Act II

 

2005, November

 On a Friday evening when most of her colleagues were already enjoying their weekend, Jill still sat poring over files for a trial that would begin next week. She knew them inside out. One last time wouldn't hurt though.

 She was so lost in thought that the knock on the door frame nearly made her knock over her coffee mug. "Sheesh, scare me half to death, why don't you?" A long day mostly sustaining herself on caffeine and adrenaline had made the words come out more snappish than she'd intended. "I'm sorry," Jill offered. "I didn't know you were still here."

 "It's okay." Lindsay gave her a smile that was both indulgent and affectionate.

 She was fidgeting slightly. As the silence stretched on between them, Jill wondered what the reason for this late visit was. They hadn't really spent a lot of time together since Tom had left, probably for much of the same reason that he had.

Jill ruefully thought that she missed her friend, and the way things were before, when the depraved workings of a serial killer hadn't yet wound their way into their nightmares. Before, when she'd almost thought...

 With a sigh, she surveyed the stack before her. "I'm calling it a night. Is there anything I can do for you?"

 "Um, actually, yes."

 Intrigued now, Jill leaned back in her chair and waited for Lindsay to continue.

 "I... don't know if you have any plans for tonight. I was just wondering if you'd like to come over. Have some drinks, watch a movie maybe."

 Jill hesitated for a heartbeat, which hadn't gone unnoticed.

 "It's stupid. Forget about it."

 "No. No, wait!" Lindsay's request had been so unexpected it was almost too late when Jill called out after her. "I could so use a drink. Monday's coming too soon as it is."

 Maybe it was a bad idea after all, because since Tom had gone, Jill found it harder to deny that her feelings might encompass more than wanting to console a friend who was going through a break-up. She wasn't one to make a pass at a married woman. Jill regretfully suspected though that it wouldn't be more welcome now that Lindsay almost wasn't married any longer.

 She'd just have to deny harder.

 *******

 

"One thing though," Lindsay said as she poured the wine for both of them. "Don't mention Tom, and how I've been making a big mistake."

 "I wasn't going to!"

 Lindsay gave her the look usually reserved for people Jill prosecuted, the one that said, 'you're lying and I know it', and Jill couldn't hide her smile. Maybe she'd been about to say it. Just for testing.

 With a sigh, Lindsay plopped down beside her on the couch. "I think this serial killer is just an excuse. If people want out, why can't they just say it?"

 Truth be told, Jill didn't think it had been an excuse on Tom's part. It was all too true that this case was pushing all of them to the edge. Never mind the fact that there were others, day by day. But it was the man who sewed his victims' lips shut who kept haunting them, because there was no doubt he would do it again at some point.

 "I have a request, too," she said, more seriously. "No talk about Kiss-Me-Not." That might have been a bit much to ask, because it was so obvious that he was the reason that they were here now, but she'd try.

 "Just like the old times." It sounded more wistful than ironic.

 "Exactly." As their glasses clinked together and they shared a smile, Jill recognized the feeling as one she'd almost forgotten.

 Hope.

 *******

 

"Weekends are the worst," Lindsay admitted ruefully when the credits of the movie rolled over the screen. They'd started out with Phantom of the Opera, because Lindsay was really a romantic at heart, even though she'd hardly ever admit it, and somehow moved from there to Taking Lives, because it seemed there was no way to escape reality, ever.

 It had its moments, though, Jill had to admit. After all, she had a thing for tall brunettes who didn't hesitate to take on the bad guys. Her face warming, she fumbled for something to say, coming up with the most stupid, "You should get a dog." Which made her feel even more embarrassed. Was that really only the second bottle of wine they'd just opened?

 Lindsay chuckled at that. "Or I should spend some time with my friends more often," she suggested. "I'm glad we did this."

 "Me too."

 There was silence for a moment, but neither of them looked away. Just for a second, Jill thought how easy it would be to cross that line from friendship to something tentatively different. But that friendship wasn't something she was willing to gamble with.

 It was impossible.

