Barrow, Alaska is the northern most town in the US. It was the setting in the vampire movie, 30 Days of Nights. Since I'm such a vampire aficionado, I used this town in a Buffy/Angel fanfiction of mine and refer to it in this story.

The felony murder doctrine states that unintended deaths that occur during the course of committing another felony are murders. The doctrine does not require an intent to kill. In some cases the conviction for murder is sustained when a codefendant did the actual killing.

In Ryan's case, the district attorney is basing this on the fact that his office believes that Ryan took an active role with the gang in their armed robbery crimes. It is a stretch, but it will be seen in the next chapter that the ADA is out to pin as much as he can on Ryan.

January 8, 2010

Stepping into the small apartment, I immediately heave a huge sigh; the place is a dump. Not even 600 square feet, it's considerably smaller than my last apartment. Some paperwork is lying on the tiny dinette table and being naturally nosey, I pick it up. It's the lease for this apartment, signed by Horatio and co-signed by my sister, and my jaw drops to the floor. The rent for this crappy studio apartment is $2745 a month. Fuck! That's almost everything I earn in disability.

"Rachelle!" I look over at my sister, who's just coming through the door, arms full of bedding and linens. "Over $2700 a month for this place! What the fuck?"

"First of all, it's Manhattan, and second of all, watch your language!" my sister scolds. "I would have rented something nicer, but the Lieutenant was adamant that it be as cheap as possible without being condemnable."

"This is cheap? My disability barely covers this, and utilities, if I have to pay for the utilities," I trail off, quickly reading through the lease. "Heat and water are included, but I'm responsible for the electricity." I do some quick calculations in my head. "That's it; I have nothing left to live o"Stop whining." My sister's not impressed by my tantrum. "I paid the security deposit and the first two months. If you end up having to be here longer than that, then we'll take a look at the finances."

"No, Rachelle." I'm shaking my head. "I'm not going to allow you to pay my bills. H." I turn my head toward Horatio, who's coming through the door, carrying a couple of big boxes. "This is crazy. Maybe, I should just tell NYPD everything they want to know, and then we can go home."

Before Horatio can say anything, Rachelle speaks up. "Don't be stupid, Ryan. We're talking about your career here, and you know that I can well afford to help you."

"Ryan is correct," Horatio finally chimes in after setting the boxes down on the floor. "You shouldn't have to pay the rent here. I have money and can easily pay you back."

"Good try, Lieutenant." My sister waves away his offer. "But you're not going to be paying for anything more. Now that I've been told all the facts, and find out that you had to support Ryan. . . ."

"That was when my workman's comp was denied, and we were waiting for my disability to kick in," I interrupt quickly, feeling like a total loser. "And I did offer to pay you back," I say to him.

"There wasn't anything to pay back, since we had given up your apartment."

I throw H a dirty look; he isn't helping my cause. "Anyway, Shell, I'm sure that Stan won't be happy if a pile of his money goes to my support, so. . . ."

"Stan knows all about your situation. This isn't about some stupid gambling debts; we're talking about your health, your life.," Rachelle interrupts me again. "So suck up your pride, Ryan, and accept the help. We're family, you know."

"Alright," I say, giving in reluctantly, just as a couple of workmen tap on the open door.

"Oh, good, you're here." Rachelle turns to them. "I want this sofa taken away first, and then you can set up the daybed."

"Shell, what did you do now?" I ask, as I watch the workmen pick up the old couch and maneuver it out of the apartment.

"Your Lieutenant wouldn't allow me to rent a two bedroom, said that they would be too expensive, and that also, this arrangement makes it easier for him to keep an eye on you at night, in case of, of," she breaks off, not sure what to call my night episodes. "Anyway, you can't sleep on that ratty couch, so I decided that a daybed would be perfect. You can use it as a sofa, and it's comfortable to sleep on, has a regular bed mattress."

"Fine," I admit defeat, wondering why I even bothered to quarrel with Rachelle. I've never had any success in winning arguments with her in the past.

"Oh, and I also bought a television and a cabinet," she adds but continues quickly cutting off any opportunity for me to voice more protests. "And Lieutenant, I have the locksmith coming today to install the deadbolt."

Horatio acknowledges this statement with a nod of the head. I can't help feel that he's a bit shell-shocked by my sister, which makes me snicker silently. Even the great Horatio Caine can be rolled over by Rachelle Wolfe Nelson.

"Now, all the sheets and pillow cases are new, but I had them washed to soften them and take out the smell, and I had the cook make up a bunch of casseroles for you, so. . . ," Rachelle continues to babble on, as a parade of people come into the apartment carrying boxes and bags of food, cleaning supplies, dishes, etc. I watch them with a bit of awe; my sister is thorough and organized, traits that most surely are valuable for being the spouse of a prominent New Yorker.

