Guilt and Consequences
Written by Justine
Fuck, it's happening again.
Every since I left the house this morning I've been getting these glances, some obscene, some disgusted, some questioning. People staring at me from their cars on the beltway. The lady in the Daily Grind laughing when I didn't have the correct change and had to break a twenty for my order. Two body-bag wannabe corner thugs whispering as I walk into the station. I hate this dream.
I remember thinking it would all be okay once I get to my squad.
Homicide...my savior, my lover. My job is important. The most important job a man can have. I speak for the dead and I'm good at it. I'm one of the best. I hear their voices whispering in my ear and I avenge their blood stained corpses. I apprehend murderers. What other job holds more significance?
When I get to my desk I sit down and prepare my coffee. A jelly donut? I didn't order a jelly donut. The powdered sugar is disgusting and I throw it back into the bag. I wanted a croissant. I don't eat donuts, especially not jelly donuts. That's Tim's favorite. Maybe I'll give it to him when I see him and do something nice to brighten his day. He'll probably get all mushy and make a big deal out of one messy little sugary confection. The image makes me uncomfortable so I throw the donut bag into the trash. For some reason that action makes me very sad. Tim really would have liked that damn donut. I wonder if I should go and get him another one or just grab the bag out of the garbage and stick it on his desk but ultimately I do neither and that makes me even sadder.
A loud sound like a gunshot startles me and I jump to my feet. I feel hot breath at the back of my neck and spin around hoping to find a trace of the person responsible but there's no one at all. The department is nearly deserted.
"What the hell's your problem?" I shout at Naomi and she looks the other way.
This is really starting to get to me and I breathe deep, in and out, out and in and then look around the room. I've got my gun dammit. I'm sitting at my desk. My eyes find Falsone and he grins at me. Stupid little bastard. Why the hell doesn't he
leave me alone?
I turn to ask Tim if he knows what's happening but he's not there. Where the fuck is he? He's my partner dammit. He should be here by now but his desk is empty. Probably fucking Chris Rawls again. God I hate to think about sex first thing in the morning. Especially Tim and that man he's been screwing around with three or four times a day for the past two months. Sure, he's been cheerful, easier to talk to, smiling more. But some days he comes in exhausted; his hair tousled and his moist hazel eyes coated with sleep. The look on his face radiates pure heaven. What the hell does that man do to him?
Tim's changed so much since we first became partners. The soul crunching horrors he's survived have strengthened him but on cloudy days I can still see the hurt in his eyes. A wounded child trapped inside the body of a full-grown man.
Suddenly the air turns cold. A breeze strong enough to rustle paper tears into the room, and I know with a certainty that stills my heart that I must find my partner. Tim needs me and I have to locate him fast. I get up and run out of the squad, spilling my coffee in the process and once again I'm the center of attention. Why is this happening? I only want to find Tim.
I move quickly but I don't recognize many of the faces that scurry past me.
"Did you see Tim?" I shout to Gee but he simply stares me up and down with a look of mild amusement on his face and walks away. Fuck you dammit. Fuck all of you.
I turn a corner and notice a large gray door looming menacingly at the end of the hall. I reach for the knob not knowing what I'll find but somehow realizing that it's imperative for me to open this door and go inside.
I'm in the box. This can't be right. The box is down the other end of the hall. I can not be standing in the fucking box. The tables are here, the two-sided window, the drab mustard walls. It's definitely the box but it's wrong somehow. Then I realize that the furniture is arranged upside down. It looks exactly like the time I saw Munch closing up the bar. Everything is arranged orderly but not. It bothers me and I turn to leave.
"Where you going Frank? I thought you needed to see me,"
I spin around and stare into the face of Mike Kellerman. This is definitely not right. Kellerman shouldn't be here, he's not a cop anymore, yet here he sits, arms folded, scowl deepening. I sit across from him and start an interrogation. I'm in the box. It's what I do.
"Well, let me have it Frank. Make me spill my guts. Confessions always make me hard. "
I'm at a loss for words.. Kellerman's eyes are burning with a passion I've never seen before and as I lean forward to get a better look, I notice he's not brave, but frightened. He's a scared kid who's done something wrong in school and doesn't want to be punished and I'm the Jesuit preacher who's gonna give him the whooping of his Irish Catholic life.
I reach for my belt and notice I'm not wearing it. In fact, I'm not wearing anything at all. Kellerman stares at me knowingly and shakes his head.
"How does it feel Frank?"
Suddenly he's as naked as I am and I want to run and hide. I have to call Mary and get her to bring down my suit. It's the only way I can keep my self-respect. I imagine what Tim will say and I shudder. Munch will have a field day when this gets back to him. Of course Falsone will tell Lewis.
"How does what feel?" I refuse to play his game. Kellerman fucked everything and he's going to pay for what he did. He killed Mahoney, started a drug war, got Stu and Ballard shot. And Tim.... "Oh god!"
"That's right Frank. You screwed up. How does it feel?"
Tim isn't here because Tim is in the hospital dying. I walk down the corridor to his room with Kellerman beside me. I don't know why he's walking with me.
We're still both naked as jaybirds but I have my badge and he doesn't.
"You took that from me Frank."
"No, you gave it away."
"You still don't get it, do you?"
