When the bright beam of sunlight shines through the opened blinds of the window, Erin finds herself forced to peel her eyes open. She's lain faced down; her arms wide open and palms flat against the sheets. She groans; it's the first night in ten weeks –now eleven as today is the start of a new week- since she has slept through the night –no frequent trips to the bathroom to either pee or puke. It was a successful night of slumber. As Erin sits up onto her knees, her eyes immediately close; the sun is too bright. She groans again while attempting to ease them back open. Erin's hands run over her face –her eyes open again- her hands fall down to the bed and grip the sheets. She has to work, but she's still tired. It'll only get worse as her pregnancy progresses and then when the baby actually comes, she can kiss a peaceful, full night of sleep goodbye. The baby; the thought of her baby creates a smile on her lips. A new life –a conception- her baby is a being created out of love and Jay didn't know. She's embracing in the pregnancy alone –with only Burgess, Platt and now West in the loop.
Jay needed to know; he needs to find out as soon as possible. He has every right to be a part of this process as she does. Erin has always known that Halstead wanted kids eventually, but it was always understood and assumed that eventually was down the road; it was not eleven weeks ago and it definitely wasn't six months from now. She didn't know how he would take the news; it was a surprise to her and she can only imagine how shocked he'll be when he finds out. Shocked –and angry- especially after finding out how long she has known about it. Erin has work today. None of them has had a day off in weeks and it's beginning to take its toll on her body. She's drained. She runs her hands through her hair as her eyes scan the nightstand. She expects to find a digital clock –the time written in bright red- however, she sees the bare top of a nightstand. It's empty. It's immaculately clean; no sigh of dust or clutter in sight.
Lindsay's eyes drift from the nightstand and falls down to her lap. She's sitting on her knees –in the middle of the bed- she's staring at her palms, now resting back on the sheets. They're resting on sheets that she doesn't recognize. It's a pattern that she has never seen before; it's foreign to her, and it has the scent of fresh washed laundry. Erin now knows, it doesn't take much for her to realize that she isn't home. She's not in her bed. She's dazed out from exhaustion and she's sitting in the middle of Tyler's king-sized bed.
"Good morning sunshine," he greets, walking into his room while holding up a tray of breakfast, "You were so exhausted last night that you fell asleep on the couch," he chuckles at the memory, "I couldn't wake you, so I carried you upstairs and laid you in the bed," Tyler sets the tray down in front of her, "and don't worry, I slept in the living room."
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," she admits, climbing out of the bed, "I should really be getting home. My husband is probably worried about me!"
Tyler picks up the food tray, "I made you breakfast in bed."
"My husband," she whispers, bending over to grab her shoes neatly positioned onto the shoe rack, "my husband is probably scared to death right now. It's not like me to not come home regardless of whether or not we're mad at each other. I need you to take me home Tyler."
"I'll take you after you eat something," Tyler remarks, holding the tray of food out towards her, "you need to keep that baby fed."
Erin doesn't argue; regardless of how badly she wanted to get home, he was right. She was growing a baby inside of her and no matter what was going on in her life and the world around her, she had a duty, a responsibility, and it was to take care of her baby to the best of her ability. And with that understanding, she doesn't rebut his statement. She simply grabs two slices of bacon and a piece of toast from the tray, "I'm ready." Her mouth is full as she throws in the dry piece of bread; it's without butter and bland, but it took the imminent growl off her belly.
"Alright," he agrees, "I'm still in my pajamas. Let me throw on some clothes and then I'll be all set to take you home."
"Okay, I'll wait by the door."
She departed from his bedroom, and it was the first opportunity she had since she arrived to actually take in his house. It was a two-floor house and it was perfectly cleaned and designed. Nothing –with emphasis- was out of place. There wasn't a dirty dish, an ounce of dust, or a crooked picture or piece of furniture anywhere in sight. It almost seemed too perfect; it was something like a show house -a house only used to show to potential buyers.
Lindsay reaches the front door, and the low temperature in the house sends a shiver through her body. She wraps her arms around her waist and realizes that she's missing something; she's missing her jacket. It was the early fall; she wouldn't have went anywhere without a coat. Erin takes a peek in the living room –nothing stands out. His walls are bland and his furniture practically blends in with his walls. Her navy blue jacket would have stood out if it was in the room. Lindsay moves to the staircase, steps onto the bottom stair, and leans against the bannister, "Tyler," she shouts, her head tilted up, "Where's my jacket?"
"Check the coat closet!"
"The coat closet," she whispers to herself; she had no idea where that is. It's usually near the front door. After taking the one step down, she walks down the long, elongated hallway to approach the door closest to the front door. She reaches for the knob, "this must be it." She turns the doorknob, but is met with resistance. It's locked. She twists the knob again, but it doesn't move. She's yanking it –maybe it's jammed.
"That's not the coat closet," Tyler calls out, standing at a door further down the hallway, "this is the coat closet," he opens it, extends his hand inside and pulls out her jacket."
"Thank you," Erin sighs, catching her jacket after it's thrown in her direction, "…and what is this room?"
"Off limits," he answers; it's quick, and in order to avoid further questioning, he leads her to the front door and opens it. Erin is smiling –sliding her arms into the sleeves of her jacket- she zips it up. As the front door sits open, a sharp breeze rips through the house. She shivers again. And suddenly she feels Tyler's hand press against her lower back, "Let's get you home." Lindsay looks back at the locked door –her curiosity in overdrive. She shakes it out of her head and proceeds to walk out of the door –Tyler following closely behind.
From a distance, Tyler unlocks his car door; Erin gets to it first and lets herself into the passenger seat. By the time Tyler even opens the driver's side door, she's buckled in and ready to get home. Detective West is dressed in his suit, his tie draped over his shoulder; it's not yet tied around his neck. He takes a look at his appearance in the rearview mirror. Grabbing his tie, he begins wrapping it around the collar of his dress shirt, and tying it up around his neck, "You know the dress code isn't so formal."
Tyler laughs, "It never hurts to be dressed up and put together."
"Hey," she hits his arm, "I'm put together even while wearing jeans and a t-shirt; I'm just comfortable in my outerwear."
"Sometimes beauty is pain."
"It doesn't have to be," Erin commented. She watches as Tyler buckles in his seat belt before starting the car. He puts his vehicle into drive and pulls forward out of his parking spot.
The ride starts off quiet. No music on the radio is playing. There are hardly any car horns, sirens or shouts of profanity flooding the streets and their ears in the nearby cars. It's a quiet and peaceful ride. It's a ride whose silence disturbs both passengers. It's a ride whose silence is broken the second Tyler clears his throat to spark a conversation with his passenger, "You know, we never got to finish our conversation from last night," he stops at a red light and turns to face her as another lanes light turned green, "You kind of fell asleep."
Erin uses her thumb and pointer finger to wipe the corner of her mouth, "Sorry," she gives him an innocent smile, "that was honestly not my intention. You should have just woken me up. I was not planning to spend the night."
"I know, but you looked so peaceful, I couldn't bring myself to disturb you."
"You carried me upstairs."
"I wanted you to at least sleep comfortably," he responds. The light turns green and he eases his foot off the brake.
Erin sighs loudly –her head falls back and presses against the headrest, "I should have sent Jay a text so he wouldn't worry about me," her hands fidget in her lap, "Um where's my phone?" She sits up straight and begins patting her pockets. It's the last place she remembers seeing it.
"Check your purse."
Erin unzips her purse, extends her hand inside and sighs at the feeling of her cell phone. She pulls it out to find it dead. It's completely out of battery and her charger was at home. Her hand gripped around the smartphone, "That's just great…" she blows out, throwing the phone back into her purse. It's dead. A dead phone will do absolutely nothing for her; she can't even send her husband a text telling him she's on her way.
"Hey, you'll be home to your guy in less than ten minutes," Tyler reassured, steering his car onto the highway and merging into the early morning traffic, "Are you two seriously that couple that can't stand to be away from each other?"