A couple of hours later, Rachelle and her entourage have departed, leaving me and Horatio to unpack and put away. H had Delko and Walter box up some of our possessions, mostly clothes, his laptop, and my play station, so with Rachelle's purchases and some of our own belongings, the apartment has been transformed from too small and dumpy to small and homey.

I had put away all of our clothes and toiletries and begin working on putting together the television cabinet that Rachelle had bought. H had gone out, taking empty boxes and bags to the apartment's dumpster. I pause, clutching my sore ribs; it's been a long day.

"Leave that to me." Horatio comes through the door at that moment and sees my pain. "I'll make us something to eat, and then I'll put it all together."

"I'll be okay," I say, standing up stiffly. "I'll take a pain pill." I'm feeling a bit ornery, tired of having to deal with my bossy sister and now H. I'm also anxious to have the TV set up, since the weekend is upon us, and I need a distraction. Having to be in such close quarters with H is unnerving, especially since there's still a wall between us. My one consolation is that it's football season, so I can fill the weekend with one game after another.

Walking into the kitchenette, I notice for the first time that there are sparkling new appliances, including a built-in dishwasher and stacked washer and dryer. "Did these appliances come with the apartment, or did my sister buy everything new?" I ask Horatio, who has pulled out a dish of beef stew and is pouring it into a pot to heat up.

"They weren't here when I came and looked at it," he says, turning his head in my direction, as I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. I survey the contents and see that Rachelle has stocked us up on everything, looks like we're set for the entire winter.

"I can't believe her," I mutter crabbily. "I just hope that Stan is really all right with this, cause I think she just dropped a bundle." I wave my hand around encompassing the apartment and everything in it.

"Not real friendly with your brother-in-law?" H asks, going into the cupboard and pulling out two bowls.

"He's okay." I shrug, as I find my pill bottles lined up neatly on the counter. I look for the Tylenol 3 that Simmons had prescribed me before returning to Miami. "But I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a gigantic failure, who likes to mooch money, and I'm beginning to think he's right."

A slight raise of the eyebrows is H's only reaction, probably because he whole-heartedly agrees. But then his next words contradict my mistaken belief. "Ryan, you're being hard on yourself again," he says slowly as he ladles the stew into two bowls.

I shrug again. "Well, whatever Stan thinks of me, it probably doesn't matter, cause he would just be overruled by Rachelle. She's always been bossy, you know," I say, referring to her earlier behavior.

"She's a very nice lady; you're lucky to have good family."

I take one of the bowls and sit myself down at the dinette, expecting Horatio to eat his over the sink, his usual custom, but he comes and sits across from me. "You haven't had much contact with her, have you? When she and I spoke, she seemed very disappointed that you haven't talked to her about your situation."

"I was embarrassed," I admit. "Especially after my gambling issues. I thought they would just see it as a scam to get money out of them," I say, as I look down at my stew, playing with it. I'm not feeling very hungry. I can sense Horatio's eyes on my, so finally giving in, I raise my head and meet his gaze. His expression is a mixture of sympathy and sadness, one I've seen many times, when he's had to deal with some poor, unfortunate victim.

I stand up abruptly. The last thing I need is for H to be feeling sorry for me too. "The entire world pities me," I mutter to myself, as I scrap the beef stew into the sink and then turn on the garbage disposal. I watch the pieces of meat, vegetables, and gravy whirl around the sink and then disappear down the disposal.

January 9, 2010

After dropping Ryan off at the 16th Precinct, where the Special Victims Unit is housed and the office of Dr. Huang, Horatio heads over to the Homicide Division and Crime Lab. It's a Saturday, so traffic is fairly light for New York City. Pulling into the visitors' parking lot, he finds his way into the building and up the elevator to the Crime Lab. Walking through the corridors, hunting for Detective Taylor's office, he mentally compares it to his lab in Miami. He happily concludes that Miami Dade's lab is nothing to be ashamed of, even when it's placed side by side to the US' largest city's.

Turning the corner, he finds himself in front of Taylor's office and can see the detective through the open door. He's spotted immediately and is waved in by the man.

"Horatio." Mac stands up and holds out a hand in greeting. For a split second, he wonders if his hand will be taken, but Horatio grasps it, and the two men shake. "I heard that the DA is now involved in Ryan's case. Any new developments you can tell me about?"

"Ye-ah." Horatio cocks his head, his expression unhappy. "They're going to be adding the charge of obstruction of justice against Ryan."

Mac shakes his head; although he wants to be sympathetic, he is after all on the other side. "This gang has destroyed a lot of property and some lives in the process. We really would like to nail all of them."

"I understand." Horatio empathizes all too well with Taylor's position; he's been in it many times. "I came here today to explain myself to you, but this conversation is totally off the record."

"Okay." Mac is more than curious, as he motions for Horatio to take a seat. "So, why the fight? I would expect that you of all people would be cooperating fully with us."

