DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS OR ANY CHARACTERS ASSOCIATED WITH LAW AND ORDER:SVU. I DO HOWEVER, OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.
Everything old is new again
"Confess to me, every secret moment
Every stolen promise you believed
Confess to me, all that lies between us
All that lies between you and me
We are the boxers in the ring
We are the bells that never sing
There is a title we can't win no matter
How hard we might swing
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Hung upon your wall for the world to see
Pictures of you, pictures of me
Remind us all of what we used to be."
-Pictures of You, The Last Goodnight
Flack came to with the feel of cold steel pressed against the back of his throbbing head and something sharp sticking in the small of his back. His eyes slowly flickered open. Taking in the harsh fluorescent lights and slowly spinning industrial sized ceiling fan mounted on the ceiling.
Where the hell am I? he thought and glanced to the right, his nose nearly making contact with ragged grey brick. His eyes widened as realization began to sink in and he propped himself up on one elbow and glanced down at the old, decrepit, soiled mattress below him and the rickety, skinny cot that shuddered and groaned with each movement he made.
He sat up quickly. Too quickly. The room promptly started spinning and the ferocious headache only got worse. His stomach wrenched and he fought back nausea as he frantically took in his surroundings.
"What the fuck!" he exclaimed when he caught site of the row of metal bars across the room.
"Keep it down over there, Flack," Danny groaned from a fetal position in the far corner. The side of his head against the cool concrete. "I have a tribal war dance going on in my head and my stomach feels like there's a toxic swamp thriving in it."
"Jesus Christ, Messer," the detective clasped his head in both hands. The pain was excruciating. And the more he moved the more he regretted it and longed to just curl back up, crappy mattress and all, and sleep the agony away. "Where the hell are we?"
"In jail," the CSI replied and rolled over onto his back.
"I know that. But what precinct are we in?"
"Central Booking," Danny moaned loudly and whined and rubbed his stomach in slow, smooth circles. "I'm dying…I know it…I wish I was on Hammerback's table right now instead of going through this…last time I swallow the worm in a bottle of tequila."
"It wasn't the worm you ass, it was the full bottle you polished off yourself and all the Crown and Cokes you were pounding back."
"Don't be preaching to me 'Mr Twenty Sixer of JD on the rocks'. You were way more polluted than I was. "
"Whatever," Flack said and stood up, having to reach behind him and lay a hand on the wall to orientate himself and get his balance in check. "How the hell did we get here in the first place? And where the hell are Speed and Adam? I was…"
His sentence was cut short when he took two steps and promptly caught his foot on a prone object on the floor and went down hard face first. Said object roared in agony as all of Flack's weight came crashing down.
"Fuck, Adam!" Flack bellowed when he managed to peel himself off of his soon to be brother in law's back.
He staggered to his feet and stood, hunched over, hands on his thighs and his head swimming as he took in the sight of the lab tech sprawled face first on the cement floor.
"It's okay…" Adam's voice was muffled and pained. "I'm alive…barely…"
"Get your ass up off the floor," Flack said, and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and hauled up onto his feet.
He steered Adam to the cot and forced him to turn around and sit down. Than frowned at the sight of Adam's split lip and dried blood on his chin.
"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" Flack asked. "Adam looks like he's had a run in with a fist and we're locked up in Central Booking. How the fuck did we get here? And where the hell is Speed?"
Danny shrugged and struggled to get up into a sitting position. He leaned back against the wall behind him and put his elbows on his bent knees and his face in his hands. "Maybe they've got him in interrogation torturing him with cattle prods."
"Doesn't tell me how the hell we ended up getting arrested and tossed in a holding cell," Flack snapped. "Or why Adam's face looks like it does. You know what's going to happen to me, Messer? When Sam finds out I'm here? I'm suppose to be getting married in…" he went to consult his watch. It wasn't on his wrist.
Everything he had on his person would have been confiscated by the arresting officers and placed in a personal affects bag and held until release. Which Flack hoped, would be soon. He had been scheduled to work a relatively easy eight hour shift and he was pretty sure he'd been passed out for at least a couple of hours. And seeing as he couldn't remember what time they got hauled in in the first place…..
"We gotta get the hell out of here," Flack announced, and reached into his back pocket. Hoping the uniforms had at least left him some spare change to make his own phone call.
No such luck. But he did find a small piece of paper folded in half and tucked into the corner of his pocket. Frowning, he opened it up.
Call me, Trinity 555-8721.
What in the hell, he thought, feeling sick his stomach at the idea of having another woman's phone number in his possession. If he'd been that drunk that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten tossed in lock up in Central Booking, what else had he done that he couldn't remember? He crumpled the bit of paper and tossed it into the far corner.
"One of you guys wanna tell me what the hell went down last night?" he asked, fixing Danny with a cold glare, than turning and doing the same with Adam. "More specifically why I have another woman's phone number on me when I'm getting married tonight?"
