Till Death Do Us Part

The house was eerily quiet when he walked inside and he frowned to himself. Betty and Dina should have been home; he liked his family waiting for him when he returned from business trips, and they knew it. So where were they?

"Betty, honey, I'm back," he called.

Nothing.

He stopped cold when he saw dark red smears on the polished hardwood floor, dizziness assaulting him for a moment, before he shouted more urgently, "Dina! Betty! Are you there?"

There was a scraping sound, and he dropped his suitcase and ran toward the living room door, pushing it open with enough force to cause it to bang against the wall.

Richard Summers froze again when he saw his five-year-old daughter walking towards him, dragging her favorite doll through a puddle of blood.

She seemed unharmed, but she didn't acknowledge his presence at all. "Dina, baby, where's Mommy?"

He quickly closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms, almost dropping her when his eyes fell on a trail of blood leading up the stairs to the bedroom.

Dina started to scream.

One nightmare was just beginning while another was nearing its end.

*******

Act I

This was what desperation felt like, the mind narrowed to one single focused thought: Lindsay knew she had to get out of the restraints. Yanking hard, she felt them bite into her wrist, but she didn't care about the pain. She wasn't above breaking any bones to achieve her mission and, besides, blood might actually help to slip her hand free. Aware of Cindy watching her anxiously, she gave another frantic pull.

She had no idea how much time they had left or even if their brilliant idea had actually worked out.

She just knew that if she couldn't make it, then she'd have to do whatever was necessary to distract Pete from Cindy.

Anything. It was that simple.

When the door finally fell open, it wasn't Pete Raynor rushing into the room, but a team of local police, their relief at find the occupants alive nearly palpable.

Lindsay never took her eyes off Cindy, so she needed a moment to realize that one of the men was addressing her, probably not for the first time. She finally dropped her shackled hands to a somewhat less defensive posture, wincing when the metal scraped over bruised skin. "I'm okay," she said impatiently. "If you could just get these off of me?"

The scene felt disturbingly surreal. Truth be told, she was scared beyond reason that this could be another manufactured reality cooked up in a psychopath's brain; she needed to touch Cindy to assure herself that it wasn't part of a dreamscape, that they had truly survived Kiss-Me-Not for real.

"Did you find him?" she asked the officer, her knees nearly buckling with relief when he nodded.

"We didn't expect it to be such an easy arrest. How did you manage that?" he wondered aloud, obviously referring to the fact that their perp had gotten a taste of his own medicine.

"Motivation," she simply said.

Another officer crossed the room and nervously jingled the keys to the heavy restraints. Lindsay couldn't remember moving, but the next moment, Cindy was in her arms, holding on tight, and she found herself assured of her reality. Kissing her lover's cheek softly, Lindsay released Cindy a moment later. Even though, this time, she wasn't the cop in charge of a crime scene, Lindsay was aware of the next steps the officers would follow, but there was something she had to do first.

She held up a hand to ward off the paramedics who had come in after the cops. "In a minute. I just need to take a look."

In order to leave this place behind, both literally and in her mind, she had to see for herself what it was like, had to know it from memory, not crime scene photos. Lindsay walked along the hallway with Cindy trailing behind her. She stopped and looked inside the room with the yellow walls and the oak furniture. It had been the least threatening of all the rooms, but then again it had only been for transitional purposes.

Inside the mock hospital room, the shackles were still attached to the bed rails. Her mouth quirked up in a quick grin at the sight. Didn't quite work the way you planned it, did it?

Another door led to a college dorm room, and Lindsay walked on, steeling herself for what she was sure would await her behind the final door. She'd seen Pete's elaborated fantasies depicted in the form of a horrible still life gone bad at every crime scene. He wouldn't stop at some teenaged illusion. His idea had been to shape her into the perfect bride, using every means possible.

Lindsay took a deep breath before she entered the room Kiss-Me-Not had created for his final fantasy, the wedding night. The setup appeared to be some kind of honeymoon suite that put most Five Star hotels to shame, complete with expensive wine in the cooler and flowers everywhere. This elaborate presentation from the man who'd served her a greasy fast food meal on a Styrofoam plate.

Roses, red and white on the table, the window sill, and every available surface. White roses have always been your favorite, a disembodied voice echoed in her mind. She shivered violently.

A stereo and fridge were hidden behind wooden panels. In the center of the room stood a massive bed with the four posts, the sheets a blinding white.

Ebony, snow and blood, the story of Snow White according to Kiss-Me-Not.

She felt a hand sliding into hers, Cindy's presence anchoring her to the present and reality, and she squeezed back gently. It was over. After all these years, the nightmare had finally stopped. She could hardly believe it.

"Inspector?" Lindsay turned to the paramedic who had spoken to her softly. "We should go now."

Somehow, she found it touching that he addressed her by her rank, as out of place as it seemed in her half-dressed, half out of her mind state. "Sure." Gratefully, she accepted the blanket he held out to her, realizing for the first time how cold she was.

