Loving
a ghost
By
Valerie
Du hast jeden Raum
Mit Sonne geflutet
Hast jeden Verdruss
Ins Gegenteil verkehrt
Unglaublich nobel
Deine sanftmütige Güte
Dein unbändiger Stolz
Das Leben ist nicht fair...
(Excerpt from Herbert
Grönemeyer's song 'Der Weg' from the album Mensch)
It
was the feeling of soft hands caressing his face that woke him, of gentle lips
meeting his, of a strong body against his own. In his dream Nick had looked at
him with love and passion, had touched him with the same fever that he felt,
but now as Warrick slowly woke to reality, the face of his beloved seemed to
fade more and more and the passion in those dark eyes was replaced by sadness
and longing. The feeling of touch lingered on, yet the passion had disappeared
leaving an aching gentleness behind. Still half asleep Warrick reached out to
hold Nick back from leaving, but his hands touched only air and the emptiness
of his arms made his heart clench, his body shiver.
It
was dark in the room; the heavy blinds shutting the sun out, keeping the
darkness in. It was normal for Warrick to sleep during the day and work night
and he didn't miss the blaring heat of the sun. Slowly he got the shivers under
control and got up. It was freezing cold in his room and he felt goose bumps on
his skin, felt the shivers starting again yet this time from the cold. He
stumbled as he walked to the bathroom, caught himself before he fell and at the
same time wondered why he even bothered. Sighing lightly he leaned over the tub
and stared at the face in the mirror.
Even
without light he could see the lines that shouldn't be there, lines that belied
his age and made him look older than he was. Some of his friends had told him
that they made him look distinguished, that they spoke of a life lived. He had
never corrected them, but he knew that they were wrong, these lines didn't
speak of a life lived but of another life lost.
Almost
shaking from cold now, Warrick went back to the bedroom and grabbed a pair of
jeans and a shirt. A quick glance in the mirror showed him, that the colours
didn't match, but he couldn't be bothered, almost running he left the building
and got into the car. For a moment he just sat there, once again behind dark
glasses, once again surrounded by air-conditioned air. His hands trembled, but
he forced his emotions back, reined them in and started to drive.
How many times had he driven here in the last
six months?
How many times had he come here since it had
happened?
He didn't know and didn't care, but the fact
that no one paid any attention to him as he got out of the car told him that it
had been enough times for everyone here to get used to him. Not wanting company
he walked away from the main starting rock towards the more secluded, more
private part. For a long time he just stood there staring over the red rocks,
over the endless stretch of desert glimmering in the sun until his eyes fell on
the hazy images of downtown
It had been a sunny day too, six months ago and
it had felt wrong. It wasn't supposed to be beautiful on a funeral, the sun
wasn't supposed to shine when he buried the one he loved. Feeling the tremors
start again, Warrick sat down on one of the rocks, his hands jerking back as
the hot stones almost burned him.
Six months ago he hadn't sat on the ground. They
had brought chairs up for the occasion and flowers. He had sat there listening
to the words the pastor had spoken but he hadn't been able to reconcile the
person he spoke of to the man he had known. He had wanted to shout, tell the
priest that he had no idea, when the other man had spoken of the immense loss
Nick's death had caused. But he had felt too numb even to move.
It had been Nick's wish that his ashes were to
be spread over the mountains where he used to paraglide. Warrick knew that Nick
had written his will long before it had happened, knew that Nick had never felt
comfortable with the thought of being buried.
The memory of Nick's face contorted with terror
on the live feed made him shiver and forcefully he replaced the mental image
with the joyful, happy Nick he known.
Tears came out of nowhere, sliding over his
face, stinging in his eyes but he didn't bother to wipe them away. He was
alone, they all knew why he was here and again his mind went back six months.
One of Nick's paragliding friends had spoken,
his voice tight, his grief palpable. He had spoken of how Nick had loved to
fly, how he had always said that it gave him a feeling of freedom. Warrick had
been glad then, that he was sitting because he had known that his legs wouldn't
have supported him anymore. His mind had kept flashing to Nick imprisoned in
the cage, buried underground and he had almost cried out loud.
