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Chapter 7: Resolve

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"Hey, you gonna be alright there, Delko?" Speed asked, peering at his friend as they trudged towards the apartment building where the suspect, Jeremy, resided.

Eric looked at him. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, I don't want you being distracted if Jerry, here, tries anything."

"I got you covered," Frank retorted, surprising them.

Speed looked back at Tripp and answered uneasily, "Yeah, okay."

The three men continued their way toward Jeremy's residence and Eric glanced over at his partner, "Why would you ask me that?"

"I don't know..." Speed shrugged, "I guess I don't want to have another CSI going down..."

Eric didn't take Speed's comment well, not seeing it as concern, and replied accordingly, "It wouldn't be because you're gun shy, would it?"

"No, Eric," Speed responded quickly, but knew his friend was right. He promptly delivered a comeback, "At least I don't have to worry about nose bleeds - "

"Hey!" Tripp shut them up with his brunt tone, "Do I have to babysit the two of you?"

"Sorry Frank," Eric, like a pure Catholic, felt the weight of guilt. If Horatio were here, he'd tell them to focus.

Speed simply seconded Eric, mumbling a confirmation.

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Horatio could tell Shawn - formerly known as Bob - was lying. He hesitated, made long frequent pauses, made mistakes in his speech giving brief answers.
All sure signs of a lying jerk, Horatio concluded.

Shawn changed posture uncomfortably again, avoiding eye contact.

He was nervous. Horatio could tell and he was going to use it against him.
"There was somebody else with you, Shawn. You couldn't have done this alone - that's why dad didn't make it. You want to tell me what happened? Why we found Mr. Morris dead?"

"I'm not telling you jack," he hissed then squirmed from the pain in the hospital bed. He used his good arm to rearrange the sheet, ignoring the officer.

"The good news is, Shawn, you don't have to." Horatio stared the weak man down. "We found your partner's knife, the same knife that killed Mr. Morris."

Shawn looked up, "He didn't have a knife. He had a gun."

He was going to regret having said that.

Horatio slowly removed his sunglasses from his eyes for the first time since he'd entered the bright hospital room.

"That's a very stupid thing to say to me, Shawn. The knife was a weapon of opportunity - my team and I knew that already. You want to know what I think happened, Shawn?"

Shawn looked around the room, at the detective in the doorway. "Doesn't look like I have a choice now, does it?"

"Nope." Horatio paused, looked away for a short instant, gathering his thoughts then, looked back at Shawn, "I think you teamed up with Jeremy because he had a gun and you didn't. The plan was to rob Mr. Morris, but you had other ideas..."

With the evidence gathered and a little reconstruction, the scene replayed in Horatio's mind...

Shawn was taking more time than necessary for the robbery, obviously looking for the young girl, and Mr. Morris got a chance to look at his assailants. In a panic and angered by the fact that Sandy's older sister wasn't home, he urged Jeremy to kill the dad. Thinking about his retraceable firearm, Jeremy gave the weapon to Shawn and picked up an accessible murder weapon; the kitchen knife, and slit Mr. Morris's throat.

Horatio stared him down, becoming aware of Shawn's dilated pupils.

Shawn had a commanding presence; had willed his friend into murder, but his impulses got the best of him and his body won over his mental capabilities. He kept Jeremy's gun, stayed hidden, hoping to get a chance to see the 15-year-old girl. He had some will and real guts to stay hidden in the backyard while the police and criminalists went over the crime scene, but then, Calleigh came along and he made the mistake of switching to another plan.

"Detective Duquesne surprised you by equating your onset with one of her own and you couldn't hold back from taking a shot at her. Lucky for you, you didn't injure her." Horatio was all over this sick excuse for a human being.

"If you know everything then why did you come here?"
With every word said, Shawn only made it easier to pin him.

Horatio looked him in the eye, noting the fast batting of his eyes.

"Hm." Horatio smiled a brief completely icy smile, "to tell you that as soon as you get out of this bed, you'll be moving into a 6 by 6 cell."

Shawn had better hope that the inmates would control their urges a little better than him, Horatio thought, walking out of the room.

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Calleigh sat on her bed, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't stop them. It felt good to feel something, even sadness. Here she was crying for a man again. She started life crying for her father because she never did seem to do the right thing and wasn't able to help him, then, after Hagen left her, she cried for days and, now Horatio was never going to be more than just a friend.

She cursed her selfishness. Horatio Caine was a righteous man and, in her position, wanting him for herself was impossible. All this time, her mind had refused to believe that, hanging on to the faith she had in her heart.

She felt the love she had for him growing with every passing day and frequently thought of running away, not being able to resist being anything other than herself around him.

Suddenly wishing there was a delete button existing somewhere so she could shut down everything she felt inside, she tried to think of anything to take her mind off things. Cleaning hadn't helped, eating chocolate supposedly an anti-depressant hadn't worked and watching a sad movie just made things worse and she had resorted to shutting it off before the end, before breaking down.

What was left besides the only thing she had ever seen her parents do? She walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled it open, kneeling before it. Eyes roamed over the labels, she gently moved bottles around with a clink, searching for the one that would make her numb.

She stood, holding the bottle in her hands and set it down on her living room table. Sitting on the couch, she placed a glass beside it and wiped her tearful eyes with a movement of her sleeve-covered shoulder.

Holding the large bottle's neck with one hand, she covered the cap with the other and stayed completely still for a long moment, feeling remorse. A shaky hand untwisted the cap and the strong smell of alcohol reached her nostrils. She bit her lip. This wasn't like her; Calleigh Duquesne never gave in. Yet, here she was, tipping the bottle and pouring herself a drink.

TBC...