Told in a Garden
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, concepts, or names in here. The only thing I own is the idea expressed in this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Suppose one random decision gives rise to two separate but parallel universes. What might happen in those two universes?
Horatio closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to tell his daughter what he had kept locked up inside for so many long, lonely years. Finally he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking off into the distance as he spoke.
"Well, I said before that her ferocity was a good thing. Most of the time it was, but sometimes it made her life difficult. She'd get an idea in her head and not want to let go of it, even when there was no reason to hold on to it. The worst times that that happened were the few times we argued. And what happened was one of those times." He sat for a minute, collecting his thoughts.
"It was right after your fourth birthday, I don't know if you remember that. She'd slept badly, she was having dreams that were apparently her subconscious trying to tell her something about the evidence. We both got up in bad moods and one of us picked a fight over something small. I don't even know what any more, most likely who was going to do the grocery shopping that night or something..." He quit speaking as his voice began to shake.
His daughter reached over and took his hand. He himself had never been a "touchy" person, but she had inherited her mother's need to make physical contact. "Dad, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me the rest of it. It's okay."
He took off his sunglasses and passed one hand over his face, rubbing it across his eyes as if to scrub away threatening emotions. "No, you deserve to know this. Anyway, we had an argument over something I don't even remember. I told her she was being too stubborn and there was nothing to be arguing about. She said she'd rather go into work early and get some coffee on the way than stay home and argue with me all morning. So she grabbed the keys and slammed out the door. And about an hour later, Tripp knocked on the door just as I was getting ready to take you to the sitter."
The memory of Tripp's hesitant, sad face that morning came back to him as he sat there in the shade of the tree. Tripp had helped him survive the losses of Al, Horatio's mentor, and Ray, his brother, and had then been at his side on the happiest day of his life, the day he had married Calleigh. And then, that awful morning, there Tripp was again, once more trying to ease the pain and desolation. Horatio put his sunglasses back on, settling them firmly on the bridge of his nose as if doing so, inflicting a minor pain, would take away the memory of the much greater pain that still haunted him. His jaw muscles clenched as he fought for control of his voice before going on.
"Halfway to the office was a coffee shop your mother had always liked. It was in a bad area, but they baked scones there fresh every morning and every now and then she just had to go by and get some. One of the witnesses, a man who was in the coffee shop that morning when she came in, said that he had seen a car cruising up and down the street earlier, and had wondered what was going on. Calleigh bought a box of scones, she was apparently taking them in to the office for everyone, and a cup of coffee, and went back out to her car. The witness saw a young man walking down the street in the direction of the parking lot, and then realized that the car he'd seen earlier was back. It sped down the street, and just as it came level with the pedestrian, the driver slammed on the brakes. The witness realized what was happening, and ducked. He heard a gun open up, several rounds were fired, and then the tires screamed and the car raced off."
"Everything had happened so fast that no one could get a license plate or tell us anything other than the color and a general description of the car. Our main witness and the owner of the coffee shop ran out to the street to see if there was anything they could do. They found the young man, the pedestrian, dead on the sidewalk, and your mother lying across the front seat of the car. She'd been caught by a stray round." His voice caught again, and he heaved a deep sigh. "There – there was nothing anyone could do for her."
He was still there, remembering the heat in that grimy parking lot when they had finally been allowed in, the glare of the sun off the pavement, and the silent stares of the crowd watching as his team processed what parts of the scene they had been allowed to see. A soft touch on his arm pulled him back to the present, though, and he realized that his daughter was gently stroking his arm in the same rhythm her mother had used to soothe her when she was an infant.
"Did they find the guys who did it?"
Horatio let out a bitter laugh. "We found the guy. They wouldn't let us work the site while she was still there, and they wouldn't let Alexx do the autopsy. The other team processed everything to do with your mother and then turned it all over to us." He paused, collecting his composure. "The hardest part was getting that little envelope from the ME, and realizing that the bullet it held had taken the life of the best person we had to identify the weapon that had fired it. I wouldn't let anyone else do that job, the only thing that kept me going at work was finding the SOB who had fired off that round.
"Of course, the fancy driving the shooter had done left tire tracks behind, and Speed identified the specific brand of tires. Eric got the ID of the other victim, the pedestrian, and put a history together. The kid had been tapped for a gang initiation and had told them no. This was their way of getting back at him. Within an hour we had matched that gun to five other shootings, all gang-related, because we had – Calleigh had – already scanned the bullets from those other shootings into IBIS. Speed liaised with the gang task force, we got an ID from that unit of a rising star in a local gang, and we put together a water-tight case."
"So then what happened?"
"The shooter's sister turned him in. He told her he'd been out getting cigarettes, but she could smell the gunpowder on him. Once she heard about the shootings on the radio, she realized he'd been feuding with the dead kid in the past, and was terrified that he'd somehow been involved. She called us, and showed us where he hid his guns. I took all of them to the lab and tested them..." he paused again, remembering how painful it had been to use the firing range that he, and all the team, so strongly identified as Calleigh's territory. "I got a match from the first gun I fired, and his prints were all over it."
"Did it go to trial?"
"No, he pled guilty and got a lighter sentence. We'd actually taken him to the layout room and showed him what we had against him, not just on these two killings but on all the other ones as well, and he caved. It kept him off death row, but he's never getting out of jail under his own power.
"And ever since then, every single day, I've regretted everything that your mother and I said to each other that day. None of that had to happen, if only the two of us hadn't had a stupid argument. God, Bella, I am so sorry for taking your mother away from you like that." He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, wishing that it could have been him in that parking lot instead of Calleigh.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, concepts, or names in here. The only thing I own is the idea expressed in this story. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Suppose one random decision gives rise to two separate but parallel universes. What might happen in those two universes?
