Present Day. Miami:
"So it was just you and your mother after that?" Jeff asked as he leaned forward on his desk, trying to get a closer look at the emotions that were flitting across his client's face.
"Yes, it was," Horatio answered quietly.
"Things must have been tough, just the two of you."
"My parents were in the early forties when they had me; they'd tried for years to conceive without any luck. I guess it was just dumb luck that I came along when I did."
"Did they try for more kids?"
Horatio took a deep breath before answering; knowing that he alone had brought shame upon his father's memory.
"They tried…it never happened though."
"I bet they doted on you," Jeff suggested good naturedly.
"My parents were good to me….and this is how I've repaid them."
"I don't understand what you mean by that," Jeff frowned as he picked his pen up and scribbled in the file once more.
"I ruined my father's good name….the reputation he'd built for himself in the NYPD. It was all ruined because of what I did."
Jeff looked down at the file in front of him again, flicking through the pages until he found the piece of paper he was looking for.
"It says here that your file at the NYPD has been updated to show what you did. It's a matter of public record now that you did those things for a reason. You helped bring down a criminal organisation; people will remember you for that, not the things you had to do because of it."
"That's not what people thought back then," Horatio tried to counter, feeling embarrassed by his lame response.
"What does it matter what people thought back then? You can't change anything, what matters is what people think of you now."
"You don't understand," Horatio growled as his hands tightened around the frames of his sunglasses, threatening to bend them out of shape.
Jeff leaned forward again, bending his head lower in a bid to make eye contact with the stubborn redhead.
"Then explain it to me, tell me what I don't understand."
Horatio pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, unaware that to the seasoned psychologist it was one of his biggest tells, a sure sign that they were wading into emotionally uncomfortable territory.
"There are people from my past who died thinking I was nothing more than a greedy criminal…there's nothing I can do to change that now."
"I don't think that's what's bothering you, Horatio."
His client glared at him, biting back on some sort of goading retort.
"These dead people from your past, have you been dreaming about them recently?"
He was rewarded with a small nod of the head.
"Tell me about your dreams," the doctor pressed.
The nightmare he'd experienced last night had been one of the most terrifying and upsetting dreams he had ever experienced. All of the people he had known who were dead and buried had all returned to haunt him, to show him that he would never be reunited with them, that he would spend eternity in Hell, where he belonged.
"Horatio, talk to me," Jeff encouraged his hesitant client.
"The people I knew…..they were all waiting for me. Then they walked away and left me there to suffer."
"Left you where?"
Jeff could see the slight tremble that the other man was trying valiantly to hide from him.
"Hell," Horatio whispered quietly as his voice cracked.
Jeff was grateful that his client had his head bowed as his eyes widened momentarily in shock at the man's answer. It had been clear the first time he had met the Lieutenant and by the worried way Alexx and Calleigh had spoken about him that he was in need of support and perspective, but even as experienced as he was as a therapist he knew that Horatio was in a place so dark and so deep that he would need a great deal of assistance in finding the way out again.
The doctor decided to choose his words carefully, knowing that one wrong move could push Horatio away completely.
"I could sit here and tell you that your dreams don't mean anything but that would be lying."
Horatio's head shot up and he could clearly see the pain and suffering in the haggard man's eyes.
"You think they're right…that I deserve to go to Hell for what I've done?"
"No, of course I don't," Jeff replied patiently. "I think it's your subconscious way of telling you that it can't handle all of this stuff anymore."
"Stuff?"
"It seems to me as if you've been pushing all of your issues away for years, refusing to deal with them for whatever reason. Now that it's all caught up with you it's coming back to haunt you with a vengeance. I think you do feel as if you're in Hell already and that you just want all of this to stop."
Horatio knew he'd made a poor effort in hiding the shock from his face; he couldn't help but be taken aback by how easily the psychologist had read him. He'd spent years alone perfecting his ability to hide his true thoughts and feelings from the people around him, convincing himself that he was distancing himself for their benefit and not his own, when in truth it was nothing more than another of his elaborate lies.