And after seven years, she walked away from the last crime scene Kiss-Me-Not had ever created... for her.

Walking away a winner.

*******

Having lost half of the day, time had become very relative, so Lindsay was fairly surprised to see Jill and Claire minutes later before they'd even made it out of the building.

"Did you fly here?" she asked, doing her best to make light of the situation. She'd hoped to get out of her stupid wedding dress before Jill got to see her. Lindsay hadn't missed the looks the cops and paramedics had given her, not surprisingly given her state of undress. She would have had her own theories in their place, and the last thing she wanted was for Jill to go down that road.

"Almost." Jill's eyes were bright, but she smiled. "Helps when the driver's got a siren in the car. Maggie sure did some high-speed driving back in L.A."

"I bet."

Jill's gaze was anxious, Claire's attentive. Lindsay felt like she should say something to reassure them but she couldn't quite find the words. Now that the danger was past, not just today's or the past few weeks, but years of her life, she felt herself starting to unravel. It was an uncanny feeling, making her dizzy, and causing her concentration to slip. She couldn't stop it.

"I hope you aren't too mad at me," Cindy chimed in quickly, saving her for the moment. "I couldn't not try."

"Everything's alright," Claire assured her. "We can be mad at you later, now we're just..."

Her voice trailed off, but she didn't need to finish her sentence. Just like that, the world around them ceased to exist for a moment, the voices, the presence of police and medical staff receding into the background, until it was just their circle of four, re-established.

Invincible.

If she was feeling a little melodramatic at the moment, Lindsay thought no one could blame her. "There's something, two things, actually, that I hope you can get me."

"What is that?" Jill asked.

"Some pants and a stiff drink. Not necessarily in that order."

Their relieved shared laughter drew several concerned glances toward them, but none of them cared. This was a beginning if she'd ever known one, and Lindsay held on to that even when the ground started moving underneath her feet and she was pretty sure it wasn't an earthquake.

*******

"What's taking them so damn long? It was just a tranquilizer, I'm fine!"

Despite the affirmation, Cindy didn't feel fine, just the opposite in fact. She considered it unnecessarily cruel to be separated from Lindsay for any length of time at the moment. Even knowing Claire was with her lover now just wasn't enough. She could only imagine what Lindsay was going through, and she hated that she was stuck in a hospital room, waiting for the doctor.

Relief had long since given way to many other worries, vivid worst case scenarios on her mind as to what had happened before she'd awakened in the carbon copy of Lindsay's childhood room. She'd seen the IV stand and the mostly empty bag hanging from it in the hospital room Pete had created, and lastly, the fake honeymoon suite. Thinking about the implications made her want to curl up in a corner and cry.

While she was grateful to have Jill to keep her company, she wasn't the person whose presence Cindy craved.

"They just have to make sure that everything's okay," Jill said in a deliberately vague tone.

"I'm sorry," Cindy said, feeling silly. Jill had her own nightmares and worries; being here wasn't easy for her either, and not just due to the fear of her friends in danger. One predator, one fear in exchange for another.

"It's okay." Jill got up and came to sit on the edge of the bed, laying an arm around Cindy's shoulders. "We'll all be glad when we can leave this place."

Cindy leaned into her friend's embrace. "Thank you. I'm trying really hard not to freak."

Jill laughed softly. "Believe me, I know the feeling. And you've got every right to freak."

Footsteps could be heard down the hallway and Cindy straightened a little, gathering her resolve for the upcoming conversation with the doctor. No matter what he said, she had somewhere she needed to be.

Now.

*******

Lindsay knew procedure quite well, except for the fact that she'd only ever been on the other, safer side of it.

Claire had been disturbed at the sight of her friend in the torn dirty gown, legs scratched and streaked with smudges of dirt. She could breathe a little easier after Lindsay had told her how it all had come to pass.

How she'd almost made it out on her own and how she'd managed to crawl through the ceiling after being drugged and tied down for the majority of those fearful hours, Claire couldn't imagine and, at the moment, she just couldn't bring herself to. For now, she'd be the friend who offered a shoulder to lean on; she'd have her own little breakdown back home.

Then there'd been Cindy's meddling. Without it, they possibly wouldn't have tied Pete to Stockton soon enough, so as much as the young reporter was feeling guilty, she had most likely saved Lindsay's life.

There was no point in worrying about the what-if's instead just being grateful about how lucky they'd been.

Claire was also glad she'd been allowed to stay in the room with Lindsay. The moment her friend had changed from the remnants of the Hogan family's wedding dress to an equally fashionable hospital gown, Lindsay had started to crash and burn. It wasn't surprising. There had just never been any time for it before.

"Now," she chided gently when Lindsay snapped at the doctor for the third time. "You can hang in there for a few more minutes. Cindy's doing fine and probably on her way here right now. Martha will be fine, too." She laid a hand on Lindsay's forehead, not sure if it was her touch or the mention of Cindy that finally calmed her; Claire was grateful for the result in any case.

