"Today, funerals began for the victims of the deadly nightclub massacre that claimed the lives of sixty-four people, causing international shock and outrage for the senseless act of violence. Police have been cautious to release any information on the shooter at this point, claiming the need to protect a highly publicized case and prevent insider information from leaking out, as the feverish search for the gunman continues."
Steve grunted and pulled his knees closer to his chest, his left hand reaching for more sunflower seeds to subdue his anxious mood.
"Although SFPD vehemently denies to classify the incident as a hate crime thus far, we have been informed that an FBI Agent from Boston who specializes in mass shootings and hate crimes has joined the investigators in their frantic effort to bring closure to the countless families who have been left devastated. A memorial set up in front of Hank and Barry's Bar, the nightclub that was known to cater to the homosexual crowd, is growing by the hour, as citizens, tourists and friends alike stop to pause, lay down flowers, weep and hug each other in the wake of an unspeakable crime that has shaken this city."
Tossing the empty shells in the bowl sitting on his bedsheets, Steve chewed away on his seeds, hoping to distract his mind from the images that left his heart and soul broken. Staring straight ahead without blinking his eyes, his thoughts wandered back to Hank, worrying about the mental state of his friend after burying his life-partner the same day Steve instigated the fight he knew was necessary to stop the tiptoeing around each other's feelings on their desperate search for the truth.
It was a sacrifice that had caused hurt feelings at the worst possible time, something that seemed wrong even if he did it for all the right reasons.
"With us here tonight is Father Jason Hooks, whose parish, Saint Francis Church, graciously offered consolation services for all the families involved in this tragic event. Good evening Father Hooks. Can you tell us a bit more about your perspective on this crime, and what you'd like to see done in order to catch whoever is responsible?"
"Oh, for crying out loud…"
Deciding that the late-night report wasn't worth getting worked up about the case all over again, Steve crawled out of bed and turned off the TV, toying with the idea of changing into his pajamas but decided to spend some more time brooding in hopes of tiring out his brain enough to stop the nightmares that had haunted him since the day of the shooting spree.
As he unbuttoned his dress shirt halfway down his chest, he reached for more sunflower seeds, his eyes drifting to the phone by his nightstand.
If the clock striking 11pm was correct, there was a chance that Mike was still awake.
As he dialed the number he knew by heart, Steve dropped back down into his bed, waiting for the two rings it typically took for his partner to answer the phone.
"Mike Stone?"
"Mike, it's me.", he said dryly, trying not to unnecessarily worry his partner.
"What are you still doing awake? I told you to get some sleep."
The fatherly doting brought a smile to his face, as Steve rested the receiver between his ear and shoulder, to free his hands for more deshelling.
"Couldn't sleep. You're still awake too, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but you weren't supposed to know that. Besides, at my age, beauty sleep is overrated."
They both chuckled for several seconds, when Mike finally fell quiet.
"What's on your mind, Buddyboy? I can hear your gears grinding clear across town."
Smiling at Mike's remarkably cued senses when it came to his state of mind, Steve glanced down at the bottom of his bed, the rolled up comforter that had seen far too little use the past few days, and a copy of the New York Times edition that featured yours truly on the front page.
"It's just this case...", he finally admitted sourly, "All the deaths that happened, the unfathomable amount of pain and grief it caused for the next of kin…all that bloodshed. I feel that the closer we get to finding the killer, the more overbearing this loss feels like. I am having a hard time with it."
He could tell that his partner grew worried, as several tense seconds of stillness ensued on the other end. Even now, he could practically see Mike rub his forehead, as if to coax some of that legendary wisdom out of his brain.
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find anybody involved in this case who isn't affected by the death toll in one form or another. I spoke with Sergeant Lacey earlier and a couple of his guys actually sought out Lenny, hoping he can help them deal with what they saw. It was a horrific thing to witness for anybody who has a soul."
The soothing tone of Mike's voice helped calm his senses more than an hour of relentless sunflower seed munching could ever accomplish. As his fidgety hands began to settle down, he rested them in his lap, before leaning against the wooden headboard, keeping the receiver tucked between his shoulder like a much-needed lifeline.
"I keep envisioning how confused and scared these people must have been, hearing what they probably thought was a heavy base in the music…but instead, it ended up being gun fire. And to be trapped in that place, with no way out but to run straight at the shooter. It's…it's beyond disturbing."
"Sometimes I forget just how young you are, Buddyboy.", Mike said with a warm tone of voice that suggested deep contemplation, as he drew in a breath, holding it for several moments before speaking up again, "You were fortunate enough not to see the face of war like many of us did. Seeing death loom around every corner, going to sleep not knowing if you'd wake up again because your camp might get attacked in the middle of the night. Seeing rotting bodies along the road, fathers ripped away from their families, bodies torn to pieces by high powered rifles…the entire time, I kept telling myself that this was just a movie, or a…a theatre play, that it wasn't real. It was the only thing that made what I saw bearable. But to this day, certain sounds and smells still bring back those flashbacks, and it's frightening. It scares me to think that people could do such horrible things to one another. But that's war for you. And in our case, the war has entered our own turf now. We have an enemy at large and we need to find him before he does more damage, no matter how much we are troubled by his actions."
Swallowing hard at the images Mike's candid words had put into his active mind, Steve was beginning to feel bad about bothering his best friend, worried about what kind of memories he inadvertently stirred up right before they were supposed to get some rest.
"Those things you saw…how did you handle them? I mean, what made you come back to that same nightmare day after day?"
His own question scared him tremendously, for it would give Mike insight into his deepest, most hidden insecurities, something he'd never dare to talk about in public. And yet, this late at night, with his nerves frayed, there was only one person in the whole wide world he'd bare his innermost fears to.
"I remembered why I was there. And what I was defending.", came Mike's soft answer after a short pause and he could hear him switch the receiver to the other ear, "And on the real bad days, when even that didn't help any longer, I forced myself to seek out the good in everything. Sometimes it was a flower growing along a tank route, or a bird sitting on a branch near my tent. Or I'd watch children play, blissfully unaware of the dangers surrounding them. Sometimes I could see the enemy taking care of their wounded comrades, comforting them in their pain. One time, several people from nearby villages would come to visit us, going through incredible risks to bring us some food. I guess, I just learned to look for the good in all the horrible things that surrounded me. It's a mindset I never lost, even after I returned from the war."
Those words of wisdom, so profound and moving, spoken with such geniality, brought tears to his eyes and Steve bit his lip, trying to conceal the exhaustion-induced emotional outbreak to his partner on the other end of the line. And yet, even though he was several miles away, Mike seemed to be completely aware of his struggle that evening.
"Stephen, you have to remember that we're the only thing that stands between evil, and the citizens of San Francisco. We traded sleepless nights, bullet wounds and sometimes even our lives for the privilege to wear that badge and protect the innocent. And sometimes, especially in Homicide, the things we have to witness are very disturbing, and I wouldn't want any regular guy off the streets to see what we have to see. At one point in our career, we have to come to the conclusion that the nightmares and doubts we face are merely the sacrifice we make, so that others don't have to see that raw and vile side of humanity. Just like solders, we've made the commitment to protect and serve our community, we back it up with our lives, and as far as I am concerned, it's the greatest honor there is for any human being. You are part of that group, Buddyboy, so whenever you are worried about what lies in front of you, what evil awaits you around the next corner, you have to also remember who's behind you, huddled behind your back, counting on you to keep them safe. And then you need to put your own feelings aside, charge ahead with everything you've got, and do what the hour demands."