Changes in the Wind
The View From Here
The cold roused him from his dozing and the shooting pain in his neck when he tried to move finished the job. Grimacing, he eased himself to an upright position and tried to straighten his stiff neck. This would teach him not to fall asleep outside slumped in a hard backed chair, he thought as he kneaded the back of his neck. The mild night air had chilled considerably since he first ventured outdoors. The sky was still pitch black, cluing him in to the fact that it wasn't yet morning. Bending over while trying to keep his neck motionless, he retrieved the phone he had carelessly flung to the ground earlier. He gave it the once over, noticed it was scuffed and cracked, but didn't check to see if it was still functional because he really didn't care. The scarred phone only served to remind him that some guy he didn't know answered Calleigh's hotel room phone tonight and that was something he couldn't forget no matter how hard he tried.
Trudging into the kitchen, he flicked on the light, squinting until his eyes adjusted and then got the coffee maker prepared. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. At three twenty in the morning, it was too early to show up at work, even for him, yet too late to think about going to bed, because now he was keyed up and awake. At least he got a couple hours of shut-eye while he was out on the porch, he thought with a yawn. He'd managed to get by on less in the past and it hadn't killed him, although if he got another one of his raging headaches, that might be enough to do him in. Too restless to watch the coffee perk, he headed to the shower. A glance in the mirror reminded him he was overdue for a shave, but that was another one of those things that fell into the 'I don't care' category.
The steaming hot water felt like heaven on the kinks in his back and neck, but did little to take his mind off Calleigh. The idea of Calleigh sleeping with another guy wasn't something he could easily wrap his brain around, yet there it was, no matter how many times he tried to push it away. It was an indelible image he couldn't shake and one that made him feel physically ill. He stuck his face under the stream of water, maybe that would help, although he seriously doubted it. She loved him; he was certain of that, so why was he letting his mind travel where it had no reason to go? There was absolutely no reason not to trust her. But something was off between them and had been for a couple of weeks. No longer could he pretend he didn't sense the growing discontent in her. Maybe it was nothing more than a rough patch, something that happened to all couples sooner or later, but that wouldn't be enough to send Calleigh to the arms of another guy behind his back, would it?
This was Calleigh, his brain reminded, he knew her. She was the one person he trusted completely. Sure, he trusted Horatio, Delko and Alexx; he'd put his life in their hands without a second thought, but Calleigh, she was different. Calleigh he trusted with his heart and that was a much bigger deal. Nothing was going to convince him that his trust in her was misplaced, even if some guy did answer the phone on the second ring, at midnight, sounding sleepy. She was incapable of the kind of deception and betrayal he was thinking of. There had to be another explanation, but it certainly wasn't coming to him in the shower. He stayed under the stream till the hot water ran out and he had no choice but to face the day and whatever it had in store for him.
Dressed and ready for work, he sat at the little kitchen table, where the two had shared countless meals and stared at the clock. He needed to calculate exactly what time he could show up at work without setting off Horatio's alarm bells. Now there was irony, he snickered. His boss complained about Tim's workaholic tendencies, yet every time he reprimanded Tim for spending too many hours at the lab, he ignored the fact that he, himself, was still hard at work long after he should've left for home. Nursing a second cup of coffee, he tried to focus on his vexing case. He would function better once he got to the lab and all his energies could be concentrated on finding this elusive killer and not figuring out his equally vexing relationship. Just another reminder of how life was simpler before he got involved with Calleigh, he thought wearily.
He crept silently into the trace lab, pleased to find it vacant, since he had no compelling desire to socialize with his nighttime counterpart, even if he was an okay guy. Spreading the evidence bags out in front of him, he spent the next couple hours examining every remaining scrap of trash collected at the junkyard. If determination was a necessary ingredient to solving this case, then he was in luck, because today he was brimming with it.
At first glance, the tape in his gloved hand looked no different than any of the other balled up scraps of gray duct tape he'd spent endless hours processing. But this one was different, because stuck to it was yet another piece of tape. This second piece was different from the rest. Although appearing to have been torn from the roll as the others had been, this piece had only one ragged edge instead of two. This smaller and straighter piece of tape had one end neatly folded over, as if it had once been the end of the roll and the owner wanted to be able to easily lift the tape off of itself. If this were the original end of the roll, then the possibility existed that the end had been folded over at an earlier time, perhaps before the killer donned gloves. Adrenalin coursed through him at the possibility of finding a print safely tucked under that flap. But first, he needed to determine that the tape indeed matched the other pieces found at the scene near and on the body parts. The sticky substance and tape found on the ankles of two of the victims were a match to the other collected duct tape pieces, but a print would give them the break they so desperately needed.