Adam just shrugged.
"I don't remember much," Danny admitted. "Other than the stripper practically shoving her tongue in your ear and trying to jerk you off at the table."
Flack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly and fixed angry blue eyes on his best friend. "Come again?"
"Don't worry, ya didn't do anything stupid with her," Danny assured him. "In a moment of brief sobriety you dumped her on her ass and than Speed took care of things from there. But I never saw her give you her phone number."
"Well some woman named Trinity did," Flack said. "And I swear to God if either of you let me cheat on my fiancee the night before our wedding…"
"We're not damn babysitters," Danny informed him. "And I doubt Speed would have let ya do anything stupid. But let's say, in a couple months you're Johnson has shrivelled up and fallen off, than we'll know for sure, won't we."
"You're just a real goddamn comedian, Mess," Flack snarled, and crossed the room to stand in front of the cot. "Shove over, Ross," he demanded.
"I ain't cuddling with you," Adam argued,
"Move over or I'll sit on you," the detective warned.
Adam grumbled under his breath and slid sideways to make room for his soon to be brother in law. "Someone please just shoot me now," he moaned and stretched out on the cot and put an arm over his eyes.
"Christ," Flack moaned and ran his hands over his weary face. "I feel like I've been over by a damn Mack truck. And I don't know what I've done to my back, but it's killing right above my ass."
"Getting a nightstick in the small of your back will do that to you," Speed commented, as he appeared, a free man, on the other side of the bars. "Look," he said dryly. "It's the three drunk Amigos. Dumb, dumber and dumbest."
"Whose who?" Danny inquired, as he flipped his friend the finger.
"I'd say under the circumstances, you're all pretty well tied for the title of dumbest," Speed replied.
"Where the hell have you been?" Flack asked. "How come your sorry ass isn't here?"
"Because I was sober enough to not get myself tossed in lock up. While you guys slept some of the booze off, I went to the lab, showered, had a nap in the lunch room for a few hours…"
"A few hours!?" Flack bolted to his feet. And immediately regretted it as the room spun once again. "What the hell time is it?"
"Eight forty five," Speed told him. "You're all late for work."
"Who fucking cares at this point in time?" Adam groaned.
"We do," Mac's voice suddenly boomed from beside Speed.
All three looked up and at the furious, disappointed and disgusted faces of Mac Taylor and Stanton Gerrard.
"Oh fuck," Danny said, speaking for them all.
"So who wants to explain why the hell the three of you are in lock up?" Gerrard bellowed, his hands on his hips as he observed the sorry sight in front of him.
"Honestly, Inspector, we don't even know," Adam bravely admitted.
"Well let Detective Taylor and I fill you morons in," the older man ranted. "As you can imagine, I was shocked when I was woken up in the middle of a sound sleep by the CO and told a prisoner was claiming to be an NYPD Detective Sargent."
"You have anything to say about this, Flack?" Mac asked. "Any explanation as to why you resisted arrest and you're now being held on that plus public intoxication and impersonating a police officer?"
The detective put his face in his hands and shook his head once again.
"With all due respect to the officers," Danny piped up. "Flack told them three times when we got here that he was a cop and they were the ones that didn't believe him. So that's their tough shit."
"We know he told them that, Danny," Mac snapped. "The problem is not one of you had your badges on you to back that claim up. So why don't I just tell the three of you what happened. Unless Adam can remember anything and wants to start the story."
The lab tech shook his head.
"Seems Adam decided it was a smart thing to urinate on the side of a blue and white," Mac told them all. "With the officers still inside."
Flack hid a snicker behind his hands. Danny was unable to hold back the laugh that erupted from him.
"Sorry," the CSI mumbled when he saw the furious look cross Mac's face. "Sorry…."
"The officers went to confront Adam and that's when Flack got into it," Mac continued, as Gerrard paced behind him. "Sticking up for his brother in law so to speak. Only in his drunken state, Flack got a little more verbal and nasty than what was needed and the one of the officers decided to place him under arrest. Only Flack decided not to go gently into that good night…"
"Still didn't warrant a night stick to the small of the back though," Speed spoke up in defence of his friend. "That was a little harsh."
"Danny than decides that he's not letting the officers place Flack under arrest and decides to yank one of the officers off of his friend and toss the uniform onto the snowy sidewalk," Mac continued. "In the meantime, Flack is claiming to be a police officer and spewing profanity that I'm told would make a dozen drunken sailors blush, and in the course of resisting arrest, elbows Adam in the mouth when Adam attempts to intervene on Flack's behalf."
"Idiots," Gerrard declared, as he paced and shook his head.
"The three of you are just damn lucky Stan and I were able to talk the officers out of making the charges stick. Flack, you alone were looking at drunk and disorderly, public intoxication, resisting arrest and impersonating a police officer."
