CSI universe short prompts

15-Eric Delko/Tim Speedle

Detective Eric Delko stood in the dimly lit lab, staring at the empty chair where Tim "Speed" Speedle used to sit. The memories flooded back—the late nights, the camaraderie, the shared laughter. Speed had been more than a colleague; he'd been a friend, a confidant.

Eric's fingers traced the edge of Speed's abandoned desk. The lab felt colder without him. Speed's absence was a void that couldn't be filled. They'd lost him too soon, and the pain still cut deep.

Eric: (whispers) "Speed..."

His mind replayed that fateful day—the jewelry shop, the sudden appearance of the gunman. Speed's sidearm malfunctioning, leaving him defenseless. Eric had watched in horror as the bullet pierced Speed's chest. He'd tried to reach him, but it was too late.

Speed had died in Horatio's arms, and Eric had stood there, helpless. The guilt gnawed at him. If only he'd been faster, smarter, maybe he could've saved his friend.

Speed: (echoing in Eric's mind) "Delko, take care of yourself. Don't let this job consume you."

But how could he take care of himself when the nightmares haunted him? Speed's face, frozen in pain, replayed in Eric's dreams. The blood on his hands—the blood that wasn't there but felt so real.

Eric: "I failed you, Speed. I should've—"

His voice cracked. He'd never admitted this to anyone, but he still saw Speed sometimes. A flicker in the corner of his eye, a phantom presence. Speed's ghost, urging him to keep going, to fight for justice.

Speed: (whispers) "You're stronger than you think, Delko."

Eric clenched his fists. He'd buried the grief, the anger, but it bubbled up now. The lab's sterile walls closed in on him. He needed air, space, something to drown out the memories.

He stumbled outside, gasping for breath. The Miami night enveloped him—the salty breeze, the distant sounds of the city. He leaned against the building, tears blurring his vision.

Eric: "Speed, why did you have to leave us?"

And then, like a cruel twist of fate, he heard it—the faint sound of a guitar. Eric followed the melody to the nearby park. There, sitting on a bench, was a stranger—a man with tousled hair and eyes that held too much sorrow.

Stranger: "Mind if I join you?"

Eric nodded. The stranger strummed the guitar, playing a haunting tune. The notes seemed to echo Speed's laughter, his spirit. Eric closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.

Stranger: "Lost someone?"

Eric nodded again. "A friend. He died right in front of me."

Stranger: "Music helps. It's a bridge between worlds."

They sat there, two broken souls, sharing stories. The stranger had lost someone too—a brother, a fellow musician. They sang old songs together, their voices raw and imperfect.

Eric: "I can't forget him. Speed. His face..."

Stranger: "You won't forget. But maybe you can find a way to carry him with you."

The stranger's words struck a chord. Eric wiped his tears, realizing that Speed's memory wasn't a burden—it was a gift. He'd keep fighting, keep solving cases, in honor of his fallen friend.

As dawn approached, Eric stood up. The stranger handed him the guitar.

Stranger: "Play. For Speed."

And so, Eric played. The notes soared into the sky, carrying his grief, his love, and Speed's memory. The stranger faded away, leaving Eric alone with the sunrise.

Eric: "Thank you, Speed. I'll keep playing—for both of us."