"This is Ryan's second kidnapping, and possibly second sexual assault," Horatio states flatly. "If he ends up testifying, you know that the defense attorneys will dig into his past and bring up," he pauses, at a loss for words for a moment, "the other unfortunate incident. And how exactly does a male police officer perform his duties with the stigma of being raped?"

"He doesn't." Mac understands Horatio point clearly. "A female police officer maybe, but not a man. Male rape is barely acceptable in any parts of our society, but certainly not in police departments, where a lot of mentalities are still back in the stone ages."

"The boy is twenty-eight years old, and I just can't let his promising career go down the toilet without putting up a damn good fight. Anyway, you are now the third person other than his doctors, who knows the whole story. With the assistance of Miami's Chief of Police, I managed to keep all the details of his encounter with the Russians under wraps because my goal for him is to someday return to duty."

"And now this." Mac leans back in his chair, an expression of sympathy on his usual stoic face. "They say lightening doesn't strike twice in the same spot, but my god, how is it possible that one man is kidnapped and violated twice in his lifetime? Anyway, there isn't much I can do for you now that the DA is involved. I can probably get Detective Flack to drop the assault charge, without giving him any details," he hastily adds. "And I'll put priority on catching the rest of the bodega-robbing gang. Maybe once they're all in custody, they'll start turning on each other and cutting deals. And then Ryan wouldn't haven't to be involved at all, but you know that is an extreme long-shot."

"I appreciate it," Horatio says gratefully, glad that he listened to his gut and came and explained everything to Taylor. "And yes, I realize that the odds of that happening are low, but for now I'll take them."

"This is going to take a while." Mac throws Horatio a puzzled look. "How on earth are you able to stay here for weeks, if not months? Don't you have to get back to Miami?"

"Ye-ah, that." Horatio hangs his head for a moment. "I've spoken with my boss, his boss, and then a couple of other deputy chiefs and finally the chief himself. But, I believe, it has finally been worked out. In fact, your department is going to be involved because a rather complicated computer hook-up is part of the equation, and I hear that you have a certain Mr. Ross, who's a genius with computers."

"Yes, as a matter-of-fact. . . ." And then Mac pauses, as the very person being discussed passes his office, head tipped back, as he tries to hold a pen between his upper lip and nose. Of course, he fails, and the pen drops to the floor, causing Mac to shake his head and heave a huge sigh.

Seeing Taylor's distraction, Horatio turns to see Adam Ross pick up the pen and repeat his attempt.

"Lieutenant Caine, meet our computer genius," Mac's tone is half disdain and half exasperation, as the two men watch Adam stumble down the hall, still trying to keep the pen balanced.

"Slightly eccentric, is he?" Horatio grins slightly.

"I can think of many words to describe Mr. Ross, and none of them are as complimentary as eccentric," Mac says sourly. "But believe it or not, he is quite competent. Anyway, Horatio, I'm happy you've cleared the air between us, and I give you my word that nothing that was said here will be repeated to anyone. But I do have one question for you, and you may choose to answer it or not. How in the world did you become Mr. Wolfe's guardian? You're not his family, and I don't mean to presume, but I don't think you're friends, so. . . ?"

Standing up, Horatio doesn't reply for a moment, as Mac stares at him, speculating. Taylor had been trained that as a supervisor, one should never become too chummy or friendly with the subordinates because if discipline or even a firing becomes necessary, then you've just put yourself in a painful position. He had lived by that rule, and although, he respects and likes his colleagues, he tries hard to keep them at arm's length. He couldn't imagine becoming the guardian of any of them.

"When he was institutionalized because of his violent behavior, it was necessary for them to drug and tie him down. I couldn't bear to see him like that; my only recourse was to file for guardianship. His parents are deceased, his one uncle, who resided in Miami is deceased, and his sister is up here in New York with a busy husband and two young children. I was the only one he had to look out for him and make decisions that were in his best interest."

"I commend you because obviously it hasn't been easy," Mac says, as he looks up at Horatio, noting that the man looks tired, eyes red-rimmed with the lines around them deepened.

"It hasn't," Horatio agrees. "But I've never regretted this decision for a second, and will continue to stand by it and by Ryan."

"I think you're a better man than I am, Lieutenant." It's Mac's turn to stand, as he shakes Horatio's hand again. "Since you're now residing here in New York, I guess I'll be seeing you again?"

"Oh, you can count on that," Horatio says with a smile and a wave as he exits Mac's office.

Stepping into the psychiatrist's office, the doctor greets me warmly, which helps ease my nervousness a bit. Despite the fact that Dr. Huang had defended me at the police precinct and had been extremely helpful at the hospital, he was no Dr. Simmons.

"Ryan, have a seat." He motions me to a chair that faces his desk.