The detective snorted and shook his head. Both in disbelief and utter embarrassment.
"Personally, Taylor, I wouldn't mind seeing them stay in here a couple days," Gerrard said. "Teach them a damn lesson. Go around and embarrass the department like that. You all should be kissing our asses for springing all of you. And be thanking your lucky stars that Chief Sinclair is out of town for the holidays."
Mac turned and motioned for a nearby uniform to join them. "Let them out," he said.
The uniform reluctantly obeyed.
"I want the two of you to go to the lab, clean yourselves up in the locker room and have your asses clocked in before I even get back," Mac ordered Danny and Adam, as the three men slowly emerged from the cell.
"Same goes for you, Flack," Gerrard said. "And I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you today about feeling sick and wanting to leave early. I don't care if you get called out to a damn slaughter house and you vomit from one end of the scene to the other. You stick it out to the bitter end, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, sir," Flack responded.
"You all can pick up your personal effects at the front desk," Mac told them, as he and the inspector stood watching the three 'prisoners' and Speed head off.
"You know what the difference is between friends and best friends, Flack?" Danny curled a brotherly arm around the detective's neck and posed the question when their superiors were out of ear shot.
"What's that, Dan-o?"
"A friend bails you out of jail," the CSI explained. "A best friend sits in the cell next to you and says wasn't that a fucking blast?"
Flack couldn't help but chuckle.
"How goes it with the happy groom?"
Flack glanced up as Angell's voice permeated his thoughts as he sat at his desk, a pounding head in one hand as he filled out a seemingly endless amount of paper work. It had been three hours since his release from prison and word had travelled fast. He had more smart ass comments about getting himself arrested to avoid getting married than he cared to count. And he knew it was only a matter of time before news trickled back home to his pregnant fiance. He was practically on pins and needles waiting for a phone call from her and the subsequent reaming out that would accompany it.
Bits and pieces regarding the night before were slowly coming to him with each extra large black coffee he consumed. He vaguely remembered leaving Sullivan's and stumbling into the strip club and winding up receiving a lap dance from a stripper whose face he couldn't even recall. At least Speed had come to the rescue over Flack's worry that he had cheated on Samantha. Trinity was just a college girl out for a night on the town with her friends and equally as drunk as Flack was. He'd flirted harmlessly with her at a bodega he and the guys had stopped at so Danny could use the ATM machine. Trinity had tucked her number into his back pocket and felt up his ass before Speed told her to hit the road.
Flack could also remember certain aspects of his conversation outside in the falling snow with a drunk and despondent Adam Ross. And the name of the NYPD cop that Sam had had somewhat of a history with. Who may possibly be the only one that actually knew what her father had done to her. The name, Chester Lake was written down on a piece of memo paper in front of him. All he had to do was type it into the NYPD database and find out where this Lake was and he could pay the unsuspecting cop a little visit.
"It goes, Jess," Flack said with a heavy sigh. "Wish I could say it was a great day…"
"Spending time down in lock up in Central Booking would ruin anyone's mood," she reasoned. "How you feeling now?"
"Like I've been run over by an eighteen wheeler," he admitted. "How's your cases going?"
"They're going," she replied. "I wasn't stopping by for a little boss-employee talk though. Congratulations by the way. On making sargeant. If anyone deserved to move up, it was you."
"Thanks," Flack said. "So what were you stopping by for?"
Angell held out her left hand. Presenting him with a cream coloured envelope graced with both his and Samantha's names on the front in gold ink.
"What's this?" he asked, dropping his pen on his desk and taking the item from her.
"Just a little something for you and Sam. For your wedding. It's not much. But it was heartfelt."
"You didn't have to get us anything, Jess. It wasn't necessary."
"I know…but I wanted to do it. Things have been thawing out lately between Samantha and I and I've been realizing that she's good for you. You're the happiest you've ever been. And I'm really happy for you, Don."
He smiled. "Thank you. And I'm glad you two were able to do the proverbial kiss and make up."
"Sounds more like a dirty little fantasy of yours, Flack," Angell laughed.
He held up the card. "Now or…?"
"Save it until after you say I do. It's for the both of you. I'm sorry I can't make it tonight."
"It's going to be a pretty small crowd," Flack said. "Say, you busy right now?"
"Not really. It's pretty quiet today. Good will and peace towards all men and all that crap I guess. Why?"
"I need you to do me a favour. I had put a gift and a card for Sam in her locker yesterday morning. Only she had all that excitement with the baby and never got to it. And I want her to have it for the wedding. It's important she gets it before."
"Write down the locker number and the combo and I'll be more than happy to take it to her," Angell told him.
Flack snatched a scrap piece of paper from the top drawer of his desk and picked up his pen. "You're a God send," he declared and wrote down the information.