 Yet she leaned forward, initiating the kiss. When Lindsay didn't pull away, Jill realized that she might have been mistaken.

 *******

 

The honeymoon was over as soon as they returned to work and their first case turned out to be a murdered six-year-old girl. Since she couldn't bear to look, Jill studied Lindsay instead and found that she had overestimated herself. It wasn't really that she had done such a great job distracting her from Kiss-Me-Not. The only person who could really do that was a predator that was worse than him. And by the time he was behind bars, their time together was over, too.

 *******

 

Jill had known it wasn't going to be a good day when only a few minutes after unlocking the door, she had Lindsay pacing in her office. "What is it you're trying to tell me?" she asked, feeling tense and anxious. She really didn't want to know. But she'd make her say it.

 "This. Us."

 "I'm listening." The worst thing was that it didn't come as a surprise. Jill had been waiting for this every day in the past three weeks, whenever she had taken off the rose-colored glasses for a  moment.

 "It can't work." Lindsay was obviously expecting help, but Jill wasn't going to be so kind to provide her with an explanation, too.

 "It's a phase I'm going through, and.... I wish it hadn't been you."

 Jill was mostly good at deciphering Lindsay-speak, but even though she could tell what her friend, lover, ex – whatever – was trying to say, she had to fight hard against the impulse to slap her.

 "Because," Lindsay was expressing herself just slightly more clearly, "I wouldn't have messed up our friendship. I wouldn't have hurt you."

 "You just did." Jill couldn't have stopped the words from tumbling out even if she'd tried. "A  phase?" She shook her head. "How can you even know if you're not giving us a chance to be anything beyond that?"

 "I'm not... I can't. I'm sorry, Jill."

 Me too. She didn't say it out loud though, as Lindsay all but jumped to her feet and left. For a moment, Jill had sympathy for Tom and his inability to deal with Lindsay's habit of walking out of conversations. It wasn't all that easy to deal with after all.

 She leaned forward to rest her head in her hands, willing herself not to cry. She had known that this would be a likely outcome, and taken the risk anyway.

 "Are you here to work out your relationship drama, or to actually work?" a familiar voice asked, and she stared up at her boss, not even trying to hide her annoyance. "If it's the latter," Denise announced, "I want to see you in my office in five."

 Whatever. Work was a great form of repression. She'd learned that from Lindsay, too.

 *******

 

Jill's heart beat against her ribcage so hard she felt like she had just run a marathon. “Damn it, you just scared the hell out of me!” She'd almost gone for the pepper spray, too. That wouldn't have gone over well.

 “That wasn't my intention,” Maggie Snow said ruefully. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

 Jill gave her a shaky smile. “That worked well.”

 “You seemed lost in thought.”

 Thoughts she didn't care to discuss now, out in the rain, on the street with Maggie Snow.  “I'm sorry, Maggie. It's late.”

 “It's okay. Just let me walk you to your door.”

 To her surprise, Jill felt just a little bit less depressed when she walked up the stairs to her apartment. Later that night, she was even more surprised to find the dreams she had weren't all that unpleasant. Maybe there was a silver lining after all.

 And maybe shared near-death experiences really changed the way you felt about a person.

 *******

 

When she woke at 3 AM, Lindsay found herself alone, the feeling of alarm only receding when the sound of keys clicking registered with her. She donned a t-shirt she'd left lying on a chair beside the bed and walked into the kitchen.

 Cindy was hunched over her laptop in what looked like an uncomfortable position. Brushing a hand down her back, Lindsay leaned close to place a kiss on her cheek. Cindy turned so that their lips met.

 “Come back to bed?”

 “Oh. I didn't realize it was that late.”

 Lindsay just raised an eyebrow at her girlfriend. “You didn't happen to glance once at that little clock in the right lower corner?”

 “I'm sorry,” Cindy sighed. “This is harder to figure out than I'd thought.”

 Lindsay pulled herself a chair and took a look at the site on the screen, a collection of fairy tales. Of course. They had been foolish to give up that angle so easily. A hate of women combined with stories with a questionable, old-fashioned morals. 

