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Hard rain bled down the windshield, distorting Murphy's view of the shore. It had been two hours since he'd watched Kim take her life, every moment spent reliving the horror in his mind.
For what had to be the millionth time, the internal debate resumed, never a new argument but always drawing toward the same conclusion. Kim said she was ready, all about the job and he believed her or at least he wanted to. She knew the score; watched him from the sideline on two ops, ran fallback cover on another, part of her training. She was as solid as they come. And she didn't go it solo. Mitch was the best. `Wrote the book' as the bastard continually reminded him. He was the best... was.
Like a scratched record, the thoughts kept skipping over in Murphy's mind, the `if only' track set on repeat. If only he'd found her sooner. If only he'd pulled them out. If only he'd taken the op instead of compassionate leave. Mum was going nowhere and wouldn't care if he had. No excuses, it should have been him. Kim pleaded for help, trusted him to do right by her and in those last moments, when she said she loved him, he couldn't even give her that much. He may as well have pulled the trigger himself. Kimmy deserved better and so did Mitch. That's how they'd see it back at the station. `Murph cocked-up and it cost two of our own' said in hushed tones. His reputation was total shite and justifiably so. No one with any lick of sense would partner with a PTSD nutter and he couldn't blame them. After all, he was about to prove their point.
Jackie would say `Get your head down. Bit of kip'l do you.' Not this time. Had too much blood on his hands, none of it his own and he aimed to square that. Besides, every time he shut his eyes he saw the faces of those he lost; Kim, Mitch, Annie, Claire. Sleep never brought peace, just pain. More pain than the bottle and pills or even time could mend. There was only one solution for that.
Murphy decided the rain wasn't distorting things but setting things right. It showed the world for what it really was, twisted and deviant, stained to the core. It left him numb, hollowed out in head and heart. He shrugged it off and calmly cocked back the slide. The gun felt somehow heavier, almost unfamiliar in his hand. Like some macabre drum roll, the rain pelted the roof, sending water cascading down the windshield. He glanced down at the paper bag sheathed pint of whisky sitting on the passenger seat, liquid courage but only as a last resort. He wanted be clear and focused; sober for once in his life. Drink had long lost its value. His jaw clenched and ready, Tommy lifted the gun to his head, letting the cold metal of the barrel bite at his temple as his finger curled around the trigger.
~"You Are My Sunshine, my only sunshine."~
He returned the gun to the seat beside him as he tried to work up the nerve. It was one last job, a final duty to lay his demons to rest and all it took was the pull of a bloody trigger. After all the shit he'd done in his life, he could do this.
~"You make me happy when skies are grey."~
Again, he raised the gun and dug it into his temple as if to fix it steady. He willed his finger to work as his hand began to tremble.
~"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you."~
Eyes welling with tears, he let the gun fall to his side, cursing himself with sobbing breaths. A blur of shadow drew his attention to the passenger seat where a figure of a young girl sat eerily silent, her angelic, haunting face staring up at him with questioning eyes.
~"Please don't take my sunshine away."~
"Claire?" he choked on her name, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm coming home, darlin'."
She smiled sweetly and mouthed a silent, "Love you daddy," as he pressed the gun to his head one final time. A determined clench of Murphy's finger sent a deafening shot ringing out and his world went black.
**********************************************
A distant murmur too soft to understand pulled Murphy from a deep slumber. His head felt heavy and sickly with pressure numbed by the familiar mercy of potent pain killers. Thick bandages were wrapped a bit too tightly for comfort. The muted chanting grew clearer until he recognized it as prayer. A bright glow invited him to open his eyes and he was welcomed by antiseptic decor and sterile white light. McBride sat at Murphy's bedside; head bowed slightly, hands folded over a bible while he dutifully continued on with his humble prayer.
"Been a long while since someone read me a bedtime story." Murphy teased, his raspy voice slurring under the influence of the medication.
McBride's face lit up with relief. He absently discarded the bible to the floor and shifted the chair in closer. "Didn't your mum teach you it's rude to interrupt?"
