Act II

"So how is the house hunting going?" Claire asked, not missing a beat in her work to sew up Betty Summers' body, which was currently on her table.

 Jill turned away from the sight, grimacing. "Yeah. Tell me something good this morning."

 "There wasn't really a lot of time. The department has a wicked way of cutting my vacations short," Lindsay said, disregarding the fact that her last absence had been anything but a vacation.

 Claire straightened, somewhat surprised by the fact that Cindy had remained silent so far, but filed it away for later. She had news to share. "You're definitely looking for a very long knife with a serrated blade. Judging from the angle, our man is left-handed and very strong; some of the stabs nearly pinned her to the bed. See, this is strange. There are a few more superficial wounds."

 "Was he taunting her?" Lindsay asked with a frown. "Or hesitating?"

 "At this point, your guess is as good as mine. I've got something else though. Lab results came back regarding that doll. They found a blonde hair."

 "Dina kept it with her, yet she started screaming when I asked her about it. Any chance it belongs to our killer?"

 Claire shook her head. "I don't think so. It's a woman's hair. Unless she was on something, I can't see her pushing the knife so deeply it nearly penetrated through to the other side."

 "Thanks for the mental image," Jill chimed in. "By any chance, is Maggie around? Denise said to tell her to get her butt over there. Not sure I'll use exactly those words."

 Lindsay smirked. "She couldn't call her? They're not fond of each other, are they? Hey, I'll come with you. I've got to go harass Summers some more; maybe he can tell us who the blonde hair belongs to."

 "The babysitter?" Cindy wondered. "It was a school day. Dina shouldn't have been home."

 "Summers said they didn't need one since he made her and Betty stay at home on the days when he came back from business trips." Lindsay rolled her eyes. "I'm wondering why the school allowed that. He's probably giving gracious donations." She shook her head in disgust and turned her attention back to Jill. "You need a chaperone with Hollywood?"

 Jill just glared at her, not very convincingly, and turned on her heel, motioning over her shoulder. Lindsay chuckled as she followed her friend out the door.

Claire immediately turned to Cindy, who was trying her best to look innocent – and failing.

 "Alright, what's up with you?"

 "Um... nothing?" Cindy didn't avert her eyes, but she was fidgeting.

 "Nothing." Claire nodded. "That's why you barely said a word. Is it something no one but you and Lindsay are supposed to know, or is it something you are keeping from Lindsay?"

 Cindy just groaned and hid her face in her hands. Claire put and arm around the younger woman's shoulder and walked her into her office. "Come on. Coffee and chocolate make everything better."

 Cindy's gaze was doubtful, but at least she followed without protest.

 *******

 

Maggie hadn't been at her desk, so Jill returned to her office to go over Richard Summers' financial transactions. She'd agreed with Lindsay that something about the way the man seemed to contradict the grieving husband routine. He acted as if he'd lost on the stock market rather than having lost his wife. His alibi might be solid, but people in his position had other ways to make things happen.

 "Jill. Hi."

 Something about the numbers on the sheet had kept her mesmerized and she didn't look up right away, missing Maggie Snow fidgeting in the doorway. "Maggie, come on in," she said absent-mindedly. "I was looking for you. Denise asked for you to come by."

 "That's where I just came from. There was something I wanted to ask you."

 Now Jill looked up at her expectantly. The other night, she'd called a cab for herself. Jill wasn't very sure about anything between them at the moment, but one thing she was sure of was that she didn't want Maggie to be part of an old dysfunctional pattern.

 "I was wondering if you'd like to go out for dinner tonight," Maggie said, her casual tone clearly feigned.

 There were various reasons for Jill to tell her 'no', but the smile spread across her face before she could stop it, and she realized she'd been hoping for... something. She'd also stayed in denial as long as she could, because there was no doubt that every step in this direction could only make her life more complicated.

 Right now was not the time for Lindsay to think she was letting her down. At least Lindsay was too busy picking up the pieces to care about the accusations that had been made before, but Jill was sure that she hadn't forgotten. Neither had Claire or Cindy. Especially not Cindy.

 "I'd like that," she said anyway, because it was the truth, because right now she wasn't half drunk, depressed and in shock of her friends having nearly been killed.

 Maggie gave her a brilliant smile. "I'll pick you up at 8 – you choose the restaurant. So... that's great." She hesitated for a moment longer, and Jill simply waited.