"You're Catholic, right?"
The question once more caught Horatio off-guard.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Jeff ignored the aggressive tone in his client's voice.
"Have you been to the confessional recently?"
How could this man know so much about him was he really that easy to read?
"Yesterday," he replied with a deep sigh.
Jeff leaned back in his leather chair and let out a small laugh.
"Well that answers the question of why you dreamt about Hell last night."
He could see the wary look Horatio was giving him as their eyes met briefly.
"You're a smart man, Horatio. I don't believe that you're naïve enough to take your dreams at face value. It's not your dead loved ones who think you should be in Hell…..it's you."
Much to his dismay, the psychologist had hit the nail right on the head and confirmed what he had known all along.
"You blame yourself for what happened even though it was out of your control. You're the only one who thinks you should be punished, it's just easier if you can convince yourself and others that you're right."
"You know, the Catholic faith has a lot to answer for," Jeff added after a few moments of introspective silence.
"You're not Catholic?" Horatio asked quietly.
Jeff shook his head and smiled.
"Nope. Jewish."
"Not everything that happens is your fault, Horatio; you just like to think it is."
"What do you suggest I do then, doctor?"
"I think you need to gain a little perspective about things."
"And how do you suggest I do that?"
"By talking to me, perhaps we can get you to see things a little more rationally. Tell me some more about your mother."
Flashback. New York 1974:
John Kelly sat in the coffee shop a few blocks away from the home that he still shared with his mother. He felt slightly silly still living at home but he knew that his mother had no one else to rely on but him. His friends would be out partying or in their college dorms whilst he returned home every evening to spend time with his only surviving parent.
The truth was that he worried about her, both of his parents were nearing middle age when he was born and the toll his father's death had taken on her had caused her to age more rapidly than any widowed woman should have had to. They had his father's police pension to live off but money was still tight, ever since he had turned thirteen he had spent as much of his free time doing odd jobs for their neighbours or working the school holidays in the local neighbourhood businesses in an effort to try to bring more money into the house.
Each time he tried to give his mother some money she had folded the money back into his open palm and told him to spend it on himself. His mother was too proud to take money from her young son and so he would wait until she had turned in for the night before placing a handful of bills in her purse that she always kept in a drawer in the kitchen.
His mother was nearing her sixties when he turned eighteen and it was becoming clear to see that time was starting to ravage her ageing body. Arthritis and poor eyesight began to take hold of her until as she struggled to complete even the most simple of household chores. Each time he had offered to help with the cooking and cleaning she had turned him down and told him that it was her job to take care of him and not the other way round.
He wished his father were still around, he could have done with the man's perspective on things at the moment. He was at a crossroads in his life, he knew the path he wanted to take yet he was reluctant to, knowing the effect it would have on his mother. His father would have told him to follow his own path and be his own man but he had a responsibility to his mother, he had promised her on that fateful night nine years ago that he would take care of her.
He could study for years and become a lawyer or a doctor, some safe kind of job that would bring in vast amounts of money and give him and his mother a comfortable life but he knew he would hate every single minute of it if he did. It would keep his mother happy yet he would be miserable and he knew he would end up resenting her for it.
He had convinced himself over and over that joining the NYPD would be the best thing all round, not only would he be able to honour his father's memory, he would also be able to provide a decent living for him and his mother. It was what he wanted to do, what he had always wanted to do ever since he saw his father in his crisp blue uniform, the badge on his chest glinting brightly in the sun.
He drained the last of his coffee and made the short walk to his house, knocking on the living room door as he spied his mother stitching some cloth.
"Do you have a moment?" he asked as he sat in the armchair next to her.
"Johnny, shouldn't you be at school?" she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.
He frowned at the question, it was Saturday and he'd left school two years ago, he was in college now. He brushed the uncomfortable feeling to one side as he braced himself for what he was about to say.
"I went and signed up for the academy today, Mom."
She placed her needle and thread in her lap as she gave her son a puzzled look.
"What academy, dear?"
"The NYPD."
