Notes and disclaimers in part one
Circle Unbroken
Part 3
There were nights when Calleigh found it hard to sleep; nights when the events of the day ran around her brain, when she couldn't stop thinking about the case, stop running permutations, stop trying to work out the pieces of the puzzle. Then there were the nights where it wasn't the events of that day, but of yesterday, that wouldn't stop running through her brain. Nights when her father's voice echoed in her ears, when the lash of his belt stung her skin, when her brothers' frightened cries and her mother's rambling made her toss and turn, as she wished that she could just make it all stop.
Nights like that, thankfully, were few and far between, and even fewer since she'd started sharing her bed with a man whose quiet strength made her feel confident, secure. A man who only had to take her in his arms to make the voices stop, to make the nightmares go away.
But not tonight, not after what she'd heard that day, not once she knew what she was going to do. He tried his best to be there for her, tried to listen to her, but she wouldn't talk to him about it, couldn't talk to him about it. She'd never told him about her past, and there were a number of excellent reasons for that. Chief among them was her fear that as far as he was concerned, she'd been born and bred in the cradle of Southern gentility. Every day, she saw him react to liars and cheats on the job; how was he going to react when he found out that she'd lied to him the entire time they'd been together, the entire time that she'd known him?
That fear, along with the ghosts of the past whispering, rather screaming, in her ears kept her awake all night, Tim lying beside her, more space between them than had ever been there before. She'd heard him breathing as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, every so often turning his head to look at her back as she lay on her side, facing away from him. She was staring at the fluorescent red numbers on her alarm clock, watching the numbers edge their way towards morning, and it was almost four in the morning when she finally heard his breathing even out, and she knew that he'd fallen asleep.
She knew what time she had to be at the airport, what time she had to leave her apartment at, so she screwed her eyes shut tightly for a few precious minutes, trying to make herself believe that her world hadn't just fallen apart in the last twenty four hours, that things were normal, that she and Tim would wake in a few hours to make love before going to work, or spend a leisurely breakfast together.
She hadn't been able to make herself believe that though, any more than she could shake the nagging fear that nothing in her life was ever going to be the same again.
When the time had come, she'd slipped out of bed cautiously, dressed quietly and quickly, knowing that any noise, any sudden movement would wake him, and then there'd be a long round of explanations that she couldn't handle. She was all dressed and ready to go, literally ready to walk out the door when she paused, standing by the side of the bed, looking down at him. It wasn't the first time she'd done that, watched him sleeping, his face open and peaceful, a sight she didn't often see during the day. It was a sight the memory of which had been known to get her through the worst of days, and she filed it away now in the hopes that it would do just that. For the briefest of instants, she considered waking him, telling him what she was doing, begging him to come with her. She knew he would, knew that he was going to be furious when he woke up and found her gone, and her hand was actually outstretched, ready to be laid on his shoulder before she stopped herself, whirling around and leaving the room.
Once in the living room, she grabbed a pad from beside the phone, scribbling him a note, a short one, but she only had one thing to say.
"I'm sorry."
She left it in the kitchen, taking a couple of seconds to fill the percolator with coffee for him, before going to the hall closet, where she'd hidden her packed suitcase the previous night before sitting down to wait for him on her couch. She got into her car and drove to the airport, praying the whole way that he'd be able to forgive her for what she'd just done.
She made it to the airport in record time, and she was lucky, her flight leaving on time as well. There was a slight delay in Atlanta, during which she felt the strangest urge to call Tim, even going as far as to take her cell phone out of her pocket, turn in on and key in his number. Her finger hovered over the button for a long time, but she couldn't make herself press it, couldn't bring herself to make the call, and the decision was made for her when her flight was called. Despite the delay, they landed in Shreveport only fifteen minutes behind schedule. Her luck held, for good or bad, she wasn't sure, when she managed to get a rental car without waiting in a mammoth line, and before she knew it, she was on the road, following signs that she hadn't seen in a long time, and had never thought she'd see again.
