Someone to Kill For Chapter 11, a third watch fanfic

Author's Note: The song lyrics used in this chapter are "Lonely and Gone" by Montgomery Gentry.

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Pulled in the driveway, picked up the paper
Found my key, and unlocked the door
I walked in, felt like a stranger
Like I'd never, been there before
And as I wandered room to room
It was silent as a tomb

June 27, 2005

"Where the hell have you been?" I croaked, struggling hurriedly to my feet from the bench. Ty looked at me before following my gaze to the stairwell. Faith was rushing up, looking frazzled and panicked; Charlie was only steps behind her, his eyes ablaze with confusion. He shook his head at his mother.

"Where's Emily?" She asked, nearly yelling, and completely avoiding my question. Her frantic eyes scanned the long corridor for signs of her daughter before focusing her attention back on Davis and me.

"I'm right here," a young voice interrupted. Emily was trotting up the same stairwell, looking just as stressed as Faith, if that were at all possible. "Are all the elevators under maintenance?"

"Of course they are," Ty cut in, scoffing. "Right when everyone needs them."

The situation frustrated me. Here they were, not even together – getting themselves separated at such a crucial time – and discussing the malfunctions of a hundred-year old court building's elevators, when we had just minutes until we were supposed to take the stand of what was the most important trial of our entire lives.

"I parked as close as I could," Emily explained, a bit short of breath. "Are we late?"

"Yes, we're late!" I barked, tilting my wrist up so everyone could see my watch. "We have two minutes to find the ADA and get to the courtroom before they decide we failed to appear. You want that? You want Bosco to think we backed out?"

Faith glared at me through eyes laced with red. She never really had gotten over things. In fact, they'd only gotten worse as the months had gone on. I don't think she'd quit crying since the day he was incarcerated. And it was clearly evident through the dark circles around her normally bright green eyes. I immediately felt guilty. "Sully—…"

"Okay, whoa," Ty broke in, before Faith could retaliate. He held up his hands in a typical keep-the-peace Ty fashion. "Why don't…we just go." We all glanced at each other, and I noted that Charlie and Em exchanged frustrated looks. "…Now," He finished, ushering us down the hall. "Let's go."

I gritted my teeth and ran a hand through my thick, albeit salt-and-pepper hair, and lumbered after them. The hall was hardly bright, but I squinted my eyes anyway, feeling a wave of nausea consume me. I couldn't help but be negative. I couldn't help but doubt. I'd seen too many things turn out wrong in my life to have much hope left that they'd ever work out in our favor. What on earth did Faith think we had to say in his favor on the stand? I mean, we knew he was guilty. They all knew that we knew he was guilty. So what could we possibly have to say to evoke enough sympathy from the jury to curb the death penalty? And was that the only possibility? Just trying to get life in prison with no parole? Bosco would rather die than sit on death row for sixty years; so testifying in that effect would be doing him a great disservice.

We weren't just fighting a losing battle — we were fighting one we had already lost.

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The courtroom felt cold and unwelcoming as we all shuffled in, taking seats in front of the jury row. I mean, more cold and unwelcoming than usual. The members of the jury trailed in one after another, a couple minutes after me, Sully, Ty, Charlie and Em had taken a seat. Lieu was already there. I glanced over at the prosecution's side of the room. There, in the pew-like benches sat Roy Lane, the FBI son of a bitch that wheedled the truth out of Cruz, and his sneering partner. Both sat, in perfect posture, their freshly pressed shiny suits reflecting the courtroom light.

All the jurors looked emotionless. I guess when don't have an attachment to the case… Whatever. I shook my head, frustrated that my obnoxiously long hair kept falling into my eyes. I glanced over at Em and Charlie. Emily seemed to look up at me at the same time. Her face seemed to display varied emotions. I wished more than ever I could read my daughter's expression, but I was having little luck. Charlie sat to her right, staring down at his hands and fidgeting. Even after the ADA informed us he wouldn't have to testify, he still emanated anxiety. He adjusted his position in the seat, looked over his shoulder, sighed and coughed. I started to question whether or not I should have even brought him.

