Miami. Present day:
Andy was shocked at his old friend's reaction, how the younger man felt that he deserved to be punished for what had transpired years ago.
The Malucci's had certainly punished him physically for what they perceived as transgressions against their family and it seemed as if John felt they were justified in doing so.
The man's view of the world was so skewed at the moment, not only was he punishing and blaming himself, he was trying to get others to do it too. It was as if John wanted to have some tangible proof that he was to blame for what had happened and that by trying to goad his former partner into punishing him physically he could prove to himself that he deserved what had happened.
He was at a loss as to what to do for him, trying to get him to talk and offering a sympathetic ear had not done much but beating some sense into the stubborn man would be just as counter-productive.
The hardest thing to grasp was the erratic mood changes that John had exhibited since his rescue. At times he was bitter and aggressive and at others timid and quiet, but never once in the time since he'd come to Miami had he ever see the man look happy.
It was as if the man he knew had all but disappeared and in his place was a man living in the shadows of his own dark past, the boyish grin replaced with an ever-present scowl.
He'd lied earlier when John had asked him if he'd been speaking to Calleigh. Of course he had, they might not like each other that much but they were united in their concern for him. He was no expert in psychology but he could see that John was likely suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress condition. His mood swings and aggressive outbursts were indicative of a man on the edge.
It hurt him to think that John could no longer be trusted out in the field, he remembered the time back in New York when John had fired off several shots at a perp who had pulled a gun on him, all of them missing their intended target. He'd changed since that day, his time undercover making him fearless and a dead-on shot with a hand gun.
He'd always seen his old partner as the strong one, the man who carried him from the grotty bars he'd got drunk in time and again. The man who had carried him professionally for years as his alcohol addiction gripped him and threatened to ruin his life. The man who was strong enough to walk away from the people he cared about, to make them hate him in order to protect them.
When he looked at John now he saw a haunted shell of the man he used to know. The face and body had aged but the voice and those sparkling blue eyes were exactly the same as the ones he remembered in his young and eager partner almost twenty years ago. It seemed as if someone else had inhabited the body of the man he once knew, saying the right words but not backing them up with the right actions.
He'd faced some pretty hairy situations in his life but he realised that he had no idea what to do for his old friend, this was something so far out of his league that he was afraid that he would do or say the wrong thing and push John further towards the edge than he already was.
He'd taken John by the arm and pulled him from the office, through the corridors until they had reached the old Honda he'd recently bought after cashing in some of his police pension. He drove him to a place where he hoped the man would find the absolution that he was so desperately searching for.
He eyed Andy warily before exiting the car, still not sure why the older man had brought him here.
"Go and do whatever it is that you Catholics do," the older man said as he pointed at the church across the street.
He stood with his hands on his hips for a number of moments as if deciding what to do, letting out a heavy sigh he made his way to the ancient building.
The church seemed empty and a part of him hoped that there would be no one there, no one to hear him confess his sins as he made walked towards the curtained booth at the far end of the church. Sitting down wearily, his heart sank as he heard movement from the other side, the partition pulled back revealing the outline of a craggy face.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he said quietly.
"How long has it been since your last confession?" the gravelly male voice replied.
"Several years."
"And what has kept you from the House of God for so long, son?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and welcomed the pain it brought, finding that the sharp twinge helped to focus his confused mind.
"I've been busy…and I've been afraid," he replied, his voice dying out towards the end of the sentence.
"Afraid of what?" the priest asked patiently.
"That my sins are so severe that God won't forgive me for what I have done."
"And tell me, son, what have you done that makes you think that He will not forgive your trespasses?"
"I lied to them…..betrayed their trust….made them hate me. I placed the people I love in danger; they could have been killed because of me."
"And were they?"
"No."
"These people that you speak of, have they told you they hate you?"
He laughed bitterly as he fiddled with his ever-present sunglasses in his hands.
"One of them did, I tried to explain to him why I had to do those things..."
"And he understands? He no longer hates you?"
