Reckless

Part 13

Cassy collapsed onto the sofa in the lounge, allowing her head to drop into her hand. God, she was tired. She had been talking to Blane and Meyer for over two hours. They had finished their inquiry a few minutes before. Their questions had been probing, but not as difficult as those Cassy kept asking herself.

The IA officers were doing their job. Cassy knew that. The fact of the matter was that it was Cassy who was in the wrong. She had made a costly error in judgment, and her error had resulted in tragedy. Her partner. . .her best friend was hanging onto life by a thread and her actions had put him there.

Every memory of the past two days had been brought back to the forefront of her mind. Torrents of regret and guilt were alive within her. Cassy's stomach rolled. Feeling a wave of nausea rise to the surface, she frantically pushed herself from the seat and made a beeline for the restroom.

Heaving, she tried to fight the onslaught, but failed. After a few minutes, she pushed herself upright and then was overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue, her body no longer able to support her own weight, and she slid to the floor.

Tears crested her lids. She swiped at them with the back of her hand before they trailed down her cheek. Each time one was removed, though, another took its place. Her failure to successfully conquer the drops made her furious with herself.

"Damn it, St. John," she grumbled, "you're stronger than this." Down deep, though, she knew the words were nothing more than a brave front. They were lies.

She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes, ignoring the feel of the cool tile penetrating her slacks. "Sure, you're strong, St. John," her mind lectured. "You're only strong because you're so damn sure you're right, that you alone know what's best. Heaven forbid that someone else might know what's best. . .might know a better way." Her mind flashed back on the phone conversation with Tom. He had asked her to wait for backup. . .to wait for him. She had insisted on doing it her way. . .what she knew was the right way.

She wiped at the tears which were still building and falling down her cheeks. Why didn't she wait? Why didn't she heed his request? What had made her so damn sure that she knew what was right and that Tom was wrong?

Tom's pale, still form in the hospital bed flashed in her mind. If she was lucky, that memory would be her punishment for her pride, for ignoring procedure. However, an alternate picture kept flashing in her mind: Steve Berkow's funeral. Only it wasn't Steve's coffin being lowered into the ground, the mourners weren't weeping for the undercover agent. The coffin, the mourners, were there for Tom. And it was her fault.

The door to the lady's room swung open, breaking into Cassy's regrets. Startled, she pushed herself from the floor and tried to straighten her disheveled clothing. Looking up, she saw Elizabeth Meyer standing there. "You've been in here for quite awhile. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Cassy sniffed away the tears and tried to put forward a strong façade. "I. . .I. . .," she stumbled, failing immediately.

Elizabeth smiled. "I know this is hard, that the questions we were asking were cold and calculated. I hope you understand that we have no choice."

Cassy shook her head and walked past the woman, making her way to the lavatory. "The questions you were asking had to be asked. Believe me, they're no worse than the questions I've been asking myself ever since. . ." she paused. Then she leaned over the sink and ran cold water over her face.

The lieutenant nodded. "I understand." She followed Cassy and stood behind her as the petite detective dried her face and hands. "I wanted to let you know that a press release has been sent out."

Cassy felt her face blanche. She had forgotten about the press. . .what the outside world would find out about her mistake. "What does it say?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "It gives only the facts. That's it."

"The facts?"

"Slater killed Moore, then was shot and killed attempting to avoid capture. That Sgt. Ryan was shot during the pursuit."

"Shot by me?" Elizabeth didn't respond. Cassy turned on the woman. "Does it say that I shot him?"

The lieutenant sighed. "Yes."

Cassy closed her eyes. She had expected as much. There was now no choice about facing her error in judgment.

Elizabeth stepped forward. "Lipschitz tried to fight it. He insisted that no good could come from releasing this information. The Chief agreed. But the Commissioner and the Mayor felt it was best for all concerned to reveal what was known now and not keep an air of mystery about the incident."

Cassy's heart sank into her stomach. So now it would be public knowledge. Now everyone would know what her stubborn pride and irreverent behavior had done.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. I wish it could have been handled differently." Elizabeth's hand found Cassy's shoulder. She gave a small squeeze, her eyes showing true regret, and then left the restroom. Cassy watched the door close, wishing nothing more than to be swallowed up by the cement floor beneath her.