"Johnny, that's not a good idea. Not after what happened to your father."
He could see her pained expression and felt awful as he saw her bottom lip tremble slightly.
"It's what I want to do, Mom. I want to make Pop proud."
"But you could make him proud by doing anything; you don't need to join the police to prove that."
"I've thought about it, I know it's what I want. I want you to be happy for me, Mom, can you do that?"
Their eyes met as she beckoned him forward, moving from the chair he knelt beside her as she cupped her hands around his face.
"Promise me, Johnny. Promise me that you'll be careful….I couldn't bear it if I lost you too."
He saw the tears welling in her eyes as he felt his own dripping slowly down his face.
"I will, Mom. I promise you."
Miami. Present day:
"So your mother wasn't keen on you joining the police then?" Jeff asked as he tried to regain Horatio's attention.
It took a few moments for the sound of the other man's voice to register in his brain. "She worried about me constantly. I think between losing my father and worrying about whether I was in danger or not that it caused her dementia to worsen a lot more quickly than it should have."
"Horatio, you know deep down inside that your choice of career had nothing to do with your mother's illness. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it, from what I've heard you did everything you could for her."
Flashback. New York 1984:
He unstrapped his gun holster and placed it along with his hat on the side of the small kitchen area in his rundown apartment. He'd long since moved out of his mother's house after deciding that he needed some independence. He still visited her at least twice a week, always checking that she was comfortable and wasn't wanting for anything.
A large chunk of the wages he received as a uniformed officer went straight to his mother, helping to pay bills and provide her with the security that a woman nearing her seventies deserved in life. With the little that was left over he was able to rent himself a small place, it wasn't much and the building's construction and décor left a lot to be desired, but it was a good enough place to call home for now.
It had been an exhausting shift and he couldn't be bothered with cooking himself anything substantial to eat. He pulled out a can of soup from the cupboard and poured the contents into a saucepan before heating it on the crummy cooker that had been provided as part of the fixtures and fittings in his small hovel. He couldn't even be bothered to place the heated food in a bowl as he ate it out of the pan, dipping a slice of bread into the sauce in an effort to fill himself up a little more.
He knew his mother would scold him good-naturedly about his lack of manners and his current eating habits but what she didn't see she wouldn't know, he told himself. Earlier in the week she had nagged him about not eating properly, telling him that he was too skinny and that he needed to be back at home with his mother, eating proper meals.
It had been the only time recently that his mother had spoken to him with some clarity. Concern for her wellbeing ate away at him over the last few months as he began to notice small changes in her, whether it was the way she spoke or the untidy state of the house. She would often make strange remarks that made no sense to him but each time he tried to speak to her about it she would shut him down and change the subject.
The phone rang just as he was mopping up the last bits of juice with another slice of bread, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; he made his way out into the narrow hall and answered it.
"Officer John Kelly?" a firm female voice enquired.
"That's me, who's calling?" he responded tiredly, hoping it wasn't someone from the Precinct asking him to pull another double shift.
"This is Dr Gatehouse; I'm calling from Lennox Hill Hospital. Is Mrs Catherine Kelly your mother?"
He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as a hundred and one different scenarios ran through his head.
"What happened, is she ok?"
"We need you to come down to the hospital, sir."
He grabbed his gun and hat and ran for the door.
Foregoing the elevator, he ran up several flights of stairs in the hospital building until he found the ward he was looking for. A nurse saw his harried state and took pity on him as she pulled him to one side.
"Officer Kelly?" she asked him as she gave him a reassuring smile.
"That's…me," he responded between heaving breaths. "My mother…..is she ok?"
"The doctor is with her at the moment, she'll be out to talk to you shortly. Why don't you take a seat?"
Sitting down seemed like a good idea as the adrenaline slowly drained from his body, he could feel his knees begin to grow weak as he lowered himself into the hard plastic chair and rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for what he hoped would only be a moment or two.
"Mr Kelly?"
The voice was gentle but insistent as he cracked an eye open.
"I'm Dr Gatehouse, we spoke on the phone?"