I stared sympathetically at my son for a couple more minutes. No one moved. Few people even spoke. I could hear Lane and his sidekick whispering something to the other; a couple jurors cleared their throats. A bailiff stood guard by the door, looking poised and statue-like. The door suddenly whisked open, sounding heavy on its hinges. I was quick to recognize the prosecutor, James Lin. I wasn't sure why his name rung a small bell in the depths of my brain, but I did my best to ignore it. He wasn't big, by any means, tall and sort of thin with light brown hair, but his weighted shoes echoed in the only slightly-populated room. He looked straight ahead, making his way to the table where he slapped a fat briefcase down and pulled in his chair. I shifted my eyes down to my feet, and to my left, where Sully sat adjusting the collar on his uniform. None of us really looked at our blues positively. After all, we only wore them to court cases and funerals. I leaned close to his ear.

"Where's Rose?" I whispered. I felt my voice shake. I'd forgotten how difficult it would be for her to walk through those doors.

Sully didn't have a chance to reply when the door opened again and we all craned our necks around to see an older woman with brownish-grey hair making her way down the aisle. She slipped into a seat a couple rows behind Lane, on the prosecution side. She was followed by a younger woman, clutching the hand of a young boy. Walker's ex-wife, I assumed, and her six-year-old son. I felt a shiver run of my spine, even through my uniform and coat, when he turned around and looked at me. His eyes were brown. His hair was brown. Everything reminded me of him. All of his features. He was a spitting image of his father. I shivered again, quickly turning away. As I did, I caught a steely glare from Walker's mother as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. I was thankful that Rose burst in just seconds later, so I could stop watching the family as they sat trying to evoke some sort of guilt from me. I didn't want anyone to know it was working.

Rose hurried toward our row, unsuccessful at containing her sobs. They were heartbreaking and could be heard over all the quiet whispers. Lieu, Sully, and Ty all slid down a seat to the left so she could sit next to me. She looked tired. Exhausted, even. Her eyes were bloodshot. It looked like she'd been neglecting her hair that she almost consistently kept a radiant auburn. I couldn't see her lasting through the entire trial. I couldn't see her able to stay just through today. I couldn't see myself doing that. My legs had been shaking ever so slightly since we all came in, and all they seemed to be saying to me was Run…run…. I had to use every bit of resolve I could muster just to keep from complying.

I did my best to comfort Rose, but honestly, it was the blind leading the blind. I turned to see Lieu whispering something to Ty, who looked incredibly wistful. Twenty-minutes had passed since we'd all filed in, and the rest of the juror seats had filled. Cruz walked in, looking just as skinny and haughty as usual. She took a seat by herself as far away from Lane and Walker's family as she could get. All of them watched her every move. Walker's mother and ex-wife were probably wondering exactly why this accomplice was sitting on their "side". Cruz kept her head down mostly, avoiding me and everyone else at all costs. She seemed nervous. Really, really nervous. I thought I'd be glad, that she might mess up on the stand. Incriminate herself or something. But I was indifferent, really. I was numb. I didn't know what to feel anymore. Or what to think; or believe.

Our ADA pranced in delicately just moments later. She looked intimidating, Virginia Dell, with her dark black hair both back in a bun so tight it stretched her young features back. She was roughly thirty, and actually extremely nice as I'd found nearly four months earlier when I first learned who'd been representing Bosco. You'd never guess it by the way she seemed to sneer involuntarily. She mimicked Lin's prior actions, sitting at her table and shuffling papers.

Where's Bosco?

It was all I could think about. I didn't know what was taking so long. Even if I knew, I didn't care. I wanted things to get started. I wanted things to be over with. I wanted him to come in so that I had to face him – so that I had to look him in the eye, and then get over it.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing ever was.

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I was uncomfortable in my seat. I shifted my weight. My uniform was too small, and I tugged on the chest of it trying to loosen up some room to breathe.

Let's start already…

I silently willed the judge to come in and get things going. The longer we had to sit here, anticipating, the harder it was gonna be on us all. But I knew, as always, Your Honor was gonna take his sweet fucking time.

Time, I thought, not realizing right away that I'd mumbled it aloud.

Time that we didn't have.

Time that Bosco didn't have.

And as that time passed, I watched the seats behind us fill up with almost the rest of the 55th. Grace, Kim and Finney. Monroe came slinking in after, locking eyes with Davis who simply glared at her. Nothing between them had really gotten much better since he found out she was working inside. None of us were really on friendly terms with her. Still, she found it in her rat heart to come and at least watch Bosco get screwed over by the system.