She shifts in her seat, setting her elbow against the side of the door, "No, we're not clingy. It's just he has no idea where I spent the night. If I were him, I would be worried sick. And it's not like me not to tell him where I'm going…"
"You two are arguing."
"He's still my husband; I still tell him where I'm going."
"I learn something new every day."
Lindsay feels a light spell of nausea form within her lower abdomen. She's heard of women who have went through their entire pregnancy without morning sickness, and here she is constantly nauseous and throwing up for the entire three months she has been with child. She tries to get comfortable. She adjusts the seat belt strap so it's not as tight over her bulging belly, but it's only so much comfortability she can grasp in a small and tight space. After leaning her head back against the headrest, she clears her mind –she takes her thoughts far away from her queasiness, "So, we never got to finish our conversation yesterday, what were we talking about?"
Tyler answers, "Me…"
"What did you tell me?" She closes her eyes and tries to allow the ride to soothe her nausea.
"I told you about my parents and how they died when I was 16."
She reopens her eyes, "I'm sorry."
"I got over it."
Lindsay sits up, and partially turns her body to face him, "Can you really get over something like that?"
"I did."
They reach another red light the moment he pulls off the highway. It's a long one, especially with the morning rush hour. The serene suburban area is calm, and allows for them to lower their guards. Erin's still nauseous, but her mind is preoccupied with Tyler and his admittance. She already knew from an earlier conversation with him weeks ago that his parents were abusive and were murdered. It's all she really knew about them. And that wasn't good enough for her, she wanted to know more; her interest was definitely peaked.
"If you don't mind me asking, how did they die?"
He shakes his head –an obvious signal that he doesn't mind, "They were murdered –strangled in the living room-; their death and finding them is actually what drove me to become a cop," Erin notes how Tyler speaks of his parents death as if he's taking about the weather; it's so casual and informal. His fingers drum against the steering wheel as he eases his foot down on the brake at a stop sign, "Isn't that ironic though?" He briefly turns to face her; they're sitting at the stop sign longer than intended, "They were killed in the living room. That has to be some form of irony."
"Did you go into the foster care system?"
"I did."
Erin rests her right hand behind her head; her elbow pressed against the window, "And how was that?"
"Horrible, I ran away a few times and then when I turned 18 I finally aged out of the system."
"What did you do after that?"
"I moved around a lot."
"You're not from here?"
Tyler lightly chuckles; he's carefully and precisely merging the vehicle into the farthest left lane, "No, I thought I mentioned this to you. I was born in Joliet, Illinois and I lived there until my parents died. I bounced around the state and then at 18 I joined the police academy in Indiana."
"How long have you lived in Chicago?"
"I've been here for almost a year," Tyler answers; the car pulls up and turns onto Erin's street; he slows the vehicle down to a few pegs below the speed limit; he didn't want the ride to end so soon, "What about you? Are you from Chicago?"
"Born and raised," she proudly asserted. She was a Chicago native and damn proud of it.
"Where are your parents?"
The smile on her face faltered, "That's a good question;" she scratches the bottom of her chin, "it's one I'm not really interested in finding out the answer to though."
"Are they dead?" He cuts right to the chase. It's the question he's been pondering for the last few minutes. She knew about the state of his parents and he wanted to know the same of hers.
"More like dead to me, but they're both alive and well."
"And Voight?"
"He's the parent I've always wanted. He's the dad I needed." Erin declared; she's speaking from the heart as she thinks of her foster dad, "For all intents and purposes, he's my family…way more than my biological parents."
They're five houses away from hers. There are barely any cars on the road in the residential neighborhood and they technically should have already been at her house, but the conversation kept her distracted and him, entertained. She's looking at him –completely unaware that they're even on her street. Tyler stops briefly at a stop sign and glumly sighs, "So we both came from screwed up families?"
"How was your family screwed up?"
"They were verbally abusive –not towards me, but to each other."
"I'm sorry that you had to be raised around that," she says, extending her hand to pat his shoulder, "It can't be easy hearing your parents talk down to each other. That had to be rough. What else made your family so screwed up?"
"They had faults…a lot of them."
"Faults," Erin repeats the word; it's said more to herself than to him. She utters it once more before looking out of the window and realizing where she is; she's two houses down from hers. In less than a few seconds, she'll be home, but until then, she turns back to glance at Detective West, "Imperfection doesn't automatically equal screwed up Tyler," the car is placed in park and she makes no movement towards the door, "Imperfections are normal, no one is a perfect parent, but it's how they use those imperfections to make sure they don't impact the welfare of the child that makes a family the opposite of screwed up. Dysfunctional yes, but what family isn't. Your parents yelled at each other. Verbal abuse or just plain arguing married folks; I'm not here to tell you the difference between the two, but your parents raised you, and you seem like a good guy, they obviously couldn't have been that bad. Before Voight, Camille and Justin, my family was screwed up. My mom was and is probably still a drug and alcohol addict looking for husband number six. My dad has been in and out of prison since I was a kid. My mom enabled me to do drugs after I lost a close friend of mine. My dad hasn't reached out to me since I was born. They're textbook screwed up, but I digress, what I'm trying to say is, no matter how much I despise them, I'm the woman I am today because of them –and the Voights."
The car is parked. Tyler's foot is off the pedals. His hands are no longer on the steering wheel. His body is turned completely to face her, "It always amazes me how parents like that could make a perfect person like you."
She purposely chooses not to reply to that comment. She's already spent time talking with him about the idea of perfection and how it doesn't exist. It's a figment that people aim to reach, but it's unattainable. There's always room for progress. There's always room for more. There's always room for better. To spend your life trying to reach perfection is a waste of time. Your time is better spent doing what you love, what you enjoy with those you hold dear to you. You're supposed to be comfortable with your strengths and weaknesses – confident in your flawed life.
"I want you to know that I had fun last night," Erin easily changes the subject; he doesn't even notice the subtle change of conversation as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She grabs her purse from between her lap and turns to face Tyler one last time, "Even though I fell asleep mid-conversation, I appreciated the company," she reaches for the door handle and pulls it open, "I usually like to handle my problems on my own or keep them to myself, but it felt good to get it off my chest. It felt good to have a new ear to listen."
"That's what I'm here for."
She steps out onto the curb; her hand holding the frame of the door, "And I honestly think I enjoy our conversations more than I think I should."
"The feeling has always been mutual," he nods.
"I'll see you at work later," Erin shuts the door, and the passenger side window is soon rolled down so Tyler could reply one last time, "I'm about to head straight into work right now. I'll see you there in a few."
Erin stands on the curb and makes no movement towards the house until Tyler's car takes a turn off her street. She smiles to herself and backs away slowly; her jacket zipped up, her purse on her shoulder and her hands tucked into her coat pocket. She walks up the sidewalk, through the small front yard and up the few porch stairs. Lindsay is in a good mood; a smile is stretched across her face as she grabs her keys and unlocks her front door. She needed to get ready for work and unwind a bit before diving head first back into this case. Last night was the one night in a long list of weeks that she thought of something other than their case. It was rare. It was surprising. Normally a case lasted this long consumed her thoughts on and off work hours; last night was different and so was this morning.
Lindsay walks into the house and tosses her keys onto the side table positioned near the front door. She sees Jay's keys already there. He was still home. They would probably end up taking separate cars into work today. She locks the door behind her before heading straight down the hallway; her upstairs bathroom is her final destination, but her plan is forgotten the second she sees Jay sitting at their dining room table –positioned in the middle of the kitchen- he's drinking a fresh cup of coffee. He gives her a small smile that never reaches his eyes. His hands are around his mug of coffee and he pulls it from his lips, "Glad to see you home."
"I'm glad to be home," Erin replies, walking over to open the fridge.
Jay removes his hands from around his mug, "Where have you been?" He asks, leaning back in the chair. He's dressed, relaxed and had every intention of heading into work once he finished his coffee. There was nothing like a fresh cup of coffee from home; it beat the cheap tasting coffee offered to them in the breakroom.