"I don't think he can take much more of this," Margaret Ryan whispered to her husband. She shifted her position in the small chair, but never released her gentle grip on her son's lifeless hand. Her fingers caressed those of her child's. She glanced at the monitor over the bed. The heart rate was still too rapid after the second convulsion. It had not been as intense as the first, but was a terrible sign that his body was unsuccessfully fighting the fever.

Lyam allowed his hand to rest on Tom's leg. "He's a strong boy, Maggie. You know that. You have to have faith in him. . .in God."

The mother nodded. "I know, but it's so hard." Her other hand moved to Tom's feverish cheek. "Look at his face. He's in pain. I can see it. I can feel it." Her finger traced the line of his jaw. "This isn't fair."

Lyam shook his head. "No, it's not. It's not for anyone. But we can't change what's happened. We have to accept it." The husband moved toward his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "We have to be the strong ones, Maggie. Tommy will need our strength."

Margaret bit her lip and nodded. She swallowed back her tears and pulled herself upright. Lyam smiled at the gesture, feeling a swell of pride course through his system. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "That's my Irish lass."

The dashboard clock flashed 4:45 in the morning. Cassy had been driving aimlessly, not sure where she belonged. She had stayed at the station for a long time, but then left because she couldn't stand to see the accusations in her fellow officers' eyes. Word of mouth about what had happened was out. Everyone now knew that Cassy, in a careless, negligent act, had shot her partner.

She couldn't return to the hospital because of the guilt at having to face Tom's parents. She couldn't stand to see the pain in their eyes as they watched their son fade from this life.

Her home was too much of a sanctuary. It would offer her a place to hide from the world. . .from the accusations. But she didn't want to feel safe from the world. She was at fault. There was no denying that. And to hide in her apartment also meant she was hiding from Tom, from the pain she'd caused him.

She didn't want to be isolated from her ex-husband's anguish. This probably explained why she had ended up in front of Tom's apartment. Pulling into the parking area, she took a deep breath, turned off the Porsche engine and pushed herself from the vehicle. She hesitantly moved to the front door and then stopped when she saw two newspapers lying on the porch, one by the front door, the other under the swing.

Bending over, she picked up both and slipped them under her arm. She pulled out her key chain and flipped through the keys until she found the one which would open Tom's door. She slipped the key into the lock and turned the deadbolt. The door opened to reveal the dark, quiet interior. Then her nose caught a familiar scent. It was Tom or at least everything that made him who he was. Her stomach quivered, knowing that even though his essence was here, he was not. He was lying in a hospital bed, dying. . .possibly dead.

She had called Frannie only minutes before, asking for an update on her partner's status. Frannie had assured her that Tom was still holding his own. She encouraged Cassy to return to the hospital, but the detective had insisted that it was best if she stayed away for awhile. She had asked Frannie to call her if Tom's condition were to change.

Cassy moved into the studio apartment and felt for the light switch on the wall. The room was soon flooded in a warm glow. Her eyes skimmed the room and she couldn't help smiling at the things which reminded her why the two had found it impossible to live together. The bed, while made, was crumpled, as if he had made a half-effort to straighten the sheets before throwing the comforter on top.

Sports and music magazines were spread out on the coffee table, in no particular order, an empty bottle of beer sitting next to them. The television remote was balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. The closet door was open, with clothes dangling half-in, half-out of the clothes hamper.

She fought the urge to push the clothes into the container and stack the magazines. This was Tom's home. This was who he was. To disturb these things would be disrespectful. She had already done enough to hurt him.

She collapsed onto the sofa, the vibration knocking the remote control to the floor. She started to bend over to pick it up, but then remembered the newspapers which she still held under her arm. Slipping them free, she removed the first from its wrapper. It was from the previous morning. A small headline in the bottom corner of the front page read simply, "Officer Shot, Suspect Killed in Warehouse Shootout." The article was short revealing the few bits of information which had been released to the public at that time. The article implied simply that the suspect Jason Slater had shot Tom trying to allude capture and then had been killed in the escape attempt.

Cassy closed her eyes, remembering how much simpler things had been when that was the truth. She removed the second paper, the latest edition, from it's plastic wrapping. The paper flopped open to reveal how a day had changed everything. The large block letters of the headline filled the page, "Cop Shoots Partner in Warehouse Fiasco".

End Part 13

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