I look around his office and am struck by the fact that it's small, much smaller than Dr. Simmons'. In fact, the only seating in it is around his desk.

"So, how have you been?" he asks, as he clears a spot in front of him and pulls out a yellow pad.

I take the chair next to the wall and sit in it sideways, using the wall to support my back. I shrug and then yawn widely. I hadn't slept much with my nightmares chasing me around the whole night.

"Didn't get much sleep?" Huang observes as I yawn again.

I grunt out a no. I know, I'm not being very cooperative, but I'm too tired to care.

"Okay." Still standing, hands resting in front of him on his desk, Huang stares at me for a moment, but I refuse to meet his eyes. "I think I have something to help pep you up," he says, as he turns and opens a small refrigerator.

I see him pull out a can of coke. And even though my whole system is shouting, yes, yes, yes, because after being discharged from the hospital, I haven't been allowed caffeine or alcohol because they're verboten for anyone suffering dehydration. I immediately decline his offer.

"Not supposed to drink coke," I tell him, being deliberately difficult.

"Only this one," he answers, placing it in front of me along with a bottle of water. "Just make sure you finish the water too."

I shrug, as I pick up the can and pop the top. "K, you're the doc."

He watches me closely as he seats himself. "What happened last night?"

A couple of big gulps, and I am feeling somewhat better and grateful, so I decide to lose my attitude just a little. "I was up and down all night. Horatio had to keep waking me up from them, nightmares," I hastily clarify.

"Who's after you, the Russians or is it your recent captors?"

The question is so gently asked that my reserve loosens up even more. "I think all of them." I sigh deeply. "I was better, wasn't I? And then I blew it."

"Blew it?" Huang asks. "Just how did you blow it?"

"Well, I didn't tell Horatio I was coming here to New York, and then," I break-off, giving Huang a don't-you-know-this look.

"Ryan, not telling Horatio you were coming to New York has nothing to do with your kidnapping. You're a victim, and as a police officer, you should know that the victim is not at fault for what happens to him."

"Yes, but," I begin and then stop.

"Okay, hypothetically, what if you would have asked Horatio's permission to come to New York to visit your family. Would he have denied you?"

"No," I jump to H's defense. "He isn't a tyrant, visiting my family for the holidays would have been perfectly permissible, but if I would have told him then," I pause, trying to remember exactly what my argument is.

"Then, what? You wouldn't have been kidnapped; you wouldn't have been held captive?"

"If I would have told him, he would have known that I was missing sooner," I say. "And. . . ." Again I pause, as I begin to recognize that my argument is weak and rather faulty.

"My understanding is that your sister filed a missing person's report as soon as she realized you were gone. So, other than Horatio coming to New York sooner, what else would he have done? Do you feel that he would have rescued you?"

"Maybe," I say feebly.

"You were found, well not exactly found, eight days later by the police. In a city the size of New York, he would have located you sooner? Ryan, the first step for you is to realize that nothing you did was wrong and shed your guilt. The ones, who are responsible are the men, who took you."

"Okay." I shake my head in agreement. "So, I should stop blaming myself, but then how in the hell do I keep getting in these, these situations?"

"That I can't answer," Huang admits. "Perhaps it has something to do with the fact you're a police officer. In other instances perhaps it was because you do tend to rush into things. . . ."

"I act before I think," I interrupt. "I know that. There have been plenty of times that Horatio had to read me the riot act because of my reckless behavior."

"Okay, but after studying what happened to you with the Russians, I certainly don't see that you displayed any reckless behavior there. And this time? Did reckless behavior contribute to you being kidnapped?" Huang asks.

I think back to that night and remember my first impressions of my captors. "No, no, I knew something was off about them right away, and first I tried to defuse them, and then I tried to leave, but they held a gun to my back and threatened to kill me and take out as many people as they could, if I didn't cooperate."

"And they were how many?"

"Well, there were three of them initially, and then we met up with a fourth," I say, brow furrowed in concentration, as I try to recall everything in detail. For days now, I've been trying to not remember, so some effort is needed to bring back the memories of the events.

"So, there were four of them," Huang states softly.

"Yeah, but then there were three," I blurt out without thinking.

"Did one go somewhere?"

At that moment I realize that Huang had just managed to get me talking, something that I had been resisting up until now. I hadn't spilled a single fact to even Dr. Simmons, and now I'm racking my brain trying to recollect every detail. I glare at Huang, although part of me has to respect the man. And after I think about it for a moment, it stands to reason that Huang would know how to pull information out of people, he's not only a psychiatrist but a criminal profiler. He probably has every interrogation technique there is to know imprinted in his brain, and his insight into people only strengths his position.

Leaning back in his chair, Huang smiles slightly. He knows I know. "You've started your story, Ryan, you might as well finish it. What happened to the fourth man?"

