Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.
A/N: Finally some secrets are unveiled in this chapter … curiously awaiting your feedback.
December 15thHis voice in her ear.
Oh, his soft voice whispering in her ear.
There's no sound like that one voice that gives you a feeling of excitement and pins and needles all over your skin, that calms you down, draws you back from wherever your mind has wandered off, just right there, to that certain moment where you feel all safe and cosy.
It was a surreal moment, standing in front of his gravestone in the middle of simple cold and loneliness under the black sky.
And down there he was, down there, oceans away and close like a breeze in her neck at the same time.
As she had discovered she had already started forgetting, a thought that had got her scared and ashamed.
One day she had found an old photo under her bed. In panic she had tried hard to remember that rainy day at the beach it was showing. Unsuccessfully.
After some minutes she had finally given up, had stopped staring at that happy young couple, wrapped up in padded jackets, protecting each other from the frosty wind.
Two strangers, smiling at the camera at some beach in nowhere.
Thus, while many visual details had simply vanished, the sound of his voice had grown louder over the years, and still today it accompanied her just like some inner voice she couldn't imagine living without.
Sometimes she would wake up at night, believing to have heard his voice, whether in dream or in reality she wasn't able to say.
So many pictures had disappeared, tearing huge black holes in her memory.
But his voice she would never let escape.
Not his wonderful, warm voice.
For weeks after his death, after the funeral, she had searched their collection of video tapes, had watched them a million times, hypnotized by their own laughter and chatting. A million miles, a million hours away that all was, yet there were all these proves that she had once really lived that life.
One day she had switched off the monitor, closed her eyes, just listening to his voice.
Again and again and again.
Look here, Linds, look here! I wanna take a photo of you in that dress!
Come on, honey, you look beautiful.
You know you always do.
She quickly wiped away a single tear she hadn't been able to hold back, running down her face, mocking her as she was really trying to be strong.
How far he was, and how close he felt.
And again her mind went off to that certain moment, in the middle of that night in November.
When out of fate's ironic joke they had happened to be both awake at night.
A nightmare had woken her up, but the first thing she had seen after she had anxiously opened her eyes, petrified, fleeing from some diffuse figure that had been hunting her in her dream, was his face, his soothing eyes.
And before she could even wonder if he had been lying awake for a while, carefully observing her while she was sleeping, he had asked her.
No corny declaration of love, that wasn't him.
Rain drops thumping on the window, the world hidden in shadow, two people lying in a bed next to each other, facing each other, listening to each other's breath, returning each other's looks, he had asked her.
And life had cheated her out of the chance to answer.
Yes, I do, Thomas Horne.
Yes, I do.
Yes, I do.
Yes, I do.
------
When Stella entered the lab around 12 pm she was surprised to find an office illuminated.
Lindsay was sitting behind her desk which was buried under a bunch of sheets, open maps and coffee cups.
Carefully Stella opened the door a crack and poked her head in.
"Night shift?"
Lindsay yawned in reply.
"What are you doing?"
"Working on the Jason Parker case."
"Really? Don and Jess are gonna talk to Parker's family tomorrow, and I guess we'll have to look through everything again, his clothes and the photos we took at the crime scene. There must be something we've overseen."
Lindsay just nodded, completely preoccupied with sheet.
"That's a pretty high stack of files," Stella commented.
"I don't care how many there are, I'd just wish they were in English," Lindsay replied in a frustrated tone and handed her over a piece of paper.
Stella shortly glanced at it and then burst out into laughter.
"Dos jóvenes, una chica a la edad de 15, un chico a la edad de 16 años quienes, violentados y seguitamente fusilados en la calle Del Sol."
"You know a little Spanish, Linds?"
"Not really, but at least it's better than my French. I thought that wouldn't be any problem cause we have these wicked new translation programme. How wrong can one be!"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at that: Pierre Monasse, 25 years and his wife Marie Monasse, 26 years, themselves walked in the park Bellesoleil in center of Montpellier when they have were overpowered by an offender unknown and then strangled. Believe me, I'm so looking forward to the files from Texas, they'll send them tomorrow."
"I see. Uhm … Lindsay?"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe it's best if you go home for some hours, take a nap and come back then. You look quite done."
"I'm fine, really."
"Linds." Stella gave her a worried look.
"I'm just going to look through that Spanish one again and then I'll go home. Promise."
She looked up to Stella, her tired eyes expressing eagerness, though Stella had already understood anyway.
"Okay, Linds. Do that. Mucha suerte."
Lindsay smiled thankfully.
"Gracias."