Life wasn't fair, he had always known that. The
sun would soon start to burn his skin, but still he felt cold and numb and
Warrick knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature. He had come here
almost every day in the last six months sitting in the sun and crying,
mourning.
His parents had asked if anyone in the team
wanted to say a few words. They had declined. To this day Warrick didn't know
if Nick's parents had understood why no one had been able to speak to the
mourners. He knew that they had been disappointed, had heard some not so nice
comments from Nick's siblings, but what should they have said? That they were
sorry? That they too had lost someone precious, that they too were grieving?
So they had sat apart from family and friends,
almost as if they were strangers that just happened to be there too. They had
gone back to work the same night.
Still looking over the desert, Warrick cried
silently, his body not moving apart from his hands that clutched at a red stone
as if it was a lifeline.
At work he was acting normal or as normal as
they all were acting after what had happened. Only once in the six months had
he lost his temper and he still felt bad about it.
They had just found their missing person
unharmed and alive gambling away in one of the Casinos. Sara had asked the
young girl if she had any idea what her disappearance had done to her parents.
At the flippant answer, he had lost it.
'You have no idea how it is to lose someone, no
idea what it means to know that he is out there somewhere fighting for his
life, praying for you to find him. You have no idea how it feels if you realize
that you run out of time. Do you know how it is if you finally find him, only
to realize that you have come too late?'
It had been Grissom who had led him away from
the shocked girl, away from the questioning looks and into an empty room.
Grissom, who had never been a people person, had stood next to him as he
trembled and cried over the unfairness of a life that took Nick from him. His
old and new supervisor had not known what to say but finally he had mumbled
that he had never known how good friends he and Nick had been. Warrick had lost
it then for the second time within minutes.
'I love him Gil; I have loved him for years but
never said anything. I always thought I would have time until too late.'
Throwing a stone over the ridge down into the
desert, Warrick repeated the last two words.
"Too late"
They had been too late, though not by much if
the warmth Nick's body when they had lifted him out of his grave was an
indicator. But in the end it didn't matter whether they had been one minute or
one year late.
Nick was dead.
They had been too late.
Again
silent sobs shook Warrick making his body tremble.
Sometimes
at work or at home he could feel him close. Sometimes while working a crime
scene, he would feel a brush of wind and turn around with a smile waiting for a
stupid joke or comment. Sometimes when he found something particularly weird he
would look up and search for Nick in order to show it to him. Or sometimes when
he lay in bed he would feel as if fingers touched his tears, as if a voice
would whisper to him. That's when the loss hurt the most. It was when it almost
felt as if he was near him, as if he was touching him and that's when he left
the house and came here to cry.
Shortly
after the funeral someone had told him that with time his memories would fade and
he would forget what he looked like, how his voice had always sounded as if he
had just realized how great life was, how his hand had felt in his or how his
eyes had shone with that special light, but he hadn't forgotten yet.
He
never wanted to forget.
Warrick
knew that he loved a thought, a ghost and yet he couldn't turn away from that
love.
Softly
his fingers brushed over Nick's badge, cleaning the shiny surface from the
tears that had fallen on it. Silently he conjured his image from his memories, saw
his smile, imagined the love in his eyes, and imagined to be the focus of his
passion and his fierceness.
"I
love you"
Slowly
he got up and walked back to his car. Warrick knew that he would return
tomorrow to mourn, to cry and to remember. He had to remember Nick, didn't want
to let go of the love he felt even if it meant the he was loving a ghost.
Because
in the end loving a ghost was better than accepting the loss of his heart.
The End
Translation of the
song lines:
Du hast jeden Raum
Mit Sonne geflutet
Hast jeden Verdruss
Ins Gegenteil verkehrt
Atemberaubend ehrlich
Deine sanftmütige Güte
Dein unbändiger Stolz
Das Leben ist nicht fair...
You flooded every room
With sunlight
You changed every
annoyance
Into pleasure
Breathtakingly
honest was your gentle goodness
Your overwhelming
pride...
Life isn't fair.