"He killed him," I say. "I mean, Red, I mean, one of the guys killed the other one." I wince inwardly. Mental and emotional strain has caused me to lose any articulation I once had.

My statement has Huang sitting up straighter in his chair and suddenly looking very serious. "Can you tell me about it?"

I nod.

It had been minutes, hours, days? I wasn't sure how long I was in the trunk, trussed up like a turkey. My sense of time flew out the window, when Chapi, knocked me on the head with the butt of his gun. I saw stars and perhaps even blacked-out for a few moments because their voices became fainter, but I did remember one of them yelling, "not the head or the face, idiot!"

The trunk popped, and the weak, winter sunlight shone in my eyes. It was morning. Dragging me out of the trunk, Chapi made sure he got a shot in, as his knee connected with my gut, but before he could do anymore damage, Red pushed him away.

"Okay, boy," Red said, as he pulled out my gag and untied me. "Want to use the bathroom?"

I grunted out an okay, as I was still doubled up from the blow to my stomach. Straightening up, all I could think about was emptying my bladder and hopefully having a chance for water.

My captors had parked around the back of the gas station, looking for a more isolated spot, probably so no one would notice when I was hauled out of the trunk gagged and restrained. The other three men had already started to make their way to convenience store and bathroom. Perhaps here was an opportunity to make an escape or request help, but Red immediately put a stop to any of those thoughts. Pulling out a 38 revolver, he pointed it at my face.

"I know what you're thinking, boy, but try anything, the first bullet is yours, and then the next five go into who ever else is around. Now, as a police officer, isn't it your duty to protect and serve, not to endanger five innocent bystanders?"

"K," I puffed out, mouth so dry it was hard to speak. My head ached, my stomach hurt, and when I tried to take my first step, I stumbled because blood flow had not returned to my legs, which made me realize that it would be impossible to make a run for it. Red grabbed my arm to steady me.

"Easy," he said, holding me up and then he did something strange; he zipped up my jacket. "Don't want you to get sick now." He placed a paternal arm around, giving me something to lean on as I limped my way to the store.

By the time we were at the entrance, feeling had returned to my legs and arms, and I was more-or-less able to walk in normally. The warmth of the indoors hit me immediately as we entered, and I sighed with pleasure. Riding in a car trunk in below freezing weather was a chilly ordeal.

It was very early morning, so the store was quiet with just a couple of people roaming through its aisles. Pushing open the door to the men's room, it was only occupied by my captors.

"Make sure he doesn't make any trouble." Vig pointed a finger at me, as he exited the bathroom with Chapi in tow.

I was relived to be left with just Bookman and Red, since Chapi was a sadist bastard, who derived an unusual amount of pleasure in making my life more miserable than it already was. I immediately headed for the sinks, washing my hands and face, because the trunk of the car had been filthy. Then using my hand to splash water in my mouth, I sated my thirst and then went on to satisfy my other pressing need. Opting for a stall instead of the urinals, I entered one, while Red and Bookman were propped up against one wall reminiscing about their stretch in the joint. I took my time, since neither of them showed any sign of being in a hurry.

Suddenly a couple of crashes and thuds, had me opening the stall door quickly. The friendly conversation between Red and Bookman had turned violent, as the two bounced each other around the bathroom. Stunned, I did nothing at first, then my first instinct was to go fetch Vig or Chapi, but it occurred to me that my best option was to continue to do nothing. Let them kill each other, and maybe my nightmare would be over. No such luck, as at that moment, both Vig and Chapi reentered the bathroom and broke up the fight.

"What the hell is the matter with you two?" Vig was irate. "Do neither of you understand the words, low profile, don't attract any attention?"

"Fucker, started it." Bookman pointed at Red, sounding like a kid in high school.

"Yeah, that's right," Red taunted him. "Tell daddy how it was all me, and you were just an innocent in the whole thing, fucking pussy."

Taking exception to Red's latest insult, Bookman made a fatal mistake. Yanking himself out of Chapi's grasp, he rushed the other man, but Red was ready for him. Grabbing Bookman around the head, he twisted hard, and there was a sickening snap. Vig quickly pulled Red off the other man, but it was too late, as Bookman fell to the floor, foam dripping out of his mouth.

Initially Vig and Chapi didn't know what was wrong with him, as they cajoled him to get up, but I knew by the angle of Bookman's head that he was a goner.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Vig swore, as he looked over at Red. "You broke his neck!"

"Good." Red was pleased with himself. "Fucker deserved it." And then, because I couldn't help but stare at him, our eyes met, and a chill went through me. In my time with MDPD, I had run into and interrogated a few brutal killers, and the look I saw in his eyes was as cold-blooded as any of them.

Even Chapi seemed a bit shaken by the man's cruelty. "So, now what do we do?" he asked, his voice a squeaky shrill.