"Remind me to never marry in white again, will you?" Lindsay mumbled tiredly.

The possible implication made Claire smile. "So you two are planning something?"

"Not really. Unless they brought down Prop 8 in the last couple of days... say, how long was I asleep anyway?"

"Not that long, and unfortunately Prop 8 is still in place, but you could always go somewhere else."

"I guess I'll think about it after the trial and when we've found a place that he hasn't been."

"Sounds good," Claire said, her throat going a little tight. Kiss-Me-Not had left his mark on all of their lives for sure, but for Lindsay and Cindy, he'd invaded their most private space over and over again. They were overdue to find a safer place to live.

"It's cold in here," Lindsay said, almost as an afterthought.

Claire found that she'd run out of distractions, having held her own emotions barely in check. To her relief, the doctor gave a reassuring smile and said, "It's okay. We're going to get you settled, and then you can finally get some rest. Also, there's someone here who really wants to see you."

*******

Cindy only needed three steps to close the space between them. With her girlfriend finally wrapped up in her arms, all of a sudden Lindsay couldn't care less about having to spend the night in a hospital room, even if it was the same setting where she'd awakened to the ultimate nightmare. None of that mattered, not the blushing nurse or the fact that she was beginning to feel really shaky, because they were still here, together.

Alive.

And so was Pete. She'd bet he'd wake up kicking and screaming when he'd realized that his own brilliant plan had been responsible for bringing him down in the end.

"I'm glad you're alright, too," Jill said. "It's okay, you can hug me later. You don't have to let go."

"I wasn't planning to," Lindsay told her over Cindy's shoulder. "Thanks, though."

Although she'd gratefully let herself be distracted by her friend's joke, the banter couldn't entirely mask the worry beneath. Lindsay didn't think she could discuss Pete and everything that had and had not happened right now when she had hardly sorted it out for herself. It was doubtful that she ever would, all of it anyway. A big part of it she didn't remember, and Pete... well, he had nothing left to lose. He'd enjoy making her wonder.

The cop part of her wasn't completely silenced either; she wanted to know what had happened with him, wanted the reassurance that he was already behind steel bars rather than possibly being treated for a drug overdose. Lindsay forced herself to push any thought of him aside for the moment.

He'd been caught. He was never going to get out. That was all that mattered.

Claire gave Lindsay's shoulder a pat. "I think we should leave you two alone right now and go get you some clothes."

"Very good idea," Jill commented. "We'll be back." For her sake, Lindsay mustered a smile.

When they were gone, Cindy drew back to pull herself a chair. The loss of warmth was almost unbearable, but it was so good for Lindsay to see her unharmed. There'd be no ill effect from the tranquilizer.

Time slowed down as they stayed silent, just their hands touching on the edge of the bed. There wasn't much to say; they were both very much aware of what had been left behind them, and how much worse it could have been.

Cindy leaned forward until her face touched their joined hands, and she started to cry.

It made Lindsay uncomfortable, like there was something she should be able to do in order to end Cindy's grief, find the right words to console her. Like she was responsible. It took her awhile to realize that between the shock of having a man being murdered before Cindy's eyes and the relief of the two of them having been found on time, this release was exactly what Cindy needed. She gently stroked her lover's hair, fairly surprised that the same emotion wasn't true for her at the moment.

"Stay with me tonight?" she asked.

Cindy's gaze when she looked up at her was full of doubt, but longing at the same time. "I'm not sure the nurses will let me � but who cares," she said quickly, obviously realizing that her hesitation had caused a moment of slight panic. She kicked off her shoes and lay beside Lindsay, carefully snuggling into her arms.

Lindsay felt utterly relieved and undeserving at the same time. For a moment, she'd harbored the overwhelming if irrational fear that Cindy might refuse; she'd left her alone once, after all, to run off to her date with a man who'd turned out to be a serial killer.

When Cindy had been shot on the steps of the Hall, Lindsay hadn't been able to sit beside her hospital bed and just let herself cry. She couldn't even do it now, which was, come to think of it, pretty messed up. However, she was lucky because Cindy loved her anyway.

"I'm so sorry," Lindsay told her.

"What? You couldn't have known that he'd come for me and--"

"Not that. You could have left, like I did. When you got shot, I mean."

Without missing a beat, Cindy raised herself up to look at Lindsay. "I was pretty mad at you for a while. But don't you think we've come a long way since then? If anything, you paid your dues when you didn't leave me to deal with Prince Whacko alone. Linz, come on, you don't think--"

"I never could have--" Lindsay whispered. "I would have done anything to make him leave you alone. Anything."

There was no need for further clarifying. "I know." Cindy pressed a soft kiss against Lindsay's neck. "I love you."

"I love you too." Lindsay smiled, but she couldn't let go of the tension, the feeling that something bad had yet to happen. While Cindy was asleep in her arms minutes later, her own mind just refused to shut down.

She lay awake, scared that if she closed her eyes the dreams that would come might not be her own.

