Free Splintered by SJD Peterson

beg you to carry me to bed.”
    “Me too, Big Daddy, carry me to bed,” Granite whined.
    Shaking his head, Hutch bit back the nasty reply that first popped into his head. With as beat as he was, if they were depending on him to help them to bed, the three of them would all be sprawled out on the floor come daylight. The whirl of the printer as it continued to spit out photos was like a lullaby easing him to sleep.
    “How much longer on those photos?”
    Getting slowly to his feet, Byte shuffled to the printer and read the screen. “It’s going to be a while. Still have about thirty in queue.”
    Heaving himself out of his chair, Hutch set the stack of photos he’d been studying to the side. “Let’s get a couple hours’ sleep.” He reached out a hand to Granite and helped pull him to his feet. “You can carry me. And if you’re real good, I’ll even let you rock me to sleep. But no singing. Your voice sucks.”
    Granite chuckled and pulled away from Hutch. “Fuck you.”
    “You wish,” he countered as he headed toward the pullout. “Night, Byte.”
    “Night.”
    “Oh yeah, gonna fill you like….” Granite removed the files from his bed and climbed in without even bothering to take off his clothes or get under the covers. “Who am I kidding? I’m too fucking tired to fill you tonight. I’ll sleep on it,” he mumbled as he pulled a pillow over his head.
    Hutch’s and Byte’s gazes met, and they both laughed softly before heading for their beds. He knew Granite was beyond exhaustion when his witty repertoire failed him. Hopefully they’d all get some sleep and be able to make some headway on the case in the morning. As he flipped off the light and pulled the covers up around his chin, Hutch sent up a little prayer that he’d be able to sleep without his usual nightmares.

Chapter 8

    H E NEEDED a week’s worth of sleep, but what Hutch got was random moments of a trancelike state as he stared at the ceiling. Spending the night trying to figure what the hell the spots were on the ceiling and how they got there was a lot better than dealing with the nightmares. He slipped out of bed around six and went to make coffee—another little thing he did to protect the masses. His body felt a little rested, if not his mind. Who was he kidding? He was running on fumes, and he briefly wondered which would snap first, his body or his mind.
    The smell of brewing coffee roused his sleeping companions, and by the time the pot was done, Byte and Granite were doing their best to shove Hutch out of the way to get their fix. Luckily for him, Hutch was crafty and took his steaming brew to the table first.
    “So please tell me one of you was visited in the night by the ghost of one of our vics who told you who his murderer was and where we can find him. ’Cause I got nothing,” Hutch said over the rim of his mug.
    Granite shook his head, his eyes all puffy and red. Seemed like Hutch wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept. Byte, the youngest of them at twenty-nine, looked as if he’d had a full night of sleep. He even had the energy to roll his eyes at Hutch as he took a seat and then yelped when his coffee splashed over the rim and onto his hand. Ha, served the bastard right for rolling his damn eyes.
    The three of them sat there in a precaffeine stupor without saying a word. Hutch noted they all looked like something the cat had dragged in, and he felt like the little feline had beaten the hell out of Hutch’s head before dragging his sorry ass home. The java was doing very little to soothe the throb in his temples.
    “Hey!” Granite shouted and jumped to his feet. And yeah, that did nothing to ease the throb either.
    “What the hell, man?” Hutch grumbled.
    “The photos,” Granite said excitedly. He snatched them up from the silent printer and threw them on the table. “Weren’t you looking for some hot guy with pale blue eyes?”
    “I didn’t say he was hot, you ass. I only said I think I recognized