"There's a back door, right outside the bathrooms." Red waved in that direction. "Take him through there, pretend he's sick or drunk, and oh, don't forget his hat." He picked up Bookman's cap off the floor and threw it on the body.

"Watch him," Vig ordered, as he and Chapi hoisted Bookman's body up.

"I was then upgraded from the trunk to the backseat," I tell Huang half-jokingly, even though there's no part of me that finds anything funny.

"And what did they do with the body?" he asks.

I shrug. "Don't know. Vig and Chapi dropped me and Red off at a motel, and then they left, never said what they did with Bookman."

"And at the motel? Did Red attack you too?"

"No," I say with a sigh. In the course of my job, I had seen death up close and personal too many times to count, but for some reason Bookman's murder haunted me. "Quite the contrary, he was quite nice to me. He let me sleep on one of the beds."

Sometime later, I woke-up, still lying on the bed, but tied-up and gagged. Red was nowhere to be seen. Squirming around I tried to loosened my restraints but with no success, and shortly afterward Red returned.

"Hey, boy, hungry?" He held up a bag of take-out. "Sorry about this," he said, as he undid my arms and legs. "But had to leave you alone a bit, and this was the only way."

I shook out my arms, but they were still nimble; I hadn't been tied up long. Sitting up, I took the burger and soda that Red was holding out for me. "Thanks," I mumbled as I checked the motel's clock. It was late afternoon and almost twenty-four hours since I had last eaten.

"Eat up, and when you're done, you're taking a shower."

I blinked, wondering for a moment if my ears worked. It was the last thing I expected my captor to say. But after seeing what he did to Bookman, I immediately rushed to do what he ordered. Taking my food to the small table, I wolfed the burger down, threw away the wrapper, and pointed questioningly at the bathroom.

"Yeah, and I want your clothes too. This motel has a couple of washing machines and dryers, so I'm going to do a load." He read the total bafflement on my face because he quickly went on to explain. "You and your clothes smell like motor oil and muck from that dirty trunk. Vig always was a bit of a pig, so if I have to be around you from now until who knows when, then at least you can smell better."

I knew I stank, and I felt grimy to boot, so Red got no argument from me regarding the shower. I hurriedly undressed, threw my clothes in a pile on the counter of the bathroom, and jumped into the bathtub.

"Here's a disposable blade." Red came in just as I was adjusting the water and threw me a plastic razor. "Use it."

Catching it, I saw him scoop up my clothes and exit. Again, I obeyed Red's instructions to a tee, showering thoroughly and shaving. Exiting the bathroom with the motel's skimpy towel around my waist, I found Red, shirtless and barefoot, scrolling through the channels on the TV. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, probably from my lack of clothing.

"Do you mind if I use some bedding to wrap around myself?" I asked meekly. "I'm a bit cold."

Turning, he stared at me, and a predatory gleam flashed in his eyes. Instinctively, I backed-up, but there was nowhere to go.

"You know." He set the remote down on top of the TV and walked toward me. "You're a pretty thing." I was up against the wall, trying hard to hold on to the towel, and my dignity. He raised a hand, and I flinched, expecting the Chapi' treatment of punches and kicks. But there was no blow, only a hand gently running down my face. "Ever do it with another man before?"

"Did he rape you?" Huang asks.

"No, no." I shake my head. "Before anything could happen, Vig and Chapi returned, but," I pause, as my eyes well up. "I wanted it. . .him, and the rest of the time I was with them, that feeling remained. What the hell is wrong with me that I desired a murdering sociopath? God, I really must be crazy," I trail off, running my hands through my hair, as tears course down my face.

"Ryan." Huang leans forward. "I reiterate; you have nothing to feel guilty or be ashamed of. But let me ask you this; did Red ever hurt you in any way?"

I exhale loudly and just when I'm begin to answer, there's a knock on the door.

"Dr. Huang, it's Lieutenant Caine." Simultaneously, we both look up at the clock; it's been over an hour.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath. H had the worse timing. "Don't tell him this." I grab Huang's arm, as he moves to pass me to the door. "I can't have him knowing."

Huang inclines his head slightly, before going to the door and opening it. "Lieutenant," he greets Horatio coolly.

Stepping into the room, H notices how upset I am, even though I quickly hide my face. Frowning, he asks, "is everything okay?"

"We had a couple of breakthroughs, one of which I would like to discuss with you."

My head shoots up, and fury flashes through me. Fucking Huang is going to rat me out! But his next words quickly douse my anger.

"There was a falling out between thieves. One of them murdered another, and Ryan was a witness to it. Now, I know that the A.D.A assigned to this case is a man, who's out to make a name for himself. Rumor has it that he wants to make an example of you." Huang looks over at me. "So, I'm telling you this because you may want to get in front of this before a charge of felony murder is added to the list."

"Oh, my god!" I rest my forehead on the palms of my hands. Things are going from bad to worse.

