Left Undone

Chapter 2- Confronting the ghost

Calleigh pulled into the driveway, seeing the bright yellow Ducati parked to the side. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly, as she remembered the day that Tim had taught their son the basics of riding. She was petrified when she saw her fourteen year old son perched upon the machine, but she watched them intently, noticing how thorough Tim was being , especially about the safety issues. It came as no surprise to her when Junior had come home one day with a license for it, two solid days after his sixteenth birthday. He told her in so many words that the bike was his, and he was going to ride it, with or without her permission. She remembered the anger that he held when he spoke to her, and she wasn't surprised at that either. She knew deep down that he held her responsible for his father's death. Despite many attempts to regain control over her son, Calleigh had finally given up on the prospects of having a close relationship with him, and regulated herself to be the disciplinarian, but that wasn't faring well either.

She opened the door, hearing nothing but silence and closed the door behind her. The door to the office was ajar and she walked over to it, noticing that it was empty. Closing the door, she heard a door close upstairs, and she walked quickly to the stair way, seeing him coming down the stairs. He bounded past her, heading for the door, without even speaking to her. She turned on her heels quickly to stop him.

" Junior, where do you think you are going?"

"Out," he said simply, not turning around.

" You have some explaining to do mister. What's this about you cussing out your teacher?"

" It slipped out," he replied as he dropped his hand from the knob, exhaling heavily.

" Right, just like when you cursed at your Calculus teacher. Or when you got into that fight, I supposed that slipped too? What are you doing , Junior? You are failing the majority of your classes, you don't respect your teachers, me. Do you think that your father would like what you are doing?"

" Well he's not here is he?" Timothy said with anger in his voice. He placed his hand on the door knob and started to turn it , when he felt his mother behind him. She roughly put her hands on his shoulders, which was a feat in its self, considering that he was a good four inches taller than her, and turned him to face her. The warmness that used to be in his eyes were no longer there as he glared at her, through his grief stricken soul. It took her by surprise, but she stilled herself again, gaining her authoritive voice.

" Now you wait one damn minute. He may not be here, but I am still your mother, and Timothy, you are going to start respecting me," Calleigh said with fury in her eyes. She held on to his arms tightly, feeling the strain on her hands as tears threatened to surface.

" Why should I, you let him die," Timothy returned as he shrugged from his mother's grip.

"Timothy, I didn't let him die,..." Calleigh tried to say as the tears became more apparent.

" You didn't help him, you are a fucking firearms expert, mom. He was your husband, you could've checked his gun. You could've bugged the shit out of him until he did, you could've done something, but you did nothing. You killed him," he said as he turned and walked out of the door.

" Tim,..."

" Don't wait up," he called out to her as he mounted the yellow Ducati and started it.

Calleigh watched him as he walked the bike backwards out of the drive way and sped off down the street, with the tears streaming down her face. She was alone.

TSJ

Timothy rode the bike through Miami, really not wanting to stop. If he could, he would keep riding, following the road where ever it led him. But something was keeping him here, he didn't know if it was his grief , or something that he had yet to do, but he was unable to act upon his desires.

Noticing that the bike was flirting with empty, he pulled over at the next gas station that he saw and filled it up. As he stood in line, he saw a tall man with stark white short hair and chestnut brown skin, looking at him. The man's light blue eyes gave him an intense vibe and Timothy glanced away from him, but still feeling the piercing look. Timothy paid for the gas quickly and walked back to the Ducati. Before he could get on, he saw the man as he walked up to him with a confused look on his face. Timothy glanced nervously around him to see if anyone else was around and he noticed that he was in fact the sole person at the pumps. He backed up against the bike, as the man stood in front of him, and peered at him with those truth seeking eyes. They reminded Timothy of Horatio's own blue eyes.

" Hey there, young man, forgive me , but I know you from somewhere," the man said as he pointed to him.

" Uh, I'm sorry mister, you've got the wrong person," Timothy stammered. His heart raced a mile a minute as he recalled the stories his 'Uncle' Eric used to tell of the violence he saw on the job.

"No, no. I know I've seen you somewhere. Are you a cop?"

" No, I'm only sixteen."

"Sixteen? And riding a sweet thing like this?" the man said as he glanced behind Timothy. " This had to put your parents back about fifty grand."

Timothy smiled and shook his head, " It's my dads."

" Your dad is an understanding man," the man said as he smiled with his eyes.

Timothy dropped his eyes slightly and nodded, saying quietly, " Yeah, he understood me..."

" What was that?" the man asked.

" Nothing. So ,do you ride?" Timothy asked as he lifted his eyes to him again. His fear had abated and he now felt an easy calm as he shifted his weight slightly.

" Not often, but today, is an exception," he said as he pointed to the newer version of the Ducati he was standing in front of. His was dark purple, standing like royalty ,by itself. Timothy felt his mouth drop open as the man laughed, " This one put me back that fifty grand. Yours, I thought was like mine, but I can see the different modifications on the cockpit. Mine is higher than yours. Your dad keeps it spotless. He loves his bike doesn't he?"

Timothy again dropped his head, feeling the anguish of talking about his father as if he was still living. This was something that he had held dear to him, talking about motorcycles, and he was here at a gas station , with a complete stranger, instead of with his father.

" Um, my father died two years ago," Timothy said as he cleared his throat roughly. It was hard for him to verbalize that , every time the words cut him deeply.

" Oh, I'm sorry young man," the man said as he glanced at the bike again.

" No, that's alright," Timothy said as he smiled slightly. There was silence for a moment as the wind picked up slightly tossing his dark hair around.

The man extended his hand in an effort to break the awkward silence, " The name's Malcolm. Malcolm Highsmith. But people usually call me H."

Timothy took his hand and pumped it, smiling at the irony of the man's nickname, yet another tie to Horatio. He returned by introducing himself , " I'm Timothy Speedle..."

H did a double take and smiled wider, thereby pumping Timothy's hand more, " Speed? You got to be kidding me!"

" What?" Timothy asked , puzzled.

" That's why I thought I knew you! You are a splitting image Speed. He's your dad, right?"

" Yeah, but how'd..."

" I've known Speed for years now. He helped me out when my music shop got broken into. He found the punks that did it and sent them away. Afterwards, he started to drop in, and we'd ride our Ducatis together . He even brought a complete drum set from me,...Um ...about six years ago."

" He brought that from you?" Timothy asked as he thought warmly about his drum set at home.

" Yeah, I didn't see him much after that, with the exception of him coming to the club that I own. Sometimes he would even sit in with the band. He could play a mean piano," H said as he reminisced . " You said he died two years ago?"

" Yeah, in a shootout."

" Pity. That man was too good for this earth. Even when he wasn't on duty, he helped out in the smallest ways." H replied with a hint of solemn.

Timothy sighed and felt the sadness as it tried to creep up on him again. H noticed and put an arm on his shoulder, smiling.

" You want to come by the shop? I've got two more of these," he asked lightly as he gestured to the Ducati.

Timothy thought about it for a moment , then nodded his head, feeling the sadness retreat, " Two more?Sure, I've got no where to be."

" Good, follow me then," H said as he turned to walk away. " Try not to shake me on the causeway. If you are anything like your dad, he always liked to race me there."

Timothy smiled knowingly; he loved to put the bike through the ringer on the causeway, solely because of the liberating feel of no stop lights. He straddled the bike and started it, waiting for the purple Ducati to pass. As it did, Timothy let go of the clutch and followed beside H, feeling for the most part, as the sadness was no longer there.

TBC...