 “The golden key with blood on it is easy; obviously King Bluebeard.”

 “The one who murdered all his wives,” Lindsay concluded. It wasn't hard to deduce that Kiss-Me-Not saw the women he killed as his possession somehow. She wouldn't even let herself think about what he was seeing in her, but Lindsay knew, sooner or later, she would have to face that question.

 “Right. Except for the last one; she got rescued by her brothers.”

 “Lucky for her,” Lindsay mused. “So you were trying to recreate the stories behind the past murders?”

 Cindy turned to her, her eyes dark and wide with worry. “No,” she confessed. “I was trying to find out what the hell he wants from you.”

 Lindsay tiredly thought that he'd pretty much gotten everything already, but then again, it didn't matter as long as he didn't target anyone she loved. As long as he didn't so much as think of the person who meant most to her.

 And he knew, of course; he had violated their most intimate space already. He knew how much she loved Cindy, had heard her say it, had seen her prove it.

 “Whatever that is, he won't get it,” she vowed, petting Martha who had been lying at Cindy's feet the whole time, before she got up. “And we won't solve all of this tonight.”

 Back in bed, she curled up against Cindy's side, once again unable to ignore how very tired she was, of this case, of this never-ending cat-and-mouse game he'd forced on her. It grew harder each day to carry the burden, but when Cindy's arms came around her, holding her tight, Lindsay found herself assured that she wouldn't have to carry it alone any longer.

 *******

 

When Claire had come home the evening before, Ed had gone to bed already, and she wasn't going to approach the subject of Spencer over breakfast, with the boys around. She already felt bad about it, but it would have to wait.

 "I heard you've got an ID of the man in concrete? That's quick," Lindsay greeted her when she came by the morgue, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Claire thought wryly that she probably hadn't gotten any more sleep.

 "The victim of my case," Maggie Snow reminded them sweetly, the doors swinging shut behind her as she entered.

 Lindsay shrugged and rolled her eyes at Claire, who wondered which of them she was really more annoyed with at the moment. In favor of loyalty for a longtime friend, she decided that Snow would win the price. "I recall that, Inspector," she said. "Our victim's Darren Spencer, 36, escaped from a California State prison four months ago."

 Maggie nodded thoughtfully. "What was he in for?" she asked.

 Claire gave Lindsay a sharp look, shaking her head at her friend. "Assault of a police officer with a deadly weapon." She reached behind herself for the edge of her desk to steady herself. She didn't really want to go there, rip those old wounds open, but then again that was what the past months had been about, the ghosts from the past coming back to haunt all of them.

 Seemed like it was her turn now.

 Maggie was right in one thing; it was her case. Claire knew she couldn't keep that information from her, but at least she wanted to be the one to tell her – so she did. "He shot my husband."

 Snow was silent for a moment, then she said, "I'm really sorry. This must be hard for you."

 "Hard times all around." Claire gave her a somewhat crooked smile. "So, about what I found. Whoever killed him had to have drugged him before; the results are not in yet, but get this, Spencer didn't struggle at all. Which we all would do at the prospect of becoming a living fossil."

 "Any traces of the killer?"

 "Traces of latex gloves. That's all."

 She could practically see Lindsay forming a theory, something she hadn't wanted to think about until now. Could it really be a coincidence that Spencer had been killed so soon after Arnold? Was there a connection or were they all slowly getting delusional? Claire thought wryly that she wouldn't be so surprised. Kiss-Me-Not had messed with all of their minds, and done it well.

 "Well, thanks, Dr. Washburn. I'll be in touch. Lindsay."

 Lindsay glared after her.  After the door fell shut behind Snow, Claire asked, "Could you hate her a little less obviously?"

 "Hey. She declared me the prime suspect in a homicide investigation. A girl gets offended."

 Claire sighed. "I get that, but she isn't really going anywhere, right? So we might just as well get used to her."