"I'll call the lawyer today," Horatio reassures me.

"Good." Huang nods his head in approval. "Just a couple of other items. Ryan, how's your pain level?"

I'm too shook up to know, so I shrug. "The same, I guess."

"He's quite active at night," Horatio adds his two cents. "Too active. I'm sure it's not doing his contusions and broken ribs any good."

"I'm going to give you another prescription of Tylenol with codeine; double you dosage at night. Hopefully, it will help the pain and perhaps aid in a better night's sleep. I'll see you on Monday, if you're still having such bad nights, then we can try something else." Huang hangs me a script. "And one more thing, I'd like you to go back to the hospital tomorrow morning and have an x-ray and a blood test. No food or drink, except a small amount of water beforehand. I should have the results by Monday then."

"We are meeting with the District Attorney's office on Monday morning at nine," Horatio tells him. "What time would you like to see him?"

"I'll meet you there at ten," Huang says. "And I can drive Ryan back to my office and drop you somewhere if you like, Lieutenant, one less cab fare."

"Not necessary." H cocks his head and stares at the doc. "Ryan's sister lent us a car, so cabs haven't been necessary."

"Generous of her," Huang comments. "And even though it's been a while, I guess you still remember New York well enough to find your way around. I applaud you, Lieutenant. Not many people, who haven't lived here for years would risk driving around in this city."

"I have a good memory," H tells him.

Despite the seemingly friendly conversation they're having, I sense tension, as I look from one to the other, wondering.

"I'll bring Ryan here when we've finished with the district attorney, if that's convenient for you, doctor."

Huang gives a nod of agreement, and sees us out. I remain silent, brooding, until H is pulling into Walgreen's parking lot. "If I come clean to the police and D.A, would all the charges be dropped?"

He doesn't answer me immediately, and I see out of the corner of my eye that his head turns toward me. "I would guess so, although Huang's statement that the D.A. wants to make an example of you is worrisome. On the other hand, I was assured by your sister that we have the best criminal defense lawyer in all of New York City."

Parking the car, we get out and enter the store. Without saying a word, we both automatically head for the pharmacy; drugs and doctors have been my life's norm for a year now. There's the usual half hour wait, time in which I use to marshal my thoughts and consider how I want to present my case to H.

Leaving Walgreens, he heads for home, and I work up the courage to begin. "H, now don't take this the wrong way, but I've been thinking. You had mentioned before about me becoming a New York resident and living here. Well, what if I tell the police everything, and then do my duty by testifying against these men. There'll be three trials, so I should just relocate here to New York. My sister already rented the apartment, and," I pause, chancing a quick look at Horatio, but his expression is impassive, as he pulls into the underground parking garage.

"Anyway," I bravely continue. "I figure my disability will cover the rent, electric, and even the internet. I won't have a car here, so I don't need parking, and as far as food and other essentials I can get a part-time job at a restaurant or shop. And of course, there's always my sister to scrounge meals from." I joke, attempting a small grin, although I sense that H doesn't share my humor.

Pulling into our assigned parking space, he says nothing, and we both get out of the car, although I admit, I get out a bit warily. It isn't until we're in the elevator that he finally speaks. "Before any decisions are made, I think we should talk everything over with the lawyer because you're assuming that there'll be three trials. But presently only one of the men has been caught, and you know that chances are he'll cut a deal, and his case will never see the inside of a courtroom. So, there's no reason why we can't return to Miami and then come back if and when you're needed to testify."

Of course, Horatio has a reasonable counterpoint to my plan. Exiting the elevator, I take a deep breath; I'm going to continue this discussion until he sees my position. "But the thing is, H, I'm kind of thinking that I don't want to return to Miami."

Now I have his full attention, as his head whips around, and he stares at me. But I'm determined to see this through. "Face it; I'm not ever going back to MDPD, not after this," I say. "And after everything that's happened, I really don't want to go back and have to see my former colleagues and friends. I'd be humiliated. Here in New York I have anonymity. No one knows me; I can start over."

There, I've said it. Now, hopefully, he'll give in and return to Miami. I can have the rest of possessions shipped, and, I step into the apartment, begin my new life here. I look around; it's really not such a bad place, especially now with the new appliances and furniture.

Horatio says nothing more, and I can tell by his body language and the angry vibes radiating from him that he's not happy. But nothing more is said on the matter, and I spend the rest of day watching the football playoffs.

January 10, 2010

I'm running through the streets in the snow and the slush. My feet are half-frozen and every step feels like a thousand needles poking into them. I have no shoes and have no idea when and where I lost them. Even though I haven't looked back, I sense them, gaining on me, drawing closer. I try and make my feel go faster, but they're so numb with cold that they don't obey and instead slide on the slippery sidewalk. My arms flail, and my balance is compromised. I start to fall, and I let out a yell, anticipating the pain of the hard pavement. But I'm surprised because as my knees hit the ground, it's not the inflexible feeling of concrete but something soft.