"I try my best," Angell quipped. She noticed the small piece of paper to Flack's right and reached out and pulled it to her to get a better look. "Chester Lake…you're looking for him?"
"You've heard of him?" Flack asked. "He's a uniform as far as I know."
"I know of him. Our paths have crossed a few times on cases. But he hasn't been a uniform for a while. He's a detective. Works with the Special Victim's Unit. Out of the One-Six in lower Manhattan."
"You know if he's still there? When's the last time you saw him?"
"About a month ago. He's a nice guy. Kinda cute, actually. Why are you looking for him?"
"Personal matters," Flack told her and held out the scrap of paper.
"Which means you're not going to tell me," Angell mused.
He smiled and pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. "Exactly," he said, and snagged his car keys and gun from the top drawer. The latter he slipped into his holster. "Thanks for
doing me that favour, Jess," he said, and hurried off to grab his winter jacket from his locker.
"No problem!" she called after him. "Where are you going?"
"To the Sixteenth Precinct," he replied.
Flack wasn't sure what he was looking for or why he was even there. He knew that the proper course of action would be to either confront Samantha about what had happened to her at the hands of her father, or to simply sit back and wait for her to open up to him about it. Both those scenarios carried some form of concern. Confronting her would only cause her significant stress and anxiety. Two things he was desperate to avoid. And the fear if he sat back and waited for her to tell him was that she would never do it. She would hold it inside and let it eat at her.
He needed to know the truth. He needed someone to look him in the eye and confirm his suspicions. And he was hoping that Chester Lake would be able to do that.
As he found his way into the relatively calm, quiet bullpen of the precinct, Flack now realized he had no idea who he was looking for. And that despite Angell pointing him in the right direction, he really should have looked up the guy's picture in the database. He racked his brain trying to remember what Adam had told him about this Lake character. Something about him being Native American and growing up a few doors away and….
All the info was just running into each other. He still couldn't remember being in a confrontation with the cops and being tossed into lock up. So it seemed useless to even attempt to recall a conversation with the drunk, rambling lab tech.
He had only gotten three feet into the room when a detective approached him with a concerned, curious look on her face. It was restricted access only. He had had to show his badge and employee ID before he'd even been allowed in the building. And now this cop - tall for a woman, willowy figure and chin length brown hair and brown eyes- looked like she was primed and ready for a confrontation.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
He had his badge out before the last word escaped from her lips. "I'm Detective Don Flack," he said. "I work homicide out of the one-two."
Her hands were on her hips, her head cocked to the side as she regarded him. "You were the cop caught up in that bomb explosion a couple years back in Greenwich."
Flack nodded.
"I'm Detective Olivia Benson," she offered a hand. "What brings you to Special Victims?"
"I'm here to see one of your guys."
"And that would be?"
"Chester Lake. He around?"
"Is he expecting you?"
"It's an unexpected visit," Flack told her. "That a problem?"
"Hey, just making conversation. Not to mention we usually come to you guys when there's a problem with a case."
"Is he here or not?" Flack asked.
Benson nodded. "Second desk near the back left corner."
"Thanks," Flack said, and unbuttoned his jacket and took off his gloves and shoved them in the coat pockets as he headed for the back of the bullpen.
He looked younger than what he was. By first glance, Flack would have pegged the kid sitting behind the standard metal desk, immersed in a mountain of paperwork, at no older than thirty. Short, dark hair. Well built in a black thermal style long sleeve shirt. He wondered what the guy had looked like sixteen years ago. What Sam had found so appealing about him.
"Detective Chester Lake?" he asked, standing at the side of the desk.
Lake glanced up at the sound of the gruff, Queens accent.
Flack showed his badge. "Detective Don Flack. Homicide. Got a minute?"
"Depends," he replied. "I'm not handling any cases at the moment that involve working side by side with homicide. So what are you here for?"
"Personal business," Flack told him. "You know a Samantha Ross? Grew up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn? Has a younger brother named Adam?"
"Sammie Ross? Yeah…" a slow smile spread across his face, fond recollection made his dark eyes twinkle. "I moved in a few doors down from them with my foster family when I was just a kid. I dated her when I was sixteen and she was fourteen. But I haven't seen her in years. Last time I saw her or her brother, their mom had just gotten re-married and the whole family was taking off to Arizona. Why? What's this about? Something happen to her?"
"Samantha Ross has been back in New York City for a while now," Flack told him. "She works for the department. As a crime scene investigator."
"No kidding…nice to hear she made something of herself. I always wondered over the years what happened to her. So you're friends with her or something?"
"She's my fiancee. We're getting married. Tonight."
"Congratulations. And you're here because…"
"Her brother Adam gave me your name. Me and him got to talking last night. And he told me that you know some things. About their father."