"Why do you care?" Lindsay remarks, grabbing the pitcher of orange juice; she slams the refrigerator closed behind her.
"I'm your husband."
She grabs a glass cup, "My husband who wants space... Am I right?" Her eyes briefly glance in his direction before averting back to pouring herself a fresh cold glass of orange juice.
"I just needed time to clear my head…that's it. I'm not asking for divorce or a separation."
"I went to Mollys."
"And then where?" Jay's cup of coffee is long forgotten as he rises from his seat, "You've been gone all night and I was worried because you weren't answering your phone."
"It died and I stayed with a friend."
"It wasn't Kim; I called her."
She places the pitcher back into the fridge, "I have other friends Jay."
"What friend Erin?" He asks –already knowing the answer- he leans his hip against the countertop as his arms cross against his chest.
"I stayed with West," she answers before taking a large sip of juice.
"You've got to be kidding me!" He exclaims, pushing himself away from the counter. Erin had already assumed that would be his reaction and she was willing to accept it, but the look on his face is what took her for a surprise. The crease in his brows, the pout of his lips, the frown lines and the absolute confusion and irritation in his eyes is what pulls her in to explain herself, to tell him what she has already told him many times before; she doesn't want Tyler.
Erin finishes her last sip of orange juice. She's trying to remain calm as she allows the fruity beverage to settle her stomach. Her empty hand rests upon the countertop and her fingers drum a silent beat –one that's playing in her head- it's a way to keep her calm. She has her cup, she moves towards the sink and she starts doing the three dishes inside of it.
"It wasn't to spite you Jay," Erin calmly contends; the tranquility in her voice surprises the both of them as she continues, "It wasn't planned. It just happened."
"It seems a lot of stuff just happens."
"It's too early for this." Erin asserts, turning on the faucet water and allowing it to fill the sink, "I'm sorry I didn't come home." She admits as she begins washing the dishes, "I'm sorry I didn't call to let you know. Time seemed to pass by so fast, and you were mad at me and I was mad at you, and I didn't want to come home right away because of this conversation right now."
"This conversation?"
"Yes," she abruptly turns to face him; the faucet water still running behind her, "I really don't want to argue with you. It's pointless. I love you." She reaches beside herself and opens the dish washer, "I love you." She looks back up at him –her eyes meeting his, "I love you. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
He sets his hands against her shoulders, "I know you love me Erin; that's not the problem," he maintains the contact that she initiated, "The problem is Tyler. He doesn't respect our marriage, he's trying to come between me and you, and I'm afraid that you're letting him."
"He's just a friend."
"He's a friend who wants to get in your pants."
She pushes his hands away, "You barely know him."
"And now you're defending him…to me!"
Erin turns back to the sink and resumes cleaning the dishes. She rinses each dish and carefully lines it up in the empty dishwasher. She slams the door to the dishwasher closed, but doesn't press start –it's not filled yet. She grabs a dish towel to dry her hands, "He came from a screwed up family like I did." Lindsay begins to explain, and she could only hope that Jay gets it afterwards, "He knows how hard these streets can be. He's been dealt a bad hand when he was born like I did and he made the most out of it. He knows the world doesn't owe us anything, and he still chooses to believe there's good in it –there's perfection to be found."
"Erin, I don't want to lose you."
She throws the dishtowel onto the counter, "Well if you keep acting like that, then you will."
Halstead can't drop it. He can't allow the conversation to end here. He hears her feet intentionally stomp up the stairs and he finds himself following after her. He's calling out her name –trying to get her to stop walking, but she ignores him. He's taking two stairs at a time and before she's able to shut and lock him out of the master bedroom, he shoves his foot in the pathway of the incoming door. His arm pushes it back open, "What's going on with you Erin?"
"You wanted space; I'm giving it to you."
"That's not fair."
"No," she walks over to her dresser and begins yanking clothes out of it in search of something to wear, "let me tell you what's not fair," she finds a shirt, straightens her posture and turns to face her husband, "it's you acting like this. You know me. You know me better than anyone and you know I would never do anything to jeopardize our marriage. Tyler's a flirt –he's obviously overcompensating for something. He enjoys our banter. He knows I'm not receptive to his flirting and that's what entertains him. He's just joking."
"I don't find it funny."
Erin sets her shirt down onto the bed, "I'm trying here Jay…you have to see that."
"No," he approaches her from behind, "what I see is you and him spending time together outside of work, you staying over his place overnight, him following you to the water fountain and apparently sending you flowers and buying you dinner. That's what I see."
Erin immediately turns to face him –tears overwhelmingly brim her eyes. She sniffs in and begins collecting the clothes she threw out of her drawer in the heat of the moment. She starts refolding them; she's sniffing occasionally, trying to hold in the tears. It's the stupid hormones. She hardly ever cries in the middle of an argument. She neatly sets each article of clothing back into the drawer, and once she finishes, she shuts it. Her stomach is pressed against the smooth wood of the dresser as she stares forward at her reflection in the overhead mirror, "It was one time." Her voice surprises her by not cracking.
"That's one too many," Jay replies, walking up to her; his hand sets itself upon her lower back and his thumb gently caresses the material of her shirt covering the smoothness of her skin, "You're my wife, not his."
"Are we seriously doing this right now?" Erin questions, stepping away from him, "Jay, I'm tired, I'm sweaty and I really want a shower," she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, "I'm sorry if I screwed up. I'm really sorry that I'm not perfect. I'm so sorry if I'm not always the ideal wife, but you know what? I'm human. No one is perfect; not me and not you either." She walks around him and proceeds to head towards their master bathroom.
"Erin-" he calls out and she interrupts and ignores.
"I thought you wanted space?" She's facing him, but she's backing up slowly into the bathroom.
"We're not done talking."
"Jay meet space," she pointed around their bedroom, "space meet Jay. I hope you two have a great time together." And with that, she slams the bathroom door –locking it seconds afterwards.
Erin presses her back against the door, closes her eyes and releases a long breath of air. She unzips her jacket, takes off her pants and discards the two articles of clothing to the side. She turns on the shower, waits until the water reaches the perfect temperature, before drawing back towards the mirror. It amazes her how her loosely hung shirt is able to mask her bulging belly. Erin crosses her arms and grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head seconds afterwards. As she looks back at her reflection, the shaping of her stomach is obvious. If Jay saw her naked, he would know, fortunately for her, it doesn't seem like he'll be seeing her naked any time soon. Lindsay turns sideways; her hand running down and tracing the outline of her stomach. There's a baby in there; there's a baby who depends on her for everything right now. Lindsay closes her eyes and discards herself of her bra and undies; there's a baby inside of her that will need her for necessities in life. A child who will be raised with her and Jay's morals, their looks and their beliefs…at least until the child reaches an age to form beliefs of their own.
Lindsay steps into the shower; she's extra careful. She's still in her first trimester and the risk of a miscarriage decreases by the second. As the water falls onto her, her muscles relax. Her shoulders unwind, her eyes close, and the water flows down her hair and her body. She washes her face. She washes her hair. She takes her time to watch every inch of herself. Without a worry in the world, she extends her normal shower time by an extra few minutes. Her fingers start to dry out and shrivel –it's time to get out. Erin steps out, grabs a towel and wraps it around her body. The towel won't close all the way; her pregnant belly extending and causing for the towel to barely meet at the ends. She drops the towel on her clothes pile and grabs another to tie around her hair –soaking in the drips of water. She brushes her teeth. She washes her face one last time. She scoops up her pile of clothes –including the towel- and takes a step by the bathroom door.
After unlocking the bathroom door, and peeking out, she notices Jay isn't in the room. Sighing in relief and stepping out into the air conditioned bedroom, she tosses the clothes into her laundry hamper before locking the door to her bedroom. She can't afford for Jay to walk back in. She's in no mood for further conversation about secrets and what she's apparently holding back from him. Lindsay turns on the television; the news is on, and as her subconscious listens to the local reports, she's quickly getting ready. Her extended shower meant a shorter amount of time in getting dressed. After throwing on her underclothes and rubbing on deodorant, Erin grabs the loose shirt she picked out. Soon, she'll be going maternity clothes shopping, but for right now, she was going to enjoy her last week or two in her normal, pre-pregnancy clothes.