All things considered, she thought she'd held herself together pretty well in the hours since she'd first stood in the lab with Eric, seeing the Louisiana number coming up on her cell phone display. She'd been shocked yes, upset, yes, but she hadn't fallen apart, not when she'd seen Tim, not even when she'd left him. It took the landscape becoming familiar, took her seeing sights that she'd grown up with to make her shake, to make her stomach swirl crazily. And when she reached the brightly coloured sign welcoming her to Darnell, she started shaking so badly that she had to pull the car off the road, getting out and leaning against the roof, taking in huge gulps of air, trying to bring herself under control. She was still trying when she turned violently away from the car, leaning over, everything she'd eaten over the last twenty-four hours - and Lord knows, that wasn't much - making a sudden reappearance.
Tears were smarting in her eyes when she straightened up, and she finally gave in to them, allowing them to roll unchecked down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around her stomach, sliding down the car to sit on the ground. She knew that she must look a sight, but at that moment, for the first time in her life, she didn't care what she looked like, didn't care what people thought of her. She was going back to a place she didn't want to be, where she had a feeling she wasn't going to be wanted, and the only person that could help soothe her frazzled nerves was eight hundred and twenty eight miles away, probably railing at her loudly to anyone who would listen.
That thought of Tim, unpleasant as it was, was what calmed her, as she closed her eyes, remembering what he looked like in the lab, when he was working on some experiment or other, eyes squinting in concentration; when they were alone in either one of their apartments, swapping stories of the day's events; how he looked when he slept, how he would hold her so tightly pressed against him. She could imagine the feel of his arms around her, and it banished the demons from her mind, as it always did, giving her the strength to stand up, to get back into the car and drive past that sign, heading straight into town.
Her family's home was on the opposite side of town, but she didn't want to go there just yet. She knew that the crime unit probably wouldn't be finished there yet, and while she knew that Joshua was living in the shack these days, she wasn't particularly keen to see her youngest brother, especially not before she'd had a chance to change her clothes, splash some cold water on her face, make herself a little more presentable. She found a parking space on the main street of the town, right outside the hotel, and that was her first port of call, barely managing to stifle a smile as she realised that it was just the same as she remembered it, right down to Violet sitting behind the reception desk. The woman still looked the same as she had eleven years ago, and Calleigh couldn't swear to it, but even her outfit looked the same.
If she recognised Violet, then it quickly became clear that the older woman recognised her as well, for her eyes lit up as she stood, palms of her hands flat on the desk. "Calleigh Hayes, as I live and breathe!" she exclaimed, and Calleigh managed a weak smile, the use of her old name - she refused to think of it as her real name; she hadn't been Calleigh Hayes in a long time - making her stomach roil again.
"Hello Violet," she said quietly. "I don't suppose you'd have a room free would you?"
Violet made a show of checking her book, but she hardly needed to; there were always rooms free in the Darnell Arms. "For you honey, I surely do," she said, looking back up, and the look of pity on her face made Calleigh bristle in spite of herself. "And might I just say how sorry I am for your troubles?"
"Thank you," Calleigh murmured, just about keeping her true feelings hidden. "I'm not really sure how long I'll be staying…"
"Oh honey, don't worry about that!" came the quick response. "You just settle up with me when you're leaving." Violet's eyes flicked to the door, then landed back on Calleigh, looking her up and down, lingering on her left hand. "Will you be on your own, or will…?"
Her voice trailed off as she raised an eyebrow, and Calleigh gave her a weak grin, the thought of Tim this time like a knife to her heart as she missed him all over again. "Just me Violet," she told her. "I don't mean to be rude, but it was quite a long trip…"
The none too subtle hint - too much hanging around Speedle she told herself - had the desired effect of having Violet rummaging at the wall of keys behind her, selecting one and handing it to Calleigh. She kept up a steady stream of chatter all the while, about how Calleigh only had to come to her if she had any problems, if there was anything the matter, but it all washed over Calleigh's head, and she made her way up the stairs to her room.