An hour of examining every single piece of tape collected finally gave him the result he was looking for. He could now prove conclusively that this folded over piece came from the same roll as the others and was the first piece ripped off the roll. Now if only the tape held a print. Intent over the microscope he never heard Delko come in.
"Hey, need a hand?"
"Sure," Tim answered, briefly lifting his head.
"You look beat. How long have you been here?" Eric asked after giving his friend an appraising glance.
"Don't know, a little while I guess," Tim answered. Peering at his watch, his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he noticed the time. He hadn't realized how long he'd been at this. The glance at his watch brought another thought to mind. Why hasn't she called? They usually talked to each other several times a day. Did she get the message I called last night? Well, if memory served, he hadn't actually left a message. But still, if this guy was a friend only, then surely he would know all about Tim and would've been able to figure that it was Tim calling at midnight. So it would stand to reason that she knew he called… unless, he wasn't just a friend, in which case he probably wouldn't tell her that Tim called, if he even knew about Tim. This jumble of reason and rationalizing made his brain hurt and his stomach knot up again. A moment passed before he realized Eric was eyeing him strangely and waiting on some kind of a response from him. "Sorry, just thinking," he mumbled, feeling embarrassed to be caught with his head some place else.
"Yeah, I noticed. Where'd you go?"
Tim started to answer, but was stopped by the vibration from his cell phone. Calleigh. About time she called. Grabbing the phone off his hip, he glanced at the screen and sighed deeply in frustration before answering Horatio's call. He turned his attention back to Eric after putting the phone back. "We caught a break, well, maybe more than one. The third vic just got ID'd and Horatio wants me to go interview the family and see if I can get some sort of profile on her, maybe something that ties the three girls together," he explained. "But I have a key piece of tape that still needs to be fumed. This may hold our only print. See this folded over edge? It's the end piece from the roll," he pointed out.
"Think he folded it over some time before he ever needed to don gloves?" Eric asked.
"It would be helpful if he did. We don't have anything else at this point," Tim answered with pent up aggravation. "Can you take care of this?"
"Yeah, no problem, I'll see what I can get off it. Hope you get something helpful from the family."
"The way things have been going, I'm not feeling optimistic."
The victim's family, still shocked by the news, had no helpful information and offered nothing that might direct them towards a suspect. There was nothing that tied the girls together. Delko, however, did find something useful, a partial print, which now had a face and a name to go with it. Unfortunately, their new suspect was currently in the wind and his last known place of residence had been recently cleaned out. In the wind, Tim mused, much like his relationship.
In the late afternoon, after waiting all day with his stomach twisted, he finally heard from Calleigh, but the two hadn't yet spoken. The call had gone directly to his voice mail since he was tied up in the interview. He briefly considered returning her call when he got back to the lab, but changed his mind. His emotions were too close to the surface to risk letting them out over the phone. This wasn't a situation he could easily figure out and it was tying him up in knots. No matter how many times or different ways he looked at it, the view didn't get any better.
He could only stay at work for so long, which was why he now found himself in the hallway attempting to prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best. Standing at the door, with his key poised at the lock, he stopped short of insertion. This was just too hard. If only he didn't know what it felt like to be betrayed in this manner, then it would be a lot easier to assume there was a reasonable explanation. It might have happened years ago, but the feeling was one that clung long after the incident was but a memory. And that time, it wasn't even someone he was in love with, just someone he was dating, but hurt was hurt, all the same.
The only way he would be able to put his mind at ease was to learn the truth, but as badly as he needed the truth, it wasn't something he was anxious to hear. He was mentally and physically exhausted and the tight rein he'd held on his emotions all day was slipping fast. What he really wanted was to walk inside and take her into his arms. For the last three days, missing her had been a constant, but the nagging doubt that had been gnawing away at his insides ever since he dialed her room last night, wouldn't let him. Breathing in deeply, he exhaled slowly. Whatever the truth, it would come out tonight and he knew all he had to do was look deep in her eyes to see it.
Presumably waiting in the living room, she was on her feet and heading to the door as soon as he turned the key in the lock. Looking up, he met her cautious gaze as she padded over to him.