"Trent Walsh, 34, found dead in the drive-way of his home early this morning by his ex-wife as she came to drop off their son," Erin listens to the unfortunate news report, "He was last seen at Molly's bar before being discovered early this morning." At the mention of Molly's bar, Erin fully tunes into the network. She buttons her jeans and reaches onto the bed to grab her shirt. As the picture of Trent Walsh appeared on the screen, Erin's shirt dropped from her hands, "JAY!" She sweeps her shirt up and immediately throws the loose fitting tee over top her head.
"What's wrong?" Jay is at the other side of their bedroom door, jiggling the handle.
Lindsay adjust her shirt; she glances in the mirror to guarantee that the loose fitting article of clothing doesn't frame her tummy, and once she's assured, she runs to the door and unlocks it. Jay is inside within seconds, his hands immediately going to her face, scanning her face for any sign of distress; he's worried. And no amount of arguing or anger between the two would ever come before their love for one another. He's checking her for signs of injury; her voice sounded distressed and he had absolutely no idea as to why. Halstead is speechless. He's looking at her, trying to peer into her eyes, but she's looking over his shoulder, pointing her finger at the television screen, "I know him."
Jay turns around –contact between the two is lost. He reads the news headline, "You do?"
"I don't know him well. I barely know him at all. I met him last night."
"He was murdered."
"I see that!" Erin exclaims, she grabs the remote and turns up the volume.
"Were you the last one to see him alive?" Jay finds his thoughts switching between cop and husband mode. He divides his hearing –one part of him is waiting for her answer and the other part is listening to the continued news report about Trent.
"No…Tyler and I left before he did."
"You and Tyler were at Mollys' together," Jay responds; he tries to be there for her, he wants to comfort her so bad, but he can't help but steer the conversation and its focus onto Tyler –the thorn in the side of their relationship.
Erin's staring at the flat screen TV mounted against the wall. She finds herself crying –tears are falling from her eyes over a man she barely knew, a man that was an asshole. She presses her eyes closed to smear the tears away, "I was there and then he was there," she reopens her eyes as she turns to face her husband; "We didn't go together." She turns back towards the news, and now the story has moved on. The weatherman is discussing the weather for today – the high chance of rain, the strong winds and the dropping temperature. Trent seemed to have been forgotten by the anchors as they warn the viewers to dress for the weather. Lindsay can't seem to think about it and process what they're saying; she's still thinking about Trent Walsh. That's his name. She never got to find out yesterday. She actually feels bad about it. Jay can tell.
"How do you know him?" Jay calms himself down enough to comfort his wife. He can see her getting worked up; she's sad, maybe this guy actually meant something to her.
"We got into an argument yesterday."
Jay notices the look on her face –it's a look of guilt, "It's not your fault."
"It was a stupid argument," she admits; she looks devastated as she thinks about the picture of Trent they chose to show on the news, "He wanted to buy me a drink and I declined. He wouldn't take no for an answer."
"…sounds like a jerk."
"He was, but now he's dead."
"Come here," he urges, opening his arms and sighing in relief when she steps into his embrace. He holds her close; her head resting against his chest. Jay runs his hand down the back of her head and he pecks the top of it in assurance. His wife was grieving over a guy she didn't like; he understood that a life was lost, but he knew Erin enough to know that while she may have wanted to extend her condolences to the family, she normally wouldn't get this worked up over the death of a man who was a complete asshole to her.
Jay and Erin are frozen in the moment –they're stuck in time. They drown out the next news report as they remain entangled in each other's arms. She sniffs, and mentally she blames her pregnancy on the overwhelming emotions she has in response to Trent's death. She hardly knew the guy. He was practically a stranger; she didn't even know his name before today, yet she was crying for him. The hormone changes were making her cry over someone who didn't deserve death, but had been a drunken idiot yesterday. Lindsay pulls away; she hears the house phone ring, and she walks out of their bedroom to go answer it. Jay cuts off the television and follows after her, "Lindsay," she clears her throat and announces into the phone.
"Erin, where are you?" It's Voight.
She uses the back of her hands to wipe her eyes, "I'm at home. I'm leaving out in five minutes. Why? What's up?"
"Two detectives are here."
"…in the Intelligence bullpen?"
"Yeah, they're here to speak to you and West. Tyler's in the breakroom talking with them now," Voight answers, and once she hears his office door shut behind him, he lowers his voice, "Kid, how do you know this Trent guy?"
Erin walks around the living room; she sees her phone on the charger –Jay must have plugged it up for her. She walks into the kitchen, and takes a seat at the table to rest her aching feet, "I've only known him for a total of like ten minutes…not enough to be any help to those detectives."
"They want to talk to you. You know every little detail helps."
"What did they say happened to him? The news only mentioned he was killed."
Voight sits at his desk, "I don't know much. I only spoke with them for about three minutes. I just know they want to talk to you about Trent…and that he was found inside his car this morning with his throat cut."
"Okay," it's all she needs to know, and she mutters, "I'm leaving out soon," before hanging up.
The phone is back on the base. Jay is behind her. He's heard her side of the conversation and it gives him enough information to draw a conclusion as to what's going on. He extends her coat and her shoes. She smiles and takes them from him. She sniffs in once more, sits back down in the kitchen and slides on her boots. She's focused on easing her achy feet into the shoe and zipping the leather boot up when Jay pulls out the chair adjacent to hers, "Erin," he's careful with his tone –knowing sometimes it's not what you say, but how you say it, "our earlier, previous conversation isn't over, but I want you to know that even though we're kind of mad at each other right now, I'm here for you whenever you want or need to talk."
"Thanks," she whispers, giving him the best smile she could muster. She rises to her feet, grabs the coat that she set down and goes over to retrieve her cell phone. It only charged up thirty percent; she unplugs the charger and decides to finish charging it at work. They're both quiet as they leave the house, and surprisingly Erin puts up no argument when Jay slides in on the driver's side and buckles himself in.
The ride to the precinct is quiet; the only sounds heard are the active and loud noises that fill the city of Chicago. It's constant. It's rarely ever a moment of silence. The city is always live and full of action, even in the morning. Knowing that neither of them will strike up the nerve to speak, Erin leans her head against the window and day dreams. She pictures herself in present time –Jay driving and her riding in the back beside a car seat. Inside the car seat is a baby, a newborn –dressed in a neutral colored onesie- she's unable to picture a boy or girl because she doesn't know which it'll be; she pictures a baby that could fall into either gender, especially as a newborn –one that from her daydream couldn't be more than a few days old.
With her head resting against the window, she innocently and overwhelmingly smiles at the thought. She's beaming at the idea of loving someone, loving a person more than herself, more than anyone. Someone will be fully dependent upon her and Jay. Since first finding out, she does start to feel that a maternal instinct, that overwhelming motherly love start to flood her. She can only imagine how strong it'll be when the baby is actually here. Lindsay mindlessly cradles her small baby bump with her hand; her thumb strokes the area where her belly button rests beneath her shirt and jacket. She's smiling –beaming from ear to ear.
"Are you okay?"
Lindsay snaps back into reality; the imagined car seat is gone from the back and when she follows Jay's line of vision, she notices it settled on her hand –the hand covering her stomach. They're at a red light. Concern is evident in his eyes. He watches her quickly pull her hand away from her stomach, "Are you getting sick again? You haven't been sick in months."
"No," she provides him a reassuring smile, "I'm actually feeling really good." And she was. Erin has managed to hide her morning sickness after finding out about the pregnancy. She knew that if Jay was aware of the fact that she's still nauseous from months ago, he would make the connection –he will draw the accurate conclusion that she's pregnant. Jay seems to accept her response; the light turning green played another distraction that worked in her favor. He resumed driving and she resumed her gaze outside of the window, this time she's mindful to not allow her hand to protectively rest upon the bump, at least until she tells him the news.