*******

Jill had seen the bridal suite, too, and she'd had a hard time not to let the image overlay with that of a small church, a sad-looking Jesus on the cross hanging above her while she was cold and terrified, battling with the fear of death.

They'd both been lucky, her and Lindsay, but it had been too damn close.

Tonight, as she drove home from the hospital, the temptation of falling back into old patterns, trying to forget, was taunting her. Pick up some company for the night, get just drunk enough to forget about the images that were haunting her, the carefully designed stage for Kiss-Me-Not's final play.

She stood in front of the bar for a moment, indecisive, then pushed the door open. It didn't mean she was going to go back to old habits. A couple of drinks wouldn't hurt and might actually help her forget the fact that she was the only one going home alone tonight.

Jill had barely ordered when a familiar face appeared in front of her. "Mind if I sit here?"

The sight wasn't completely unwelcome, but she was tired, and a member of the SFPD didn't seem like the appropriate company to forget about a horrible day. Not to mention that Maggie had worked on the Arnold case too, and had made all the wrong connections about Kiss-Me-Not and Lindsay. "Maggie Snow, you're stalking me now?"

The inspector didn't seem fazed by Jill's lack of manners. "I wish. Honestly? This was a tough day. I didn't feel like facing my empty apartment, and I was hoping you'd feel the same." She hesitated for a moment. "If you don't... I'll leave you alone."

Jill stared into her glass of gin and tonic somberly. "Excuse me if I don't know what to feel right now. I'm just glad this is over."

"I'm sure," Maggie said quietly, and they were silent for a while during which Jill pondered her past coping strategies and mistakes made. She winced at the memory of Denise once finding her blacked-out drunk. She wouldn't let her control slip that badly again.

The inspector spoke up, startling her out of her reverie. "Look, I made a mistake, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make up for it. I was hoping you'd give me a chance � maybe not right now, not today, but sometime in the future."

"I'm not sure I'm the person you should be telling this." Jill shrugged.

Maggie gave her a long thoughtful look. "I am," she finally said.

"Fine. Do you get it now?" Jill realized that her tone had all of a sudden become rather snippy, but she couldn't bring herself to care much, not tonight. "Lindsay spent seven years on this case. You've seen Raynor's fantasyland, you saw what he did to her. How could you have ever thought--"

"I was wrong. I guess Lindsay and I didn't have the best of starts... not that it's an excuse."

"It's not." Jill shook her head in frustration; this was not how she had envisioned passing the evening, even though she vaguely acknowledged that Maggie was trying so hard to apologize. It wasn't that she hated the woman; in fact, under different circumstances, she would have certainly enjoyed the company. "How could you not see what happened there?" Embarrassed, she realized how close she was to breaking into tears. Lindsay might have been cracking silly jokes right away, but she hadn't fooled Jill. The expression on her friend's face, of a person shell-shocked, in a daze, had been telling. Jill had recognized that expression immediately.

She'd seen it on herself, in the mirror in the exam room of the Mission Cross North after the hours spent as the Hallelujah Man's captive. She remembered nearly going out of her skin at the touch of strangers, nurses, doctors, as unavoidable as it was in a hospital. Her mind would inevitably be drawn back to the ritual site that Arnold had chosen for her, St. Vincente's. For Lindsay, Pete had created a kaleidoscope of stories.

Cindy had put on a brave smile, but she, too, had looked ready to break, and it was exactly the same way that Jill felt.

"I did, and I'm kind of ashamed," Maggie admitted. "But I also know everybody is kind of occupied tonight, so I just wanted to say, if you need anything... I'm here."

Jill gave her a long look, taking in the inspector's hopeful expression. She had no reason to doubt that Maggie's offer was genuine, yet she was painfully aware of how bad the timing for the two of them was right now. "Thank you. I'm just not the best company right now. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand. You've been through hell in the past few months."

"I'm not the only one," Jill said pointedly. Maggie didn't argue, obviously understanding that it would take awhile longer to bridge the rift caused by her accusations against Lindsay.

If ever.

******

Jacobi came to see her about her official statement the next morning when Cindy was out to get herself some coffee and get out of her sleep-rumpled clothes. "We don't have to do this now if you're not up to it," he began, making Lindsay wonder who of them was more in need of comfort.

She shrugged. "It's fine. It's not like there'll ever be a good moment for this." She didn't tell him what was really on her mind, that those were only words after all which, she assumed, couldn't really do all that much harm to her after the past 36 hours. "Let's get this over with."

It was one way for her to regain control over her mind and body as well. There had been the 'treatment' Pete had created for her, and then there had been exams performed at the hospital, necessary but intrusive all the same. Lindsay knew she couldn't really avoid telling the story once more, but at least she would do it on her terms.

It was a relief that it was Jacobi being there to hear it, not Tom. The final confrontation with Kiss-Me-Not would bring up too much old history between them, their failed marriage, too many things they had never been able to talk about and for which it was now too late. That, and she harbored the hope that Jacobi would be seeing less of a victim of a crime in her than his partner who'd simply hit a rough spot.