"Hi," she said, moving closer, "I've been trying to reach you since I got in. Did you get my messages?" Studying his face, she stopped short of embracing him.
"Yeah. I was busy," he said in a monotone. He kept his gaze on her, but made no motion to close the distance between them.
"I'm glad you're home," she said, but to his ears she sounded unsure. That uncertainty was present not only in her voice, but had flashed across her eyes as well, and in that moment, his deeply held belief in her lost its battle with suspicion. As they stood an arm's length from each other, he could only wonder in perplexity how they had gotten to that point. "What is it?" she asked, breaking his concentration. "Is something wrong? Did something happen at work?"
"This isn't about work Calleigh," he answered in a low, rough voice. Barely inside the doorframe, he stayed where he was, kicked the door closed behind him and rested against it with his hands firmly shoved in his pockets.
Taking a step towards him, she motioned towards the couch. "Do you want to sit and we can talk? There are some things I want to talk to you about," she said very gingerly. Her expression, though gave nothing away. She could have the weather in Atlanta on her mind for all he knew.
"No," he said firmly, his jaw tightening. Walking away from the door and her scrutinizing gaze, he stubbornly refused to go anywhere near the couch. He stopped a few feet from where he had started from and turned to her again. "Just tell me what it is you've been keeping from me. The truth Calleigh."
"Well, I will talk to you, but first, I'd like to know why you're so upset and why you'd think I'd tell you anything but the truth, because I'm not following at all," she responded with carefully measured words. There was a strength and control in her that he found it quite admirable, that is, when it wasn't being used against him and driving him crazy.
"Yeah? And I wish the hell you'd tell me what the hell went on in Atlanta," he returned, feeling his own slight control giving way.
His eyes darted about the room in frustration and landed on the coffee table in front of the sofa. His previously spread out collection of journals, papers and notes were now neatly piled next to his laptop. If he looked closer, he knew he would find them piled in the precise order in which they were previously splayed out. Calleigh craved, no, required order and more than that, needed to see it, even on the smallest plane, to know it existed. For Tim, order existed in his head only. That's where he needed it, that's where he kept it. But outside of his head, he was often oblivious to the disarray, unlike Calleigh who could be found straightening his disorder into neat piles, so that the two of them could live in harmony. She needed the tidy display, but she put up with his disarray because maybe she needed him as well. At least that's what he used to think.
About to throw their nicely balanced life into complete chaos, he couldn't stop himself if he tried, because too many conflicting thoughts were spinning in his head at once. What he was thinking went against everything he believed about her, but her recent confusing behavior played upon his long held insecurities and the end result was enough doubt to cloud his judgment.
"This isn't getting us anywhere. Please, can we just sit?" she said. Her voice wavered and for a second, he saw her control had slipped, although she was still doing her best to keep her emotions off her face.
"I know you've been keeping something from me," he shouted. Tired of wondering and right now, tired of asking, the words came out louder and harsher than he intended.
"You don't need to shout Tim. I'm standing right here," she gave back without raising her voice and he could see her control firmly back in place. She walked over to the couch and glanced back in his direction. As if changing her mind, she didn't sit, instead stood and turned back to face him.
"Things just haven't been right, even when I thought we were back on track, your head, it's somewhere else," he said, unable to keep still and began pacing in the small room again. He heard her heavy sigh, momentarily stopped his pacing and looked in her direction.
She sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, with her head lowered. "It was hard to talk to you about something I didn't understand, but I can see I should've at least tried. I had been having some reservations," she began only to be interrupted.
"That's just perfect," he sniped. "You have doubts about me, about our relationship, so you take them to Atlanta? To what, forget about them with an old friend?" he spat with distaste.
"What?" she asked, her voice an octave higher. "Is that what you think? Why would you think such a thing?" He didn't answer, instead clenched his mouth tightly and shoved his fists in his pockets. Glancing in her direction, he could see the wheels turning as she processed this new information and he could see her expression change from bewilderment to understanding. "Is this about the message from Michael?" she asked, sounding relieved as if this answered everything.
Michael? Why do I know that name? The recognition came to him at the same time she began to speak and he could feel his stomach turn inside out. Michael, her ex, her one previous long-term relationship before Tim and the one she walked away from when it got too serious. Tim knew all about Michael, except the fact that he lived in Atlanta.
"Yes, we saw each other," she said softly. "Not the way maybe you think. It wasn't like that. This was about the way I left things a long time ago and why. It's complicated," she began, moving off the couch.
