A/N-Right, so I'm NOT going to resolve this for at least 48 hours unless I get reviews...lots of reviews. Which means you either convince me to post more this second, or well, wait for me to get bored and post the next chapter. and it's usually not that hard to click on the "submit review" button and tell me what you think...more reviews equals what happens to Garret sooner. I do have three endings for this one written, I know what I'm going to pick, but do you?

This is a lesson in procastination
I kill myself because I'm so frustrated
And every single second that I put it off
Means another lonely night that I race the clock
Let's say we go and crash your car?...
...It's failure by design

Brand New-Failure By Design

The snow was coming down, hard. It was hard to notice though, it wasn't like rain where each individual drop plodded down hard onto the roof of his car. This was softer, more subtle. It was pristine white out, it had just started snowing, the snow hadn't had the chance to get dirty and messy, instead it was picture perfect, a winter wonderland.

He was driving through it, enjoying the safety his large SUV offered, while he missed driving his old Aston Martin, the small sports car just couldn't take the winter weather, being constantly afraid of spinning out on any and all patches of ice. This car was much more stable.

He looked at the road as his mind drifted. He tried to remember what had happened last night. The last thing he remembered was downing his first glass, and knowing that one had led to two, he couldn't remember how many he had had. Just that it was enough for him not to remember.

That was becoming more and more common. He wasn't just drinking anymore to stop the pain, stop the nightmares, but to wash away the bad feeling that he had whenever he was sober. He kept feeling as if something was very very wrong. He could forget about it at work, throwing himself into the cases, but once he got home, the only thing he could think about was the little nagging voice in his head that kept telling him that he was on the edge.

He knew he was drinking too much, that those things were just excuses, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't live with what happened without a drink. It was a question of what was worse-the problem or the treatment. And in this case, the problem was much much worse than the treatment. But yet, there was the voice in the back of his head that kept telling him that he was killing himself.

But he was functioning. That was the only thing he cared about, keeping going at work. He couldn't bear to lose his job again. He needed to work, it kept his mind off of his problems for at least eight hours a day. It was to the point though, where by the end of that eight hours he was shaking, the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. And the only way he could sleep was with the scotch.

He was drinking more than he ever had though, he had crossed the line he never wanted to cross. But he kept on going, he was doing alright. He hadn't noticed any serious health problems. He was tired, but that was from the fact that even the booze wasn't helping the nightmares any more. One glass was all that it used to take to erase them. Now it took at least six.

He was gone and he knew it, but it was the only thing allowing him to function. He drove on, thinking about his last drink. Nearly fourteen hours ago. He had to grip the wheel tightly to stop the shaking in his hands from affecting his driving. He could feel the craving. He was licked, but he didn't care, he was beyond caring at this point.

He needed something. It was six months. Six long months since she had died. And it was just another reminder of how much his life had changed, how hard it was to go on every day, how he had spiraled out of control since then. It was why he had spent so long at work, he wanted to try and forget about her for as long as possible.

But he couldn't. He saw her face, taunting him whenever he closed his eyes. Even to blink, he saw her face there, laughing at him, mocking him. "Daddy." He looked for the source of the voice. It was her. But it wasn't, she sounded so small, so tiny, so afraid.

"Daddy, it's so dark down here all alone in the ground." Where was she? That was her voice. She was afraid. She had been afraid of the dark, and now she was trapped in a coffin six feet underground, in pitch black. "Daddy, why?"

"Why what?" He asked the air as he tried to find the source of the voice.

"Why did you let me die? You should have saved me, you could have saved me and you didn't. You didn't see, you were too blind to notice. You let me die. Daddy, I was so scared I went running back to you, I didn't know how to stop it, I wanted to but I couldn't, I wanted you to save me." He couldn't take it anymore, he broke down.

"I wanted to, if I had known-if I had noticed-I should have notice, I shouldn't have been such a horrible parent-" He was sobbing, he had given up paying attention to the road. There was no one else out there anyway, no one else to run into.

He didn't want to hurt anyone else. He didn't want to see anyone else hurt because he couldn't control himself. He wasn't going to crash into someone else. "Daddy, I'm so lonely here, there's no one else. I'm left here all alone because you never noticed." He had missed the turnoff for his house, instead he was creeping up on the Charles.

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand the pain anymore, he wanted to be free from her, to be with her, to comfort her, to take her in his arms and tell her that he did love her, that he never meant to be such a horrible parent, but he couldn't. He blinked as he saw her, standing there in the middle of the road. "Daddy, you didn't love me enough to save me."

He couldn't do this, couldn't spend any more time with seeing her, with the nightmares that had crossed into his conscious. The scotch wasn't helping anymore, he had nothing left, nothing to dull the pain. He looked at the road. The river was on his right, it wouldn't be that hard to just swerve off.

Everyone else would think it was an accident, no one would be any the wiser, no one would know what happened. He would be free from the pain, the hurt, the nightmares, the waking up each morning and wanting only to drink, it would get rid of all the problems in his life.

And it wouldn't hurt anyone else. Everyone else would think he ha died in an accident, he was the only person who would know the truth. He would be the only one who knew why he did it, everyone else would think he had just slid on ice, and accidentally went through the guardrail. An unfortunate causality of the bad winter weather.

He pushed down hard on the accelerator, watching as the red marker reached 100 before turning the wheel slightly first in one direction then the other, give them something believable, a fishtail, before aiming the car for the guardrail and enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as it flew through the air.

The water was cold as it started seeping in, but the only thing he could do was grin. He was free, he didn't have to worry about the pain anymore, it was all going to go away. He felt his body going numb and his grin spread. He couldn't hear her anymore, couldn't see her anymore, he was free from her, free from the pain, free from the hurt, free from having to drink himself into oblivion just to get rid of the thought of her.