Author's note: It's been a while since I've written anything, but I've had this idea in my head for quite some time, so here's my very first fic of "the Closer'. I do not own "the Closer" nor do I own the book "Blue Water", which was the inspiration for this story. I apologize if there are any mistakes in my work. I am not a native speaker and therefore there might be some grammar and spelling errors present in this story, since I do not have a beta. Feel free to comment, reviews will be greatly appreciated. Please let me know whether I should continue or not.
A sharp ringing interrupted Flynn's sleepy state. He had been lying on the comfortable leather couch, that was situated tactically in his living area. Normally, after a particularly gruesome or tiring day, he would spend an hour or so simply unwinding on this sofa, sometimes taking a nap before moving on to his equally comfortable bed, however today he had been excruciatingly close to falling asleep when he was shaken up by the bell. Taking more time than was strictly necessary, he raised his hands above his head, stretching lazily. The ringing returned, causing him to curse under his breath. Whomever was standing at the other side of the door better have a damn good reason for depriving him of his much needed sleep. He checked his watch, half past twelve. Half past twelve? Damn he had been on the couch quite longer than he'd originally thought. Grunting he cursed again louder this time while making his way to the front door. It was all because of that stupid lawsuit going on at major crimes, that was what had kept him awake and pondering. He sighed as he unlocked the door, swinging it open, ready to tell the person on the other side off. However, the sight meeting his eyes had him going from annoyance to confusion to concern. On his doorstep stood the normally stoic Captain Raydor, only there was nothing left of her otherwise impeccable exterior. There was a large bruise marring the usually flawless skin on the left side of her face, her lip was severely split and her chest was heaving in short, shallow breaths, almost as if it was too painful to inhale any deeper. Andy noticed she was clutching her left side with her right hand, her arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Though these were all serious injuries, the thing that worried him the most was the unfocused look behind a sheen of unshed tears in the familiar pale green eyes. It seemed like it cost her great effort to keep looking at him, though every time her eyes started to wonder off ever so slightly, she forced them back. She opened her mouth a little, wincing when the gash on her bottom lip stretches painfully, causing fresh blood to appear.
The usual decisiveness and force with which she always pronounces her words is completely absent. The words are spoken slowly, not out of the need to choose them carefully or to make herself completely clear, but out of necessity, for she forms them with obvious difficulty. At that moment, he wants to reach out to her, to ask her what happened and which bastard he should shoot in the head, but he senses that she has more to say. Black spots begin to form in front of her eyes and, even though she tries to blink them away, they start to take over her senses. She takes a breath as deep as she dares to, ignoring the sharp sting coming from her ribcage. She needs to stay calm, she needs to stay conscious, she repeats the words in her head; Calm, Conscious, Calm, Conscious. Again she tries to speak, for all the effort it takes, she knows she must.
"There is something I need to tell y…"
She doesn't have time to finish her sentence before the darkness almost completely blocks her sight. She shakes her head lightly, blinks, tries to focus on the face of the man in standing in front, on the feeling of her blazer beneath her fingers, on the smell of grass after rain, coming from the lieutenant's lawn, everything to stay awake. It doesn't matter, her eyelids feel heavy, her body is protesting, sensing the need for her to rest, forcing it upon her. Before Flynn has time to say anything or do anything other than catching her, she collapses into his arms.
"Chief, I still can't get hold of lieutenant Flynn."
Buzz' voice was almost inaudible as it mixed in with the sound of sirens and the heart wrenching sobs of the newly widowed woman, standing in the middle of the crime scene. She was being held close by a female officer, who was patting her awkwardly on the back and seemed to be softly whispering words of comfort. Brenda Leigh Johnson supposed that was one part of the job no one would ever get used to. Thank God the officers that had arrived at the crime scene first, had thoughtfully covered up the heavily mutilated body of the victim before his wife had reached the place.
"Keep trying Buzz and, if you do reach him, tell him to come down here immediately. I'll have a word with him later."
Harry Wright, 49, had been found by a neighbour, an elderly lady living at the other side of the road. Apparently the woman had gone over to the victim's house to ask for some sugar to finish the cake she had been in the middle of making. It was a cliché, chief Johnson had to admit that, and she certainly didn't plan on letting the neighbour off the hook without further questioning her, but to her credit the old lady did look more than a little shaken and genuinely devastated. She kept repeating over and over again that he'd been such a lovely man and that he and his wife were such a lovely couple, as if that would somehow lessen the pain of losing someone. Brenda found she sympathised with Mary Alvarez, being alone she might not have anyone to share her grief with. Of course nothing could compare to the grief of the wife, Laura Wright, now silently crying onto the shoulder of the same officer that had been holding her before. The deputy chief could not even start to imagine what it must feel like to lose your husband. She wasn't sure how she would make it through that kind of loss, if she would make it. Life without Fritz would be empty, meaningless, which was the closest Brenda could come to identifying with the woman. She didn't want to give the subject any more thought, she didn't dare to, but for once she wasn't embarrassed to admit her fear. She decided nobody should ever have to live through an experience like that .
"Chief, he's still not picking up."
Buzz voice pulled her out of her train of thoughts. Damn, This was getting ridiculous, Flynn had been a lieutenant, and before that a detective, long enough to know the importance of being stand- by at all times. Answering the bloody phone was one of the first things they learned when they joined the force. It wasn't as if killers took of office-hours in account and neither did witnesses. Was it really that much to ask for to have her whole team present at this case? A case that was rapidly getting out of hand. When they got the call they assumed it had been just a homicide, not that that wasn't terrible enough, but a homicide was something the major crimes division dealt with on a daily basis. This time, however, it was more complex and possibly dangerous than simply catching a killer, this time she had a full blown crisis at hand. It was an understatement to say Brenda had felt her blood chill in her veins when she'd learned that the daughter of the Wright's was missing. These were the cases that weighed down upon her the most, missing children. And if her father's killer had anything to do with her disappearance, which the chief thoroughly believed, it was even more crucial than usual to find Marilyn Wright as soon as possible.
She was floating, weightlessly in the dark. Where? In space? No not in space, there weren't any stars. Think, just think, she ordered herself. How did she get here? What happened? Where? The first question returned, maybe that was a good way to start, figuring out where she was. Maybe under water? It certainly felt a bit like she was swimming, or, more accurately, sinking. Come to think about it, it felt as if the open air was right above her, but she wasn't able to reach it. She was aware of her body: toes, feet, legs, stomach, back, chest, arms, hands, fingers, head, but she couldn't move. Desperately she tried again, twitching her hand, wriggling a toe, that would've been enough, yet she couldn't. Something else struck her as odd, as if something was missing, something that had been there before, but not now. She couldn't put her finger on it. Where was she? Why was she so tired? Maybe she should open her eyes? Yes, that was an idea, however, like the rest of her body, her eyelids wouldn't move. Not yet.