"She tried but I kept interrupting her." Murphy swallowed to try and clear his throat. McBride quickly took up a nearby glass of water and offered it to him. He reached for it only to discover his hand tethered by an IV. He rolled his eyes and accepted the glass with his free hand, thanking his old friend with a smirk. The water was tepid but quenching like never before, washing out the tinny flavor coating his mouth.
"Well I'm sure I can see it in my heart to forgive you given the situation."
"Save you the trouble. I'm not shopping for forgiveness." He took more sips of water and shook his head as he returned the glass to a small tray on a swivel arm off to the side. "Don't they have anything stronger?"
"Off limits, Tommy, Doctor's orders."
"What does he know?"
"She, actually. And judging by her assessment, quite a lot. She said it's a bloody miracle you're still alive. The bullet's trajectory was off just enough to avoid a fatal wound, though you're not out of the woods just yet. Figured it must have been some sort of accident."
Murphy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as his head pounded out his pulse like a stereo subwoofer. "Is she a looker, the Doctor?"
"Christ, Tommy, what were you thinking?"
"Trying not to. At least that was the plan."
"Well I thank God you're still with us."
"You can tell that boss of yours thanks for nothing."
"You don't mean that, Tommy. You need time to heal, to get your head on straight, is all. After all you've been through, all the loss you've suffered, it's no wonder you're in a bad place."
"Bad place?" Murphy snickered callously. "I'm way beyond a bad place, Frank, downgraded to shite place with a fuck-all view. Mitch, Kimmie, both dead under my watch, one by their own hand. But it came down to me. I was cover. It was my call and I never made it and they both wound up dead because of me." His voice turned raw, mouth parched once again. "All I had left was the job and I lost it, gave it to them on a silver plate so don't be selling me on bad places."
"So this was how you intended to set things right, by adding to the tally of dead?"
"It seemed the least I could do, clean up my own mess, though I probably ruined the interior of the Volvo." He thought for a long moment then carefully felt along the bandage until it sunk under his probing at the back of his skull. He hissed through the pain and mumbled, "I couldn't have missed. There is no way. Took a bit of nerve but I got it done, damn it."
McBride heaved a sigh. "It doesn't take courage to pull the trigger, Tommy. It takes courage not to."
"Don't be getting all Fatherly on me, Frank. I'm immune to sermons."
"Is that why I was listed as your emergency contact?"
"I had to list someone, seemed a better choice than Milligan's Pub."
"Listen Tommy, regardless of whatever sins you wish to atone for by such a foolish and might I add selfish act, it would seem someone objected to your doing yourself in. Perhaps it was some sort of miraculous intervention."
An image flashed in Murphy's psyche, the smiling face of Claire watching from beside him.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," he dismissed it uneasily.
"That's not a nothing look you're wearing there, Tommy. Come on now, get it off your chest."
"Really, it's nothing. I just... in the last moment, I thought I saw someone."
"Who?"
"It's crazy but I swear I saw Claire."
A small smile curled along McBride's lips. "You said it yourself, Tommy, you couldn't have missed but the Doctor said the bullets trajectory was off enough to spare your life. Maybe Claire had a hand in it, appeared to you for a reason."
"Mysterious ways and all that," Murphy added skeptically.
A nurse came in, her pretty face glowing with a smile in seeing her patient awake. "Lovely of you to join us, Detective."
"I aim to please," Murphy smiled flirtatiously.
"Glad to hear it. I'm afraid we have some business to attend to here, Father, so visiting hours are over for the evening."
"Go on now, Father. Go tend to the flock," Murphy said in a clichéd, exaggerated inflection.
McBride hesitated a moment before reaching down to retrieve his bible and get to his feet. He wagged a stern finger towards Murphy. "Don't you be thinking you're off the hook here Tommy boy. I have faith in you."
"That makes one of us."
McBride was troubled by that response but decided against arguing. "Think about what I said. I'll stop in tomorrow to see how you're doing and continue our discussion."
He began towards the door and Murphy called out, "Frank?"
"Yeah?" He paused and looked back over his shoulder.
"Thanks for coming."
McBride smiled and gave a little nod. "Thanks for living. Take care, Tommy."