"Our relationship isn't working, so you run to your ex?" he asked, not letting her finish. "Oh, that's rich. Nice of you to let me know." Walking over to the glass door behind the couch, he stopped and looked out at the small balcony he loved. It was dark and the stars could be clearly seen. If he sat out there letting the sounds of the traffic dull the noise in his head would this make any more sense, he wondered? The sound of her voice, indignant, but very much in control, pulled him from his head and ignited his fuse. He jerked around to face her, but had a hard time meeting her eyes.
"I'll talk to you Tim, but I won't do this with you. You're looking for a fight, and there's no need for that," she said, squaring off against him. "You're not listening to anything I say. This isn't about you and it's not about us, not the way you seem to think it is, but you're not giving me a chance to explain."
"The truth Calleigh," he demanded, raking his hands through his hair, unable to keep his body still.
She tried reasoning once more. "I'm not doing this with you. If we could just sit a minute and catch our breath, then maybe we can sort this out, because this isn't getting us anywhere."
"Fuck it Calleigh. We are nowhere right now," he said unable to contain his anger. She visibly flinched at his outburst. "How about the truth?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "I called your room last night. Late last night," he told her as he moved towards the front of the couch where she stood motionless.
"When?" she asked, looking more confused than anything else.
"It was around midnight," he said, restlessly shifting his weight back and forth.
"I never heard the phone. I fell asleep sometime before that. We all came back to the room to talk some more, I had had a couple of drinks, one with dinner and one after and they were much stronger than I was used to…" She was still talking but he wasn't listening.
"It wasn't you that answered the phone Calleigh," he shouted, causing her to abruptly stop talking and look up at him.
"I'm not following," she said hesitantly, blinking with bafflement.
"But I recognized the voice, it was the same one as on the answering machine. What?" he asked, dripping with sarcasm. "He didn't tell you I called when he woke you this morning? Can't imagine why," he said with disgust, staring back at her with cold eyes. "I'll be happy to give her a message when she wakes. Those were his exact words, believe me I couldn't forget them if I tried."
Her mouth dropped open and she stared wide-eyed at him. "Michael said that?" she asked, looking stunned. "I had no idea, I was asleep," she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Yeah," he snarled. "I know how you fall asleep after making love Calleigh, I'm one of the guys sleeping with you, remember?" he asked, firing each word with maximum intensity and aiming to hurt.
The moment the words left his mouth, regret coursed through him. He drew in a sharp breath that caught in his throat. No longer filled with the toxic mixture of confusion, doubt, anger and hurt, he was able to see clearly what he had done and the cruelty of his words shocked him. The color drained from her cheeks before his eyes. She said nothing, but took a step back as if she'd been struck, which he'd essentially done with each syllable he'd hurled at her.
During the interminable silence that followed, he couldn't take his eyes off her as she absorbed the harsh meaning behind his words. Pain filled green eyes stared back at him until he could no longer look. He dropped his head in shame, his guilt taking the place of his vented anger. He'd accused her of betrayal, the one thing he knew she was incapable of, yet when the time came to put his faith in her and in the strength of their relationship, he couldn't do it. He'd hurt her and there was nothing he could do now to take that back.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should never have said that," he said in a tired voice that was full of defeat. She didn't respond, nor did he expect her to, her silence spoke for her. What surprised him was that she did nothing to hide her pain and disappointment, her pretense of control was completely gone. He looked up from beneath his lashes to see her tear filled eyes on full display, and nothing could have prepared him for how deeply that cut through him. "I should go."
"I think that would be best," she said so softly he couldn't be certain if she had really spoken or if he had simply imagined it.
Turning on his heel, he walked to the door, felt for his keys in his pants pocket and let himself out without a word. Once outside, the chill of the night air surprised him and he shivered, grateful he still had his jacket on. He swallowed hard, wondering where exactly he was supposed to go now. Turning back towards the building, he glanced up in the direction of the apartment, his eyes landing on the little porch that looked out at the ocean if you craned your neck and peered off into the distance. He loved that little porch, loved the home he'd just walked out of, loved the woman he shared that home with.
Now… nothing. A few choice words, along with a heaping dose of self-destruction and he'd hurt her deeply, not to mention ruined their relationship with the same strike. Weary, he sighed heavily and he looked up one more time. It didn't matter anymore where he ended up because the view would never be the same.
TBC