Chapter 11
A/N #1: Okay, fair warning. I have my escape bunker ready. It's fully stocked with all the food, water and fanfic I need to wait out the siege. There's no way any of you can get to me. Prepare yourself because I guarantee you didn't see this one coming.
A/N #2: Serious note. My apologies to everyone for the offensive language Collier uses in this chapter. The prejudices dredged up by the cancer have their roots in life as it was in the middle of the 20th century. Such derogatory comments were often part of everyday speech. Considering Collier's mental deterioration, it's reasonable that he would revert to those terms when referring to Sheldon Hawkes. The various uses of the "n" word are not and never will be part of my own vocabulary.
Danny hunched over, shielding Lindsay from Collier's view. Sheldon did the same.
Their captor stood silent for a long moment. His eyes lost focus as he stared off into nothing. Collier swayed as though listening to some distant and hypnotic music meant only for him.
"'Passing too eagerly upon a provocation loses the guard and lays open the body,'"(1) Collier whispered, his voice growing louder with each word and his decision to act. "Or as John said, 'One soweth, and another reapeth.'(2)"
Danny glanced toward Hawkes long enough to ask, "What is he yammerin' about?"
Nathan Collier locked eyes with Danny Messer. The Jekyll and Hyde aspect of Collier's personality--beneficent teacher one moment, raging villain the next--turned again, throwing him back into a more violent and volcanic turn of mind. All trace of emotion vanished from his face, but his eyes changed to twin obsidian flakes--bottomless, emotionless and deadly sharp.
At that moment, the kindly professor was more dangerous than a hardened sociopath and equally as willing to kill.
"Allow me to translate, Detectives," Collier said, "You will reap the fruits that Mac Taylor has sown."
The CSIs stared from each other to their captor and back. The statement, ominous by itself, was made further so by its monotone, resolute delivery. Collier's life revolved around words, his own and those borrowed from literature. The timbre of his orations held as much meaning as the words themselves.
The thespian lilt was gone, leaving behind a deadly resolve.
Whatever he means to do, Danny thought, it won't be pretty.
Collier pulled Sheldon Hawkes' Glock from the waistband at the small of his back. While the pistol covered his hostages, he opened the cylinder of the .38 and checked the number of bullets inside. Thumbing the cylinder back in place, he laid the snub-nosed revolver on a break room table and stepped away from it.
"In order to expedite my demand, I will explain. As payment for Detective Mac Taylor's machinations, one of you will die. My initial thought was to use Detective Monroe as my example. She is seriously wounded and may die before my demand is met. This makes her the most expendable of my hostages."
"Damn you, Collier!"
Danny surged to his feet. Sheldon did the same. The doctor grabbed Messer by the shoulders and hung on for dear life.
"Come anywhere near her, you sick old bastard," Danny snarled; the CSI struggled against Sheldon Hawkes' restraining arms, "and I will kill you with my bare hands!"
Collier tilted his head to them and said, "Calm yourself, Detective Messer. There is a way for you to save your sweet Juliette."
"You're crazy," Danny gasped, shaking with dread. "Brain tumor's got nothin' to do with it. You're stark ravin' mad, full stop!"
"Perhaps," Collier admitted, not the least bit phased by his prisoner's rage and condemnation. "The fact remains, I am in charge, and if you want your lady love and your ... friend ... to live, you will do as I say."
With a violent twist of his body, Danny tore free and moved to shield Lindsay. Arms thrust out to his sides, palms facing forward, he took a single step forward, daring the man to shoot.
"What? You'll kill me in their place? Go ahead then. I'm right here. What are you waiting for, you sick bastard? You say someone has to pay for Mac doin' his job? Okay then! Shoot, damn you!"
"Messer, you idiot." Sheldon tried to pull him back. Danny planted his feet and refused to budge. "What are you trying to do? Sit down and shut the hell up."
The Glock inched over. The barrel pointed directly at Sheldon's head.
Collier's voice lost all cordiality. "Go sit down, boy, and let the white men talk."
"Professor, please," Hawkes pleaded. "Mac didn't mean-"
Teeth bared, Collier hissed each word, saying, "Sit. Down. Negro. I will not tell you again."
"Go on, Shel," Danny urged, adding a push with his elbow against Hawkes' chest even as he glared daggers at Collier for the insult. "Stay with Lindsay."
Clearly reluctant, Hawkes stepped back and sat down beside Lindsay once more. His hand sought her pulse but his attention remained on the drama unfolding in the room.
"Okay, Collier," Danny said. "I'm listenin'."
"I offer you a way out for your sweet lady and your ... friend. You--and only you--will reap the bitter seeds which have been planted here today."
"A way out?" Danny repeated. He really, seriously did not want to hear the answer, but he had to know. "What do I have to do?"
Collier tilted the Glock in the direction of the table with the revolver. "There is a single bullet in that gun. You will use it. On yourself."
Danny staggered and almost fell. His chest hurt, as though he'd been struck a hard blow against his sternum with a sledgehammer. His lungs hitched and his vision misted over.
Behind him, Sheldon Hawkes gasped, his breathing abruptly arrested.