 "Your friends, they're okay? I mean Lindsay seems to be. Cindy, however, gives me the evil eye whenever I get within a ten mile radius of her, so hell if I know."

 Jill tried hard not to smile at the pretty accurate description. "Look, I understand, but I'm not the one who can give you absolution. You just have to give them time."

 "Thanks. I'll try. I'll see you at 8, then."

 Turning abruptly, she nearly ran into Jill's next visitor, a not-so-amused Denise.

 "Ms. Kwon!" she greeted her cheerily. "Have a good day."

 "You bet," Denise murmured, before she pulled the door closed behind her. "Jill, there's something we need to talk about."

 *******

 

"This is stupid," Summers declared. "She's traumatized. It has nothing to do with the doll. Hell, it could be from the store where it was sold."

 "More likely, it belongs to a witness of the murder," Lindsay corrected him. "So if you can think of anybody--"

 "I can't. Now, if you'd excuse me?"

 "You went back to work right away," she said thoughtfully.

 "Yes, I did. That doesn't make me a murderer. I've got a responsibility to my employees. All 150 of them."

 Lindsay thought that with Dina still being treated in the hospital, this said a lot about the man's priorities. She wondered about her own instant reaction towards him. She'd have to remind herself that, for now, they couldn't even attach a motive to him, other than he didn't seem to care much. So he'd shed a few tears, however Lindsay wasn't convinced that whatever he did was anything but putting on a show.

 She felt sorry for the little girl who was caught up in a hell of her own with no one reaching out to her, not even her own father. Lindsay had been so much luckier, having the protective circle of her friends, her lover who'd spent the night in the narrow uncomfortable hospital bed right next to her even though she had to deal with a trauma of her own. She could barely imagine going through all of this without Cindy by her side – but Dina Summers had no one.

 "I see you take that responsibility very seriously."

 Before he could answer to the implied accusation, the door opened and a woman in her mid-thirties entered, carrying a tray with two coffee cups. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't know you had visitors."

 "The police are here about Betty."

 Something changed in the woman's expression, and she hastily made her exit. "Oh right. Like I said. Sorry."

 "My assistant, Marian Whedon," Summers explained when she had closed the door. "As you could see, her social skills could use improvement." He'd said it to Jacobi, obviously intending it to be a joke between men.

 "Your assistant," Jacobi said, unimpressed. "Has she ever been to your house?"

 "Well, sometimes, she has to--" Summers realized quickly what the background of the question was. "I know what you're thinking, but no. Why would Marian give my daughter a doll? That's ridiculous."

 "I'd like to ask her about it anyway," Lindsay told him.

*******

 

"You're going out with the woman who accused your best friend of murder? Not a smart move, Bernhardt."

 Jill felt unpleasantly blindsided by her boss's snide remark, making her tone impatient. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

 "Sorry. None of my business." Denise didn't sound apologetic at all. "I thought you might want to know about the case this office is putting together against Peter Raynor, but if you're too busy--"

 "That's low even for you—" Jill broke off, shocked that the words had actually come out of her mouth. Denise being pissed off with her wasn't so strange after all; she had tipped them off in time as to Maggie's plans to find evidence against Lindsay. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not fond of what she was trying to do."

 "So, you're just forgetting about it? Never mind. Like I said, none of my business. But there's this murdering bastard who is, so I could use your help. You did a lot of work on this case."

 "Anything you need." Much as she'd wanted to, she wouldn't be the one to put Raynor away in the end. The least she could do was contribute whatever she could do to make that happen. "It's going to happen here, right? They're not going to snatch it from us because of Ashe?"

 Denise shook her head. "They're going to have to wait for their moment. All the women were murdered around here, not to mention kidnapping Lindsay and Cindy Thomas--"

 The color must have drained from her face. Denise's concerned look confirmed the feeling. She reached out to squeeze Jill's hand briefly.

 "Don't you worry," she said. "This time, we'll nail his ass to the wall."

 *******

 

Cindy had prepared dinner as a form of peace offering. Claire had been right; she needed to get this over with as soon as possible, so she barely gave Lindsay time to close the door behind her before she blurted, "There's something I need to tell you."

 "I guess you're talking about your homework regarding Pete," Lindsay assumed.