She gave him a quick summary of what happened since she'd collapsed in Cindy's bedroom until the moment the police had stormed the killer's version of a fairy tale castle." Obviously I remember only half of it � I'm going to make a terrible witness."

"I'm sure he can't wait to tell the story," she said sarcastically. "Main character in his very own play."

She hadn't missed his frown at that. "Don't you think so? Or is there something else I should know?"

The way Jacobi delivered the news showed that he was just as puzzled about this fact as probably everyone else was. They weren't exactly bad news, but unexpected. Even from behind bars, Pete seemed to be plotting... whatever it was, he wouldn't get anywhere with it this time.

"He will, I'm pretty sure. He's too impressed with the sound of his own voice. Anyway, let's get this over with. I didn't realize until I was back in there that it was... Cindy." Describing her attempt of an escape, Lindsay faltered only once. The memory of that moment still had the power to shatter the careful balance she'd managed since the timely rescue.

She finished the rest of her narrative quickly, not wanting to let this get too emotional, and fortunately, he indulged her. Something though was still nagging at the back of her mind. "Did you find the tapes yet?"

Jacobi, immediately understanding what she was talking about, shook his head. Lindsay closed her eyes for a brief moment, breathing a sigh of relief. Pete's meticulous documentation of her life would show up some time, so this could only be a reprieve, but she'd rather have it happen later than sooner. It was bad enough to know that Pete had followed her every intimate moment; she couldn't imagine having them exposed to people she was working with.

"Not yet," he said. "We've been searching every square inch of that damn house, nothing. However, we found how he knew to decorate those rooms just like that."

"Photo albums," Lindsay assumed, sitting up straighter. "The yellow room..." She grimaced. "Tom and I had one like that in the house."

Jacobi nodded grimly. "There's more. There were two boxes, the pictures, clothes..." He paused long enough for the implications to sink in. "Something from every room it seems."

"I don't want any of it," she said a bit harsher than intended. It wasn't much of a guess exactly which drawers he'd been going through.

"I can imagine." There was a moment of silence after he'd turned off the recording, then he asked, "How are you doing?"

"I'm glad," he said, both amusement and worry evident in his gaze. "You know, if you ever need to talk--"

"I know where to find you," she cut him off as to not make this any more awkward for either of them. As far as Lindsay was concerned, she was pretty much done with talking. Next time in court, and that would be the last chapter of Kiss-Me-Not's mad fairy tales. "Thank you."

"Gonna be a cold day in hell," the woman whispered harshly. She'd said goodbye to that delusion of a marriage long ago; tomorrow, she'd do it for real. No one knew about her plans yet, and she wanted it exactly that way.

She wasn't going to turn from wife into mistress, or the other way around. She'd be making it on her own.

Turning her back to him, she walked out of the room, knowing his gaze was following her.

Since her blood work was fine and being tired the only symptom she could think of � which could have been a result of the past seven years just as much as the drugs she'd been dosed with � Lindsay was finally released from the hospital. To her dismay, the doctors had advised her to take sick leave, watch out for possible side-effects, and come back in a couple of days for additional tests, which meant that everything wasn't quite as clear as she'd hoped.

That was because Pete had known no boundaries in the pursuit of his favorite sick fantasy, not only murdering the scientists who had researched this particular drug but destroying their work, too.

It wasn't just being bored or having too much time to think, and Cindy knew that, trying her best to distract Lindsay from the dire facts: She could suffer from daytime flashbacks and it was entirely possible that her memory could be affected. In the doctors' prognosis, they could only rely on their knowledge of substances that came close to the drug Lindsay had been given.

When they finally got Martha back from Dr. Pam, they'd even joked about how she perfectly matched her mistress now, tired and grumpy, but all three were very happy about the reunion.

Stepping into the apartment for the first time since their fight and the subsequent drama that had unfolded, they'd each vowed to find a place that was not haunted with the memory of Kiss-Me-Not, one way or another.

Cindy embraced her lover from behind as they stood in the middle of the living room where, Lindsay noticed, the coffee table was missing. "Do you believe me now?" Cindy asked softly. "I won't be walking away." Leaning closer, she added, "I don't think I could."

"I let him--" Three words that encompassed a world of guilt and shame, even though she knew that the Pete Raynor she'd dated for two weeks and slept with twice had only been a mask that had been shattered the moment it wasn't needed anymore. Even though she'd seen his true face, it didn't make the feeling go away.

"Linz. Just stop it. It's over. Maybe you can't feel it right away, but you will. And I'll be here."

And Cindy was right; it was hard to remember that the freedom they'd been wishing for so hard was finally here when every place they went seemed to be poisoned by his presence; the hospital room at Mission Cross North that was too reminiscent of the one during her captivity and this apartment. She'd thought she didn't remember at all, but coming back here, there was the flash of an image, and a sensation. Lindsay recalled how she'd wanted to check on Martha. Falling. Hands holding her up.