 "Well, hating someone and not liking them very much are two different things. I get what she was trying to do, but the latter is not likely to change anytime soon. How are you holding up?" Lindsay asked, serious now. "This is bringing up some bad memories."

 No kidding. Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "Look who's talking."

 "I'm kind of getting used to it. So, killer goes for the neck. Just like with Arnold."

 "You mean there's someone out there killing people who pissed us off? That's kind of a scary thought."

 “Not someone.”

 “You think Pete is--” She hadn't missed Lindsay flinch at the name, and she didn't have to finish the sentence, either.

 "I don't know. Frankly, I don't know what to think anymore.”

 “I can sympathize,” Claire said dryly. “So why don't you find out if Raynor is somehow connected to that construction site?”

 Lindsay frowned. “That would involve talking to Snow... okay, I'll do it. So, have you told Ed?”

 “Not yet.”

 “He deserves to know.” There was a slight edge to Lindsay's voice, and Claire was certain she knew the reason for it.

 “I know we should have told you right away, but we wanted to protect you. We thought three days away from the madness would be good for you.”

 “They were,” Lindsay acknowledged, her tone softening some with reminiscing.

 “I'm going to tell him today. Now that we have that covered – how are you holding up?” Claire directed the question back at her friend.

 With a shrug and a wry smile, Lindsay gave her the most truthful answer to which there was nothing left to add.

 “Barely.”

 *******

 

"I'm a doctor, too," Claire interrupted the man angrily. "I know what it means."

 "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply-- Dr. Washburn?"

 She heard the doctor's voice as if from far away, the dreadful news finally registering with her. "Give mea few minutes?" she asked when her vision had stabilized again.

 Dr. Callen laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Of course. I'm going to get you a glass of water."

 "Any chance you could make it something strong and alcoholic?"

 "Don't I wish that sometimes."

 He drew the door shut behind him softly, leaving her to her breakdown. Claire cried because she knew she had to. Later, when she'd go into the hospital room to talk to Ed, she'd have to be all smiles and hope and support. She wasn't going to let him know how scared she really was, because this would change their lives forever.

 Only a couple of minutes later the door opened again, and she was ready to snap at the doctor, but it wasn't him. Instead, Jill came inside, Lindsay right after her, both of them looking concerned. This was wrong, Claire thought, barely suppressing hysterical laughter. She was the one to listen and guide. It was her accepted role.

 She looked at her friends, trying to remember the ability to form actual words, and then she said it aloud. "Ed... might never be able to walk again."

 The warm embrace and reassuring words only made her cry harder. Good, Claire thought. This might be her only chance to get it all out...

 *******

 

Claire hadn't planned to go home for more than an hour that day, but when she found Ed in the living room, reading the newspaper with a coffee in hand, she longed to simply stay there and forget all other aspects of their lives for a moment. Not like she, like they, ever could, but it would have been worth a try.

 "Claire!" He hadn't noticed her come in and looked up at her, startled. "What happened?"

 She smiled ruefully. "I just decided I could spend my lunch break at home. Does that mean something bad must have happened?"

 "Not necessarily," he said carefully, reaching out, and she stepped closer, sitting on his lap and gratefully leaning into his embrace.

 "Where are the boys?"

 "Nate is upstairs studying with a girl from school." Ed laughed at Claire's skeptical look. "Math. Derek went to training." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Tell me what happened?"

 Ed hadn't been on the force in a while, but somehow, he'd never stopped being a cop. Claire thought of Lindsay and her struggle for a decision about what to do with her life. But it wasn't Claire's problem to solve, not at the moment, because she had her fair share of them, even if everything seemed to lead back to the same source; the Kiss-Me-Not Killer aka Pete Raynor.

 "Darren Spencer is dead," she said finally. On Ed's face, Claire could see everything she had felt and tried not to when she got the call. Surprise, relief, confusion. Many questions left.

 "How did he die?"

 "Drowned in liquid concrete on a construction site." She could remember vividly the time when she'd hated Spencer with everything she had, because it was one way not to let her fear of the future get to her. Now, Claire didn't know what to feel. Empty would have been a good guess.