A tiny little woman, probably in her late forties, perched in front of the glorified typewriter, prepared to record all of our dialogue onto paper that would service the media with a few taken-out-of-context quotes, and then resign to live and yellow in an abandoned file cabinet. A couple more bailiffs wandered in as the courtroom filled. The more people, the more danger. Something we'd all learned during our careers.

When the judge finally came in, I felt as if I'd turned another year older. The delay was killing me. I could tell it was taking its toll on everyone else, too. I heard Rose crying quietly, eerily in sync with the sobbing of Walker's mother in the adjacent row of seats. She was mumbling something to Faith about how Anthony wouldn't come. Why she wanted him to, I had no idea. And if he were to show, who's to say he'd be on our side, anyway? The guy was a jerk as far as I was concerned.

I was watching the Walkers when I heard it. I thought I had been prepared, but I was wrong. Because when I finally heard it, I froze. I kept my eyes locked on the Walker family, even though my eyes were blurred. I only stared at them because it was easier than looking away. At him.

The court room grew silent. The whispers died down. Virginia and Lin stood up. Judge Harrison sat down. And everyone slowly swiveled in their chairs to get a clear view behind us. And where that noise was coming from. That ominous sound of feet chafing the floor, metal clinking together. A lot of it. I knew a single pair of handcuffs wouldn't have reverberated off the high ceiling like this sound did. No. The only thing I knew that could cause such a sound was chains.

Heavy chains.

Could've heard a tear drop, could've heard a heart break
Never saw the flood come, even though I felt the rain
Never heard a house sound, so loud with memories
Where there used to be a happy home
In the house on the corner of the lonely and gone

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All I heard was….nothing. Pure silence, actually. The room was stiller than it had been when we first walked in and were virtually the one ones there. I'd never been so nervous before. I'd been in court before, but never for anything so critical. I'd never had someone's life depend on my testimony. Let alone someone I loved.

Then I heard it. The door first, then the scraping. Like feet dragging. Then some kind of clanging; metal against metal I presumed. Had I given myself a second, I'd have realized what it was. But it was so instinctual to look behind me, that I didn't. Not until I saw him.

Bosco.

At least, I was pretty sure he was the one in the orange jumpsuit and chains. It looked almost unrealistic. Like something I'd seen on television, or something. Maybe my vision was just clouded. Maybe I only expected to see a monster in hand and feet cuffs and prison apparel. And I didn't care about what I knew, or the things no one had told me about the case, or what other people said. Bosco wasn't a monster to me. He never would be.

The scuffing of his feet kept on in cadence as he continued down toward his attorney. Two cops were escorting him, and they kept chary eyes on everyone. I couldn't tell what they were more worried of: some vengeful family member attacking him, or him attacking the rest of us. Clearly the former was more likely. The people sitting on the opposite side of us were burning into him with their eyes. My mom had told me they were Walker's family. I didn't know much more about the incident than that Bosco had been framed for this cop's murder. Neither did Charlie.

Charlie.

I'd been so caught up in what seeing Bosco meant to me that I'd forgotten about my brother, who was sitting on the aisle seat to the right of me. If I had seen his terrified face and wide eyes when he saw Bosco from a distance, I never would have let myself mumble Bosco's name. It was just a reflex. But it was all Charlie needed to go over the edge.

See, Bosco didn't look like he did the last time we'd seen him. We got to visit him now and then, but our last trip to Five Points was almost two months ago. And behind fingerprint-smeared plexiglass, his appearance was never exactly evident. But here, in person, his figured looked terribly emaciated. I mean, it evoked adjectives that most high school seniors forget about after the first vocab test. His shoulders slouched; his head was down – depressingly uncharacteristic of him. And when I said his name, he heard me. I didn't intend for him to, but he turned and looked in our direction. His gaze automatically fell on my mom, first. He turned his neck more as the cops ushered him to the table. He finally glanced at me. And then Charlie. His eyes looked sunken – even from where we were sitting, a couple dozen feet away, we could see that his gaunt face was skeletal-like and sickly pale, save for the inflamed part of his forehead where a trail of haphazardly applied stitches laid. And the familiar scar above his right cheekbone hadn't gotten any less visible. But the worst thing about the way he looked at us wasn't necessarily his appearance – but that he even though he looked at us, he didn't seem to really see us.