She tries to think of anything else, but her thoughts always seem to go back to the baby. In a few months, a baby will be here. In a few months, she and Jay will be parents. In a few months, hopefully they've worked out the cracks in their relationship so their marriage is a strong enough foundation to sustain and handle a baby. Erin attempts to focus on the Chicago traffic –anything to keep her mind off her baby- but thinking about the traffic and the reckless driving has her back to thinking about her baby. It's all she can think about; she's anxious, nervous and even a little excited about growing this baby and welcoming it into the world. She starts thinking about getting a baby on board bumper sticker; she's thinking of any maneuvers that could potentially keep her baby out of harm's way. Erin wants people to drive more cautious around her vehicle. She didn't know if a bumper sticker would work, but it was worth a shot.
Erin's eyes drift over towards Jay; his jacket was thrown into the backseat before he started driving. His t-shirt clung to his muscled form, and Erin can't help but bring herself to picture those arms holding such a small and delicate baby. The image of a baby's small hand wrapped around his large finger brings a small back onto her face. It's such a sweet picture and it makes her even more excited to tell him the news. And she's going to do it; she's going to tell him once he calms down and gets his act together. She wants it to be perfect. She wants to share the news in the best way possible –when they're alone, happy and in each other's arms.
When they arrive to the district, they're both quick to hop out. They're both quick to get inside as the sky opens up to release the pouring rain that was predicted early this morning by the weatherman. They're both quick to shimmy the droplets of rain water off themselves once they step into the precinct. And they're both quick in their quest to buzz into Intelligence and climb the stairs up to the bullpen. The sooner Erin speaks with the two detectives, the quicker she'll be able to get back to working on their case. Once Lindsay's foot landed on the top stair, she sees the officers –one man and one woman, they're departing from the breakroom with Tyler.
"It's hot in here," Burgess complains –it's the first voice Erin hears when she arrives, "I hardly got any sleep last night, I'm so tired. And I want to go home…back to my place, not Adam's." Her complaints are in Atwater's direction; Erin ignores it.
"I'm Detective Lindsay," Erin feels a little out of breath at her introduction; from all the quick movements, she feels the sudden rush of adrenaline start to simmer down, "I heard you two wanted to speak with me." Burgess watches her best friend. She gives her a questioning eye, making sure that Erin was okay.
"Yeah, I'm Detective Johnson," the blonde male announced, walking towards Erin with his hand extended; they shake hands, "and this is my partner Detective Garcia," he points over his shoulder towards the Hispanic woman, and she waves, "We're investigating Trent Walsh's murder; someone at the bar identified you and Detective West at having been two of the last people to see him alive. Would you like to speak in private?"
Voight answers for her, "You can talk to her out here."
"I don't mind," Lindsay chimes in, assuring both detectives that it's fine.
As Erin walks pass her husband in order to lead the two detectives towards her desk, she notices a hesitation. Detective Garcia's eyes are on Jay, she gives him a brief overview and blushes when his own eyes catch hers checking him out. It seems Detective Garcia has a little crush on Halstead, and by the look on Erin's face, Jay could tell he wasn't the only one who noticed the side glances that Detective Garcia occasionally passed in his direction. Soon enough Garcia pulls her eyes away and catches the furrowed and suspecting look on Lindsay's face, she's embarrassed and she decides to clear her throat and focus back on the task at hand, "We understand that you had an argument with Mr. Walsh last night."
"I did," Erin admitted; her brows are still furrowed and she's looking at her husband. Jay is back at his desk; the look Lindsay sends his way goes unnoticed by him.
Detective Johnson pries for more, "About what?"
"He couldn't take no for an answer."
She pulls her chair out and takes a seat. Her once furrowed brows are gone and her face is relaxed, except for the distrusting look that appears every few seconds. Detective Garcia still looks flustered –she's still embarrassed from accidentally being caught ogling a man while in a professional capacity. The detective tunes into the questions –Detective Johnson obviously taking the lead- and her eyes begin scanning Erin's desk. It's organized. It's neat. And besides the usual things one would find on a detective's desk, she sees two picture frames. One photo is of Detective Lindsay and the detective that Garcia had been checking out at what appears to be their wedding night. The second photo is of the same two detectives standing in front of a house, holding up keys and kissing. He was taken. He was married. The suspecting look on Erin's face fell the second she saw Detective Garcia staring down at the two pictures. She knows now, and Erin has no further reason to keep the skeptical expression upon her face. Detective Garcia now knew why Detective Lindsay had been eyeing her; she was embarrassed even more because of it. With her hands tucked into her front pants pocket, she listens in as Detective Johnson continues with the questioning, "Was he drunk?"
"Very."
"And was he still at the bar when you left?"
"Yes. He was with his friends."
Erin catches Detective West staring at her from across the bullpen. Once her eyes catch his, he smiles and looks away. If she didn't know him, she would have thought he was flustered or embarrassed at being caught. That wasn't like Tyler. Lindsay turns away, purposely choosing not to question it further. It wasn't any of her business how he acts. She only knew him for eleven weeks; that's hardly enough time to say you truly know someone.
"His friends said that he stayed at the bar hours after they left," Detective Garcia replies; she's finally got herself together and is over the obvious embarrassment enough to do her job.
"I know nothing about that. Tyler and I left before all of them."
"Is there anything else you can tell us? Nothing is too small or unimportant."
Lindsay raises her hand –a curious childlike expression on her face, "I actually have a question."
"We might have an answer." Detective Garcia responds, pulling her hands out of her pockets, "What's up?"
"How did he die?"
Detective Johnson bites his lip, "It was gruesome." He shakes his head trying to shake the image of Trent's body out of his head. He had been one of the first responders at the scene.
"We're all cops. I can handle it."
Detective Garcia chooses to answer her question, "His throat was cut open and his vocal cords were removed."
This earns the attention of the entire unit. They all look up and look over. Trent's throat was cut open and his own vocal cords were snatched out. That's sick. It's gruesome just as Detective Johnson had described. Who could possibly do that to a human being? Erin shudders; her shoulders tremble at the thought, and she thanks some unknown being for not having to be the first to arrive at the scene. She's sad for Trent's ex-wife and son. She couldn't imagine walking in to find Jay or Voight like that; she shudders again at that thought. Erin pinches the bridge of her nose as she stares down at the files resting on the center of her desk –it gives her a thought.
"Were his vocal cords left at the scene?" She looks up to meet the detectives' eyes.
"No," Detective Garcia answers; a look of confusion is evident on her face, "And the coroner on the scene was able to tell us that the perpetrator tried to actually strangle him first."
"Strangle him?" This peaked Halstead's interest; he walks over.
"Yeah, with some beaded necklace," Detective Johnson shrugged it off, smirking at the perpetrator's actual attempt to strangle a huge man with a cheap piece of jewelry, "Loose beads were found around him and the inside of his car; the necklace must have popped when Trent fought back. His fingers have indents from pulling at the sharp beads."
"Someone attempted to strangle him with beads?" Halstead prodded, and Detective Garcia turns to face him –she nods and reaches into her pocket.
Inside her pocket was a small evidence bag. The district was on the way to where she was supposed to drop the beads off. They were all loose beads –picked up one by one- placed inside the bag and sealed to keep it protected from any further external contaminations. Halstead is handed the bag and he immediately walks over to the pictures taped up to the whiteboard. The pictures were crime scene photos of everything, but the deceased. The women deserved more than to have their dead bodies taped up to a whiteboard –their DMV photos were used instead while their post-death photos remained inside their files. Jay holds them up to the captured photo of the beaded necklace used in the murder of Amanda Scott. They're a match.
Voight notices the resemblance of the beads, "It can't be a coincidence."
"He's also missing his vocal cords," Dawson chimed in, approaching the board to take a closer look at the photo and the beads.
"The party beads were also left around him," Olinsky adds.