 "That's a surprise. I didn't expect him to make it to old age, but I would have expected a drug-related shooting."

 "Ed, Lindsay thinks Kiss-Me-Not did it."

 "Why would he do that?"

 Why indeed? Claire wondered. Were they really on the right path or had they all lost objectivity completely?

 "Like Arnold – as a favor." Claire winced.

 "If that is true, then you can expect more bodies to turn up," Ed said thoughtfully.

 "Hey!" She slapped him on the arm lightly. "That is not the reassurance I came here for."

 They laughed together, but the gravity of the subject couldn't be escaped for long. "All I wanted for Spencer was him spending his life in jail. Not dead."

 Ed held her tighter. "I know. Me too." After a while, he added, "I'm glad you came home for a bit."

 "Yeah," Claire sighed. "Me too."

 *******

 

"Lindsay. How can I help you?"

 "No funny nicknames?" her colleague asked skeptically.

 "I've decided not to call you any for a while; I just had a near-death experience." Maggie winced a little at how that probably sounded, with regard to accusations having been made, but obviously Lindsay was ready to let it slide.

 “What do you have on the Spencer case so far?”

 “It's not related to any of yours, is it?”

 “I don't know yet. So are you going to talk to me, or do I have to get that information elsewhere and--”

 “Slow down, T... Lindsay. What do you want to know? I just called--” Maggie broke off when the lieutenant joined them, somehow sensing that their conversation was about to go into a direction he wouldn't like. Lindsay Boxer's life had been revolving around the Kiss-Me-Not case, and she didn't seem like someone who let go easily. Tom Hogan surely knew that, too.

 “Linz. How far are you on the robbery?”

 Taking a defensive stance, Lindsay turned to him. “Found the suspect in his grandmother's backyard; he's already confessed to shooting the clerk. He heard the police siren and panicked. Any more questions?”

 “You're discussing cases?” Tom asked suspiciously.

 Maggie smiled at him. “Just talking women things on lunch break.”

 “Well, then don't stop on my account,” he said, shooting his ex-wife a warning glance.

 When he had disappeared out of sight, Lindsay continued. “I need you to come down to the morgue for a moment.”

 Maggie gave her a questioning look.

 “More women things,” Lindsay said.

 *******

 

"Spencer had no family we know of. He's had two separate careers since his late teens – drugs and construction work. Since his escape, he's been laying low and focusing on the latter, under a false name."

 Cindy had been less than happy when Lindsay had brought Snow with her; she still felt a little childish about yesterday's hasty retreat, but most of all she was still angry at the woman. More than Lindsay was, maybe. She also hadn't missed the way Claire tensed at the mention of Spencer's name, and felt instantly bad for her friend.

 "How can you be so sure this wasn't a drug deal gone bad?" she inquired.

 Maggie had her answer ready. "I checked to see who he contacted. There's no doubt he would have gotten into it eventually, but for now he was hiding from the police and doing it remarkably well. He'd had two jobs before he was murdered. One of them was with a hotel project, a huge complex in the area. The contractor on that project was Pete Raynor."

 Lindsay lightly banged her head against the back of her chair. "Great."

 “Kiss-Me-Not is telling fairy tales, right? What about that myth of burying living things--”

 “It's not so much a myth actually, but a superstition found in early European cultures,” Cindy interrupted, for a moment forgetting that she had wanted to ignore Snow. “It was meant for securing the walls; later the custom was replaced with burying little animals.”

 “He should know customs and superstition regarding construction,” Lindsay said. She was calm and focused now, but Cindy knew how much of this was a façade.  

 "I checked the address he gave the investors,” Maggie continued. “No surprise there, it doesn't exist just like the one we had before. So are we really thinking the same--"

 “You better hold that thought.” Jacobi stood in the doorway. “Linz, there's a call for you.”

 “What is so important now?” she asked with slight irritation.

 “This call you want to take. It's the sewing boy.”

 *******

 

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