There was also the memory of yelling at Cindy before they'd parted, making her face heat at some of the things she'd said. "I'm gonna hold you to that." She turned around, and laid her hands lightly on Cindy's arms, not daring to take it any further. The memory of the last time they'd tried to use intimacy to escape unpleasant truths was still too pressing. "Sometimes... I can't believe you still want to be here." She pressed a finger against Cindy's lips when she sensed the protest forthcoming. "I've been all kinds of self-righteous, accusing everyone of giving up. I fooled myself into thinking I could be some kind of advocate for these women."

"For a while, maybe. Then he shows up, and I'm... that easy. Doesn't it make you sick to think about it?"

Cindy just shook her head, desperate for the right words to make her understand, and Lindsay felt ashamed for a different reason all of a sudden. Cindy had stayed at the hospital nearly around the clock, she looked exhausted, and neither of them was up to this conversation now. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding her close. "I'm not doubting you. I need you here with me."

Her confession felt like a free fall, but to her surprise, the ground remained steady under her feet and the world didn't stop.

Lindsay knew without a doubt that she was telling the truth, because Cindy had been keeping her sane even in her imagination. Someday soon, she'd be able to feel it, too.

The days passed in a blur of friendly visits and phone calls; Jacobi dropped by to share some bullpen gossip, Jill and Claire came by every other evening.

Sleep was mostly eluding her, because she associated the room with the shadow falling over her and the hands catching her when she stumbled over Martha's prone form.

Lindsay lay awake, pondering confusing nightmares of manufactured teenage memories and the less confusing ones that Cindy had, about the officer that Pete had killed, and wondering about her future. She thought about when he'd taken off her clothes to dress her in the gown she'd worn once before, on the day she'd gotten married to another man. Lying still, Lindsay listened to Cindy breathe and for signs of possible intruders. Martha aimlessly wandered the apartment at night, seeming to share her mistress's worries and restlessness.

Lindsay kept her fears to herself until the message finally came: She could go back to work.

On their last shared day off, the sun tickling her face woke Cindy. She smiled at the sight of Lindsay still fast asleep beside her, savoring the rare moment. It could be relief at finally being given the all clear for her return to work, or sheer exhaustion because of the lack of sleep during the past couple of weeks, in any case, it seemed like she was finally getting the rest she needed.

Cindy snuggled closer, thinking fond thoughts of a romantic breakfast in bed. She'd take her time waking her girlfriend with--

�For Christ's sake,� Lindsay muttered, awake without any prompting now as she fumbled for her cell phone on the nightstand. �Boxer.�

"This is good news," Cindy murmured to herself, trying to overcome her disappointment of having her agenda for Sunday morning crossed out. "Okay, someone's dead, not entirely good news." Lindsay would be thrilled to go back � so was Cindy actually, but still, couldn't they have waited until after the romantic breakfast she'd had planned?

Reluctantly, she disentangled herself from Lindsay's warm embrace and listened to her talking on the cell phone.

"I'm coming with you," Cindy announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

Lindsay just shook her head fondly, but she didn't protest. The day was looking up again. Besides, there was always dinner.

On a beautiful San Francisco Sunday morning, Claire Washburn stood in the expensively and tastefully furnished master bedroom of a three story mansion. She could have almost enjoyed the view if it hadn't been for the blood smeared over almost every surface of the room, its cloying metallic scent, and the woman's body in the center of it.

There had been blood stains along the stairs, starting in the living room; Betty Summers had tried to escape, but her attacker had caught up with her in the bedroom. Aside from multiple stab wounds, there were cuts on her hands; she had fought desperately, but lost in the end.

Claire took pictures and collected samples of fibers and fluids, trying to figure out what was nagging at the back of her mind. Running upstairs. It seemed odd, but there was no saying what went through someone's mind when it was clouded with the fear of death. Betty Summers might not have been thinking too clearly.

Straightening, Claire surveyed the body again. Summers' limbs were at odd angles, showing the extreme violence that had taken place. The killer hadn't opted for quick and clean.

"Not a random killing," a familiar voice said as other conversations in the room were quieting down to whispers in a wave across the room. Claire had an idea why and she couldn't blame them.

"This looks very personal. And Cho, stop staring," Lindsay told the young officer. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

The uniforms laughed hesitantly at the quote and Claire turned to her friend with a smile, just on time to see Lindsay rolling her eyes good-naturedly at her somewhat spooked colleagues.

Relief seemed an odd sentiment when in a room where a woman had been brutalized and killed only a few hours ago. However, Claire was relieved seeing Lindsay walk onto the crime scene like nothing had ever happened. Jill would be here soon, too, bravely fighting her queasiness as always, and she'd bet that Cindy was waiting on the other side of the yellow tape.

Claire looked at Betty Summers again and silently added, "And we're gonna find the son of a bitch who did this to you."