 Cindy watched anxiously for any signs that Lindsay was really mad at her, but she didn't find any. They sat down, side by side, on the makeshift picnic blanket in front of the couch. No use in buying a new coffee table to fit into an apartment they'd planned to leave soon.

 "How did you know?" she asked.

 "I guess I did the same research. Melissa studied architecture. Sarah played at Stockton." Lindsay shook her head. "All this time, I can't believe we never saw the connections."

 "You couldn't," Cindy said softly. "You'd have to have known about the company and about Billy Harris. We always assumed he was working alone... You said you didn't want to-- I just had to have some answers before we go to court. To be sure."

 Lindsay gazed at her intently and laid her hand on Cindy's arm. "I'm sorry, I keep making this all about me. You saw him kill a man."

 "I did." Cindy swallowed hard. "But... and I know this isn't right, but the worst really was when I came home, and you were gone and he'd left--" They had all clung to the fact that Pete was obsessed with Lindsay, that it would give them time, but she'd never forgotten what she'd learned about the other crime scenes, even if she hadn't seen them.

 She'd stolen away from the hospital for an hour to throw out the coffee table; Cindy knew enough about Forensics now to be sure that tiny particles of the blood would have remained forever in the wood. The organs might have been bought at a butcher's counter, but she'd never forget what they'd meant. She'd never be able to eat off that table again. Lindsay hadn't commented on the missing furniture, but she'd seen the report, Cindy's statement, so there was no explanation necessary.

 What Lindsay didn't know was that Cindy had borrowed an axe from her neighbor and that the table was now in pieces. It had been a little scary, but helpful and very cathartic.

 She leaned against Lindsay's side with a sigh. "Anyway. That wasn't the only thing I was going to tell you."

 "Been keeping secrets from me?"

 "Just this one. You know Summers might not be happy to know that I'm covering the story. That's why I kept my distance at the house."

 "Okay. Tell me."

 "I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn't want you to think I can't handle this, but Claire said you'd find out anyway and--"

 "Stop it," Lindsay said, half amused, half annoyed. "I love you. You took me in when my home went bang, and you were the only thing that kept me sane in the crazy house. It can't be that bad, right?"

 Cindy felt her face flush with more than mortification. "Um... I guess not. Okay, get this, when I was doing a piece on businesswomen in the city, I interviewed Betty Summers and her best friend, Lily Mason. Summers nearly went ballistic. He didn't like her being portrayed as a strong, independent individual. In the end, Betty asked us to rephrase. I couldn't believe it."

 "Why didn't you tell me?"

 "Summers is a jerk. He'd called the paper and threatened us with lawsuits. I didn't want you to get mad for me I guess."

 Lindsay leaned back against the couch. "There's something about him that sets off alarm bells. It's hard to stay objective."

 "Do you think he did it?" Cindy asked, not sure whether she should be relieved or worried about Lindsay's lack of reaction to the news.

 "It wouldn't surprise me, but it's gonna be hell to prove. I think the assistant might know more than she's letting on. In any case, she's slept with him. She didn't say it in so many words, but it was pretty obvious."

 "If he did it, we're gonna find a way. You should talk to Lily Mason – she was Betty's best friend."

 Lindsay simply nodded. It was understood without words that after what they'd been through this shouldn't be so hard in comparison.

 Still, there was something uncannily familiar about Richard Summers who seemed to think that his wife was someone who'd existed just for him.

 *******

 

Marian Whedon was the first to crack under pressure. When she was confronted with the proof of the amount of money Summers had given her for her loft apartment, she confirmed that he'd wanted to divorce Betty and marry her instead. She also admitted to giving the doll to Dina, and that the girl had hated it. Why she'd kept it after the murder of her mother, Whedon had no idea.

 The next interview with Richard Summers had a clearly more official presence, with Denise being around for the questioning. He certainly got the significance behind the acting DA's presence.

 "I'm not sure you have the right to question me again," were his first words before he'd even sat down.

 "Don't worry about it," Jacobi assured him. "We just have a few more questions regarding your wife's death. That's perfectly legal."

 "Why are you wasting time while the real killer is out there?"

 Lindsay kept reminding herself that the evidence, even though it pointed directly at him, wasn't enough. While she was sure that he'd made many promises to his assistant, it could be that she had taken them more seriously than he had. Still, Marian was right-handed. Summers, alibi aside, wasn't. "We are looking at all relationships that were important in Betty's life. We can exclude a random murder, so it's entirely possible that the person who killed your wife didn't just hate her; they might have had a problem with you."