"He says he doesn't."
"Why did you do those things?"
"I had to protect them, keep them safe," he tried to explain.
"And this person you speak of understands that?"
"Yes."
"Then he knows that your heart is pure and that your intentions were good. The consequences of your actions were out of your control, he holds no hatred towards you."
"No, but he should," he replied as he let out a frustrated breath.
"And yet he doesn't, but you cannot find it within to forgive yourself."
"I don't deserve forgiveness for what I've done. Innocent people were hurt and died because of me; their deaths are on my conscience."
"Did you kill them with your own hands?"
"No, but I might as well have done. If I'd done things differently those people might still be alive."
"The people that you speak of, the ones you loved, do they know the truth about your actions?"
"I'm not sure," was his honest reply as he leant his elbows on his knees. "Some of them are dead; they died thinking I was a liar and a traitor."
Memories of his dear mother, dying alone in the nursing home as he hid away in the shadows came back to haunt him. He should have been there with her in her final hours; it was the least he could do for the woman who had raised him almost single-handedly from a young age.
Her illness had spared her the trauma of knowing what he had become but it did little to ease his conscience, the sense of shame he felt at not being present at her funeral. That was a lie though, he had stood in the shadows as he watched Lori and the other people who had known his mother attend the service without him.
She had died, surrounded by strangers instead of her only son. He would never get the chance to apologise for things he'd had to do, never get the chance to ask for her forgiveness.
The same was true of Robin, even though they had only been together a short time before he disappeared into the darkness that his life became he had grown to have real feelings for the woman her recently-departed husband had asked him to protect. His relationship with her was different from the one he shared with Lori; the latter was always able to take care of herself and would face problems head on. Robin was different though, she was a woman who had been through her fair share of heartache and suffering, a woman who needed loving and nurturing, searching for the man who would protect her from all of the bad in this world.
And what had he done?
He'd gotten close to her, made her trust him and then left her to pick up the pieces of his ruined reputation without even looking back. Robin was simply unable to deal with those kinds of demands and he had watched for a number of weeks as his seeming betrayal chipped away at her, the small ripples gradually turning into tidal waves as they threatened to wash her away.
It became too painful to watch the toll it had taken on her and he turned his back and walked away from the life he once knew, trying to convince himself that what he had done was for the best. The truth was that he was a coward and could not stand to see his loved ones in pain, a pain that he knew he had caused. He had inflicted this suffering upon them.
It ate at him that he would never be able to tell Robin the reasons why he had done it; she had gone to her grave a lonely and broken woman, her death was on his conscience. He remembered Andy telling him that she had never really gotten over his disappearance from her life and had succumbed to cancer in her forties. If only he had told her what he'd done, perhaps she would still be alive today.
"And what about the ones that are still alive?"
The priest's voice brought him back to the present with a jolt.
"Maybe it's best just to let the past lie, what's the point of raking up all of that hurt again?"
"It seems as if you need to, son."
He wasn't sure he understood as he twiddled the glasses in his hand again.
"Need to do what?"
"You cannot move forward in the present until you make peace with the past."
"You sound like my shrink," he snorted humourlessly.
"Then he is a wise man and you would do well to listen to him. In time you will find that it isn't the people in your past that must forgive you but yourself. You must stop punishing yourself for things you could not have controlled."
"And what if I can't?"
"You must, son. You must, otherwise you will be stuck in this Hell forever."
He heard the partition slam shut and let out a deep breath, he certainly didn't feel absolved of his sins. There was nothing he could do to shift the hollow feeling that he felt in the pit of his stomach, the priest's words only giving him more to think about than he already had.
Hell was certainly a place that he never wanted to be, yet that is where he found himself, unable to pull himself free from his self-imposed purgatory. Perhaps it was what he deserved, that this would be his penance for the pain and suffering that he had caused others, stuck between two worlds and never knowing which he truly belonged in. Fighting against his present and his past until it would inevitably drive him mad.