"Why would he change his pattern though?" Erin questions; she forgets about Detective Johnson and Garcia's presence as she turns to face her team, "He killed a male this time."
Burgess suggested, "Maybe he got in his way…"
"I was there at the bar with him," Lindsay proclaimed, briefly looking over at Tyler and meeting his eyes –he was there too; "Do you think our perpetrator could have been there as well?"
"Yeah, or our perpetrator could have met him at the club and coincidentally he happened to be killed after he met you." Halstead responds, handing Detective Garcia back the beads.
"We don't know if he even went to the club," Atwater remarks.
"…the beads," Dawson instantly reminds him; it's the biggest piece of evidence in their investigation, "It's the only link all the victims have in common. How else would he have gotten on the killer's radar? Why would Trent have party beads in the first place?"
Olinsky pointed to Erin, earning her attention, "How did you meet him?"
"He wanted to buy me a drink."
"Please tell me you didn't take him up on his offer." Burgess pleaded, worry evident in her tone. It confuses most of the team, but they overlook her adamant plea when Erin answers, drawing away their attention.
"Of course not…that's why Gaby said she saw us arguing. I declined and he didn't take no for an answer…but we left before him, we left before he could cause trouble."
Detective Johnson and Garcia stood quiet. Their heads switched in different directions depending on who was speaking at the time. With all the people talking at different points, it was hard to keep up. It was hard to follow along with what they're discussing.
"Can someone explain to us what's going on?" It was Detective Johnson who voiced their need for clarity. And the entire team looked at Voight to answer.
"We believe Trent Walsh's death has something to do with the case we're currently working on," his arms are crossed over his chest as he stands in front of both detectives, "My team would like to work this case. There are too many coincidences in Walsh's death that links to the murder of four women in Chicago and two women in Indianapolis."
Garcia looks at Johnson, and he looks at her; they have a silent discussion with their eyes before Detective Garcia turns back to Voight, "No argument from us; you can take the case."
"We'll send over any case files, the information on Trent's ex-wife and friends, and the chain of custody list for each piece of evidence," Detective Johnson added. There wasn't much conversation to follow and with a nod of thanks, the two detectives left the unit.
As Erin stands between Voight and Halstead, she watches them as their eyes follow the two departing detectives until they're out of everyone's line of vision. Everyday brought forth new information; unfortunately, it took for someone else to be killed for them to get it. Trent Walsh's death had been a big turn of events. If further investigation proved that their perpetrator indeed killed Trent, then the killer isn't only targeting brunette women, it means the killer is branching out and beginning to target any and every one. Trent was physically built and had the personality of a high school jock, but that didn't deter him from becoming the next victim. There had to be something about him, something that he did, or something that he didn't do that made him stand out from all of the other clubbers, it had to be big enough for him to be chosen, for the perpetrator to decide to break his pattern and go outside of his normal comfort zone.
Lindsay watches the team group together, pulling up chairs near the white board to look over what they have as Mouse waits at his computer for an email –with the case file attachments- from the district over. As Erin starts pushing her chair towards the whiteboard to sit with the rest of the team, the nausea in the pit of her stomach starts coming back. She wants to cover her mouth with one hand, but the sign of doing that would hint towards her nausea. Instead, she leaves her chair in between Halstead and Atwater and attempted to walk as normal as possible towards the breakroom. She enters the breakroom and immediately walks over to the sink. Erin leans over the faucet to rip off two paper towels and after wetting them underneath the faucet water, she pats the towels against her forehead. The nausea is still there, it's present, and it increases. It's an empty nauseous feeling; she feels like she's going to puke, but at the same time, she feels like nothing is going to come up.
She takes a deep breath. She tosses the paper towel into the nearby trashcan. Her eyes close. And she grips the edge of the countertop, deciding it's best to just wait for the nausea to pass. She licks her lips and counts up the seconds until her tummy is subdued. She's hot. She's starting to sweat. Some women had easy pregnancies and here Lindsay was, in her third month, and having one of the worst pregnancies ever. As her eyes remain closed, a voice whispers into her ear, "I have you on the top of my to-do list."
Erin jumps. She's startled, and out of fear, she turns around and shoves Tyler away from her. His hands fly into the air as he chuckles. She doesn't find it funny. Her heart is pounding and soon enough it'll figuratively beat out of her chest. She grabs another paper towel, "Don't ever say something like that to me again," she wets it under the cold faucet water, "That is by far the most inappropriate thing you've ever said to me…and it needs to stop." She pats it against her face.
"Are you afraid of what you'll do if it doesn't?"
"Leave me alone."
Tyler doesn't respond. He simply moves beside her and starts making himself a cup of coffee. She continually pats the paper towel against her forehead until she hears a deep sigh of frustration coming from the doorway. It's Burgess. She storms inside. She's irritated. She loudly takes a seat and crosses her arms. Tyler stirs his coffee, nods towards Kim, and leaves the breakroom. Erin can tell Kim wants to talk; it's the reason she came into the breakroom. She needed the ear of her best friend to listen and her wise brain to offer her some advice. However, Erin doesn't turn around at the sigh being released from Kim's mouth; she's not feeling well, and she purposely ignores it.
"Aren't you going to ask what's bothering me?" Burgess leans back in the plastic chair, and crosses her arms over her chest.
Erin grabs another paper towel and sighs, "What's bothering you?"
"Besides the heat and the fact that I only got four hours of sleep last night, what's bothering me is Ruzek," Burgess remarks, sitting up and staring at the back of Erin's head, "I have a good man. Don't get me wrong, I love Adam, I just want him to mature. He needs to grow up! I want him to propose," she rises to her feet, "I want to get married," her words come out in a whine as she walks around the table, "I want to have a baby!" Burgess is grinning from ear to ear at the thought, "And I want to move into a bigger place, a house, a grown-up house!"
"So take action…"
"That's all you got for me?"
"Yeah," Erin throws the paper towels into the trashcan, "that's all I got for you."
"When you come to me for advice, I at least look interested. I at least care. You can't look more uninterested even if you tried Erin," Burgess exclaimed, approaching her closest friend.
"I don't know what you want from me," Erin whispers; her eyes close again and she grips the edge of the countertop. She thinks about the baby; she finds herself doing that a lot when her nausea strikes. She thinks about the reasoning behind it.
"I want you to be the friend to me that I am to you."
"Fine," Erin snaps; she turns around almost instantaneously, "With every breath you take Burgess, some person out there just took their last," her nausea starts to settle down, "So I suggest you stop complaining about what you have and be thankful for not having worse."
Kim looks caught off guard –she's dumbfounded and momentarily speechless. Her hands settle against her hips as she quickly approaches Erin, "You don't get to act all high and mighty like you have your life together."
"I was just giving you some hard truths."
"And you expect me to listen to your advice when you won't even listen to mine?" It's the last thing Burgess mutters before storming away. She leaves Erin standing at the counter, now opening her eyes to find her best friend gone.
Lindsay bows her head and sighs, "You try to do something nice for a change, then you have it thrown right back into your face." She grabs a dry paper towel to wipe the drips of water off her face, and before she is able to throw it into the trashcan, Halstead enters the room, with Mr. Foster –Linda's husband- following behind him.
At the sight of Mr. Foster, Lindsay runs her hand over her face and stretches a grin across her lips. Regardless of how she's feeling internally, she wouldn't allow her bad mood to affect how she talks to Linda's grieving husband. She knew that Burgess would get over it; they've argued countless times in their friendship, but it only made them stronger. Erin pulls out a chair for Mr. Foster as he and Jay walked further into the room, "Mr. Foster this is Detective Lindsay."
"I remember," he whispers; his voice is too low for them to hear, but instead of stepping closer, they simply nod –both unknowing of what he said. Mr. Foster clears his throat and speaks louder as he continues, "thanks for the seat," he sits in the chair that Erin pulled out, "and you both can call me Sheldon, no need for formalities."
"…then we're Erin and Jay," Halstead reintroduced, pulling a chair up to the side of Sheldon.