 "That's nonsense, Inspector. The most important relationship is between a wife and her husband."

 Lindsay could tell that Jacobi was having a hard time keeping a straight face, even without looking at him. "I guess that's why you had the affair with Ms. Whedon, to emphasize the importance of the relationship with your wife?"

 "Betty was just so... independent, you know," Summers said, not even trying to deny the affair. He looked to Jacobi for help. "A man needs to know that a woman depends on him."

 Lindsay covered her snort with a fake cough. It was sad that the woman had to live in such an environment; obviously Lily Mason had been quite right in encouraging Betty to leave. "Is that so, Mr. Summers? You cheated on your wife because part of her life didn't revolve around you? My sympathies."

 "She was my wife," he emphasized, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. The way he acted, the entitlement, the simmering fury ready to erupt when his demands weren't met – it was eerily familiar.

 "I understand that. So?"

 "She should have thought of my needs, too."

 "But she can't now, because she's dead. Did you punish Betty for her independence?" Subtly, Lindsay moved closer into his personal space.

 "That's crazy!"

 "Is it that you wanted her to be yours and yours only and when she refused to play along with your little fantasy, you killed her?"

 "No!" he shouted. "I didn't touch her! Somebody get this crazy bitch off me, or I'm going to—"

 "Sue me?" she interrupted him. "Insulting a police officer will not earn you a lot of credit in court."

 Denise just smiled mildly. "There is that."

 Summers rolled his eyes. "Jesus, no one ever wanted to marry you, right?"

 The next seconds passed in a blur and, when Lindsay realized she had him by his collar, she couldn't quite say how it had happened.

 "That's enough!" Tom had made his way into the room, and to her utter mortification, so had Maggie Snow. "Inspector Boxer, my office."

 "Lieutenant," she snapped, just barely able to resist the temptation to tell Summers that she'd had some offers on the table, that her currently enraged boss had once married her and a psychopathic serial killer had wanted to as well.

 Moments later, she slammed the door as if that could make the looks of their colleagues in the bullpen less interested or shut them up. Wasn't that just the moment they'd been waiting for all along, to witness her snap?

 Once inside Tom's office, a few moments ticked by without either of them saying anything. The tension was palpable.

 "What do you think you're doing, Linz?"

 "My job?" she offered defensively.

 "You were out of line. Summers is just waiting for the opportunity to slap a lawsuit on the department, so he can draw the attention away from his own case. We have to be more careful!"

 "Okay. I'm sorry." Lindsay was aware that some backpedaling was in order and quick. Unfortunately, she wasn't feeling very sorry, and her tone showed it. "What do you want from me?"

 "He's not Raynor."

 Tom's words had the effect of a slap to the face, and she resisted the impulse to take a full step backwards. "Thanks so much for the reminder, Lieutenant. Can I go back to work now?"

 Her hand was already on the door handle, but Tom motioned her to sit. Growing all cold inside and beginning to realize that her actions could possibly cause more dire consequences than she'd thought, Lindsay did as she'd been told, but damn it, she'd wanted to maintain an objective stance regarding Pete, not give him that much power. "He's a jerk, and he paid someone to kill his wife of sixteen years."

 "I believe you're right," Tom acknowledged. "But you're not going to prove it by threatening Summers. Lindsay, I think you're still... dealing..." He'd entered a minefield, and it seemed like he was as much aware of it as she was.

 "Let's not go there, alright? I've dealt. I'm back 100%."

 "I don't think you are. I also think it would help if you talked--"

 “No thanks. I've got someone to talk to, remember?"

 "-- to the department psychiatrist." 

 Lindsay froze, blindsided by the very idea and annoyed with herself because she had expected anything but this. Back in the hospital, she'd sent the counselor on staff away.

 Of course, she'd been to Doc Walker's office on a few occasions. With the Hallelujah Man, she'd felt her control slipping and had needed someone to bounce off ideas, or that's how she had rationalized it. When needing to learn about crazy people, who better to consult than a shrink? This, however, was very different.

 There'd been no control when she'd been drugged and shackled to that stupid hospital bed.

 None, when she'd had to realize that Pete had brought Cindy to that place. She'd wished so badly that it could have been one of his planted delusions, too.

