This short story takes place a year to the day after Angell's death. Enjoy! --RyderBPD

*Warning: This story has some sexual content.*

*Jessica Angell and Don Flack are the property of CBS/CSI:NY.*
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The paved path into Mount Saint Mary’s Cemetery was slick, water filling cracks and crevices in the blacktop’s scarred surface. An earlier downpour had deterred most mourners from venturing into the hallowed grounds early on this Friday morning, and stillness had come to lay over the legions of gravestones like a thick fog.

Don Flack felt like an invader as he stepped through the silence and crossed into the land of bygone souls. Sadness permeated every inch of his body, from his deeply furrowed brow down to his slow and mechanical steps. In Flack’s rough right hand was a small bouquet of flowers. I hope she likes lilies, he thought. I never bought her anything like that. . . .

He walked on, passing headstones adorned with everything from cracked crosses to crying cherubs. The rain had transformed each blade of grass surrounding the graves into a brilliant green sentinel, standing tall and proud against the dark sky. Flack stopped and looked up at that same sky now, searching the clouds for something that would help him through this enduring heartbreak.

Finally, he sucked in some of the sorrow-laced air and blew out a huge breath—tried to cast out from his lungs the fear and emptiness that accompanied this day. One year ago today she’d been taken from him, gunned down while protecting the citizens of New York City. Here Flack managed to smile a little, as he always did when thinking about his late partner’s work ethic. Nobody knew a beat better than her. Nobody could get a suspect to squeal like she could. And nobody—nobody—loved bein’ a cop as much as she did.

In remembering his love’s dedication to her work, he’d lost track of his footsteps, and the path down to her gravestone came up almost unexpectedly. Snapped out of his reverie by the rich soil and clean white rocks, Flack turned, stopping for a moment. He gripped the flowers with his long fingers, relaxed his face and started down the series of stepping stones.

The way down to his slain lover’s grave was watched over by a series of overhanging willow branches. Each raindrop that had gathered in the cradles of light green leaves brought the trees to life just that much more. . .also serving, unfortunately, to highlight the deadened void each one of the cemetery's occupants had left in the hearts of their loved ones. Although Flack attempted to brace himself, as he rounded the final bend in the path his heart leapt into his throat. Before his brilliant blue eyes lay the sight that he had been dreading for an entire year. Etched into a thick slab of onyx-colored stone were the following white words:


That which Flack had avoided for so long was finally in front of his face, and he could not handle the wave of grief that now poured over his heart. Tears welled in his eyes and began running down the curves of his cheeks. . .nothing could stop their flow as the nightmare of Jess’ death came screaming back into his mind. Glass everywhere. . .her blood on the floor, on my hands, on my shirt. . .they took her away through those doors and I never saw her again. He continued to sob in silence, feeling the ache of her absence rocket through every fiber of his being.

Finally the tears stopped, and Flack composed himself as best he could once more. Remembering the flowers in his hand, he took the lilies and set them in the arms of the little stone angel guarding one side of the headstone. He stepped back, cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. After a long while with his head bent towards the earth, Flack began to speak out loud:

“Hey, babe. It’s me. It’s Flack. Bet you already knew that, though. Just wanted to come visit—I’m sorry I haven’t been here before today. I wasn’t ready, y’know? But. . .uh, I needed to come ‘cause you’ve been gone for a year now, and I wanted you to know that everybody’s rememberin’ you today. Your badge number’s up at the 1-2, and Stevenson put together a nice party for ya last night. Lotsa toasts in your honor. . .O’Malley had one too many of ‘em—surprise, surprise.”

Flack laughed out loud at this, knowing Angell would’ve found it funny too. His smile faded quickly, though, as he went on:

“I--” He broke off for a second, tears rising in his eyes once more. He balled his fists and looked at the heavens, searching for the strength to say the words he’d rehearsed countless times in his head. Eventually they came, every syllable choked with agony:

“I miss you, Jess. Every day I wake up and think I’m gonna get to see you again—I tell myself every mornin’ that you’re in the bathroom or you’re just makin’ coffee, and that any minute you’re gonna climb back into bed with me. I miss not hearin’ your voice on the phone at night or over the radio when we were on different shifts. . .and dammit, babe, I miss your smile.” Flack was crying hard again, his face now contorted into utter anguish. “I’d give anything just to see you smile at me again.”

Don dropped his head into his hands and let the tears wash over his face. He wished he could reach out and simply caress her cheek with his fingers—look into her beautiful brown eyes and get lost in their radiance. At last he continued speaking, more quietly this time. His skin had flushed a brilliant scarlet in the wake of such frustration and helplessness, and he felt his cheeks burn with the sting of loss. “There’s so many things I never got to say to you, baby. . .I never told you this, but I was workin’ up the nerve to ask you to move in with me right around the time you died. I wanted your face to be the first thing I saw every mornin’ instead of havin’ to wait 'til we got to work.”

Flack suddenly flashed back to the weekend before Jess’ murder. It was Saturday morning, but edging ever closer to Saturday afternoon. He had opened his eyes to find the sun’s rays filtering through the blinds and onto a tangled mass of blue blankets. A still-sleeping Jess was resting her head on Flack’s broad chest, and the position of her body was such that the sunlight enveloped her in a beautiful halo. In that moment Flack knew he was gazing upon the love of his life.

The cool sheets beneath their bare bodies were not rumpled from any mere exchange of carnal desires. No, that morning had been filled with the tenderness of slow and gentle lovemaking. Don and Jess had come together so perfectly that it felt like they were united as one. He had run his strong hands over every inch of her cream-colored skin, and she’d responded by placing her lips and tongue all over his heavily breathing body. She had taken him to a place far within his soul. . .had made him feel more deeply than he ever thought possible.

A raindrop fell from the willow trees overhead and snaked down the back of Flack’s neck, snapping him out of his beautiful daydream. He wiped the tears from his eyes and at last said what he had come to say:

“Jess, I--I’ve never met a woman like you before. So damn smart. Beautiful, funny, and a great cop. Not to mention great at puttin’ me in my place when I needed it. You were the best partner a guy could ever ask for—both as a blue and a man. You taught me that there’s more to life than just screwin’ around with the next pretty face that comes down the line. I'm a better man because of you, and I’m so grateful to you for that. I just wish you could be here so I could say it in person.”

Flack’s heart was beating fast now, pulsing in his chest and threatening to burst. This last thing he had to tell her would be the most difficult of all. He took a deep breath and said, “But, um, of course there’s one other thing I never got to tell you while you were here, and I kick myself every day for not sayin’ it. I wish I hadnt’a been so scared of what it might mean. But I’m here, and I’m gonna tell you now.”

Don crouched down to the ground, kissed his fingertips and then touched them to the earth laying over Jess’ body. He closed his eyes and whispered four words he hoped she could hear:

“I love you, Jess.”

He stayed like that for a long time, his fingers clutching the ground that now protected that which was most dear to him. Finally, he stood up, turned around and started up the dirt path.

As Flack retraced his steps back to the cemetery’s main gate, the sun broke through the choking clouds and shone directly onto his heart. He felt the air stir around him, and although he did not hear anything, every cell in his body was suddenly infused with the sound of a woman’s smiling voice.

I love you too, Don.

The saddest man in New York City then returned to the land of the living, carrying with him the memories of his fallen angel.