Horatio closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to tell his daughter what he had kept locked up inside for so many long, lonely years. Finally he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking off into the distance as he spoke.
"Well, I said before that her ferocity was a good thing. Most of the time it was, but sometimes it made her life difficult. She'd get an idea in her head and not want to let go of it, even when there was no reason to hold on to it. The worst times that that happened were the few times we argued. And what happened was one of those times." He sat for a minute, collecting his thoughts.
"It was right after your fourth birthday, I don't know if you remember that. She'd slept badly, she was having dreams that were apparently her subconscious trying to tell her something about the evidence. We both got up in bad moods and one of us picked a fight over something small. I don't even know what any more, most likely who was going to do the grocery shopping that night or something..." He quit speaking as his voice began to shake.
His daughter reached over and took his hand. He himself had never been a "touchy" person, but she had inherited her mother's need to make physical contact. "Dad, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me the rest of it. It's okay."
He took off his sunglasses and passed one hand over his face, rubbing it across his eyes as if to scrub away threatening emotions. "No, you deserve to know this. Anyway, we had an argument over something I don't even remember. I told her she was being too stubborn and there was nothing to be arguing about. She said she'd rather go into work early and get some coffee on the way than stay home and argue with me all morning. So she grabbed the keys and slammed out the door. And about an hour later, Tripp knocked on the door just as I was getting ready to take you to the sitter."
The memory of Tripp's hesitant, sad face that morning came back to him as he sat there in the shade of the tree. Tripp had helped him survive the losses of Al, Horatio's mentor, and Ray, his brother, and had then been at his side on the happiest day of his life, the day he had married Calleigh. And then, that awful morning, there Tripp was again, once more trying to ease the pain and desolation. Horatio put his sunglasses back on, settling them firmly on the bridge of his nose as if doing so, inflicting a minor pain, would take away the memory of the much greater pain that still haunted him. His jaw muscles clenched as he fought for control of his voice before going on.
"Halfway to the office was a coffee shop your mother had always liked. It was in a bad area, but they baked scones there fresh every morning and every now and then she just had to go by and get some. One of the witnesses, a man who was in the coffee shop that morning when she came in, said that he had seen a car cruising up and down the street earlier, and had wondered what was going on. Calleigh bought a box of scones, she was apparently taking them in to the office for everyone, and a cup of coffee, and went back out to her car. The witness saw a young man walking down the street in the direction of the parking lot, and then realized that the car he'd seen earlier was back. It sped down the street, and just as it came level with the pedestrian, the driver slammed on the brakes. The witness realized what was happening, and ducked. He heard a gun open up, several rounds were fired, and then the tires screamed and the car raced off."
"Everything had happened so fast that no one could get a license plate or tell us anything other than the color and a general description of the car. Our main witness and the owner of the coffee shop ran out to the street to see if there was anything they could do. They found the young man, the pedestrian, dead on the sidewalk, and your mother lying across the front seat of the car. She'd been caught by a stray round." His voice caught again, and he heaved a deep sigh. "There – there was nothing anyone could do for her."
He was still there, remembering the heat in that grimy parking lot when they had finally been allowed in, the glare of the sun off the pavement, and the silent stares of the crowd watching as his team processed what parts of the scene they had been allowed to see. A soft touch on his arm pulled him back to the present, though, and he realized that his daughter was gently stroking his arm in the same rhythm her mother had used to soothe her when she was an infant.
"Did they find the guys who did it?"
Horatio let out a bitter laugh. "We found the guy. They wouldn't let us work the site while she was still there, and they wouldn't let Alexx do the autopsy. The other team processed everything to do with your mother and then turned it all over to us." He paused, collecting his composure. "The hardest part was getting that little envelope from the ME, and realizing that the bullet it held had taken the life of the best person we had to identify the weapon that had fired it. I wouldn't let anyone else do that job, the only thing that kept me going at work was finding the SOB who had fired off that round.
"Of course, the fancy driving the shooter had done left tire tracks behind, and Speed identified the specific brand of tires. Eric got the ID of the other victim, the pedestrian, and put a history together. The kid had been tapped for a gang initiation and had told them no. This was their way of getting back at him. Within an hour we had matched that gun to five other shootings, all gang-related, because we had – Calleigh had – already scanned the bullets from those other shootings into IBIS. Speed liaised with the gang task force, we got an ID from that unit of a rising star in a local gang, and we put together a water-tight case."
"So then what happened?"
"The shooter's sister turned him in. He told her he'd been out getting cigarettes, but she could smell the gunpowder on him. Once she heard about the shootings on the radio, she realized he'd been feuding with the dead kid in the past, and was terrified that he'd somehow been involved. She called us, and showed us where he hid his guns. I took all of them to the lab and tested them..." he paused again, remembering how painful it had been to use the firing range that he, and all the team, so strongly identified as Calleigh's territory. "I got a match from the first gun I fired, and his prints were all over it."
"Did it go to trial?"
"No, he pled guilty and got a lighter sentence. We'd actually taken him to the layout room and showed him what we had against him, not just on these two killings but on all the other ones as well, and he caved. It kept him off death row, but he's never getting out of jail under his own power.
"And ever since then, every single day, I've regretted everything that your mother and I said to each other that day. None of that had to happen, if only the two of us hadn't had a stupid argument. God, Bella, I am so sorry for taking your mother away from you like that." He closed his eyes behind his sunglasses, wishing that it could have been him in that parking lot instead of Calleigh.