I swallowed hard.

Don't cry.

Mom was crying. His mother was crying. Walker's mother was crying. Walker's son was crying. Everyone was crying. I turned to Charlie but he had leapt from his seat and run toward the exit. Few people took their eyes off of Bosco to watch Charlie leave, but I glanced around quickly and then followed my brother out.

If she talked about leavin', I wasn't listenin'
If she showed me a sign, well I never saw
Did she stop believin', did I stop givin'
Can't put my finger on what went wrong
Now the quietest noise I'm told
Is the sound of letting go

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I didn't like walking in. There were so many eyes on me; I could feel them all burning through me like a lit match to wet paper. So many pairs of eyes that I felt like they could read me. And I didn't want anyone to read me. I kept my head down, most of the way, so I didn't have to look at anyone. I didn't want Ma to see me; or Faith. I didn't want to face the Walker family.

I had regrets. But they weren't the obvious regrets. I just didn't want to deal with the family. Maybe that was harsh. Maybe I did belong in the chains.

Someone mumbled my name as I was halfway to the defense table. Virginia was there, waiting. Sully and Ty had found her. Apparently she was supposed to be really good – one of the best. Honestly, though, she didn't look old enough to have had a lot of experience with high profile cases. It didn't matter though. At that point, I didn't think the best lawyer in the world could get me out of the shit I was in.

I turned toward the familiar voice that called my name. It was almost too quiet, but I made it out. Slowly I turned to face it. My eyes first fell on Faith, her eyes dry and crimson from crying. She looked at me blankly before leaning over to comfort Ma who was crying. It killed me to see them like that. The jagoffs leading me didn't give me much time to keep looking in their direction. I quickly shifted my eyes to Emily, who I realized had said my name. She had almost a frightened look on her face – like she didn't recognize me. I was hardly able to steal a glance at Charlie before he took off through the door. Emily looked at me wistfully and then followed him. I felt my chest constrict.

I had never intended to get anyone wrapped up in such a disaster.

Especially not Em and Charlie.

Before being shoved to front of the table, I trailed my eyes across the back rows. I looked at Sully. Ty. Finney. Lieu. Grace. Kim. Even The Rat had showed up in my favor. I looked one more time at these people – some I'd known only for a year, others for over a decade – the same people who had volunteered to commit perjury on my behalf.

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Judge Harrison looked near ready to begin. He seemed to be scanning the court room for missing links. As if on cue, a young man came through the door. He walked swiftly down the aisle, locking his eyes on Bosco from the distance. He looked familiar. He looked like…Walker. A lot like him, actually. I turn to Sully, baffled.

"Sul…who—..." I trailed off, studying the person. He never did take his eyes off Bosco, who was standing at the defense table, his back toward us, head hung. He was still. He didn't know how intently this person was watching him, how completely focused this person was on him.

"Let it be, Ty," Sully advised, his voice a low and direct. I hated when he did that. He sounded like my father.

"Yeah, but…"

"His brother," Sul finally gave in. He didn't face me. He just stared straight ahead, arms crossed over his blues and badge, expression incredibly sullen. "Walker's brother. Michael. Don't let the name get to you. It's common."

I felt my jaw slack a little at the irony.

And there was something about this Michael's imperious glare that really irked me. I mean, it bothered me beyond the icy looks Walker's mother and ex-wife had already given Bosco and the rest of us. It was unrelenting. It was…deadly.

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Michael seemed to be taking his time walking toward his mother, nephew and ex-sister-in-law. It almost seemed like he'd time it perfectly. By the time he took a seat next to his mother, Bosco had glanced back in that direction, thus catching his eye for a fleeting moment. It was a strange look that they shared; creepily akin to that of two dogs staring each other down. I was waiting for one of them to snap.

They didn't, thank God, breaking their noxious gaze only when Judge Harrison called the court to order. Those of us not standing, did, and then obediently sat back down.

It bothered me that Bosco had known about Walker's brother, but still appeared that he'd seen a ghost of some sort when he turned around. His eyes widened. Even from where I was sitting I could see him swallow hard.