Lake nodded and reached for the bottle of water sitting next to his computer and took a sip. "She and Adam were bashed around pretty good when they were kids. No one was sorry to see that sonofabitch get it."
"Get it?"
"Yeah…guess some guys he owned money to came to the house and tore the place apart and pummelled him to death. Thank God his wife and kids weren't there or it would have been a lot worse."
You learn something new every day, Flack thought. "The abuse was a lot worse than you're letting on. I know that. And I also know that Samantha told you other things. More personal things. About her and her father."
Lake didn't respond.
"You work in SVU," Flack said. "You hear stuff like it all the time. I think you know what I'm getting at."
Lake nodded.
"I need to know," Flack told him. "I need to know what happened to her and you're the only one that can tell me."
The detective sighed and finished off his water and stood up and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trash can.
"Let's go somewhere more private," Lake suggested.
They grabbed two coffees from a vending machine. The brew tasted, and looked like, sludge, but it was piping hot and Flack was taking anything he could get that day. Anything that could remotely flush any remaining alcohol from his system, magically cure his pounding headache and make him feel just the least bit human again.
Lake led them into one of the quiet rooms the precinct used for when detectives delivered bad news to family members. He closed the door behind them and hit a switch on the wall that both turned on the interior lights, and the small red light mounted at the top of the door on the outside that let others know the room was being occupied.
Flack slipped out of his winter jacket and draped it over one of the chairs before taking a seat in it.
Lake joined him. Sitting across from the homicide detective in a small beige fabric love seat that had obviously seen better days. "So how did you exactly hear about me?" he asked, as he slapped two packages of sugar against the palm of his hand.
"Adam Ross told me about you," Flack replied.
"Just out of the blue?"
"It's a long story. But he told me that you and Samantha were close."
Lake tore open the packets and dumped the sugar into his coffee. Using a plastic stir stick to mix everything together. "Samantha and I dated. If you want to call it that."
"What kind of dated?"
"I was sixteen, she was fourteen. She wasn't allowed to date until she was sixteen. Daddy's rule apparently. What it really was was that she wasn't allowed to date me. Because I wasn't white."
"She told you that?"
Lake shook his head. "Her old man used to toss insults around. I just figured it out. So we snuck around. Hung out a lot. Stuff like that."
Flack didn't need to, or want to, know what 'stuff' meant. He wasn't stupid and could put two and two together. But he did wonder why Sam had told him that the first and only guy she'd slept with before Zack was Evan Lucerno.
"You sleep with her?" Flack asked, the words escaping his lips before he had a chance to stop them.
Lake blinked. "Does that matter?" he replied with a question of his own. "I mean, it was a long time ago. Seventeen years ago. We were just kids. What does it matter now?"
"It matters to me," Flack said.
"Than maybe you should be asking her about it. Because I don't really feel comfortable telling you something like that. Especially if it would cause her problems."
"It's not going to cause her problems," Flack assured the other detective. "I just want to know."
Lake sighed and nodded slowly. "We never had sex," he said. "Does it make you feel better to hear that?"
"Why didn't you? Because neither of you wanted to or…"
"Look," Lake leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Like I said, it was a long time ago. And what went on between Sam and I…that's our business and I don't see how that affects you in the slightest. We didn't have sex and that's really all you need to know."
"It's a simple question, detective."
"We didn't have sex because she didn't feel comfortable. We tried. A few times. It never happened."
"You weren't pissed off that she kept leading you down the garden path and than cutting you off?"
"No. Because unlike most guys, and maybe this doesn't, or does, apply to present company, I don't force myself on women and I don't get angry when things don't go my way. She wasn't comfortable. She was afraid. And I wasn't going to make things worse by making her do anything she didn't want to."
"What was she afraid of?" asked Flack.
"Is this an interrogation, detective? Because this sounds a lot like an interrogation. You came here to talk to me. Looking for my help. And you sit here asking me questions like I committed some crime. So either just come right out and ask what you came here to ask or this talk is over."
"Did Samantha ever tell you that she was being molested by her father?" Flack blurted out.
Lake stared at the other man. Unblinking. Showing no emotion.
"Is that the reason why she didn't want to have sex with you?" Flack continued. "Or am I way off base? Because I really need to know what went on it that house. And I think you're the only person that can tell me."
"Samantha can tell you. Why don't you ask her? You're marrying her. You should be able to ask her stuff like this."
"It's complicated," Flack said. "And that's why I'm here. Because I can't ask her, for personal reasons, at this time and Adam told me that you were probably the only person that knew what happened to her. And I need some kind of closure with this. I need the proof to back up the suspicions that I have. And you're the only one that can help me out with that."
Lake nodded slowly and sipped his coffee.
