the bite they inflicted to the tender skin of her wrists and ankles.
She impatiently shoved away the fuzzy, static-covered scenes her addled brain currently supplied in favor of a lucid, more detailed observation of her situation, knowing she would need all her wits about her if she were going to get out of this predicament alive.
The first thing she saw clearly was her assailant pointing a gun at her and leaning heavily against the arm of her living room sofa several steps from where she now sat. Next, she recognized the pungent tang of blood in the air, the source of which became obvious when a warm trickle flowed down the side of her face.
Huffman gave Calleigh only a few seconds to prepare herself mentally before he began to speak.
"So, Blondie's finally awake. I see you've been getting my roses." He nodded his head at her, gesturing toward the box at her feet.
He came to stand directly in front of her and raised his hand intending to stroke her cheek, but Calleigh jerked her head away from the impending touch.
A demented, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. "Ooh, a feisty one. Do you know who I am?"
Calleigh looked him straight in the eye and, without flinching, delivered a reality check-"Your name is Clyde Huffman. You killed four women."
She caught just a brief flash of fear in his eyes before he turned away from her.
"The reporters are calling you the 'Rosebud Killer'."
At that, he pivoted back toward her, his evil expression a sickening sight. "Yeah. Kinda cool, ain't it?"
"No, Mr. Huffman. There's nothing 'cool' about murder."
Huffman's face fell slightly. Sensing that she could gain the upper hand from him, Calleigh continued on unhindered.
"Apparently, you think I'm next on your list, but I can tell you for certain, that's not going to happen." Calleigh's voice remained outwardly calm despite the quivering in her belly.
"You won't be able to keep away from me for long. Don't you know how happy I could make you?" The look in his eyes was half wild, half pleading.
Calleigh laughed scornfully. "You don't have what it takes to make me happy, you son of a-"
Huffman grabbed her viciously by the hair, yanking her head back so that she was forced to look up at him towering over her.
"Shut up!" he screamed, shoving his gun in her face. "You know, I was gonna handle you just like all the others and shoot you and get it over with, but I think I'd rather have a little fun first instead."
Calleigh shivered at his words, trying valiantly not to let her building terror show.
A prisoner in her own home, her hands and feet bound and useless to her at the moment, Calleigh did all she could think to do-she began rocking the chair from side to side in an effort to avoid Huffman's advances.
He fought briefly to subdue her, but was unable to stop her maneuverings. An unexpected forceful slap to her face brought the scuffle to and end, Calleigh's body going still out of sheer instinct for preservation, the criminalist in her remembering that cooperation with one's attacker was the key to survival. Breathing heavily now, she could feel her cheek beginning to plump from swelling. She could only imagine the angry-looking bruises she would have when this was over.
"Now that's more like it," Huffman drawled.
His gun mere inches from her face and his body situated so close to her own that not so much as a sheet of paper could be placed between them, he hunkered down and untied Calleigh's feet. His proximity eliminated the option of kicking or kneeing him in the chest. Just to feel him touching her made Calleigh cringe. She fought back the bitter taste of bile that threatened to rise in her throat at the thought of what this monster was undoubtedly planning to do to her.
Moving around behind her, Huffman held the gun to the back of Calleigh's head while he untied her hands and brought them more accommodatingly down in front of her, keeping them held tightly with his own, preventing her from striking out at him. Coming back within her field of vision, he hauled her roughly to her feet and pulled her away from the chair toward the middle of the living room floor.
With no preamble, Huffman shoved Calleigh to the floor and crouched above her, her body pinned helplessly between his knees. Adrenalin surged powerfully, giving Calleigh the momentum to squirm and struggle with her aggressor. The harder she fought, the angrier he became, his face a mask of wickedness and determination. Calleigh's frustrated groans and whimpers were met with Huffman's disaffected grunts as they volleyed for control.
Calleigh was able to free one hand long enough to reach up and scratch at Huffman's face, leaving jagged, bloody claw marks on his skin. For her impudence, she was rewarded, or more accurately, punished, by having her hands once again bound, yanked above her head, and secured to the leg of the nearby coffee table.
Her helpless moans became desperate cries as she tried and failed to evade him.
She was defenseless against him now.
Girding herself for the inevitable, she retreated within, determined not to be emotionally present for the onslaught that was to come. As such, she was only vaguely aware of Huffman savagely tearing at her blouse, the ruined fabric no longer a barrier between them.
He leaned in to paw at her, his foul, hot breath robbing her of what little air she currently panted to breathe.
Calleigh's body went limp, her eyes glazing over, the here and now a far less inviting place than the alternate reality deep inside her own mind.
Above all else, she wanted to see visions of a happier time and place, to remember good things, beautiful things, to block out the ugliness about to unfold around her. She focused all her energy on that task, and for a few moments, she succeeded. She saw brief flashes of times passed-walking along her favorite beach at sunset, her graduation day at the police academy, the decimated targets at untold numbers of firing ranges, a proffered cup of coffee from Horatio-
Horatio. Oh, God.
There was so much unsaid between them. So much left unfinished.
