Letters from the Dead

The few minutes that Frank took to read the letter was an excruciating wait. Bob felt like a prisoner waiting for judgment to be passed, and he knew that it was going to be a death sentence.

Situation: FUBAR.

Both he and Ray had wanted to protect Frank. After Gerard’s death, Frank had been crushed and traumatized beyond words. They knew that Frank was tethering at the edge of sanity, and the truth would push him over and kill him. Bob knew that their choice to keep the truth from Frank for a short while, at least till he was slightly better, had not been wrong… but it hadn’t been entirely right either.

He was guilt-ridden as hell.

“How long?”

“What?” Bob asked carefully.

“How long have you known?” Frank repeated, his face blank.

Bob bit his lip hard as the silence between them grew.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN THAT GERARD WAS THE ONE WHO RAPED MY SISTER?” Frank howled, grabbing a plate and smashing it at the wall next to Bob.

Bob flinched when he felt a flying glass shard brush his face as the plate shattered into pieces, but made no move to avoid it. A trail of warm blood dripped slowly down his cheek. Bob sighed resignedly.

“Since that day itself.” Bob said softly.

Silence.

Then…

“Get the fuck out of my house.” The words were soft, but felt like a whip-lash through the air across his face. Bob winced at the impact.

“Frank...” Bob started.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!!” Frank roared furiously, smashing another plate at the wall near Bob.

Bob was no coward… he had never run away from any situation, never retreated from any ugly scene in all his years on the team as an FBI agent. But he fled like one after he saw the tormented and betrayed look on Frank’s face. He felt like a total asshole. The tears on Frank’s face made him feel remorseful as hell. He really hadn’t meant to hurt Frank.

Bob finally understood the meaning behind the phrase – “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

*

The day Gerard killed himself

Bob’s partner, Pete, was standing at the door of Gerard’s house. The yellow tape across the door screamed CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS.

Why the fuck did they have to use yellow of all colours?

Yellow was a bright and cheerful color. Even kids knew that. There was one case Bob had worked on where one of the suspects was a teacher and they had gone to the school to bring him back to the Bureau for investigation. The walls of the school were decorated by many pictures drawn by the kids. Pictures of their families, gardens, buildings, monsters etc... Yellow was a colour used rather frequently in their drawings. The kids used it to draw stuff like the sun, flowers… good things mostly.

Bob felt sickened at the sight of the yellow crime scene tape. Red was a better colour, really. Then Bob thought of the fact that red was the colour of blood, and his stomach flipped.

“You really shouldn’t go in there,” Pete said quietly to Bob. Bob’s heart sank. He had hoped that the phone call had been a terrible mistake, and that Gerard wasn’t…

Bob let out a distraught sound at the thought of it. He made an attempt to enter the house but Pete turned to block his way in. Bob tried to push Pete away, but Pete remained solid and unmoving against the door, his arms flat out on Bob’s chest.

“Pete, please,” Bob begged, leaning against Pete, his head resting heavily on Pete’s shoulders. He felt as though all the fight had gone out of him. “Please… I need… I need to see this.”

“Bob…” Pete hesitated at the broken expression in his partner’s face.

Pete knew that Bob was in love with Gerard. He probably loved that cruel bastard more than anyone else. Gerard, that infuriating asshole, probably didn’t know anything about it. He friend-zoned Bob. What made things worse was that Bob knew Gerard’s boyfriend too. Pete wondered how hard it must be for Bob sometimes, especially since he had seen the nauseatingly loving way Frank and Gerard behaved in front of Bob at times. And Gerard’s final wish… It really was really quite cruel of the man to request such a thing from Bob. Pete sighed at his friend’s beseeching expression, shook his head and moved away from the door.

Bob half-walked and half-stumbled to the living room. He hardly noticed the fact that Pete was following him worriedly from the back. Spencer, one of the crime scene investigators on scene looked up from the body and frowned. He opened his mouth and started to say something to Bob, but Pete shook his head at him. Casting a hasty look at Bob’s expression, Spencer cocked his head in understanding and moved away from Gerard.

There was a sudden flash in the room and Ryan, another CSI, looked up from where he had been taking a photo of the bullet casing lying on the floor. He saw the look of unease on Spencer’s face, the devastated look on Bob’s face, Pete’s stern expression and quickly comprehended the situation.

“Uhm… we’ll give you guys some space then. We’re done here anyway.” Ryan picked up the crime scene photo scale which he had placed next to the bullet casing for documentation purposes. He picked up the casing with a pair of forceps before placing it in a paper envelope which he subsequently sealed, and then signed on the sealed area of the envelope with brisk efficiency. He nodded at Bob, who was staring so intensely at Gerard that he did not seem to have heard what Ryan had said. Ryan shrugged and pulled Spencer away from the living room.

“I don’t understand. FUCK. Why, Gerard? You stupid bastard.” Bob choked out as he took in Gerard’s inert form on the black sofa. He balled his hands into fists so tightly that his nails sunk deeply in his palms. He wanted to scream.

Pete placed a warm, reassuring hand on Bob’s shoulder. The silent comfort from his comrade seemed to have jerked free the boulder that Bob had placed in his mind to stem the sorrow and agony that threatened to crush him. His eyes burned violently with the blitzkrieg of emotions as he finally gave in to the tears.

He cried for the friend he loved... and for the lover he never had.

