Chapter Sixty: This I Promise You

He swabbed at the dry rust spot with a q-tip in hopes of finding blood. When he tested the cotton with the right liquid it turned that tell-tale shade of pink, declaring the spot for what it was; blood. He took a few more samples to be on the safe side and placed them in individual evidence bags. With that final act done, he was finished with the crime scene. Closing up his kit he had one last look around to make sure that he wasn't missing anything. Were any of the pictures hanging on the wall crooked? Were there indentations visible in the carpet that suggested a piece of furniture might have been moved? A planted palm sat in the corner near the stairs looking as though it hadn't seen a drop of water in months, the leaves more brown than a lush shade of green. Walking the perimeter of the room he passed by the small fish tank sitting near a bookshelf. A quick glance showed him that all the fish were dead, having gone the way of the houseplant. Frowning, he moved onto the next room, the kitchen. The place was all sparkly and clean like those shown on television in ads for cleaning products. Stopping at the sink, knowing that it wasn't in any way unusual for a killer to wash his hands at the crime scene, he gazed at the window. In the backyard there was a doghouse. A brown lump of fur lay a few feet away from the small house. Curious, he opened the backdoor and stepped into the yard. The dog didn't move. Having a look around he wondered why the officers hadn't removed the dog from the scene. Then he wondered where the officers were. He hadn't seen any. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen anyone.

Cautiously he walked through the patchy, dying grass toward the dog. The beast did not stir, did not look up to see what potential threat was approaching him, did not acknowledge the presence of him at all. That started a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. The little hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end as he realized that something was wrong horribly wrong. Reaching the dog all of his fears were confirmed. Blood marred the once beautiful fawn coat of the dog. What sort of cruel monster killed a family pet kept in the backyard? The dog would have posed no threat whatsoever. Upset by the cruel death of the dog he crouched, putting a hand in the thick fur coat. He searched for a collar, wanting to know the name of the poor beast.

A black collar.

A set of tags.

Mite.

The dog's name was Mite.

He stood, shaking his head, backing away from the dog. No, there was no way in the world that the dead dog lying on the ground was his beloved Anatolian Shepherd. It was wrong, all sorts of wrong. What would Mite be doing in a place like this? He tried to yell, tried to make some sort of sound but found that fear paralyzed his vocal cords. A scream lodged in his throat. He whirled around with the intent of running back into the house only to find that he was no longer alone. A man resembling the one who had stabbed Horatio stood a couple of feet away, a gun pointed at him. He stopped dead in his tracks. The stranger said nothing, merely pulled the trigger. Agonizing pain filled his chest as the bullet tore through his skin. He fell, landing on his back. The familiar warmth of blood oozing from the wound in his chest. Breathing got harder and he started to feel cold. He longed for the comfort of a friendly face but instead he found himself looking up into the eyes of the man that had shot him.

The man pointed the gun for the second time.

Pulled the trigger.

Speed sat bolt upright in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, a thin layer of sweat coating his body. His heart beat frantically in his chest, the now vastly unwelcome ache present. Beside him Mite whimpered, looking at his master with soft brown eyes. The dog lay his head in Speed's lap as an act of comfort, understanding that his master was upset and agitated. With a trembling hand he pet the dog, taking comfort in knowing that he wasn't alone. The images of the nightmare lingered, keeping his heart from slowing, giving the fear in his blood another unneeded boost. The first night back in his apartment and already he was wishing he were somewhere else.

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It was late Friday afternoon. By all rights he should have been hard at work in the lab instead of sitting on the sofa in his apartment. He'd gone through the motions of taking a shower and getting dressed with the full intent of going to work. Only, when he reached the door he realized that he couldn't leave. The combination of yesterday's events and the nightmare brought back all the anxieties that he'd been trying to run away from. He spent the day sitting on the couch with Mite at his side, thankful that the dog was still alive. Until Mite he'd never had a dog and quickly learned that his furry companion wanted nothing more than love. There was no judgment in those brown eyes, not a hint of disappointment. Often, when he was running from one state to the next, he found solace in having Mite in the seat next to him, head out the window, tongue hanging out. Sometimes it was hard to deal with people. But with Mite, there were no expectations; no way he could let the dog down.

The knock at the door startled him. For a fleeting moment he thought about not answering but realized that it wouldn't do any good. Any visitor looking for him would have noticed the motorcycle downstairs in the parking lot. Grudgingly, he shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Much to his surprise he found Delko and Calleigh standing in the hall.

Calleigh smiled, breezing through the door to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, thank heavens, you're still here."

"Where else would I be?"

"We thought you left again," replied Delko, walking into the apartment. He closed the door behind him. "Horatio wouldn't say anything about your not being at work so we started to get worried that you might have skipped town again."

"Nope, still here."

Blue eyes locked onto his, searching. "Why didn't you come into work?"

He licked his lips nervously. "I…" What the hell was he supposed to tell them? Standing before him were two people that had meant the world to him for a few years now. They were his friends. He left them without an explanation and returned to find them waiting with open arms; something he clearly did not deserve. How could they care about him so much when he kept making mistakes? When he constantly let them down? He would probably never have the answer to either one of those questions but he knew that he owed them something resembling the truth, if not the truth itself. "After yesterday…I don't know. It sparked unwelcome memories. I had a nightmare…"

Calleigh took his hand. "We all have nightmares, Speed. It sort of comes with the job."

Breaking contact he returned to the couch, not wanting to look at either one of them. "I got shot," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I…it happened all over again, slightly different but…"

She sat beside him, taking hold of his hand again. "You should talk with someone, Speed."

"I have."

Delko chimed in. "I know someone you can see. She's real nice, an understanding woman. I've been seeing her since getting shot in the head. She's been a big help."

When Speed looked at Delko he was scowling. "Don't you think I've tried that angle? I talked with someone at the department. Sought outside counseling. Either they tell me that what I am experiencing is normal for my situation or they want to lock me up for observation. Quite frankly, I am tired of talking to doctors."

"Then talk to us," Delko suggested. "We're your friends, Speed. We care about you and want to see you happy."

"He's right," agreed Calleigh. "You can tell us anything, you know that. And if for some reason you don't think you can share with us, at least talk to Horatio."

Closing his eyes he sighed. "Fine." Maybe talking to them would help. Maybe having them be privy to the turmoil, to his problems would help bridge the gap between them, bring them closer together. And perhaps they would actually be able to give him the help that doctors hadn't, give him peace of mind. It was at least worth a try.

"Promise me, Speed."

"I promise."