There are empty spaces, when they're simply void of people.

And then there are empty spaces.

Like a room with a dense air that hangs over them, where you can feel the history of a horror that has taken place there.

That was Molly's.

But she wasn't empty.

Someone had to clean up the blood.

Otis sits in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up and a bloodstained rag in his hand. The bucket is filled with soapy red water. Otis stares at the floor with the pink smeared stain. He sighs and rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist. He stands from the floor and grabs the bucket.

He goes over to the sink, dumps the water and watches as it swirls down the drain. He rings out the rag as best he can and then gives the bucket a rinse, filling it with fresh, hot water. He looks around a bit before he finds a brush. He runs it under the hot water. He heaves the bucket out of the sink and returns to his task.

On his knees, Otis scrubs hard with the brush. The suds get a pink tinge the more he scrubs.

He doesn't know how long it takes but he finally gets the floor clean. To him it still feels dirty, but there are no visible traces left of that fact that Herrmann…

Not to the naked eye at least.

Otis throws the brush and rag into the garbage. He empties the bucket and does the same.

He runs the hot water and starts cleaning his hands. His breath starts to pick up and he scrubs more franticly. Steam rises from the sink as the hot water begins to reach its optimum temperature.

"Gah," Otis lets out as the water begins to burn him. His hands shake slightly as he breathes slowly, the steam rising up. His red hands turn the water off and all is quiet. Otis braces himself against the sink and closes his eyes.

Otis exits Molly's, the sun setting. He locks the door, adjusts his bag over his shoulder and heads off.

Neither the firehouse nor his place is close to the bar, but the walk is possible. He doesn't know which one he'll choose to go to, but he doesn't have to make that decision yet for another few blocks.

Otis' mind drifts off and by the time he realizes he's missed his turn, its dark. He looks around as he tries to grasp where he's wandered off too. A dog barks off in the distant.

"Lost?" A man with a slight Russian accent asks from behind him.

Otis turns and faces a man a good four inches taller than him. His blond hair shines in the dim street lamps and his face is hard despite the smile. Two men stand behind him who Otis can't see too well in the bad lighting. He can only tell one is shorter than the other.

A shaky smile graces Otis' face.

"No, I'm good, thank you."

"You sure?"

"I like the look of this one," the shorter man says in Russian.

"He looks easy," the other says.

Otis looks towards the men.

"Quiet," the blond says.

Otis turns his attention to him, he's still smiling.

"You speak Russian?"

Otis shakes his head. "No. Thanks. For the help, but I'm good." He turns to walk away, reaching into his pocket. A tight hand grips his upper arm. Otis whips his head around, the blond ever smiling.

"I don't like to be lied to," he says.

Otis yanks his arm out of the man's grip, his phone in his hand.

"What do you think-"

Otis is cut off as a fist connects with his face. He stumbles back, his phone falling from his hand as he falls to his hands and knees, his palms scrapping on the concrete. The phone tumbles off into the darkness.

"It's going be a bad night for you," the blond says as he grips Otis' hair and yanks his head back.

Otis feels a pinch in his neck. The world begins to swirl, his eyes grow heavy and he feels like he's sinking before nothing.

Cruz sits at the squad table and bounces his leg up and down as he tries Otis for the fifth time that morning.

"Shit," he mumbles as he pulls his cell phone from his ear and cancels the call that goes to voicemail, again.

"Still nothing?" Severide asks, his feet perched up on the table.

"No. I'm getting worried now," Cruz says as he stands up and starts to pace. "He said he was going to Molly's to clean up…" Cruz stops pacing. "I've been trying him all morning. I wanted to update him on Hermann, tell him he's okay, but I he's not answering." Cruz turns to his lieutenant. "And to not show up for shift? This isn't like him."

Severide swings his feet off the table and stands.

"I'm sure he's fine."

Boden sits at his desk as he examines his two lieutenants before him.

"He's never missed a shift, Chief," Casey says as he stands with his arms crossed.

"Cruz has been trying him all morning," says Severide as he leans forward in his seat.

Boden rubs his eyes. "I have one man in the hospital and now one missing?"

Casey and Severide glance at each other, unsure how to answer.

"I can ask Gabby to get in touch with Antonio, just to be safe."

Boden slowly nods his head. "Do that. With all that's happened I don't want anyone to be unaccounted for."

Casey nods and exits.

Severide stands to leave.

"You know I thought," Boden begins. Severide stops and turns to his chief. "I thought once my name was cleared things would be peaceful." He looks at Severide in the eyes. "We didn't even make it a day before shit rained down on us again."

Severide doesn't say anything but holds eye contact with Boden.

The alarm goes off, calling for only Ambulance 61.

"Things will get better, Chief."

Boden breaks the gaze. "I hope so."

The ambulance drives down a deserted street with empty houses, all with boarded up windows. A police car is pulled to the side of the road, the officer waving them down.

"So what type of druggie will we get today?" Chili asks with a smile on her face as she turns to Brett, who's frowning.

"What's up with you?"

Brett pulls the ambulance behind the police car. "With everything that's going on I'm just…not in the mood to joke."

Chili makes a face of 'wow, okay' as they exit the ambulance. They grab their bags and approach the officer.

"What do we got?" Brett asks.

The officer leads them into the backyard of one of the houses.

"We get a lot of druggies and drunks in this area. Usually just pick them up and book'em," the officer says.

"And this one's different?" Chili asks.

"This one…this one we called in."

In the yard, Brett and Chili see another officer crouched down next to a figure lying across the ground. Brett picks up her pace, Chili trails behind. Brett lays her bag down and gets to her knees beside the form, she freezes.

"Oh my God. Otis?"

"You know him?" the officer that was with him asks.

"He's a firefighter at our house. Otis." Brett takes Otis' face in her hands, his eyes are half lidded and he appears out of it.

Chili gets down on the other side of him and then gentle role him onto his back. "What happened to him?"

The officer that led them to the back answers. "We were hoping you can tell us."

With Otis on his back, Brett can see the further extent of his injuries. Bruises paint the left side of Otis' face and run down his neck, his clothes are torn and his breathing is ragged, his eyes closed now. Chili puts a neck brace on him as Brett pulls out her light to check his eyes.

"Otis, can you hear me?" She holds up his lids as she flashes the light on his dilated pupils.

Chili lifts his shirt to reveal a huge purple bruise covering his whole side.

"He's got internal bleeding," Chili says with urgency. Brett shakes her head, worry and panic flooding her face.

"What the hell happened, Otis?"

This is a very rough story, where I'm going with it isn't decided. I'm very open to suggestions and ideas if anyone has any as well (you will be credited if I use any in future chapters)