"Help me out here," Flack implored. "Tell me what you know so that I can deal with this properly. 'Cause I can't just go into my marriage assuming it happened, confront her on it and than have her tell me I'm pissing up the wrong tree. Would you want to just go in guns blazing, assuming something like that?"
"Of course not. But I also don't know if I should be the one telling you this. I don't even know you. You come in here, to my work, and start asking me questions about a girl that I cared about and dated a long time ago, someone I haven't seen in years, and you expect me to just hand out information like that?"
"I expect you to help me out. Help Samantha out. She's going to be my wife and I need to know what happened to her. Would you keep this from a family member of one of your victims?"
"No. But this isn't about work. This is personal."
"Look," Flack sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I need your help. Okay? I wouldn't have come here if I didn't."
Lake saw the haunted, concerned expression that took over the other man's face and eyes. And realized that in a sense, the issue was related to his job. And that maybe, what had gone down years ago in that filthy, run down Brooklyn townhouse had inadvertently led him to the job he now did.
"She told me that her father had abused her," he told Flack. "Sexually. When we tried doing things and she got scared, she told me what had happened to her."
"And?" Flack asked, feeling both rage and utter disgust boiling in the pit of his stomach. He had the truth. And it was damn painful.
"And what? That's what she told me."
"She say when it happened?"
"She said that she was young when it started. Lasted a few years."
Flack snorted and shook his head. He felt sick. Horrified. Angry. Mostly that it had ever happened to his wife, and because it had gone on for so long and no one had ever done a damn thing about it. Her mother had been in the same house. And Flack found it hard to believe that her mother had never suspected what was going on.
"I wish that I didn't have to tell you all of this," Lake said, his soft voice full of regret.
"Me, too," Flack agreed, and put his face in his hands.
Several minutes passed before he gathered himself and removed his hands and reached for the cup of coffee resting on the small coffee table between him and the other detective. He took a long sip, grimacing slightly at the taste. But it was a hell of a lot better than the taste that had been left behind by Chester Lake's admission.
"No one ever did anything?" Flack asked.
"No one knew but me," Lake replied. "And I promised her I'd never tell anyone. And when her father died, so did the secret. It was over and that's the way she wanted it. Than they left for Arizona about eight months later and I never saw or heard from her again."
"You know exactly what happened to her father?"
"No. All I know is that one of the neighbours called the cops 'cause they heard a huge ruckus at the house and when the badges showed up, the perps were gone and Frank McEniry was dead."
Flack arched an eyebrow. "Whose Frank McEniry?"
"Sam's dad," Lake replied.
"Wait a second…if his last name was McEniry…"
"Sam's mom and dad were never married. She wasn't with him when Sam was born and she gave Sam her last name. Ross. And when Adam came along, he was given the last name McEniry. After his dad."
Jesus Christ, Flack thought. What else am I going to find out? Merry Fucking Christmas.
"Well he goes by Ross," he told Lake.
"Musta changed his name after his father died and they all went to Arizona. All I know is that in school and up until they left, he was Adam McEniry."
Flack sighed heavily. "I can't believe this…"
"It's just a last name," Lake reasoned. "Maybe Adam wanted no ties whatsoever to his dad and decided to change his name. Nothing wrong with that."
"No…there's not….but to find all of this out the day of my wedding? I didn't know her parents were never married or that she and her brother had different last names. I didn't even know that her father was murdered."
"It was a long time ago," Lake stressed. "And does finding any of that out change how you feel about her or make you not want to marry her?"
"Of course not," Flack answered quickly. And defensively.
"What happened to Sam…it was horrible. I don't wish that on anyone. And I'm sorry you had to find all of this out through me, but don't hold it against her because she didn't tell you herself. It's nothing personal against you. It probably just hurts too damn much to relive it. Or she's just simply moved on and doesn't want the burden of it all affecting your guys' relationship. 'Cause if it doesn't change how you feel, than really, it's all water under the bridge in the grand scheme of things, isn't it."
Flack nodded.
Lake's cell , clipped to the front pocket of his jeans, beeped noisily. He stood up and unclipped the phone to check the caller ID. "Will you excuse me for a minute?" he asked Flack.
"Of course," Flack said, and watched as the other detective walked out of the room.
Sighing heavily, he rubbed firmly at his temples with his finger tips. He wasn't sure what was making him feel so sick. The outrageous amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before, learning about Sam's first ever boyfriend, or being served up a platter full of surprising revelations.
The door clicked open softly and Lake stuck his head in.
"I gotta call," he said apologetically.
"I know how that is," Flack assured him and stood up and gathered his coat. "Half the time I can't find five minutes to myself. I think this was the longest break I've had in a long while."
"No rest for the weary," Lake said. "I'll walk you out."
Flack slipped into his winter jacket and headed for the door. The two men walked side by side down the dimly lit corridor and back into the bullpen. Flack noticed Detective Benson, waiting by Lake's desk. She was with another cop- tall, broad shouldered, cropped dark hair- and they were watching their colleague and the homicide detective intently.