Michael was sitting now, but he never once took his eyes off Bosco, who was staring tentatively ahead. All I could see was his back – a faded orange target with the number "043" virtually branded on the back of it in digital like font. It was couldn't have looked more wrong on Boz – more out of place. I'd seen him in it nearly every day for the past four months, and I was no more used to it than the first time I'd seen him dressed in prison garb. Through the thin jumpsuit, his shoulders looked painfully pronounced. I'd noticed his emaciated figure immediately – it certainly didn't go unseen. But I wasn't as shocked as everyone else had been. I'd been watching my partner's physical and mental stay rapidly decline for a hundred and twenty-two days.

Em and Charlie had taken it hard. I wanted so much to run after him when he'd bolted at the sight of his 'Uncle B' looking so drawn and lethargic, but Emily jumped at that opportunity. I scolded myself inwardly for forgetting that Charlie hadn't been there each day to see Bosco's ever-worsening condition. For bringing Charlie and not warning him. And when Emily went after him, I got the feeling she was thankful for his interruption. If she'd stayed any longer she might have joined Rose and I in our pathetic and painfully repressed sobs.

It was clear prison didn't agree with him. Or vice versa. Or a combination of both, I'm sure. Whatever it was exactly – the food, or lack thereof, the unnatural confinement, or the forced-leveling with the scum he'd vowed his entire life to put away – had taken a seemingly irreversible toll on him. Still, he'd insisted every day during visitation that he deserved whatever "time" he received, but first and foremost, knew what he'd done, knew what he was doing at the time, and "wouldn't change a fucking thing". That last part, I'm sure, he'd slightly exaggerated. I mean, everyone would change something. Him especially. He could say he deserved it, he say I was worth it as many times as he wanted, but he was convincing no one, me of all people, that he wanted to stay in prison or that he wouldn't fight – at least a little – for a chance at freedom. Regardless of whether or not he still had his job if or when he did get out.

He'd always have me.

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It was difficult to fathom exactly what was taking place before all of us. How things had never really been right, but had acutely gone down hill in the past year. I'd been "losing" Michael ever since he'd turned to drugs to escape the pain his father caused – or rather, I allowed to cause, as I believed – him and his brother. Finally, I did lose him. Not just to drugs, to murder. And then I sat and watched my oldest son, my only son, breathe through tubes for months on end before just barely making a comeback. And here I was again, preparing to lose him. They'd taken him away from me for four months, but were threatening to take him away for twenty years, sixty years…or forever.

It was something I already couldn't handle. I didn't have anyone to really help me handle it either. Anthony bailed again. Maurice always said I gave him too many chances. Faith was always strong, but as she sat there next to me, she looked just as weak and fragile, if not more so. She'd put on a resilient façade, but it was cracking. Even I – the emotionally unstable mother – could tell when the front was failing.

I heard Maurice mumble something in response to the judge's asking of his plea. I couldn't hear either of them. I strained my ears as Judge Harrison repeated himself.

"How do you plead?"

Could've heard a tear drop, could've heard a heart break...

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The courtroom had remained almost completely silent since Judge Harrison walked in, but if there was any shuffling, whispering or otherwise noise whatsoever, it hushed in an instant the moment he spoke. Everyone's attention darted to the front of the room.

"How do you plead?" Harrison's voice was old and weary, but at the same time, authoritative. Bosco either didn't hear, or just ignored him. The aging judge seemed irritated that had to repeat himself. "How do you plead, Mr. Boscorelli?"

I watched a few of my colleagues cringed at the title. It wasn't Officer Boscorelli, anymore. Faith especially took it hard, chewing her lip and wiping her eye just to keep occupied…to keep distracted.

Davis and I glanced at each other. His eyes were wide and nervous, but I knew my mien was simply one of my rarely-varying petulant frowns – resigned to the outcome I was almost certain Bosco was destined to face.

I was pretty sure I heard Bosco murmur his response, but again Harrison barked for him to speak up. We all awaited his known response so that opening statements could follow suit. If there wasn't the threat of being found in contempt of court, I could have thought of more than a few people who would object to Bosco's upcoming, blatant lie.

Crap.

"Not guilty, your honor."

Oh, I never heard a house sound, so loud with memories
Where there used to be a happy home
In the house on the corner, in the house on the corner
Of the lonely and gone