Kellerman shakes his head sadly and tears start to fall down his cheeks. They cling to his long lashes before falling and suddenly he's sobbing. I wrap my arms around him gently and stroke his muscular back as he slumps bonelessly into my arms.
"Shhh," I tell him. "It's gonna be fine." His head is on my shoulder and I inhale his brisk clean scent. The shudders of his body are zoning straight to my cock. I don't know what surprises me more, my erection or his. Kellerman doesn't seem to notice what he's doing to me. I move my body lightly against him and he moans softly into my neck. I pull away and stare into his sweet blue eyes. I could have this man. I could take him hard right here in the corridor.
I feel my cock start to throb and he whimpers. I realize I've been squeezing his shoulders but I don't release my grip. He regards me intently for a moment and moves in to kiss my mouth. The taste of him is wonderful.
Unfiltered cigarettes and whiskey. Even though I've never been with a man I want to take him very badly. I push him into the first unlocked room and shove hard, my body trapping his in a tight embrace. All the while the kiss continues. It's impossibly long and I want him to stop so I can start other things, but Kellerman will
not let go of my mouth. He's sucking my bottom lip, biting it furiously as our tongues battle it out on the roofs of our mouths.
Jesus he's good. Fire and brimstone be damned, I'm gonna have this man. I grab his short blonde hair and open my mouth wider. Our cocks dance, slick with moisture, our bellies burn as our legs intertwine. His body is pale and mine's so dark. I like the contrast. I wonder if he's ever done it with a man. Maybe Lewis or even Tim.
Our lips finally unlock and I shove him against the wall. He's panting hard, his muscular chest heaving, his body soaked with sweat. I want him desperately and I don't even know why. He shakes himself out of my grip and starts to walk away. For some reason this action upsets me and I know I'll never see this man again. I try to reach out and pull him back but I'm torn by what to do.
He's both a good cop and a bad cop. I touch his shoulder and he stiffens. My cock is still painfully hard but I notice that he no longer has an erection.
I look at him questioningly and he smiles.
"You had to kiss me Frank. It's the polite thing to do after you fuck someone.
His eyes turn sadly to the far corner of the room and for the first time I notice that Tim is lying in the bed. His face is still as death. He looks so small and helpless. I hate to see him so quiet. The large white tube snaking morbidly down his milky white throat keeps him from making any sound but that doesn't really matter. The sounds and smells of death are everywhere.
I move to sit on the bed and take Tim's hand in mine. I want him to wake up so badly. His chest moves up and down in a tragic rhythm. I hate the thump and beep of the respirator that's keeping him alive. It drowns out my thoughts, the sound so loud I can't hear anything else. "Oh god…Tim."
"Get away from my son!" Tim's mother Virginia is staring at me accusingly while she smoothes his short, soft hair in loving motherly strokes. "He thinks the world of you but you don't need friends. He's such a stupid fool.
A lying fool."
Her words sour my saliva and I need to spit very bad. Tim can't defend himself against her accusations. She's the liar here not my partner. Suddenly I hate her more than any villain I've known. She never protected my friend from abuse. She looked the other way when her only child cried. "He cried at Christmas! Didn't you wonder why? Or Thanksgiving? Didn't you care?"
VIrginia ignores my rave and tucks the blanket close around Tim's thin frame. He needs to eat more. God, I should have saved him that donut. She traces the outline of his cheek and I shudder. Her wrinkled hands on his body disgust me. "Stop touching him!" I yell over and over pushing her hands away.
I throw my body
across Tim's and he stops breathing. His skin feels so cold under mine. I pull away sobbing and clutch his body tight. "Breathe baby, breathe."
I bury my face in his neck and cry. He's dead. Oh god Tim's dead. I shake him roughly but it's no use. His head is bobbing back and forth like a puppet and his lips are blue. No more Timmy. Oh god no. I can't face this. I can't bury my partner. The ground is damp and Tim gets chilled so fast. I see him lying in a coffin with his hands folded and his mouth set. He's wearing his best gray suit and his eyes are wide open. Two lifeless voids staring straight into my soul. "I'm sorry," I cry as the tears rain down my cheeks.
I raise my hand to close his lids and notice it's covered in blood. Crimson drippings taint my fingers and coat Tim's eyelids. That's when I notice that Tim is back in his hospital bed and bleeding from the bullet wound on his back. Dead men don't bleed. This I know. I'm wild to get the blood off me. I think about wiping it on
Tim's sheet but he's bleeding profusely and I can't find a clean spot.
I look around nervously and in the blink of an eye I'm standing in the men's room at the station letting hot water pour over my hands. I look in the mirror and smile but it's Tim's face I see grinning. He's already forgiven me. I turn away and close my eyes before looking back into the accusing glass. The familiar scowl of my own face greets me and I sigh in relief.
Blood is still coming off my hands but I continue to wash, confident that the soap and water will cleanse me. I scrub harder but nothing works. With a jolt I notice that Kellerman is standing next to me, his hands mingled with mine underneath the scalding flow.
"Keep trying Frank," he says. "It’s a lot tougher than it looks."
I wake up cold and dripping in sweat. I'm so relieved to be awake that it takes my mind a moment to focus. The alarm clock reads 7 a.m. but I don't get up. I'm not a cop anymore. My schedule is my own.