A Lonely Place

"Made a deal with Bolton apparently. Bolton's after bigger fish, that only Tommy could get for him."

George thought quickly. Tommy was released yesterday. Carmen had been living under the name Angela Duarte for a year and half now. George still had time.

"I have to go," George said abruptly. He tossed the memo onto the case files, and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

"Why?" Parks said. "You leaving me with all these files to go through?"

"Yeah. You'll manage," George said as he rushed out the door. He detoured to his locker, and got out his holster and his gun. He put the holster on, then put his jacket on over it.

He jerked his car to a stop in front of the diner. He jumped out and ran into the diner, accosting the first waitress he saw. It was the gum-snapping one.

"Where's Angela?" he asked. The panic was building again when he didn't see Carmen out amongst the patrons.

The waitress shrugged. "Beats me. It's her day off. Try at home." She returned to serving coffee.

George ran back outside. He got into his car and speeded over to Carmen's apartment. He illegally parked, and run up the stairs. He pounded on the door.

"Carmen! It's George! Open up!" he yelled. He pounded some more when there was no response.

"CARMEN!!" he shouted. He was about leave, racking his brain for other places she could be when her door opened.

"What?" Carmen said, bewildered and little exasperated. "You trying to break my door down?"

"You have to go. Now."

"Why?" she asked.

"They let Tommy Callaghan out of prison."

Carmen went white. Her hands started shaking. "No. No, no, no, no..."

"Carmen, honey, it'll be okay. I'll get you into hiding. There's no guarantee he'll be able to find you anyway," George hugged her tight. He urged her into the apartment. She stood shell-shocked as George got her coat and forced it on her. He got her wallet and keys from the table, locking up and leading Carmen down the stairs outside.

They were weaving through the alleyway, dodging trash cans, when a gunshot rang out. George flung Carmen to the pavement. She yelped, and cursed in Spanish.

Too fucking late, George thought. He pressed himself flat against the brick building, and got his gun from its holster. He held it loosely in his hand downwards, listening. Carmen started to get up. He pushed her back down with his foot at the small of her back. She cursed again.

"Quiet!" He said through his teeth. Carmen shut up.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," George whispered softly.

Silence.

Another shot rang out, richocheting off the wall above George's head. This time, George saw a figure ducking behind the dumpster at the end of the alley. He waited. Carmen started struggling under his foot. He let her up, motioning her against the wall opposite him.

The figure got restless, and jumped out from behind the dumpster. George fired twice. He missed, the figure darting into some shadows.

"Fast little fucker," George muttered. Carmen started drifting away from the wall to look into the shadows. George frantically waved her back. She didn't notice. He reached out to shove her when shots rang out again.

George dove in top of Carmen, rolling them both towards the building. George got up, and ran towards the shadows.

He turned the corner and came face-to-face with Tommy Callaghan. Tommy was painfully gaunt, his blonde hair shaved. His right eye kept drifting upwards, while his left remained focused.

Tommy and George stared at each other, guns drawn. Neither spoke. Tommy began to smile, and George emptied his gun into Tommy's chest. Tommy flew backwards into a puddle of water. George holstered his gun, and checked Tommy for vital signs. Nothing.

George ran back down the alley to where Carmen was still laying on the ground, her head covered by her arms.

"Carmen, honey, it's over. It's over," He touched her shoulder. She didn't move. He rolled her over carefully. He saw a trickle of blood along her mouth. He looked down her body, and saw a gaping wound in her chest. Blood was pooling underneath her body.

"Oh, God. Carmen, no," he whispered. He felt for her pulse. It was thready and getting weaker. He knew it was too late, but he got out his cell phone and called 911 anyway. Afterwards, he lifted Carmen's body and cradled her in his lap.

"You can't leave me here in the lonely place," he whispered into her hair.

"Have to," she managed to gasp out. A gurgle of blood came out of her mouth. George wiped it away.

"I love you Carmen," he said, choking.

"I love you, too, George," she sighed. Her head fell to his shoulder, and her breath rasped in her throat once more. George heard sirens in the distance, and cried.

George accompanied Carmen's body to the morgue. The coroner stated the obvious- cause of death was a gunshot wound to the heart. She asked George if Carmen had any surviving family. He realized he had no idea.

George found that Carmen's father was still alive, living in the south end of the city. He wrote the address on a slip of paper, and drove over.

Carmen's father lived in an old, well-maintained apartment building. George parked across the street from it. He sat in the car for a few minutes, working up the courage to tell a man his only daughter was dead.

George held a small jewelry box in his palm. The box contained a necklace, with a small pendant. The pendant had a piece of turquoise set in silver. Carmen told him it was the one thing from her past that she kept. Her father gave it to her mother as a wedding present, and when her mother died, her father gave it to Carmen.

George sucked in his breath and got out of his car. He crossed the street, and entered the building. Mr. Ruiz's apartment was on the first floor, in the back. George followed the twisting hallway to the end, to apartment 112. He knocked on the door.

The door opened a crack. One dark eye peered out at George at about shoulder-height.

"Yes?" a heavily accented male voice said warily.

"Mr. Arturo Ruiz?" George said. "My name is George St. Germaine. I'm an agent with the FBI. I'm here about your daughter, Carmen."

"Carmencita? What she done now?" Arturo's eye narrowed. He looked angry.

"May I please come in, Mr. Ruiz?"

Arturo shut the door. George heard the inner chain rattling, and the door opened wide. Arturo was short, with thinning dark brown hair. George noticed the lines on his face were almost identical to those that had started to form on Carmen's.

"Please, sit," Arturo said, gesturing at the couch. The apartment was clean, and sparse. There were two picture frames on a table next to the couch. George looked at them as he sat down. One was of Carmen, probably taken her senior year of high school. One was of another woman. Her eyes and nose looked like Carmen's.

"My late wife. And Carmen," Arturo said. He settled in his armchair.

"Mr. Ruiz, I'm sorry to have to tell you this..." George took a deep breath. "Your daughter, Carmen, is dead. I'm sorry."

Arturo stared at George. Then he sighed, resigned. "Carmencita. Oh no, mi niña." He looked at the picture on the table next to George. "I knew this day would come."

George held the jewelry box out to Arturo. "This belonged to Carmen. She said you gave it to her when her mother died. It was the only thing she owned that had any sentimental value to her."

Arturo took the box from George, opened it. He stroked the pendant carefully.

"How?" he asked after several minutes. George looked up from staring at the floral pattern on the carpet.

"Gunshot wound to the chest," George said quietly. "I held her when she died."

Arturo closed his eyes, and nodded. "At least she wasn't alone." He snapped the box shut, and handed it to George. "You keep this," he said.

George took it reluctantly. "Mr. Ruiz, I can't."

"You cared for my Carmencita in her last moments. I can see that. She didn't die lonely. Keep that, to remember." Arturo stood. "Where is her body, so that I can bury her properly?"

George stood and took a piece of folded paper out of his suit jacket pocket. He handed it to Arturo.

"You will come to the funeral?" Arturo asked.

"I will."

Arturo nodded. "Good. Now, Mr. St. Germaine, I must prepare to lay the last of my family to rest." He turned to go into the kitchen, and left George to show himself out.

George left the building, and got back into his car. He felt like one weight had been lifted from his shoulders, just to have another settle in his chest.