"All kinds of rumours gonna go around to why I was here," Flack said with a smirk.
Lake glanced back at his fellow officers watching them. "Naw…it's all good. And if they ask, I'll just say what it was. Something personal. So Sammie's been back in New York for a while now?"
"Since March."
"And you two met through work?" he asked, as they paused by the door.
Flack nodded. "Things happened pretty quick with us. We're expecting a baby, too. Early February."
"Congratulations. On both the wedding and the baby. Can't say I'm really surprised. Sam never believed in doing things slowly or half assed. Just her personality."
"Thanks. For taking the time to talk to me. I really needed to hear that from you."
"I'm sorry I had to dump so much on you at once, though. I feel bad about that."
"It happens," Flack said as he buttoned his coat. "I've had to deliver a lot worse news. And I'm sure you've had to, too."
Lake nodded in agreement. "Piece of advice…if I may be so bold to give you one."
"By all means."
"The one thing I've learned by doing this job, is that most victims of this type of thing…molestation…they will eventually tell someone. And with you being her husband and having a family with you, I know for a fact that Samantha will tell you. When she's ready. I know you're probably just dying to go to her with all of this, but it's better, in the long run, if you let her come to you. You bringing it up, forcing it on her…it's only going to feel like she's being re-victimized. And I don't think that's what you want out of this."
Flack shook his head.
"Just a little something I've learned," Lake said. "And if you end up telling her we met, say you just mentioned our paths crossed on a case and we got to talking and somehow we got onto her, tell her that I'm happy for her and maybe one day, we'll see each other again. Catch up."
"I'll definitely do that," Flack told him.
"And if you ever need anything, I don't know, if you guys ever need someone to talk to about all this, just give me a call," Lake reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From which he removed a business card that he held out to Flack.
"Thanks for your help," the homicide detective said, taking the card and slipping it into his coat pocket.
"Glad I had what you needed. It was nice meeting you," Lake offered a hand.
"You too," Flack said, shaking the other man's hand before pushing his way through the door.
"Hey," Lake called out to him. "Merry Christmas."
"You, too," Flack said with a smile and headed down the stairs.
Angell had stayed for an hour. Sam had been surprised to find the pretty detective on her doorstep on Christmas Eve. And even more surprised to find out that Angell had been sent on a mission. Now, after sitting around talking and gossiping and giggling at the kitchen table over tea and cookies, Angell had gone to finish the rest of her shift and Sam was left alone, relaxing on the couch and attempting to calm her tattered nerves. After months of waiting and anticipation, the time had finally arrived. In less than eight hours she was going to be married to the man of her dreams. A man that a year ago had never existed outside of stories her brother would tell her about his co-workers. Never in a million years did she expect to find herself in New York City and falling in love with someone. Or embarking on a whole new life.
And while it was exciting and exhilarating, it was also as scary as all hell. This was forever. Once those words were exchanged and those rings were slipped on their fingers and the papers were signed, she became someone's wife. She had no plans on ever being with another person for as long as she lived. Once she was his and he was hers, that was it. There would be no one else. And she didn't want there to be. It was a huge step. One that she had sworn she'd never take after calling off her wedding to Zack. That had been her one shot at happiness. At happily ever after. And she'd been betrayed and hurt an she swore no man would ever affect her that deeply.
But fate had other plans. Zack and the agony he'd brought with him had happened for a reason. It had brought her back to her birth place and allowed her to meet someone that had shown her that not all men were bad.
It was the one thing she was thankful to Zack for. He'd drove her away. Into someone else's arms. And it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.
She picked up the soft pink envelope that rested on the couch beside her. Alongside of it was a blue velvet box. She'd opened the gift first. Usually she was the card first kind of girl, but something told that maybe she should do things a little ass backwards that day. She'd cried when she'd opened that little gift and saw a beautiful pair of white gold and diamond and hoop earrings. And if jewellery could make her cry, she could only imagine what the card held in store for her.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the simple cream coloured card with the simple words To my Wife on Our Wedding Day printed across it in deep purple scroll writing. Inside was a small, short pre-printed verse. And a handwritten note that took up the inside front cover.
Samantha,
I'm not good at this kind of thing. I'm usually not the kind of guy that runs out of things to say, but for once, I am at a loss for words. These kinds of words, anyway. So I decided that the best thing to do is to just speak from the heart. Even if I do sound like an idiot while doing it.
Before I met you, I never imagined that I'd ever find someone that I'd love enough to marry and have a family with. Or someone that I would trust enough to give all of myself to. I guess that I was selfish. I didn't want to take the time and energy I knew needed to go into a relationship to make it successful. I wasn't ready to give up the way I was. The way I was used to being. And than I met you.