"I didn't come to talk much," Sheldon admits, twirling the wedding band around his finger, "I only came to ask when I could get Linda's possessions back."
"No one gave them back to you?" Jay's surprised. Usually after collecting the evidence and shedding the victim of the items they wore or had on their persons, the personal possessions that had nothing to do with the case was given back to the closest family member.
"I haven't received anything," Sheldon replies, watching as Jay and Erin's eyes meet. A silent conversation is conducted between the two, and Lindsay rises to her feet and gives Mr. Foster a nod of the head, "I'll be right back. I'll see what I can do about that."
Erin leaves Jay sitting with the grieving husband. It's quiet between the two. Normally Jay isn't the one to sit with the victims' family members. He's usually not that great with talking and comforting strangers, but from the silent conversation he had with Erin just now, he could see she wasn't up for being that person. She wasn't quick to rush to comfort Sheldon as she has comforted many people more times than any of them could count. She needed this break. And Jay gave it to her. He watched her leave, and now he sat silently beside Mr. Foster.
"You're married," as Sheldon twirls the ring around his finger, he notices the one on Jay's, "I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life when I married Linda. When we were separated, I was so angry and I thought we were over for good…and I was happy about it." Mr. Foster is speaking aloud and staring forward, "With our kids, we stopped focusing on our marriage and our life started to revolve around them. When they grew up, they didn't need us as much and we didn't know how to get back to what we were," there's a break in Sheldon's voice and Jay catches it, "We figured a separation was for the best, but the more time I spent without her, the more I wanted to be with her. Then I found out she was seeing some guy and I couldn't bear it, I had to find her, I had to get her back. And then once I did, once we made plans to go to counseling and work on our marriage, she was taken from me." His tale forces Jay to stare down at his own wedding band; he's still clueless as to what to say to Mr. Foster so he chooses to remain silent and allow the man to continue spilling his heart out, "It's not my place to offer marriage advice, especially since mine wasn't perfect, but-" he cuts himself off to turn and face Jay, "how long have you two been married?"
"Six years."
The answer seems to bring a smile to Sheldon's face, "I shouldn't offer marriage advice, but I feel like if someone offered me some, I wouldn't be here. Linda would still be alive. My kids would still have their mom. I would still have my wife. But, no one gave me advice," Sheldon disclosed more to himself than to Jay, however his attention is shifted back on Jay when he remembers to give the detective a word of wisdom, "I want to give you advice and I don't know if it's more for your benefit or mine. I just wish someone gave me and Linda the same advice."
"And what would that be?" Jay encourages; his smile shows Sheldon that he wants to hear what he has to say, he wants his advice and he'll appreciate every advised word that is spoken.
"Forget the petty arguments; in the end, they're not worth it at all."
Halstead doesn't respond; he just nods his head and takes in the advised words of Mr. Foster –a man older, wiser and more experienced than he is. Erin walks into the room, smiling brightly and extending a bag towards Sheldon. He's grinning from ear to ear and it makes both Erin and Jay beam. They're looking at each other as Sheldon opens the bag and starts looking through it. He pulls out a hair clip –something small and worthless, but it means the world to him. He sets it down onto the table and reaches back into the bag. This time he pulls out possessions that were inside of her purse, and by the time he empties the bag, the once beaming smile on his face is gone. His mouth is agape and he starts looking back and forth between the two detectives.
"What's wrong?" Erin asks, rushing up to his side.
"Her wedding ring," Sheldon answers, turning the bag upside down and shaking it, "it's not in here. Do you all still have it? Is it evidence? When can I get it back?"
Lindsay starts ruffling through the possessions spread out onto the table, "If it's not in there, then we aren't in possession of it," Erin starts picking up different items before setting them back down, "Are you sure she was wearing it?"
"That asshole must have kept it when he took her fingers!" Sheldon shouted, throwing each possession back into the bag. He's hurt. It's the one thing he wanted back the most. He wanted to put it on a chain and wear it around his neck. He wanted to keep it and give it to one of his kids when it was time for them to get married. He wanted to pass it down so it stayed within the family. Of all the things in the bag, Sheldon wanted that back the most.
"What does it look like?" Erin asks, sitting back down in her seat, "I'm going to find it for you, but I need you to describe it to me."
"It's an old ring. It looks kind of ancient. It has been passed down in my family for generations, but when I was given it, I paid to get an inscription carved into the inside. It says to my Linda, with all my love Sheldon." He struggles to remain calm as he places the last item back into the bag. He's breathing deeply, and his eyes avert from the bag of possessions and up to Erin, "Detective Lindsay I know I shouldn't get this upset over a materialistic possession, but my wife is gone, and this is something that was a symbol of my love for her –our love for each other," his eyes glance down to her wedding ring, "I'm sure you understand."
She nods, "I do," her eyes meet Jay's and another silent conversation occurs between the two, ending with a smile tugging at both of their lips.
"Thank you both," Sheldon licks his lips and rises to his feet, "I appreciate you listening," he tells Jay, "and I appreciate you giving me back her possessions," he tells Erin, holding the bag of things up close against his chest. His eyes briefly close and he sharply inhales in; he'll have to take and accept what he's got. Detective Lindsay told him that she'll get the ring back and he had no reason to doubt her. She was married. If anyone understood what the symbol of a wedding ring means, it's someone who has also experienced the bliss of marriage.
Mouse briefly looks up to sadly watch as Erin and Jay lead Mr. Foster out of the breakroom. They lead him to the staircase, and both detectives watch him as he descends down upon them. Since Mr. Foster arrived, Mouse and Atwater had resumed combing through the surveillance footage –frame by frame and second by second- it was tedious work, but someone had to do it.
"Here's our first victim again," Atwater pointed out, reaching over Mouse's shoulder to point at Michelle as she left the restroom, "Wait." They watch her approach a man. She's standing in front of him, and they cross their fingers in hopes of her stepping to the side. It's a dim light, but what light is offered bounces off the back of her head. If she moves out of the way, hopefully the light is strong enough and bright enough for them to get at least a partial clear view of his face. They're still looking, and when she throws her hair over her shoulder, the quick movement of her head shifts to the side briefly –Mouse pauses the footage. Atwater lifts his finger from the screen when he spots the male face, "Is that?" Both men look up and glance at Tyler, as he sits against the edge of Kim's desk, sipping his coffee.
Atwater stays at the desk as Mouse rises from his seat. They have a silent understanding of what's about to occur. Atwater is going to stay at Mouse's desk and continue to watch the footage to see what will happen between the two as Mouse goes into Voight's office. He casually walks down the aisle of the bullpen, and knocks gently against the office door of his boss. He acts normal –his mannerisms are calm. Once Voight tells him to come in, he quickly opens the door, steps inside and shuts it swiftly behind him.
Mouse exasperatedly informs, "We found something!" He rushes over to Voight's desk and leans his hands on top of it, "We've been following Michelle Danvers around on surveillance and we got a brief glimpse of the man she was with; it's Tyler."
Without another word, Voight stands, walks pass Mouse and exits his office. He walks out into the bullpen, and each detective's head turns to face him. He slowly, but angrily stomps towards Tyler who still remains sitting against the corner of Kim's desk, drinking the last bit of his coffee. He snatches the coffee cup out of Tyler's hand and sets it down onto Kim's desk, "How come you never told us you knew the first victim?"
"I wanted to stay on the case," Tyler admits, as each detective looks at him in bewilderment; they're all curious to hear what he has to say after Voight's declaration, "I knew if I had told you that I knew her then you would take me off of it. This case is personal for me."
"Do you know any of the other victims?"
"No," Tyler smoothly replies.
"So, when Mouse and Atwater finish combing through the video feed of the rest of the victims, they won't find any communication between you and them?" Voight is clear with his question; he's still angry that Detective West withheld information from him, but he's trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt; he's offering him a chance to be honest and clear.
"No."
"What about the victims in Indianapolis?" Halstead steps forward and asks.