Preparations for meeting her family for the first time in eleven years were surprisingly quick; a cursory wash of her face, running a brush through her hair and changing her T-shirt were about it. Once again, she took out her cell phone, considered calling Tim, changing her mind as her finger hovered over the button. If she started talking to him, she'd fall apart and she'd never have the courage to do what needed to be done. Tossing the phone into her purse, she took a deep breath, heading downstairs, rushing through the lobby, waving at Violet as she walked. "You're going out?" Violet called after her, and she tossed back a response over her shoulder, not breaking stride.
"I'm going by the house."
She would be amazed when she drove that she was able to say it so casually, as if her hands weren't slick and shaking, as if her stomach wasn't turning. Those symptoms only increased as she drove through the town towards her childhood home, though a smile did come to her face as she drove past the water tower, now a dirty pale blue against a bright blue sky. It had been a dirty beige in her day, and she wondered if the local teenagers still used it as a hangout.
Her smile faded as she turned off the road, into the familiar driveway. The place hadn't changed much, though the shack where she'd been born looked even more ramshackle than it had eleven years ago. She could hardly believe that Joshua lived there, though she knew that if it was a choice between that and living in the house with just her parents, she'd have lived in far more primitive conditions. Indeed she remembered suddenly, she had.
There were no police cars in front of the house, no vehicles of any description, nor was there crime scene tape over the door, so she got out of the car, walking slowly towards the main house. She had to pause at the steps, take another deep breath before she could go up them, and she knocked against the frame of the open front door. "Hello?" she called out tentatively, wondering if there was anyone there at all. It wouldn't have been unusual for her family to go without unlocking their doors in the middle of the day even in this day and age; after all, Darnell Louisiana wasn't exactly a hotbed of crime, and even if it were, the chances of anyone in that house having the wherewithal to remember to lock the doors were pretty slim.
So she felt safe enough pushing the door open the rest of the way, stepping into the house, making her way into the living room. Her criminalist's mind kicked in the moment she entered the house, and she noted how dark it seemed, even in the middle of the day, didn't miss the peeling wallpaper, the thin layer of dust covering the furniture. She was struck by the silence, because this had never been a silent house, and also by the coppery smell in the air, a smell she knew all too well.
Upon closer inspection, the cabinets and tables in the living room were covered not with dust as she'd first thought, but with familiar looking black powder, and on the couch, a different colour to the one she remembered, but raggedy enough to be the one she remembered, there was a large crimson stain, already beginning to darken. The sight of it made her head spin, had her closing her eyes as a roaring filled her ears. It was so loud that she didn't hear footsteps approaching her, didn't realise that she was no longer alone until a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
She let out a tiny scream, whirling around in fright, not reassured in the least when she realised that she knew her companion. Flinty brown eyes, the eyes that had haunted her nightmares for years stared back at her, and the face that she was looking into was uncannily like the face that had stared out at her from the photograph she'd shown Tim the previous night. She swallowed hard as she looked at this ghost's face, willing herself not to pass out.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
The tone in which the words were uttered, the look of utter contempt on his face were the equivalent of a bucket of ice cold water, shocking Calleigh back into clarity. "Did you think I wouldn't come Joshua?" she asked mildly, keeping her emotions firmly in check.
Her youngest brother made a disgusted sound. "Frankly? Yes." Calleigh blinked, not at the words, but because of the wave of déjà vu that washed over her. He looked and sounded just like her father had the last time she'd talked to him. "Who called you anyway?"
Calleigh didn't even have to think about her response. "The Deputy Sheriff," she said, the title tripping easily off her tongue. If Joshua really was his father's son, and she had absolutely no doubt that he was, there was no way she was going to give him Mike's name. That would be roughly akin to pouring paraffin on the flames, something she was in no way eager to do.
If her father had been there, she knew what his response would have been, but Joshua had been a child during that particular fight, so his was mercifully different. "So what? You came to see how well we've been doing since you've been gone? To tell us that you missed us, and that's why you left and never came back?"
