A Sky Full of Tears
(Nip/Tuck – CSI: Miami)
Sequel to "Martyr's Moon"
Disclaimers in part I.
A SKY FULL OF TEARS
(Nip/Tuck – CSI: Miami)
by wordwolf
PART III.
Christian Troy arose too early from a restless night. He stood for a long time watching the dawn rise over the sea. Between the water and the pillowy overcast of the sky, the morning light threw a gray-roseate sheen from horizon to horizon. The storm that was now thrashing the Windward Islands would be in south Florida within forty-eight hours. At least he was lucky in two ways: Hurricane Kristin had been downgraded to a tropical storm, and the boys at the National Weather Service had had the good taste not to name it Hurricane Karen. He might have had to get out of town if they had...
The storm was of course responsible for this subtle, lovely color-palette of a daybreak. So many people never noticed that there was more than one kind of beautiful day. This one, like all beautiful things now, hurt him deeply. The fear and confusion – and the strange, unnatural hope that had been growing all night – sharpened it. He turned from the window, speaking softly to himself:
"The horns of the morning
Are blowing, are shining,
The meadows are bright
With the coldest dew;
The dawn reassembles,
Like the clash of gold cymbals
The sky spreads its vans out
The sun hangs in view.
Here, where no love is,
All that was hopeless
And kept me from sleeping
Is frail and unsure;
For never so brilliant,
Neither so silent
Nor so unearthly, has
Earth grown before."
He turned from the window and went to wash and dress. He had surgeries to prepare for and a next move to plan.
XX
There was silence in the break room of McNamara/Troy. The latter partner downed his morning wheatgrass shot as if it were a fortifying shot of a different, stronger kind, and chose his words carefully. "Sean, do you think it's possible that last month – that night – Pierce could have escaped?"
McNamara's head whipped around from the coffee machine. "What did you say?"
"Do you think James Pierce could have gotten away? That maybe he's still alive?"
The other didn't know whether to laugh or worry. "After two bullets in the chest and going face-down into deep swamp water? No, I don't think so!"
"But think about it!" Troy crossed the room toward his friend, voice rising with excitement. "We were there, and never saw them recover the body!"
"Oh, get real. They must have fished it out after we left. Remember how I took you home right after you gave your statement?"
"Yes." Troy dropped his eyes. "You know, I never thanked you for that."
"You didn't have to," McNamara replied kindly. "But what brought this on?"
Should I tell him? Troy realized that he'd have to eventually, for the conversation to make any sense. "Sean, I – I think he called me last night."
"WHAT?!" A hard blue stare pinned Troy. "Christian, how much did you have to drink last night?"
"A bit." Heat reddened Troy's face. "But not enough that I'd ever mistake his voice!" The excitement returned. "Think about what he said – what I told you and the cops – that power is connected to liquid, or something. He was bleeding, and went down into water; maybe he was able to use some kind of power to swim away and recover!"
McNamara snorted. "Maybe he woke up in the morgue, opened his own drawer from the inside, and walked away. And now he's in L.A. making a nice living as a technical advisor for cheap zombie movies."
But Troy's face darkened, and the senior partner instantly regretted his tone. "Sean, have a bit of humility. You didn't experience the man's power; I did. In spades. I know you don't believe in that sort of thing, and I don't either – at least I didn't – but Pierce could, and did, do stuff that just wasn't natural. He hauled me naked past a whole dragnet of cops, laughing every step of the way, and none of them saw or heard a goddamned thing! Maybe there's some natural explanation, but I sure as hell don't know what it is, and I tell you that Pierce was just not entirely human!"
The answering voice was softer now. "What do you think he was?"
"Is. I'm sure he's still alive. And I don't know about this – " here Troy swallowed hard, "but he might have the power to... to raise the dead."
Silence. McNamara hastily put down his coffee mug before he could drop it. "Christian, what the hell are you talking about?"
Another gulp. "She... Karen... was on the phone too. He's brought her back, and is holding her captive."
That was when McNamara exploded. "Damn it, Christian! Enough is enough! You're going to have to get some therapy, or at least bereavement counseling, or something! I'm sorry too, but Karen Avalon is gone – Christian, she died under our hands! For Christ's sake, we were at her funeral!"
"Her memorial service, Sean. Remember? There was no coffin there."
"For the love of God!" McNamara practically leaped across the room, seized his friend's shoulders, and glared hard into his eyes. "You've GOT to get some help, Christian! I thought you'd be able to get through this okay, but not if someone is screwing with your head like this! What kind of bastard would do this to you?" Possibilities were occurring to him, very sinister possibilities... "Can you get private phone access in prison?"
Troy didn't shake him off. "What are you getting at?"
"Maybe this is Escobar trying to take some twisted revenge. Or even Merrill Bobolit. God knows we've picked up our share of enemies."
Troy's turn to snort. "Escobar wouldn't know what happened, and anyway, this isn't his style. Too subtle. And Bobolit couldn't think up a plan like this in a million years. But Sean, couldn't it be possible that Karen's death was just a horrible illusion?"
Now McNamara shook his head and let go of his partner. "Honestly, Christian, if I could get away with it, I'd lock myself away for a month with a case of cheap Scotch, a pound of weed, and the complete works of Philip K. Dick and convince myself that the whole last couple of years were just a horrible illusion. But what's done is done." He sighed. "No one wanted more than me to see you find Miss Right and some happiness. But it's over – and now some son of a bitch is using it to drive you mad. I think the best thing is for you to find a good therapist to help you through your grief – AFTER you go to the police." McNamara liked that idea instantly. "In fact, if you don't go to the cops, I will!"
Troy liked the idea too, but not in the same way. "You know, Sean, I believe I will go to the cops. I'll make an appointment today, in fact."
"Good! Meanwhile," he checked his watch, "I'll see you in surgery in twenty minutes?"
"I'll be there." As McNamara stepped from the room, Troy lingered, taking out his cellphone and making the call.
"Miami Police Department," clacked the voice on the phone.
"Yes. I need to speak to Lieutenant Horatio Caine..."
TO BE CONTINUED