Part Two

Chapter Fifty-one: In Pieces

He stood in the shadows of the palm trees, his eyes watching the building before him. After all these months he couldn't believe that he'd finally returned to this place. All the memories, still fresh in his mind, were only magnified by being within proximity of the damned building. And yet, this was the first place he came to. Why? He should have known that the troubling thoughts in his mind were only going to get worse when he returned. He could feel the dam breaking, the flood of feelings breaking through; self-pity, remorse, hatred, fear, anxiety. He hardly even recognized the tremor in his right hand he was so used to it being there. He found it hard to escape, just like he couldn't escape his past.

Slowly he sank down into the grass. Why had he finally come back here? What brought him running back to a place that left him scared in so many ways, inside and out? And what exactly did he hope to find in this place other than tainted memories that kept him awake at night?

He felt the cool grass beneath his hands, a breeze ruffling his hair. The air smelled like recently fallen rain, the only remnant of the classic pop-up shower that they got in Miami and the whole of Florida. The rain brought back memories, both good and bad. He tried to hang on to the good memories but they slipped through his grasp. It was getting harder and harder for him to see the good in life. He knew that it was there but his mind was clouded, his subconscious more eager to throw out the bad memories at random moments. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a wrinkled piece of newsprint. For some stupid reason he'd cut the damned thing out of the paper the day he decided to leave. He'd read it about once a week, wondering, thinking. By now he knew the words as easily as he knew his alphabet; he could recite the obituary word for word. But that didn't make him feel any better about things. The intense emotions building up in him drove him from the state before the funeral. And in turn he became a bad friend. He should have stayed long enough to offer comfort and a shoulder to cry on even though he was broken inside. But he took the coward's way out and left. Would Calleigh ever find it within to forgive him for his mistake, his lack of judgment? Looking down at the newsprint he glazed over the picture at the heading, not wanting those dead eyes to be looking into his. Maybe if they asked he would tell them that he barely knew Detective Jake, it wouldn't be a complete lie. The two of them hardly spoke at all. Hell, Speed could count the number of conversations they'd had together on one hand. But that didn't make it right. He should have stayed for the funeral.

He should have stayed, period.

He crumpled the obituary into a little ball.

The sound of someone behind him. And then there was Horatio, sitting on the ground beside him. He felt the rate of his pulse increase, the anxiety stepping forth once again. What he would not give to live without all these horrible memories, to be happy once again. Had he ever really been happy?

"I don't know I should say, Tim," Horatio spoke, his voice soft and even. There was no hint of anger or even a pinch of disappointment. Speed almost convinced himself that all those days and weeks had never happened, that they were never parted and his mistakes were nothing more than a puff of smoke. "Maybe I should start off by saying that it's nice to see you. When you stopped responding to my emails and calls I figured you were gone for good. That…." Horatio shook his head, leaving the unspoken thought to hang in the air.

"I needed to get lost," Speed said. For some reason he voice came out barely more than a whisper.

"Where have you been all this time?"

Speed shrugged. "Here and there. Went to the west coast for a while, stood on the beach in California. I thought about going home but…"

"That's not exactly what I meant, Tim," Horatio said, regarding him with pale blue eyes.

It took Speed a minute to understand what his boss was saying. He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. The first thought that popped into his head was the simple need to run. He never should have come back here. Let them all wonder what became of him, let them consider him nothing more than a ghost, a leaf on the wind. However, he came back. Something about the place kept calling to him. He ran from the east to the west and far north to the Canadian border, and yet, Miami was never far from his mind. And neither were his troubles.

Horatio began to play with his sunglasses with something mimicking nervous energy. "When your correspondence stopped I…You left in a dark state of mind, Tim. When the emails stopped I couldn't help thinking that maybe that darkness finally caught up to you. I kept thinking that I failed you in some way."

"No," Speed say vehemently. He sighed. "If anybody failed anyone it was me."

"You simply failed yourself, Tim," Horatio spoke. "I have never been disappointed in, nothing you could do…I just wish that you would have stayed."

Speed shook his head, fighting back the urge to let the tears out. "I...couldn't. And I don't know if I can stay. The memories…"

"What about the memories, Tim?"

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuttering sigh. A cloud passed over the sun at that moment, shrouding them in shadow. What exactly should he tell Horatio? Should he tell him how hard it was to sleep at night, that the nightmares refused to let him rest in peace? Should he mention that he never stayed in one place more than a day for fear that those nightmares would catch up with him? What about the confusion, the self-hatred, and the depression? Would Horatio be worried to hear about the trip to the hospital that he took while in Colorado? Should he tell him about…? No. No way would he ever tell anyone about that, not a soul.

"Tim?"

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have come back here, H."

"Why not? Are the memories so bad that you don't want to see your family?" inquired Horatio. "They miss you, Speed." Horatio was looking toward the crime lab, not at Speed. "Not a day goes by that they don't ask about you. Despite their pain, their troubles, they think about you. You belong here. The memories, they may not be the happiest but unless you give us a chance to replace the nightmares with happier times, you'll never be whole. I don't like seeing you in pieces, Tim." He paused for a few minutes. "I don't like sitting at my desk wondering if you've gone beyond my reach."

Speed suddenly stood. "I have to go."

Horatio was perplexed by the sudden change of mood in his friend. But willing to let it slide for the time being. He was happy to see that Speed was still alive, and if he stuck around…well, he was going to fight tooth and nail to help put Speed back together. He missed seeing the man he knew before the shooting. He wanted that Timothy Speedle back. "Please, think about staying. At least for a few days. Even if you won't see them. Stay for me, so that we can talk."

"Sure," Speed said, though the tone of his voice was uncertain. As he walked away he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, happy that cooler days were upon them.