You changed me. For the better. And despite all the hard times and the fights we've had, there's not one second that I've ever regretted being with you and falling in love with you. And I know you're probably rolling your eyes at that and calling me corny, but it's true. I loved you the moment I saw you and I will always love you. You made happier than I ever thought possible. I am so proud that I'm going to be able to call you my wife. Well, legally, that is. You've given me the two most precious gifts I've ever received. Yourself and my son. And there are no words or ways, to ever thank you enough.
I just hope that I am able to love you and make you happy even half as much as you have loved me and made me happy.
Every day, I thank God for the day you born.
Love, me
Tears were spilling down her cheeks before she even reached the last line. No one had ever said those kinds of things to her or made her feel the way that those words did. They were honest and heartfelt and stunningly beautiful. And it meant more to her than any gift no matter how big or small.
She had his heart. And nothing else mattered.
Danny finished doing up his solid black tie and tightened it and smoothed it down. It had been a long time since he'd actually worn a suit and tie and he'd gone with just a simple black suit with faint pinstripes and a crisp charcoal grey shirt and new black dress shoes. He'd never been the suit kind of guy. Even at work, he was the one to wear jeans and casual shirts. Usually untucked or more than often wrinkled. But as the best man, he had gone out and bought something special when he realized nothing he owned seemed right for the occasion.
It was quarter after eight in the evening. When it had become apparent their shifts were stretching longer than they anticipated, Danny had whipped open to grab that evening's wardrobe, and had stopped into the barber to get his hair clipped close to his head and a shave. Flack had been smart enough to leave his change of clothes in his truck. But had also take the time to get his hair cut. It had been getting long and one thing Sam had openly requested was that he get a hair cut. It reminded Danny of when he'd come back to work following the beating in the warehouse and discovered not only did Flack seem to have more grey hair with each passing day, but that his friend was sporting his hair shorter than Danny had ever seen it before.
And that it didn't look half bad. Not that Danny looked at his best friend that way.
"You nervous?" Danny now asked, as Flack attempted to do up his own tie beside him.
For someone that wore a suit and tie to work every day, he was having a hell of a time handling dressing himself. Danny could see how badly the detective's hands were trembling.
"Not really," Flack replied, than swore loudly when for the fifth time, the tie didn't do up as he had wanted it to.
"Here," Danny stepped in front of him and took over. Brushing Flack's hands away and attending to the tie himself. "Take it easy, Flack," he said. "You'd think you were getting married or something."
The detective managed a grin.
"It's normal, you know," Danny said. "To be scared."
"I'm not scared," Flack argued.
Danny arched an eyebrow,
Flack sighed. "I'm scared," he conceded.
"What are you scared about?"
"I don't know…about everything. I'm scared that she's going to stand me up."
"Never gonna happen, alright? When I was there she was getting ready and just as nervous and freaked out as you. She's worried you're not going to show up. And I told her that even if I have to drag your ass there, you'll be at the courthouse."
"I'm scared that she's going to regret marrying me. That one day she's going to wake up and realize a cop's wife is not the life she wants."
"She's a cop, too, Don. And she accepts your job and that sometimes it comes before she does. She wouldn't be marrying you if she didn't."
"Most of all, I'm scared of being a fuck up as a husband. And as a father."
"Listen to me," Danny said, as he finished with the tie and smoothed down the lapels on Flack's black suit jacket. "She loves you. Regardless of the bullshit you bring to the table or the issues you cause her. She loves you and to her, you'll be the greatest husband and father in the world. She's got your back no matter what. You'll do right by her. And your kid. Okay?"
Flack sighed and nodded.
"You aren't thinking about bailing are you?"
"What? No. That's the last thing on my mind, Danny. I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. This is right. This is forever. And that's a scary thought. It being forever."
"One day at a time, Flack. One day at a time. Don't think too far ahead. Because so many things can happen. Each and every day we have to live like it's our last. Forever is a good thing. And I hope that you and Sam get that. Or as close to it as possible."
He smiled. "I hope so, too," he said.
Danny grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulders. "You ready? I got the ring and the licence so it's all good. You good to go?"
Flack looked at himself one last time in the mirror. Dressed in a brand new black suit and shoes, a soft blue shirt and a black, silver and peacock blue stripped tie.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"I'm good," he told his best friend.
"Alright," Danny said with a nod and laid a supportive hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Than let's go and get you married."
Okay, I know I said that the wedding was this chapter. Well the muse had other ideas and wanted me to follow up on some things.
Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing! And thanks to the lurkers! I know there's a lot of you! I appreciate all of you and it makes my day to get your reviews. Now if only I got alerted about them. LOL. Seems as if there's an issue with some of the accounts and we're not getting alerts. But please keep reviewing! It's your wonderful feedback that keeps this story going!
Special thanks to:
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