He rubbed his hands over his face as he sat up straight.
"Is my mother ok?"
The middle-aged doctor smiled at him, her greying hair and worn features a testament to the strain of working constantly with elderly patients.
"Your mother had a fall at home and was found by one of her neighbours who called for an ambulance. She's sustained a broken right hip and cracked two of her ribs on that side."
"My God, will she be ok?"
"Your mother is approaching her seventies, Mr Kelly. The bones don't heal as fast or as well as they do in younger patients, there is also something else to consider."
He didn't like the tone of the doctor's voice and immediately wanted to know more. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked firmly.
"We think your mother had a small stroke which may have caused the fall. Her neighbours also made their concerns known to the paramedics that Mrs Kelly had been acting strangely over the last few months. Have you noticed any changes in her behaviour, sir?"
He closed his eyes as memories of the conversations he'd had with his mother recently and how he had dismissed them without really giving much thought to what might be happening to her.
"She's been getting confused recently, I just thought it was old age, you know?"
The doctor nodded her head in understanding. "We've carried out some cognitive tests and they have confirmed a diagnosis of your mother being in the early stages of dementia. I'm sorry, Mr Kelly."
He covered his eyes with his left hand; this new information was more than he could take right now, he felt overwhelmed by the suddenness of it all.
"Your mother will no longer be able to live independently anymore, Mr Kelly. Is there anyone in your family that would consider having her live with them?"
He shook his head. "I'm an only child…..my father past away a long time ago. We don't have any other close family."
"How about yourself, would you be in a position to take care of her?"
He felt terrible for saying it, but he knew there would be no way he could hold down his job and take care of his elderly and ailing mother. "I work long shifts; I wouldn't be there most of the time."
"Then I'm afraid the only option available to us is to place your mother in a nursing home."
He nodded his head sadly before dragging his body from the chair.
"Can I go and see her?" he asked quietly, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Of course, Mr Kelly. Right this way."
He crept quietly into her room and eased himself down onto the chair by her bed. He pushed the vision of his father lying in similar bed from his mind, trying to forget the fateful night Officer Scott had escorted them to a room just like this to take one final look at his father's body before it was taken away to the morgue.
His father had looked so still and serene, he had been covered to his shoulders with a sheet so that neither he nor his mother could see the fatal wound that had ended his life. He'd hated hospitals ever since that day and seeing his mother lying so quietly, surrounded by wires and machines made him hate them even more.
He stood and leant over the bed, placing a tender kiss on her forehead, surprised to find that the action had woken her.
"Mom, are you ok?" he asked as he gave the hand that was closest to him a gentle squeeze.
"What are you doing here?" she croaked as she saw the man in uniform sitting by her bed.
"You're in hospital, you had a fall but you're going to be ok."
She seemed to dismiss his comments as not relevant as she continued with her questioning. "Why aren't you at home?"
"I got the call to come here; I wasn't going to let you be here on your own."
He knew just how much his mother hated hospitals too, their shared experience had told them what a cold and unforgiving place a hospital could be.
"No dear, you need to be at home. Who'll look after Johnny otherwise?"
It felt like a sucker-punch to the gut, it wasn't until he looked down at the uniform that he was still wearing that he realised that his mother had confused him with the man who shared his name, and his blood.
"It's me, Mom. It's Johnny," he moved his face closer to hers in an effort to make her understand who he was.
"I'll be fine here, dear. Go home and make sure Johnny gets something to eat, he'll be expecting his dinner soon."
He held her hand and watched over her as she fell asleep, tracing small circles over the thinning flesh. It felt as if he were seeing her for the first time, the way that life had chipped away at her vitality until all that was left was a worn and weary old lady. Wrinkles lined her face whilst liver spots and arthritis attacked the hands and joints that for so many years had been put to use providing for her beloved husband and son.
It would be an impossible task to care for her; there would be no possible way that he could meet her increasing needs. He left her room with a heavy heart and went in search of his mother's doctor, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to place his mother's care in the hands of a nursing home.