Thanks to everyone for the reviews and support. This is the last part of this story. I had not originally planned to do a sequel but it seems necessary for the evolution of the larger plot lines so it's not really the end.
Ch. 7
3 Days Later
The weather was dreary. A cold, drizzly rain had set in making everyone grumpy and short tempered. Walt stood with Vic at the fresh grave, mud clumping the bottom of his boots. He pulled his hat down low on his head to block some of the rain. She stood with her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her jacket, staring at the fresh dirt. Quiet was never something he had associated with Vic until the past few days. Even after her miscarriage, she had talked her way through it, after the initial shock had worn off. The last 3 days she had been quiet. Eerily quiet. It struck him that it was her voice now that broke the silence.
"What kind of person doesn't want to bury their own child?"
Walt shifted from one foot to the other, his boots sinking slightly into the muck.
"I don't know."
His voice was quiet. He always felt like he should speak softly among the dead, as though he might disturb their rest. She let out a deep sigh. Walt grasped her arm lightly and gave it a gentle tug.
"C'mon. Let's get out of this weather."
She cast one last look at the grave and followed him to the Bronco. Once inside the vehicle, he turned up the heat and pulled out.
"So what's the investigation saying?"
Walt kept his eyes steadily on the road. Vic had not been to work since the shooting, except to give a statement, as he and Henry had. Walt, himself, had spoken to Cady.
"The father was the only living relative. He's refuses to have anything to do or cooperate with the investigation. Mother died when he was young. Nine, I think."
He glanced at Vic. Her eyes remained focused on the passing landscape.
"He'd actually been running with a pretty nasty crowd. State police have have been coordinating with surrounding states trying to catch them. Gang, I guess. They started out robbing stores but have graduated to banks. They're acting like this is a pretty big feather in their caps. What they're not saying is that he was on the fringes and had been trying to leave the area, possibly to get away from the whole mess. They don't even have any evidence he had participated in any of the group's robberies. Based on his inexperience, I'd say not."
Vic nodded.
"That would explain why he was so desperate."
"Yeah."
"Is anyone even looking into the fact that he was unarmed?"
"Vic..."
"Of course not"
Walt sighed.
"Vic, he wasn't exactly an innocent victim. He shot Henry. That easily could have been you."
"I know that, Walt."
Her voice was sharp, anger rising up in her tone.
"I'm just...I'm so tired of all the death. We arrest people all the time who don't give a shit about what they do or who they do it to. And, here, you have a young man who wanted to make a break. I know he didn't go about it the right way but...that doesn't mean he should be dead for it. Twenty-six years old, Walt. He still had his whole life ahead of him."
Silence descended over them as Walt pulled the Bronco up to the cabin. They both sat, not moving. Finally, Walt spoke.
"Cady wanted to know when you were coming back to work."
Vic looked at him then, her dark eyes reflecting the skies.
"I don't know if I am."
Walt looked out the windshield, trying to maintain a neutral composure.
"That's something you should probably take some time to think about before you make a decision."
She continued to sit, so he sat in silence. Finally, she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Walt."
"For what?"
"For not being present with you these last few days. I know you went through this, too. You and Henry, both."
She looked down at her hands.
"I just don't know how to process it. I promised him he would be okay, that he would be safe with me. Isn't that why we all supposedly became police in the first place? To help people and keep them safe? It seems so simple on paper. No one tells you about all the shades of gray in the world. No one tells you that sometimes right and wrong don't necessarily add up. Sometimes, the bad guys are the victims and the good guys aren't so good."
"Vic, I know you were working through this. You don't have to apologize. I'm fine. I was more worried about you."
She smiled vaguely.
"You're such a selfless person, Walt. You always worry about everyone else. I get so wrapped up in my own pain, I can't see other people's. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder why you even love me. Sometimes, I think that you could find some one more worthy of you."
"Vic..."
She waved him off and opened the Bronco door.
"I'm not looking for reassurance or for you to tell me that I am a good person. I'm just telling you the truth."
Before he could respond, she had gotten out and went into the cabin. Walt trailed her in, removing his coat and setting his hat aside. He started a fire in the fireplace to fight the lingering chill in the room and then lowered himself to the couch. The past few days had been exhausting and he wished they could go for a period of time without this darkness that seemed to hover over them. At times, it seemed inescapable. Vic emerged from the bedroom, in sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. She sat on the couch next to him and tucked herself into his side. It warmed him from the inside out in a way a fire never could. She rested her head on his shoulder. He slid one arm around her shoulders and used the other to stroke her face and hair. He felt her relaxing into him with the calm, steady movements.
"You are a good person."
His voice was barely audible.
"I think, Vic, that you feel too much and it overwhelms you. It's not that you don't see other people's pain, you take it on yourself and it becomes your pain. You hide behind this tough exterior, but I see you. I've always seen you."
He felt her inhale and exhale in a sigh.
"I don't think I want to go back to work right now. I think I need some time to decide if this is still what I want to do. I love my job, Walt, but there's just so much sadness and so much death. I think maybe I need a break from it."
"I understand that. Trust me."
She sat up and looked at him.
"I want to go home."
He gave her a puzzled look.
"To Philly."
An old dread started to claw it's way into his gut, wrapping itself around his insides and squeezing so tightly he could barely breathe.
"Okay."
She seemed to sense his hesitation and smiled.
"For a visit. Wyoming is home now but Philly will always be my first. You know?"
The tension coiled inside him eased it's grasp and he could feel himself settling down.
"Yeah."
She paused a long time before she continued.
"I think that I should go alone."
Walt swallowed an instant protest.
"I just...I need some time, Walt. Like when you went on your treasure hunt. I need to find a way to move beyond this and I have to do it on my own."
Walt tried not to frown and nodded his head slowly.
"If that's what you want."
"It's what I need. You're mad..."
"I'm not mad. I understand."
She sat up and smiled at him. He tried to reflect her happiness but it was hard for him. Vic got up to get her laptop, mumbling about booking a flight. He noticed a slight ease in the tension she had been carrying. He sat, looking over her shoulder, while she typed away at her computer, commenting on this and that. Finally she snapped it closed and stood up. Vic extended her hand to him. Walt took it and rose to meet her.
End