"They were supposed to be here, waiting for me!" The man appeared distraught and desperate, still Warren Jacobi had the urge to roll his eyes. A quick sideways look to his partner showed him that Lindsay seemed to be feeling pretty much the same, not that he could say for sure. On her first day back at work, she certainly had the barriers firmly in place.

He could sympathize. There had been a lot of talk going on behind closed doors, and she couldn't not know about it. The best way to deal with it was to ignore it.

Despite the fact that he had come home to find his wife brutally murdered and his little daughter traumatized beyond imagination, Richard Summers hadn't yet stopped projecting an air of entitlement. He'd been trying to tell the techs what they could touch and what they couldn't, and his lawyer had been on the scene ten minutes after the police, watching the proceedings closely.

"I know what you think," he said pointedly. "The husband's always the number one suspect. But I loved Betty!" The lawyer, a silver haired man in his sixties, touched his arm in support. His whole demeanor seemed a tad too overdone.

"That'll help," Lindsay acknowledged curtly. "Mr. Summers, do you know if your wife had any enemies?"

Lindsay spared a glance toward Jacobi. It was painfully obvious someone didn't love the woman. In the bedroom, they'd found jewelry worth several thousands of dollars and Betty Summers' purse with platinum credit cards and several hundred dollars cash. This wasn't a simple B&E. Most likely, killing Betty Summers had been the intent in the first place; it just became messier than expected.

"A man in Mr. Summers' position gets threats all the time," the lawyer answered, again in an openly condescending tone. "If they had been serious, we would have reported them to the police."

"Was there anything lately, Mr. Summers? Any new employee or someone hanging around the house?"

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Summers, but every single detail can be important," Lindsay told him calmly. The hint of impatience hadn't gone unnoticed by Jacobi.

Summers shook his head. "I can't think of anything right now. I need to see my daughter in the hospital."

"We'll need to talk to her, too," Lindsay informed the two men, clearly not surprised by Summers' reply.

"What we want is to find out who killed her. And we will. Okay, Mr. Summers. We'll be in touch."

Freedom. So this was what it felt like, Lindsay reflected as she followed her friends outside for the usual impromptu gathering after the first questioning. It was good to be back on the job, to be needed, or so she was telling herself. At the same time, it was a little like one of those dreams where you came to work still wearing your PJ's.

Only worse, because truth be told, she felt rather naked and didn't like the feeling at all.

Jill had paled at the sight of the bloodied body and seemed more than relieved to step outside the ransacked bedroom. For once, Lindsay could sympathize. The air had felt too damn thick inside; although, for her, it certainly wasn't the confrontation with violent death that had rattled her. It was more the glances of some of her colleagues who had looked like they'd seen a ghost and had seemed just as intrigued.

Across the street from the Summers' mansion, Cindy waved, and Lindsay instantly breathed a little easier, some of the anger she hadn't acknowledged until then dissipating

She hadn't realized how in the past years, every case, every aspect of her life seemed to have been overshadowed by the one killer who had kept taunting her. He'd been building his fantasy around her while she'd kept doing the same, laying it all on the line for this one case. He'd kept watching her.

"Call me heartless, but I don't like this guy," she summarized matter-of-factly. "He seemed to be more disturbed by the techs making a mess than by the mess made by the killer." The last time she'd recalled seeing a woman stabbed this many times, it had been Melissa Paquin, Kiss-Me-Not's second victim. She only hoped that Betty Summers had found a quicker death.

"Let me guess. You've been chatting up poor Cho again and he never knew what hit him."

Cindy just shrugged in an 'I-can't-help-it-if-I'm irresistible' way; Jill and Claire exchanged a smile. Those were the old tried patterns, and that was much better than everybody walking on eggshells around Lindsay and Cindy, not knowing how to deal with them. They were just barely learning how to deal with each other again.

Lindsay knew that her colleagues were speculating about what exactly had gone down in the 'House of Nightmares,' but their talk would die down eventually. She just had to believe that there would come a day when she'd feel less under a microscope, her every step watched, people she'd worked with every day for years waiting for her to crack under the pressure. Maybe that wasn't entirely fair. Most of them certainly didn't think that way, did they?

"Aside from your questionable ways of persuasion--" Lindsay said teasingly, earning a raised eyebrow and a smug smile from Cindy, "We don't even know for sure yet. Summers found her in the living room when he came in. With a little luck, she didn't see the murder... I've yet to talk to her."

"I'm going to take a closer look at Mrs. Summers," Claire said. "I don't think you'll find the murder weapon around here. It wasn't your garden variety kitchen knife."

Jill shuddered. "How about I go with Lindsay and you can tell us all about it later?"

The casual question prompted some indulgent smiles and a subsequent blush from Cindy.

"Whatever you'd like is fine and..." Lindsay raised an admonishing finger at Jill. "You're just jealous because the women in your life never cook."

Lindsay had longed for the day when she could finally get to work, and she didn't even mind when it turned out to be a Sunday. What she did mind was her work being hindered by a possible suspect, when having to talk to a little girl about the murder of her mother was bad enough already. She wanted to get it over with, for her and the girl, but it wasn't going to be easy to accomplish.