Calleigh winced at the anger in his voice, so different from the child that she'd hugged and kissed goodbye when she'd left for college. He hadn't wanted her to go, hadn't understood, and she'd lied to him through her tears, telling him that she'd be back soon for a visit. Her father had been standing in the kitchen, in full view of the family gathering in the hall, arms crossed over his chest and a face like thunder. Only a few months earlier, he'd been so proud of his little girl, prom queen and the first person in their family to be accepted to college. She remembered thinking that it was hard to believe that that was the same man who hadn't talked to her since the morning after her senior prom. "It wasn't like that Joshua," she told him now, shaking her head. "You don't know-"
"What don't I know Calleigh?" Joshua interrupted, his face flushing with fury. "What it was like living in this house? What it was like after you were gone? Daddy drinking more than ever, Momma sitting in the corner from one end of the day to the other, talking about her granny and the house she remembered visiting? Tiptoeing around the place, trying to avoid his belt, the four of us trying to hold things together while you were off living it up in New Orleans?" He broke off then, his fist smacking against the wall, and Calleigh flinched. "Don't tell me what I don't know."
"It wasn't easy Joshua," she told him. "You think I wanted to leave you all in this house the way things were?"
"You sure didn't look like you minded when you got out of here," was Joshua's riposte. "You couldn't wait to leave that morning."
"Because I knew if I didn't get out of here as fast I could, I'd never be able to do it."
Tears rose up in Calleigh's throat, threatening to choke her, but they had no effect on Joshua. "I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? Just because you felt guilty about leaving us here with him? Hearing him go on and on about his little girl who up and deserted him, when he thought he'd raised her better? Watching him beat up Momma when he couldn't get to us, listening to her crying? I'm supposed to feel sorry for you, when you left?"
"Joshua, I had to-"
"You LEFT!" The shout echoed off the walls of the room, stopping Calleigh in her tracks. "You saw your chance and you left and you didn't look back and damn the rest of us. You think we're going to welcome you back now? You can go to hell Calleigh Hayes."
She shook her head, unable to believe that this was her little baby brother, the child she'd practically reared from when she was ten years old and her mother's mental condition had begun to deteriorate rapidly. It had killed Calleigh to leave him, but she was sure that the other three boys would have taken care of him, would have looked out for him. She'd never guessed that he'd end up hating her for leaving; she'd just presumed that he'd understand, that they all would. "Joshua," she whispered, but he didn't let her say anything, just grabbed her roughly by the elbow.
"We don't want you here," he told her as he manhandled her towards the door. "Why don't you go back to where you came from and stay there, huh?"
Memory surged up in Calleigh, another wave of déjà vu, and she tried to dislodge his grip, but he was strong, as strong as their father had been. "Joshua, please, listen to me…try to understand…" she pleaded. "I had to do it Joshua, you know I had to go…"
"All I know is that you abandoned us when we needed you," he told her angrily as they got out on to the front porch. "And if you think we need you now-"
"It's not like that-" she protested, but to no avail, because he didn't even pause for breath.
"-You've got another think coming. We got along fine without you for eleven years, we don't need you back here now." She was on the bottom step by now, he on the one above that, and he released her elbow suddenly, giving her a shove to boot and sending her stumbling back onto the grass, landing hard, winding herself. She only barely heard his last words. "Don't come here again." The next sound she heard was the slamming of the front door.
She was staring at the door in disbelief when someone came around in front of her, and she found herself looking up into a face that was unfamiliar at first, but once he smiled, the years melted away, and the face of the boy she'd taken to her Senior Prom hovered above her. There was unmistakable concern in his eyes, but he kept on smiling, reaching a hand down to her, quipping, "All these years and I'm still picking up you off the ground."
Any other time, she would have given him a pithy response, but she didn't have it in her right then, shaking her head instead. "The more things change," she responded weakly, allowing him to help her to her feet, dropping his hand the instant she was upright.
"Guess so," Mike observed, his hands going to his hips. "It's good to see you again Calleigh."
That did bring a genuine, if small, smile to her face. "Nice to know someone thinks so."
He nodded over her shoulder. "Oh, I reckon there's someone else gonna think so too," he said, his voice teasing, and Calleigh frowned, almost afraid to turn and look, but knowing that Mike wouldn't do anything to hurt her, wouldn't let anyone else do anything to hurt her either. So, heart hammering in her ears, she turned.
