GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 9

"I'll go through this quickly," Cecile said. "You can stop me if you want, and I'm not trying to cause you further upset, but I really need to make you see that an abnormal amount of hurt has come your way, and it may - I stress may - have caused this shutdown…"

"I still say my life hasn't been worse than many other people's…"

"Let's see, shall we? We'll start with your childhood, not to dwell on it, just as the obvious starting point… Your mother dies, at your father's hand. You go into foster care… Were you and your brother separated, by the way?"

Horatio nodded.

Cecile continued, "So you're effectively alone at what? Twelve?"

"About that."

"You grew up in foster homes… You weren't adopted, were you?"

"I was a fairly unattractive proposition…"

"How was school?"

"OK, surprisingly. I had a good brain. I quite enjoyed it. And I was an aggressive bastard - I certainly never got bullied."

She let that pass. "So you got into police academy. Did well, I've no doubt. When did you meet up with Raymond again?"

"About then. As soon as he finished college, he followed me to the academy…"

"Rivals?"

"We were some years apart in age, so not really. Though he always wanted to do whatever I did."

"Were you close?"

"Not particularly. We'd been separated too long maybe. I did try to guide him… I really tried to keep him away from undercover narcotics work… Unsuccessfully, of course."

"Which got him killed…"

"Yes, though not how I first thought." He looked at her with a faint smile. "If you're keeping score, you missed out my father. And I lost Raymond twice."

Cecile frowned. "Do you want to stop?"

He shrugged. "Not if you think it's useful."

"I'm not sure it is… but we'll go on… Your friend from the bomb squad… Al?"

"Al blew himself up. You don't join the squad without accepting that risk."

"But not your fault. Then… Tim Speedle?"

His expression changed a little, unable to maintain the slight air of flippancy he had adopted so far. "One of my original team… lovely guy… Wouldn't keep his gun clean though."

"Is that why he died?"

He nodded. "That's not in the official version, but yes."

"And not your fault."

"Sure as hell felt like it…"

She paused for a moment, studying him. "Then your wife."

"They wouldn't have shot her if she hadn't been married to me."

"So your fault?"

"Obviously."

"I presume she wasn't forced to marry you…"

He glared. "I was supposed to protect her!"

Cecile nodded. "Let's move on… Jesse? Another of your team? I understood he hit his head - an accident…"

"Except that if my lab hadn't been targeted - if I hadn't been targeted - it wouldn't have happened."

"Possibly… Have I left anyone out?"

"Couple of girlfriends. It's almost a joke - don't date Horatio Caine, you'll end up dead." He stared at her defiantly. "You see? Not that bad. But almost all down to me."

"Do you know how self-centered you are?"

"What?" Used to Cecile's gentle and sympathetic manner, her comment brought him up short.

"You are. Well, maybe that's not quite the right expression. I certainly don't mean selfish, far from it. But everything has to be down to you. These are adult people we're talking about - Speedle could have chosen to clean his gun; Marisol, I'm sure, thought about the risks when she married you, and decided to do it anyway; Raymond chose his own path, wisely or unwisely; Jesse was merely unlucky… Yet everything has to rest on those broad shoulders of yours. Nobody's allowed to take responsibility for themselves. It's all down to you."

"That's unfair," he murmured.

"Yes, it is, a little. I know how seriously you take your position."

He was silent for a while. "I can't help it, you know," he said at last. "I'm not actually disputing what you say, but it's so deeply ingrained now…"

"But would you concede that you can't carry on like it?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I really don't know…"

"I want you to give it some thought. I want you to think about whether you can - or even should - try to 'manage' grown adults, beyond the bounds of the job. We haven't even touched on your feelings of responsibility for crime victims…" She sighed. "I don't think I've convinced you for a minute, but my honest opinion is that you've simply overloaded yourself. Your reaction when we talked about your dog suggests that. You've had to handle a large number of personal tragedies, most of which your temperament makes you feel responsible for - I accept you can't help it. But you really weren't - it's desperately sad that these things happened, and obviously you'll grieve. But you can't carry around so much guilt. You really do need to do something about it." Unusually, she leant over, and covered his hand with her own. "Does any of this make sense to you?"

He shook his head slowly. "No… I don't know… I need to think…"

She nodded. "Do. See if you think there's any truth in what I've said. You may decide there's not. We'll leave it for today… Would you like some tea?"

As before they repaired to the balcony. He felt disheartened, and miserable. So he'd cared too much, and now he didn't care at all? And could you care too much?

Cecile said gently, "Don't be upset… Just think about it, and we'll talk some more. Now, can I ask you something which isn't my remit?"

"Of course."

"Do you have trouble sleeping?"

He chuckled. "Always. Why?"

"Because you look totally exhausted."

He shrugged. "I've never been a good sleeper. It's a bit worse at the moment."

"I think you should see your doctor. Ask him for something…" She halted his protest. "Just something mild, for a few weeks. You'd feel better for it."

"All right, I'll think about that too."

"And… are you in pain? I mean physically…"

"What? Why would you think so?"

"Oh, you seem to flinch a little when you stand or sit… Hardly noticeable. Bad back?"

He smiled ruefully, but shook his head. "I took a bullet a couple of months back. Nothing much - flesh wound." He touched the place in his side. "Stings a bit."

Cecile nodded. "Ask your doctor if it should. As I've said, you're carrying too much. The physical things won't help. Get yourself sorted out." But her voice was kind. "Now, give all this some thought… Come back next week, but phone me anytime if you want to."

It was late, and, after checking with the lab, he drove home. His brain was teeming with the thoughts Cecile had put there, and, as usual, he slept badly. In fact, he was so tired the next day, that he resolved to speak to his doctor. Well, a doctor. He thought he'd probably have a quick word with Tom, at the lab.

Before that though, he called Calleigh. "You busy?"

"Always, Horatio. Now, what would you say if I said I was sitting here doing my knitting?"

He chuckled. "Fair enough. But have you got a couple of hours, around lunchtime?"

"I have. You want to talk…" It wasn't a question.

"If you can stand it. I need to clear my thoughts a bit."

"It's a beautiful day. Why don't we go sit on the beach?"

"Picnic?" He laughed. "OK. You sort something out - I'll pay. Midday - see you downstairs."