*

“You should see these,” Pete said. “Gerard wrote one to you,” Pete added as an afterthought.

Bob pulled on some latex gloves as he took the letters from Pete.

“You should read Frank’s letter first,” Pete said gently. “Gerard would have wanted you to.”

Bob raised an eyebrow at that comment. Upon his friend’s continual insistence, Bob scanned the letter addressed to Frank, feeling a twinge of guilt at this blatant invasion of his friend’s privacy. His eyes widened as he read the letter.

“Oh bloody hell. This is all kinds of fucked up.”

“Quite,” Pete replied.

Bob’s head was spinning in circles as he pulled his own letter on top of Frank’s.

Bob,

I have always viewed your friendship as something very precious, and sometimes it still amazes me that you have given it to me. God knows why.

From the start, we were never friends, more of acquaintances, colleagues and fellow agents. We never really had the chance to interact with each other, except when working on cases. I respected you, and you endured my presence.

At the moment when I shot your father three years ago, it occurred to me that your friendship and what little good opinion (or none) you had of me would be lost forever. I did what I had to. I have never regretted stepping in, but I have regretted killing the man who was your father. For that, Bob, I am really sorry.

I’ve watched you struggle with the demise of your father, watched you come to terms with the perfidy from the man who was your father, the betrayal of the worst sort from someone who had watched you grow up, from someone who had loved you, and from someone whom you respected. I watched you overcome your initial aversion towards me, the man who killed your father. I never expected forgiveness, much less understanding from you… But you gave it to me all the same. Even better, you gave me your friendship. I can remember the hours you sat with me at the hospital talking to me. At first it surprised me that you could even stand to be beside me, much less talk to me, but then I realized that we both needed it. You were filled with so much hatred for your father, struggling with what he had done and tried to do to you. You were also attempting to be grateful to me for stepping in to save you, yet hating me at the same time for killing the father you loved. Gradually, things did become better. You even began turning around to comfort me instead and ease my guilt. You’re a strong and wise man, Bob.

I wonder what you would think of me now that you know the truth. I know that you have come to respect me over the years for my opinions as a friend and expertise as a fellow agent, but what do you think of me now that you know that I have raped an innocent 16 year old and caused her death so many years ago, but failed to confess my crimes and face up to the truth? Do you feel sickened by the fact that you have given your friendship to such a sordid bastard like me? I can’t help but feel apprehensive about what you and Ray would be feeling right now… you have both been wonderful friends to me, no matter how unworthy of your friendship I was. I imagine that both of you must be feeling very shocked, maybe even betrayed and revolted. I admit that I am too much of a coward to go to the two of you to come clean with all my wrongdoings.

Perhaps I have no right to ask you to do this, and I know that I’m being very selfish in my request. I hope that you will help Frank tide through this period of time. I know that you're the only one can do this for him. I have deceived Frank, Bob, in the worst manner ever possible, and the only worry I have left in this world, is Frank. I know that this would be very difficult for him. I know that this would destroy his world and crush his soul. He’s naïve at times, and I know that he sees the world in black and white. I cannot fault him for this… it is a flaw, yet it is a redeeming quality in itself because it undoubtedly means that he knows not the ugliness of the world. The two of us are agents and have seen enough to know better than that, but I cannot expect this of him. I don’t expect him to forgive me for what I have done, but to at least understand that I am very remorseful for what I have done to both him and Elizabeth, but I have never regretted loving him. I implore you, my friend, please help him. You are the only one I know who’s strong enough to help him overcome this betrayal from me.

For what it’s worth, Bob, you have been the greatest friend anyone could ever have. I’m thankful for everything you have done for me. Take care of yourself.

Gerard

Bob shoved the letters against Pete’s chest, motioning for him to take it from him before he could do anything stupid like tearing up the letters and compromising the evidence. He staggered out of the house, unconsciously stripping off the latex gloves and tossing them on the ground as he moved towards the bushes and started to dry-heave. Nothing came up but the nausea shot through his body and he could taste the acid in his mouth as his stomach contorted mercilessly. He pressed his right hand pressed against his forehead, his eyes closed against the impending headache that threatened to rock through him. He was unaware of the sympathetic glances that Pete was shooting at him as he gritted his teeth and his eyes misted over in blistering, angry tears.

His unrequited love wanted him to look after his lover.

How fucked up was that?

That irresponsible and manipulative sonofabitch.

If Gerard had still been alive, Bob would have torn him a new one and screamed at him, “Look after your fucking lover yourself!!” The rage scorched fiercely under Bob’s skin as he thought about the helplessness of the situation. He detested being asked to do such a thing. Sure, he would have done his best to help Frank through it even if Gerard hadn’t requested it of him, but now that Gerard had requested it of him… he hated that he hadn’t been given a choice.

It wasn’t a choice because Bob had never been able to turn down any of Gerard’s demands.

What made things worse was that Gerard probably didn’t know that Bob was in love with him, and that he had unintentionally beseeched him to do such a thing. If Gerard knew, he probably wouldn’t have done it, knowing that it was being painfully cruel to Bob. And that hurt even more.

Bob wondered if Gerard knew how much power he still had over him, even in death.

Notes

Adele - Set Fire to the Rain

'Cause there's a side to you that I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say, they were never true, never true
And the games you'd play, you would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Let it burn while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name