Now they would never get the opportunity to explore what might have been. He would never know how she felt because they'd been too afraid of opening up to each other, too unwilling to take a chance.
And if, by some miracle of fate she did survive this day, what then? What would he think of her? Would he treat her differently? Then there was that little matter of her hiding evidence...evidence that might have led to Huffman's arrest before the situation reached its present status. Horatio was her supervisor. There would be a censure for her, or worse. He would have no choice in the matter. My God, what had she done? To lose her job, the career she loved so much, would be difficult; but to lose Horatio before they had truly found each other, well, that would be unbearable in the extreme.
Even in her current state, Calleigh could feel hot tears swell and spill over her cheeks.
Huffman stilled, paralyzed by the notion that the fight had gone out of his victim. He looked down at her as though seeing her for the first time. Her head was turned away from him, her facial expression a blank slate. There was no satisfaction for him in this. He didn't want to take from her body-he wanted her dead.
He pushed himself up and away from her only slightly, locking his knees to create a firing stance. He raised his gun, poised to shoot. Closed his eyes. Calleigh turned to face him, to meet her fate head-on.
Was this how her life was to end?
No.
She would not let it be.
At the moment Huffman began to squeeze the trigger, his concentration was broken as pandemonium erupted around him.
Calleigh's front door was broken off its hinges as in rushed a double dose of justice--Horatio Caine and Frank Tripp--the duo flanked by a cluster of black-clad marksmen, their arrival heralded by thunderous shouts and heavy footfalls. The group swarmed the room with weapons drawn, surrounding Huffman and Calleigh.
Tripp took charge, yelling "Don't move! Don't even flinch, you sorry scumbag!"
Sneering, Huffman moved to pull back the gun's firing mechanism, Tripp's admonition going unheeded.
Without even pausing to think, Horatio took the shot.
The man's body slumped sideways, clinging to life by the barest of threads.
As Huffman's shoulder hit the floor beside her, Calleigh cried out, all her pent-up emotions suddenly escaping their floodgates.
Every instinct within him urged Horatio to help Calleigh, but he knew that at the moment, she could not be his only concern. He carefully untied her hands and turned to attend to Huffman. Before he could even get his bearings, though, Calleigh crossed in front of him and fell to her knees beside her attacker.
With all the strength she could muster, Calleigh rolled Huffman onto his back. His pitiful cries of pain went unheard as Calleigh began beating his chest with both her clinched fists, deep, guttural sobs wracking her frame with every impact. She was able to get in several strong blows before two powerful arms took hold of her and pulled her away from the mortally wounded man.
Horatio slowly led her to the sofa. Her eyes studied the floor during the entire process, never once rising to look directly at him. She dropped listlessly to the seat and instantly curled into a fetal position, burrowing into the space between the back cushion and the armrest.
Horatio's heart squeezed itself like a fist at the sight of her, bloodied and bruised, exhausted and terrified, but to him, never more beautiful. He gently draped his CSI-issue windbreaker over her shivering form and stepped back to allow a couple of paramedics, one, blessedly, a woman, to begin to check her over. Horatio was more than a little worried that Calleigh was still uncommunicative.
Huffman began to regain consciousness and laboriously turned his head to look at Horatio. Cold gray met even colder ice blue and stayed locked at impasse for several seconds.
In the earlier melee, the last rose had been dumped onto the carpet. Horatio stooped to pick it up, looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then tossed it carelessly onto Huffman's chest as the man lay dying.
"How's it feel to get a rose, hmm?"
Huffman winced in pain, but said nothing.
"Get him outta here, Frank, before I do something I might actually regret," Horatio growled, his eyes two warnings.
One of Miami-Dade's finest helped two other paramedics load Huffman onto a gurney and wheeled him to one of the waiting ambulances, leaving Horatio and Tripp alone in the middle of the room.
"What the hell happened, Frank? I though you said this place would be like Fort Knox. How did he get in here without any of your guys seeing him?"
Tripp was remorseful and angry at the same time.
"Looks like he caught my guys unaware outside. Clocked 'em and left 'em lying in the shrubbery at the side of the building."
It didn't escape Tripp's notice that Horatio had heard what he was saying, but his eyes remained locked on Calleigh.
"I'll take care of things on this end, Horatio. Delko and Speedle can process the scene without you here. Go. Go be with her."
Horatio turned and nodded to his friend, a look of compassion and shared understanding passing between them.
After a much-too-long struggle and a war of words, the paramedics were able to convince a stubborn Calleigh to go to the hospital. They had bandaged her head wound, but wanted to be sure of no further injuries. Calleigh slid onto the gurney of her own volition, unwilling to let anyone touch her.
As she was being wheeled out through the hole where her front door used to be, Eric and Speed walked up, ready to begin documenting the events that had taken place. This was Calleigh's home, but it was also a crime scene. They promised her that they would take special care with her things.
Horatio watched as the paramedics lifted Calleigh into the second ambulance. She still had not made eye contact with him. Her walls were up. She had gone fully into self-protection mode. He knew that, without a doubt, it would take all the love and care he could offer her to penetrate the fortress she had built in such a short time.
He only hoped his love would be enough to bring her back to him.