Ears buzzing with the sudden loss of blood from his upper body, Messer breathed, "You want me to ... what?"
"You will pick up this gun, put it to your head, and pull the trigger."
"No." Danny took a revolted, hasty step back. "No way in hell. No effin' WAY!"
"Very well. If that is your decision--"
Collier angled the Glock's barrel toward Lindsay Monroe.
Danny thrust his hands forward and yelled, "No! Don't!"
"Have you changed your mind, Detective? The sooner this unpleasantness is done, the sooner Detective Taylor will learn his lesson."
Instinct for self-preservation raged against obeying Collier's twisted demand. Danny's Catholic upbringing threw in its own admonitions. Suicide was a 100 percent, guaranteed, fully punched ticket on the Hell Train.
How could he stand in front of the gates to Heaven and confess to blowing his own brains to mush? Even with Collier's threats to kill Lindsay or Shelton, if Danny pulled the trigger to kill himself, it would count as suicide in Saint Peter's book.
I don't want to die. God knows that. How can I do this? He stared at Lindsay's slack, pale face. How could he not? If I don't blow my own brains out, he'll kill Lindsay. I couldn't survive that, havin' to live with knowing I valued my own life more than hers.Bile rose up and burned his throat.
I'd end up eatin' my gun anyway, so what's the difference? Now or later, it'll all be the same.
"'The consciousness of being loved softens the keenest pang even at the moment of parting; yea, even the eternal farewell is robbed of half of its bitterness when uttered in accents that breathe love to the last sigh.'(3)"
"Enough with the quotes, you sick bastard," Danny growled, teeth bared like a cornered animal.
"I humbly attempt to ease your passage to the next life," Collier said.
"Don't. I don't need any more of your 'help'."
If I do what Collier wants now ... Lindsay has a chance. But it means I'll never see her again. Either here or in the hereafter."No. Please. God." Sheldon stared at his friend, horrified beyond anything he'd ever felt before. "Danny, you can't possibly mean to-- Professor Collier, please don't do this. You're a good man with a terrible disease. The cancer has warped you into something you really aren't. Remember the man you were. Before the cancer, you'd never-"
"One more word from you, nigger, and I will kill you sooner rather than later."
Ignoring the threat, Hawkes tried to reason with his friend. "Danny, you can't go along with this. It's insane!"
"I got no choice, Shel," Danny said around the hard lump in his throat. Breathing was hard enough. Talking was almost impossible. Tears poured down his face as he looked from his friend to his unconscious love.
Sheldon kept shaking his head and whispering, "no," under his breath.
"If I don't, he'll kill Lindsay. I can't let that happen. You know that. I gotta do whatever I can to keep her alive. Even ... even this."
"The shot," Hawkes barked--anything to stall. "It'll bring SWAT into the room, same as it would have if you'd shot me."
"Ahh. True enough." The Professor moved around until he stood close to Lindsay's head. Using the gun, he motioned for Sheldon to lay flat on the floor once more. Once he had them placed to his satisfaction, Collier said, "Detective Messer. The telephone, if you would be so kind."
Danny staggered over to the wall phone and leaned against the wall. He picked up the receiver but didn't dial.
"What should I tell them?"
"You and I have reached an agreement. It will mean a shot will be fired, but they are not to respond. Should they storm the room when the shot is fired, I will kill Detective Monroe before the first man can take a single step into the room."
Sheldon rose onto an elbow and twisted until he could see his friend. "Danny-"
"SHUT UP, NIGGER BOY!"
Collier swung the pistol around, backhand. The barrel struck Sheldon Hawkes across the left ear. The CSI yelped and fell to the floor, striking the right side of his head against the linoleum. Blood poured down his face and neck. Castoff drops dotted the floor in a familiar medium velocity pattern. Stunned by the vicious blow, Hawkes moaned and rocked but did not rise.
Tossing an acidic curse toward their captor, Danny dropped the receiver and took two steps toward Hawkes. Collier retrained the weapon, halting the move.
"I have limited time and even scarcer patience," Nathan Collier said, "and you are wasting both. Make the call, Detective Messer. Now."
It took three tries to dial the correct number to Mac Taylor's office. Danny prayed for any kind of reprieve, but Mac answered before the first ring ended.
"Taylor."
Danny swallowed against a bone-dry throat then said, "Hey, Mac. It's Messer."
"Danny, is everyone all right? How is Lindsay?""She's fadin', Mac. Fast. And Sheldon's a bit worse for wear. I'm ... I'm fine, also. Look, um. Mac. The Professor and I, we ... we made a kind of a deal. He's, em, well, he ... uh ... there has to be some kind of payment for the camera thing and ... he and I made a pact--a deal. You'll hear a shot but ... keep the SWAT guys reined in, okay? Don't let them barge in here. If they do, he'll kill Lindsay before they can get a clear bead on him."
"Deal? What kind of a deal? You sound ... Danny, what's going on?""I know what I'm doin', Mac. Really, I do. It's the only way to get Lindsay and Sheldon out of here alive."