Summers bodily blocked the entrance to his daughter's room. He'd rubbed Lindsay the wrong way from the start, but his current behavior completed the picture. Summers wasn't just trying to protect his family, he was simply throwing his power around. It made Lindsay wonder how he'd reacted when he'd felt annoyed by his wife or daughter.

"Wait a minute. Dr. Grant, can I talk to you for a moment?" Jill addressed the lawyer. His frown clearly showed that he didn't care to, but he followed her anyway to the corner across the room. The conversation lasted only a couple of minutes, and then they returned. He was clearly unhappy with the result of his chat with the DDA..

"I'm sorry, you can't hinder the investigation. If she's seen anything--" Grant tried to explain but was cut off by a fuming Summers. "What the hell am I paying you for?"

Behind the men's backs, Lindsay gave Jill a quick wink, and said, "Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Summers."

Brushing past the irate man, she opened the door to the little girl's room. Could it be that there was something in his daughter's memory he wanted to fade away?

Now for the hard part. When she'd introduced herself to Dina Summers, there was no reaction, just as the doctor who'd stayed in the room had predicted. Lindsay shivered at the empty look in the girl's eyes, something eerily familiar. She crouched down to be on eye level with Dina.

"Can you hear me?" She practically felt the physician rolling her eyes behind her. They'd told her that the girl wasn't physically harmed, but she hadn't said a word since being admitted. Recalling Isela Quiroga, Lindsay wondered if there was any way to open a door to this traumatized child's soul, too. Personally, she could sympathize. Sometimes things were just too horrible to put into words. It was even worse when you felt partly responsible for them. Talking about it wasn't the first impulse; completely shutting down, sometimes, was the only escape left.

She had to get through to Dina somehow. The girl had probably seen her mother's murderer.

Lindsay knew she had to think like a cop again even when it felt like hypocrisy to her to ask of this child what she wasn't able to do herself. "The doc said that you might hear me. I'm sure that there are a lot of things on your mind, and you don't really want to talk to me right now, but maybe you can help me."

Dina finally acknowledged Lindsay's presence, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.

Lindsay wondered if the killer was familiar, someone the little girl knew and trusted, someone she would have never expected to turn into the monster he'd really been all the time... There was no answer.

"I know you're afraid, but we're going to find him. He won't hurt anyone else." And, hopefully, her promise wasn't premature, because Lindsay remembered having made a similar promise. She'd kept it, too, but it had taken a lot longer than she'd hoped.

Her eyes fell on the pillow the girl was clutching to her, and she realized what Dina was hiding underneath it. Lindsay groaned inwardly. It should have been placed in evidence long ago.

"You're a brave girl," she continued. "And you took care of your friend, too. Can I see her?"

"It's just a bloody doll," Dina said all of a sudden with enough venom to startle Lindsay. "I hate it. Hate it!" she screamed, flinging it across the room. The porcelain face shattered against the wall, the sound seeming obscenely loud in the confines of the small room.

Dina didn't answer, having already reverted back to her stupor, rocking back and forth. Lindsay nodded to an officer to bag the literally bloody doll and pieces of porcelain.

Dina started mumbling something unintelligible. Perfect timing for the doctor to declare the interview over. Straightening, Lindsay wondered if the person who'd brought the doll into the Summers' house would lead them to the murderer.

Leaving the hospital with a sigh of relief, Lindsay pushed aside all thoughts of the last time she'd been there, not that long ago, as a patient. Those memories were not supposed to be mingling with the present case. She'd look at them another day.

Cindy had always liked puzzles, the more complicated the better. Maybe that was a part of why she'd longed to leave the Metro desk in favor of something more challenging and why she was attracted to people who were complex and, well, sometimes, complicated. She allowed these thoughts free rein as, for the moment, she felt the need to escape her more obvious ones.

She felt certain that she'd found parts that could be helpful to complete the puzzle, but she was unsure about how much to tell Lindsay. She knew she'd have to eventually tell her lover all of it, because she'd learned the hard way that nothing good could come out of keeping secrets. But still... Richard Summers was the easier one. At one time the Register had run a story on successful businesswomen. She'd actually met Betty Summers once as well as Summers' best friend, Lily Mason, who, as Cindy had just learned, couldn't wait to share her suspicions.

When the story had first run, Summers had nearly sued the paper because of the portrayal of his wife as an independent woman with her own mind. It had been... creepy.

If that particular information didn't open recent wounds, Cindy other investigations surely would. She knew Lindsay didn't care to talk about Pete; she'd given her official statement to Tom, and as far as she was concerned, it was all over and done with until the trial.

The trial that would eventually bring up everything, but Cindy couldn't bring herself to wait that long. She had spent the other half of the day making phone calls and checking facts, and there was a connection between all of the victims, which was a relief.

This time, Pete wouldn't be able to pull his ass out of the sling, figuratively speaking, of course.