"Ryan?" A voice in the distance says. "You okay, pal?"

A hand helps me up from the carpeted floor, and I look around confused. "It's cold, and there's snow," I mutter out between the chattering of my teeth.

"I was just talking to the sup, and the furnace went out. That's why there's no heat. Go this way." Horatio places his hands on my shoulders and steers me to the bed.

"My feet are frozen because of the snow," I continue to babble, shivering violently, still in the throes of my nightmare.

"There's no snow, Ryan," Horatio explains patiently, as he begins to pull off my clothes.

That breaks me out of my stupor, and I protest. "I'm cold, H; I need my clothes." I try to pull away, but he grabs me in a viselike grip.

"Trust me on this, buddy," he says, as he divests me of my clothes and then somehow maneuvers me into the bed.

I'm still half in a dream world, so too bewildered to object anymore. Then H is next to me in bed, his mostly naked body around me. His warmth melts away the cold, the snow, and any lingering nightmare. I fall back to sleep safely tucked next to him.

I'm still confused the next morning, as I wake up pushed up against Horatio in his bed. Racking my brain, I try and remember what events led to my current situation. Bits and pieces of memory flow through my head, but the picture is not crystal clear. His arm is around me, and I slowly try to disengage myself without waking him. But he's awake, as his hold tightens, stopping any movement. I sigh silently. This is why I have to get away from H; his mixed signals are killing me. Before I have to come up with an excuse, I'm saved by the ringing of his cell phone.

His reaching to the bed stand gives me the out I'm looking for, and I slip away from him and start to get out of the bed. But the cold of the room slaps me, as soon as I push away the covers. "Jesus!" I swear. The apartment is an icebox. The wind is howling and I can feel it rattling the window above the bed. Fuck! Am I in New York or Barrow, Alaska?

"About forty-five minutes, fine," I hear Horatio say into the phone. "Mac Taylor will be here shortly." H turns to me. "He learned that the furnace is out in our building. Guess we're one of many in the city, so he's bringing an electric heater over. Stay here in bed." He leans over and pulls the blankets back over me. "Until it's warmer."

I'm tempted, really tempted to obey him for once, but there's no way I'm going to allow Taylor to see me in a bed, a bed that obviously has signs of being occupied by two people. I watch H slide out of the bed easily, unfazed by the cold. I'm envious, as I work up the courage to follow him. He immediately heads for the bathroom, and the sound of the shower being turned on makes me shiver even harder. Yes, in theory a hot shower sounds nice, but once in, I wouldn't be able to leave until the heat was back on. I picture myself, stepping out of the shower, the water on my body turning to ice. I shiver harder, as I finally find the guts to leave the warm bed.

Hopping around I look around for my clothes. Unfortunately, being a Miamian, my wardrobe doesn't have anything that even comes close to being called winter clothing. I do my best, as I dress in a long sleeve shirt, jeans, socks, sneakers, and a winter jacket lent to me by Rachelle from my brother-in-law's closet.

Fully dressed, I now feel like I can at least function. I head immediately for the kitchen; a cup of hot coffee would not only kick start my body, but warm it up too. At this point my caffeine/dehydration problem is the least of my worries. I fumble around the kitchen, opening every cupboard door looking for the coffee. H had been the one to arrange the kitchen, so I have no idea where anything is. Murphy's law says that the coffee will be in the last door I open, and sure enough, that's where I find it. Another minute or two, while I hunt for the coffee filters, and finally I'm ready to begin. Half-way through measuring out the coffee grounds, Horatio steps out of the bathroom.

"Ryan." Head cocked, he stares over at me. "What are you doing?"

"Coffee, H." I grin proudly, pleased with myself. "I'm sure you'd like a. . . ."

"Ryan, you're going for a blood test this morning, so coffee is not allowed right now."

Crap! I had forgotten. My small triumph has just turned sour. For one moment my depression had been forgotten, but now because I'm forbidden one small pleasure, it comes back full force. I leave everything where it is, coffee filter half-full, coffee container with lid-off, and parts of the coffee-maker strewn around the kitchen.

Wrapping myself in a blanket, I turn the television on and flip through the channels until I find a football pre-game show. Pretending to be totally absorbed in it, I stew in my gloomy thoughts. I'm stuck in this artic freeze forever, and soon I'll be stuck here alone, as H will be leaving soon. Pulling the blanket around myself tighter until only my face is visible, I brood silently, waiting for Mac Taylor to arrive.

Sorry this is so late, but my muse went on vacation for the holidays and now refuses to return. It took me over a month to write the last four pages of this chapter. Thus, I can't tell you when I'll be posting the next chapter. Hopefully, one of these days, since I really would like to finish this series. P'al Kwai