For an instant, she was sure her eyes were playing tricks on her as she looked at the last piece of sanity in her life.
He was standing beside a police cruiser, dark eyes staring right at her, concern written all over his face. He was dressed more conservatively than she'd ever seen him, clean blue jeans and a white shirt, neatly tucked in with no T-shirt underneath, and in the back of her mind, she knew that he'd dressed like that on purpose, making himself look as respectable as possible for whomever he would meet here. As she looked at him, he nodded to her, as if to tell her that it really was him, that he really was there, and she drew in a deep breath as that knowledge settled into her mind, into her heart.
She was barely aware that she was moving, but she must have, because all of a sudden, she was in front of him, just a step away from him. They'd never broken eye contact since she'd first turned, not until she leaped into his arms, burying her face in his neck, closing her eyes tightly. He held her tightly, as if he was never going to let her go, and she hoped that he wouldn't, not ever again.
"I'm sorry," she found herself whispering over and over again. "I'm so sorry…"
What she was apologising for, she didn't know, because she didn't know where to start, but he just kept on holding her, telling her that it was all right, that everything was going to be ok, and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, she let herself believe it.
It seemed like a long time, and still not long enough, before she straightened up, lifting her head to look at him again. "You're here," she whispered incredulously, and he smiled down at her.
"Like I'd be anywhere else," he responded, and she relaxed in his arms, his words and the look on his face combining to tell her that even if he was angry that she'd run out on him, he wasn't going to call her on it now.
"Thank you," she whispered, loosening her hold on him, and he took the hint, allowing her to step back, but one arm snaked protectively around her waist, with a firmness that dared her to break away from him. She had no intention of doing so however, leaning into his body as she turned to face Mike, who was standing looking at them, arms crossed, a grin on his face.
"Don't let me interrupt anything," he said, and just for a second, Calleigh was able to forget what had brought them all here.
"I take it you two have met?" she drawled, leading Tim over to Mike, Mike meeting them halfway.
"Found him wandering around town looking for you," Mike confirmed. "Violet told us you were coming out here."
"Lord bless Violet," Calleigh muttered wryly, for once grateful that the Darnell grapevine seemed to be in good working order. "And you came all the way out here to find me?"
The grin suddenly faltered on Mike's face, and he shifted on his feet, throwing a glance back towards the house. "I knew the reaction you'd likely get," he observed, but Calleigh knew him of old, knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth.
"That's not the whole story though, is it?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing. Tim's grip tightened almost imperceptibly on her waist, but she ignored his silent question. "What aren't you telling me?"
Mike sighed, looking once more over his shoulder. "The Sheriff asked me to come out here some time today, talk to you guys. I was gonna wait until you got here; Frank's coming in from Baton Rouge later on tonight, and Billy and Jeff are in Monroe right now, attending to the arrangements."
Calleigh nodded, grateful to know what her other brothers were doing, wondering if Billy and Jeff would be offended if she offered to help them. Then the first part of Mike's answer registered with her. "What did the Sheriff want you to tell us?" she asked, a terrible fear taking root in her heart, and the look of sympathy in Mike's eyes did nothing to reassure her.
"We got a call from the psych boys in Shreveport a couple hours ago," he sighed, and Calleigh straightened herself, waiting for the next blow.
"And?" she prompted when his pause was too long for her taste.
"I'm sorry Calleigh," he told her. "They've declared her not fit to stand trial…they've committed her."
She squeezed her eyes shut, sagging against Tim. She wasn't surprised as such, she'd certainly expected this, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. Especially when Tim spoke. "What am I missing here? Who's not fit to stand trial?"
Calleigh opened her eyes and glanced over at Mike, whose face plainly told her that this one was up to her. "My mother," she said simply.
Tim frowned. "For what?" he asked.
Calleigh took a deep breath, knowing that there was no going back, no avoiding the answer. He had to know the truth, and he had to know it from her. "For killing my father."