 It had been bad enough to live it. She certainly didn't need to bring it up all over again. Life went on, and it was promising to be better than ever. Why jinx it?

 "So," she said coolly, "is this some kind of ultimatum? Can't let me loose on the public until I've poured out my heart to the shrink?"

 "I'm not talking about the public in general, but you're not going near Summers until you've talked to Walker," Tom said, his tone final, but he could barely look her in the eye. Knowing each other for a decade, more than half of it as spouses, they instinctively knew what the other one was thinking. One thing Lindsay really didn't want was his sympathy.

 "Fine," she spat, standing up so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. "Am I suspended? Off the case? This is getting old, you know."

 "Talk to Dr. Walker."

 "Sure. Tell him I'm on my way."

 On her way out, Lindsay nearly slammed the door again, pointless as it would have been.

 She leaned against the solid surface for a moment, looking down into the bullpen. Most of the detectives were out on cases and her gaze fell on Maggie Snow's empty desk, but it was the image of Pete in his prison cell, grinning, that made her clench her fingers into fists. She'd been playing into his hands, because that's what he wanted, to immobilize her, to make it all about him.

 As much as she hated to admit it, Tom had been right about Summers if not about the shrink appointment, too. She'd be a lot more cautious with the man; she owed it to his wife who had never stood a chance to escape a madman's delusion, his sick idea of a relationship.

 There was a kinship between this woman and herself.

 Lindsay would do whatever was necessary to bring her justice.

 *******

 

"You don't have to stand in the doorway," Walker informed her. It was said with barely a hint of amusement; they both knew she didn't want to be here. The plan had been to just make an appointment, but as it turned out, unfortunately, he offered her some time right away. 

 "I'm comfortable, thanks. I don't plan on staying long."

 "I know this is your least favorite part, especially when it's one of those nasty mandatory appointments."

 The familiar dry humor relaxed her some. He was trustworthy, after all, if at times pointing out uncomfortable truths she could have done without. "One word of advice, never work for your ex. It works out for the most part, but this – so I crossed a line. He could have reprimanded me. Instead, he thinks I need someone to talk to."

 "Do you?"

 "I have friends." Lindsay shrugged.

 "Which is good, but we tend to spare those who are close to us, play things down."

 "I'm not sure I could even if I tried. They have access to police reports." She finally came into the room and took a seat in one of the chairs with a sigh. "Okay, this is what happened. Kiss-Me-Not, after seven years of playing games and stalking me, decided he wanted to brainwash me into believing we'd spent most of our lives together. When that didn't work so well, he kidnapped my girlfriend in order to quicken the process of making me see reason. You wonder if that was traumatic? It was. I know my anger, I know my nightmares, and hers. Can we be done?"

 The psychiatrist smiled wryly. "I'm thinking your analysis is spot-on, but it's okay to take more time than two minutes."

 "I don't see why I should be here. I'm dealing with what happened, I'm back on the job. The bastard's in jail now. I've been waiting for that moment for many years, and it has finally come. That seems like a very happy ending to me."

 "It's certainly a good thing," he agreed. "I know you're used to putting things behind you rather quickly. In your job, you have to, but this was more than just doing your job."

 "Right. This guy just kept pissing me off for too long."

 "It gets harder to stay objective when people we love are involved."

 Lindsay didn't need long to come up with the precise answer to sum up the situation. "If he had touched her, I don't think I could have lived with that. You want to know how I felt, right? I felt like killing him with my bare hands. How's that for objective?" It was surprising to Lindsay to realize how close that feeling still hovered under the surface.

 "It's human," Walker offered.

 "Yeah, maybe. But it's over now, life goes on. I've got other open cases... I've got to go house hunting; I guess you read in the paper why."

 "Are you feeling safe?"

 Lindsay narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you asking me that? Kiss-Me-Not is in a prison cell, and he'll never get out again. The world has never been safer."

 "Sometimes, the mind needs a bit of time to catch up with the present. Besides, I wasn't asking about the world. I was asking about you."

 "My mind is all caught up, believe me." Lindsay sat with her back straight, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Willing him to buy the perfect, blatant lie exposed by every sleepless night, every nightmare she tried her best to keep from Cindy, because God knew she had enough of her own.