"What about you? Why didn't you name yourself, as well? Danny, what the hell is he planning to do?"
"Mac ... if everything starts circlin' the drain, promise me, you'll tell everyone ... well, you know what I'm tryin' to say."
"It sounds like you're trying to say goodbye. Dan-""Remember what I said, Mac. Don't come in when you hear the shot. He's got Hawkes' gun aimed straight at Montana's head. She'll die if you come in. Okay? I want your word on this."
"Not unless you level with me. Tell me what you plan to do."
"It's ... a trade. A straight trade. Nothin' more. Mac, I ... I gotta go. Tell Don an' Stella an' Adam an' Sid ... tell everyone--" goodbye and I love you all, "--thanks for everythin' they're doin' to get us out alive."
"Don't hang up. Danny, talk to me! Dan-""Later, Mac."
Danny set the receiver back in its cradle. Taylor's voice poured from the earpiece until the instant the line disconnected. Messer leaned his forehead against the handset and gasped for air. The harder he struggled to breathe, the less usable air he pulled in.
Collier knelt beside Lindsay Monroe's head and pressed the barrel of the gun, its open end still moist with Sheldon Hawkes' blood, against her temple.
"Now, Detective Messer. Pick up the gun."
As he staggered toward the table with the weapon, Danny's vision tunneled. He felt cold all over, like ice, but his insides burned. His lungs hurt for lack of oxygen, even as his skin shuddered with every push of air-conditioned air across his sweat-soaked body.
His right hand hovered over the butt of the weapon. I need to pick it up. I have to pick it up. To his trembling hand, he demanded, Stop shaking already! The hand didn't listen.
"I grow tired of waiting, Detective Messer. Or, as Plautus once said, 'Nothing is more annoying than a tardy friend.'(4) Pick up the gun. Now."
The gun settled into his palm, its grip still warm and sweat-damp. Danny swallowed against the urge to sick up. This same gun had fired the bullet that struck Lindsay Monroe in the back. This same gun would, unless a miracle intervened, be his own murder weapon.
Danny's gaze settled on Lindsay's face as he thumbed back the revolver's hammer. His hand shook so badly, the stubby barrel drummed against his thigh. His index finger moved along the trigger guard but refused to slide inside.
When he looked at Sheldon Hawkes, Danny fought hard to smile one last time.
"Take care of her, Shel. Make her understand."
"How can I?" Hawkes cut back, his voice strangled with pain and grief. "How can I make her understand something I don't understand myself?"
"You'll find a way. You're good at that kinda thing. Tell her ... tell her I know she'd've done the same for me if things were switched around."
Choked, he stared away, toward the door, praying to see the SWAT team storm into the room. It wasn't going to happen. Without the spy cam, SWAT had no clue what was going on in the break room.
He turned back to Sheldon and whispered, "Close your eyes, my friend. No need for you to see this."
"Yes there is," Sheldon answered. "I can't stop this, but I can keep you from going through it alone."
"No, man. I mean it. Look away."
Sheldon Hawkes shook his head once, hard. "No."
"Enough, gentlemen," Collier cut them off. "Detective Messer. 'Time drinketh up the essence of every great and noble action, which ought to be performed, and is delayed in the execution.'(5) Either put the gun to your head, say goodbye, and pull the trigger or I will kill Detective Monroe."
"Hell has a special place for people like you, Collier," Sheldon Hawkes said. "I'll pray every night that you fry there for eternity."
"I shall most assuredly do so, Dr. Hawkes. However, such foreknowledge does not change what will happen here tonight."
Danny sniffed back the last of his tears.
Lindsay. My Montana. If I don't do this, he'll kill her.
"Collier. That Hell Hawkes mentioned. I'll see you there. Soon. And I'll spend all of eternity kickin' your sorry ass around the fire pits."
Danny pressed the jerking barrel against the underside of his jaw, angled upwards toward his brain. He needed both hands to steady the weapon.
"No. God. Please!"
Danny blocked out Hawkes' continued prayers. Prayers would not help him now.
He studied Lindsay Monroe's baby-doll face, the angle of her shoulder, the curve of her hips, the petite foot that peeked from beneath the silver blanket, everything he could take in--a final memory. He then closed his eyes, steadied his hands, and did what he needed to do.
With a final prayer to Saint Peter for understanding, Danny Messer pulled the trigger.
QUOTES:
(1) Passing too eagerly upon a provocation loses the guard and lays open the body; calmness and leisure and deliberation do the business much better.
- Jeremy Collier
(2) And herein is that saying true, One soweth, and another reapeth.
- King James Bible, John 4:37
(3) The consciousness of being loved softens the keenest pang even at the moment of parting; yea, even the eternal farewell is robbed of half of its bitterness when uttered in accents that breathe love to the last sigh.
- Joseph Addison
(4) Nothing is more annoying than a tardy friend. [Lat., Tardo amico nihil est quidquam iniquius.
- Plautus (Titus Maccius Plautus), Poenulus (III, 1, 1)
(5) Time drinketh up the essence of every great and noble action, which ought to be performed, and is delayed in the execution.
- Vishnu Sarma