"I don't know them at all," Tyler admits, bowing his head in sadness; he grabs his cup off the desk and resumes drinking the last few sips. He grasps his empty cup in the center of both of his hands as he rises from the corner of the desk. No one stops him as he walks into the breakroom to wash out the borrowed cup he used.
As Tyler washes the cup out, he feels a headache start to emerge. He takes one hand and hits it against his forehead, trying to literally knock the headache out. It doesn't work. Instead, his face contorts to a painful expression as he tries to manage the ache in his head. His eyes are closed and before he can finish rinsing the soap off the cup, he hears the water turn off. He reopens his eyes to find those of Erin's staring back at him, "I've never seen eyes more beautiful than yours." She ignores his compliment, takes the cup from him and sits it in the sink.
"How come you really didn't say anything about knowing Michelle?" She's skeptical, and her arms cross over her chest.
"Like I told Sergeant Voight, I figured if you all knew about me having contact with her, you would think I was too close to the case."
"Are you?"
"No."
"You were very adamant about working this case with us."
"It was the right thing to do," Tyler asserts, turning to face her; he takes in her flushed face and looks into her exhausted eyes, "Even when you're tired, your eyes are still pretty."
"I'm not here to talk about my eyes."
He glances down before bringing his eyes back up to meet hers, "Erin-"
"Stop."
"I just thought you should know that I am mentally undressing you with my eyes right now."
"Shut up," Erin rolls her eyes, and steps back to add space between she and Tyler, "We work together. Stop with the inappropriate comments before I file a workplace sexual harassment suit against you."
Tyler turns back on the faucet water, "You're one of those girls who play extremely hard to get."
"And you're one of those guys who don't understand the word stop and no." Erin has nothing left to say. She sees Tyler begin rinsing out the rest of the cup as she uses the distraction to back out of the breakroom.
Her nausea is starting to come back, and she finds herself mentally counting down the weeks until she's in her second trimester. The first and the third were always said to be the hardest. The second is supposed to give her a break from the first and a little rest before the third. She's two weeks shy of her second trimester, and as her stomach riddles with nausea due to the small breakfast she had this morning, she sneaks off to the nearest restroom and discards the little contents within her belly.
As she dabs a wet paper towel against the corners of her mouth, she takes in her reflection. She looks tired. She looks drained. She honestly doesn't think she's going to have another child –not at the rate this pregnancy is going. Erin throws the paper towel into the trash, grabs a stick of gum from her pocket and shoves it into her mouth. It's the best substitute she has to mask the task in her mouth. Erin exits the bathroom –pushing the door open and feeling it bump against a weighted figure. She jumps back at the sight of Voight, "Sorry."
"Go home kid," Hank orders; his voice is soft and she can tell he's really worried about her; "You don't look so good. I want you to take the rest of the day off. You've been working yourself hard and you deserve it." Erin looks around, ensuring herself that they're alone. She grabs his hand and tugs him off to the end of the hallway. They're standing at the end of the hallway –facing each other- an expression of concern embedded on his face.
"I have to tell you something," she whispers; her hand still remains within his.
"Is it good or bad?"
Erin presses her lips together in a straight line and shrugs, "I honestly don't know yet."
"What is it kid? You can't leave me hanging."
"I'm pregnant."
It's still hard to admit. It still takes some time to get used to it. Everyone who knows seems to be happy for her –her doctor, Platt, Burgess, Tyler and now Voight. He was smiling –beaming ear to ear. And he couldn't fight the urge to hug her. He holds her tight –as tight as he could without hurting her- and with a fatherly kiss against the side of her head, he draws back, "I'm so happy for you and Halstead. I'm going to be a grandpa again."
"Hank, you can't say anything yet," Lindsay avowed; her hand drifts down to rest at her lower tummy, "Jay doesn't know yet."
"When are you planning on telling him? He's going to find out eventually."
"…in the beginning of my second trimester."
Voight's eyes drift down to her hand covering the small baby bump, "How far along are you?"
"Eleven weeks; I'll tell him sometime in the next few weeks." She knows there's fear in her eyes, and once Hank realized it, he pulled her into another hug, "I'm going to tell Halstead when the time is right. This wasn't planned…and I want to go about this the right way. He can't find out from anyone besides me –it'll break his heart."
"I won't say a word, but I'm still sending you home."
Erin steps out of the hug, "I don't want preferential treatment Hank; I'm not ready for everyone else to find out."
"I want you to rest. You look exhausted like you haven't slept much. I'm not sending you home for good; it's just for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the week."
Lindsay sighs and before she could object further, Voight shouts out Halstead's name. It's loud. He makes sure it's loud enough for the detective to hear, and once Jay walks over to the end of the hallway –confusion on his face- Voight speaks to clarify why he's been called over, "You and Erin rode here together?"
"Yeah."
"I'm giving the both of you the rest of the day off."
"Why?"
Erin's eyes flash to Hank, and he shows no sign of telling Halstead what Erin just told him. He simply shakes his head and tucks his hands into his front pockets, "Just accept the fact that I'm giving you the rest of the day off and go home. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."
It's a relief to Erin; Voight was a beautiful liar. He could do it with ease. And he had the authority to stop others from questioning him and the decisions he makes. Without further discussion, Erin and Jay grab their jackets and a few belongings they brought with them to work today and left. No one batted an eye. No one questioned it. Everyone was too focused on work to notice the two detectives departing from the precinct. If they did notice anything, they would just assume Voight sent them out for something work related.
Erin hated being sent home –it has happened before when she falls ill. She didn't like missing out on the action. She wanted to help solve the case, she wanted to be out on the field and she really wanted to be there when they identified, captured and arrested the killer. She was missing out and she was going to miss out even more when she returns tomorrow. Now that Voight knows, he's definitely not going to let her out into the field. He'll keep her hostage and working inside the Intelligence bullpen.
As they arrive home, Erin uses the remaining few seconds in the car to talk to her husband. It wasn't about the main issues within their marriage –it was a simple conversation involving the normal everyday married-life topics.
"What are you about to do?"
Jay shrugs as he pulls up the driveway, "…take a nap. Maybe when I wake up, I'll order us some lunch. We need to go to the grocery store today too."
"Yeah, we can do that after we eat lunch," Erin replies. The best thing about having the day off is being able to catch up on chores and errands. Lindsay steps out of the car and closes the door, "I'm tired, but I don't think I'll be able to take a nap. I think it's pass time I catch up on laundry; we're running out of clean underclothes to wear."
And with that, they both exhaustedly step into the house, part ways and do what they've said they'd do. Jay kicks off his shoes and heads straight upstairs. Erin goes into the bedroom and drags the full laundry bag out of their bedroom as her husband falls down face first onto their bed. Snores emit from his body seconds afterwards.
As the washing machine begins filling up with water, Erin pours a cap size of detergent into the machine. The basket rests on the side table beside the appliance, as she starts pulling articles of clothes out one by one. Shirt after shirt, pants after pants, underwear after underwear, she throws the colored clothing inside of the washer. Digging her hands into each pants pocket to make sure she doesn't wash something that doesn't belong –like a few dollar bills like last time- she notices the bulge in a pair of her pants pocket. Lindsay withdraws the velvety box, and a reminder of the vintage ring she was sent months ago comes back to mind. She had forgotten all about it. And after opening the box to allow the old ring to appear in its antique glory, she removes it from jewelry box. It's pressed between two of her fingers and as she stares down at it, inspecting the aged ring, she notices something –an inscription.
In small font –almost unnoticeable to the naked eye- it reads to my Linda, with all my love Sheldon. The ring drops. She throws the pants into the washer and shuts the door. Lindsay attempts to scoop it up immediately, her hands fumbling against the carpet as she tries to scoop up the small ring. It rolls beneath the washing machine, and her hand slides beneath it to pat against the carpet in search, "Jay!" Lindsay shouts; the tips of her fingers brush against it, "Jay! Jay, wake up!" She grabs the ring just as Halstead runs out of their bedroom, "I found something."