 "Okay, how about we discuss today's suspect then? From what you've told me, he seems like someone who feels very entitled, prone to abuse power, especially over women."

 It was said matter-of-factly, but Lindsay sensed he was implying the same thing that Tom had, that she was confusing one misogynistic, murdering jerk with another. "I know where you're going with this, but it's not true. I got carried away. Never gonna happen again. I love my job, you know."

 "He didn't seem familiar?"

 "They all are, in one way or another. That's something I'll have to live with. I can't be idly sitting at home now."

 Their conversation ended on a tie, but Lindsay was pretty sure that the psychiatrist wasn't impressed with her. She wasn't either, but for the time being, it had to be enough.

 Lindsay had planned to go home straight after rubbing it in with Tom that the shrink didn't think of her as particularly crazy. "Would that be all, Lieutenant?" she said, her tone bordering on cocky. "I've got someone waiting for me with dinner." Actually, she had no idea about that, but she was feeling a little spiteful at the moment.

 "I'm sorry, Linz, one more thing. You've got visitors."

 "Now?"

 She was aware of his curious look and guessed he was wondering about the details of the appointment. Lindsay wasn't about to make a prediction because, frankly, she just wanted to leave.

 "It's Mr. and Mrs. Lewis," he said apologetically.

 It took her a moment to make the connection, but when Lindsay saw the older couple waiting by her desk, the images came rushing back immediately. Just like the first time, she didn't really want to go down and talk to Elaine Lewis's parents, but also like the first time, she knew there wasn't much of an alternative.

 "Okay," she sighed. "But after that, I'm out of here."

 There weren't many people in the bullpen with most detectives out on cases and the night shift having not yet started, but after the greeting, Lindsay asked the couple to come into the break room with her. She didn't want to remind anyone of the Kiss-Me-Not case any more than she wanted to be reminded of it, futile as that might have been.

 The last time she'd seen Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, they seemed broken beyond any measure of healing by their grief, unable to exist in a reality where their daughter had been brutally murdered; however, they didn't appear to be broken now.

 "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Inspector," Mr. Lewis began.

 "It's no problem." Lindsay braced herself. Why the hell did everybody think that talking would make everything go away, her feelings of failure over the years, and lately, shame? She had contained them and put them away, and looking at them all over again wouldn't help, just the opposite. It was almost ironic, everyone had always been urging her to move on, and now that she needed to, no one seemed to get it.

 Mrs. Lewis smiled hesitantly. "We won't keep you for long. We just wanted to thank you."

 Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because Mr. Lewis continued, "We saw it on TV that you caught the man who killed our Elaine." His eyes misted over. "I know that won't bring her back. Nothing ever will. But see, for a while, we felt like we had nothing to live for anymore. Knowing that he'll be brought to trial, that he's eventually going to pay – that is giving us a whole new reason."

 As uneasy as she felt about the conversation, it seemed to confirm her suspicion about Summers. She'd seen all the faces of grief, known when it was honest. With Elaine's parents, the emotion was painfully obvious, cutting. Richard Summers had shed tears the first time they'd talked to him, and yet, she didn't buy his act. "He is never going to touch another woman," Lindsay promised.

 "Thanks to you."

 "A lot of people contributed to capturing him." And letting yourself get caught really wasn't such a great contribution at all. Taking years to put a face to his name and doing it wrong the first time wasn't. Self-reproach, she'd found, was an odd comfort.

 "Of course. I believe we can't even begin to imagine what you've been through. Just be sure we won't ever forget what you did for Elaine."

 Lindsay flinched when Mrs. Lewis took her hand. "One thing we've learned," she said, "is that life goes on. Somehow. It will just never be the same." She squeezed gently before she let go. "We'll keep you in our prayers, Inspector."

 After she'd thanked them and seen them out, Lindsay tiredly slumped into the chair, the coffee she'd gotten from the vending machine remained untouched. If everybody was willing to give her absolution, why couldn't she?

 Her cell phone rang, and looking at the caller ID, she smiled.

 "I'm trying to figure out if it's a good day for a cooked meal or would I have to eat it all by myself?" Cindy asked.

 "It's a good day. I'm coming home."

 *******

 

Lindsay hadn't known how exhausted she was until she unlocked the front door, and suddenly, the urge to just crash on the couch after a quick shower was nearly overwhelming. Moving on proved to be not as easy as she'd thought it would be after all, it didn't help coming home each night to Cindy's apartment where the finale of her longest nightmare had begun. The temporary solution wouldn't have been necessary in the first place if most of her belongings hadn't gone up in flames.

 She walked inside, smiling at the sound of soft music playing somewhere in the apartment, the smells of a home-cooked meal making her stomach growl, a reminder that her last meal had been some time ago. She knew she shouldn't lean so hard on Cindy to create some air of normalcy, but she couldn't deny how good it felt.

 "You're just in time."

 Cindy came out of the bathroom barefoot, wearing just a tank top and sweatpants. She smiled, walking into Lindsay's embrace and holding on tight for a moment.

 "For what?"

 "Come on. It's been a long day, so I thought you could use some time to unwind before dinner."

 In the bathroom, the light was dimmed, a few candles lit, a pleasant scent rising from the hot water that filled the tub. "Wow," Lindsay managed. "You're so right." She placed a kiss on the top of Cindy's head. "Thank you." Wrapping her arms around her lover again, Lindsay fought the image that had sprung to her mind just for a split-second, of another bathtub, cold water, and blood, making her shiver. She didn't want to spoil Cindy's surprise.

 "You're welcome. Now get in there while I finish dinner.” She hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “How did it go with the shrink? Was it bad?”

 She'd called Cindy before she'd gone to see Walker. “Bearable. Guy knows when to back off.”

 “Good.” Cindy remained standing in the doorway as Lindsay pulled her shirt over her head.

 "You see something you like?"

 "Very much," Cindy said quietly.

 Lindsay gave a quick wink and sank into the hot water, her muscles instantly relaxing. It felt like heaven. She took a selfish moment to close her eyes and revel into the warmth that melted the tension and aches out of her body. When she opened them again, Cindy was still there, just like she'd known. Hoped.

 "Is there a chance you could leave dinner alone for a while?"

 Smiling, Cindy finally walked closer, pulling off her shirt as well. "Absolutely."

 The ever-present weight of failure finally lifted, and with Cindy warm and relaxed in her arms, resting against her chest, Lindsay allowed herself a moment of peace.

 Maybe Doc Walker was right, and the Lewises, too. Maybe she had done all she could. In the safety of this intimate moment, she clicked through a mental slideshow of the past few years, the horrors, the determination, the disappointments. Pete had tried hard to take away everything that had defined her, but he hadn't known that she had something that was stronger than any chains or drugs he could come up with.

 Something he'd never be able to understand.

 "Linz?"

 "I'm okay." She hadn't realized that even with the water temperature, she was shaking.

 "You're kidding me, right?" Cindy craned her neck to face her. "What's going on?" she asked softly.

 "Nothing. It's okay, really." It would have been more believable if her voice hadn't broken on the words or if she hadn't felt the pressure of tears she'd always forced herself to hold back. She'd been pushing her feeling away for seven years. "Just... don't ever leave me."

 "I won't," Cindy promised, tightening her embrace. "And I'll keep reminding you until you finally get it through your thick skull and believe me."

 All these years, she hadn't been able to really face her own fears because she had to be strong for those women whose voices had been taken away by a crazy psychopath. She couldn't question herself because she had to believe in the victims of a man who'd thought it his duty to punish whomever he considered to be sinners.

 Lindsay remembered how Jill had once told her that she was drowning. It had never been this true, but how lucky she was to be with the one person who was strong enough to deal with this side of her.

 *******

 

Cindy sat on the edge of the bed, watching her lover sleep, brushing the back of her fingers lightly across Lindsay's cheek. She smiled, feeling empty and spent but, at the same time, hopeful. And while she was feeling Lindsay's pain with an intensity that left her exhausted, a little sad even because she could not entirely take it away, it had meant so much that Lindsay had been willing to share it with her.

 She wasn't kidding herself either. A new place would help. It would take more than that to make them both feel safe again, but they would get there eventually.

 She believed it with all her heart.

 Cindy rolled her eyes a little when her cell phone rang and leaned down to kiss Lindsay's temple before she went to answer it. The caller ID was Lily Mason's. Betty's friend seemed to have decided to talk to her once more. The timing was less than perfect, but she was sure that Mason had to share something important about her friend, so she wrote a note, bent to kiss Lindsay once more and the she was out the door, promising both of them that they'd continue this conversation – soon.

 *******

 

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