By - CKWan
This was written right after I finished James Patterson's new novel "Roses Are Red." SEVERE SPOILERS!!! NOT ONLY FOR HIS NEW NOVEL BUT FOR JACK & JILL, CAT & MOUSE, AND POP GOES THE WEASEL!! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS EMOTIONALLY WITH ALEX CROSS DO NOT READ!! You have been warned.
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The nights are long and horrible. Sleep eludes me almost every night. I tried pills at first. But then I couldn't hear little Alex crying to be feed or changed. It was unfortunate for me because that was the only way I could sleep. But my little darling baby is more important. So I learned to function on little to no sleep.
Ever since my return from Bermuda, I've been a mess. Nightmares are a constant "companion" in the nights. Thus, my lack of sleep. I dream that Geoffrey Shafer, the Weasel, is after me. I dream that he stands over me laughing like the maniac he was. He is. I refuse to trick myself into believing that that psycho is dead. Alex can't tell me I'm wrong when I say no one knows for sure that he's dead. No one saw him die. Alex never saw him surface from the water.
That alone I think is the reason that I suffer from insomnia. Never mind the fact that I'm in a constant dilemma about what to do about Alex. He's been so loving and supportive of me. He's been there when I needed to talk. He even offered to give up The Job. I know how much it took for him to say that, and I know he would do it too. He would quit his job for me. But it was because of his job that I was kidnapped. It was because of the violence that he's learned to live with, or at least cope with and accept. I refuse to accept that violence. Something inside won't let me. I lost my dear George to that violence a while ago. Alex had been there when it happened. He had comforted me. He was always there to comfort me, but I don't think he can heal this hurt this time. The kidnapping killed something inside me, a piece of my spirit that I can't revive. I still love Alex. Just not enough, I guess.
So here I sit, alone in my apartment across the country. I stare out of my window in my modest apartment in a small Seattle suburb. I not only had to get away from everything I'd known before Bermuda, I had to get away from everyone. I could see it in their eyes that they knew I'd changed. I have to chuckle bitterly inwardly when people look at me like I'm someone they've never met before. I'd like to see how they react to being kidnapped for knowing their lover and being important in their lives. I'd like to see how they react to having their lover find them a year later with their child in your arms.
Little Alex. He was both a godsend and a curse. I honestly believe he saved my life in Bermuda. If not when the kidnappers discovered I was pregnant and decided they couldn't kill a pregnant woman, then emotionally. When I was ready to scream with frustration and defeat, I would look down at my bulging stomach and run my hands over it knowing a life was inside me, depending solely on me. When little Alex was born, he reminded me so much of Alex I cried in relief and pain those first few days after his birth. Little Alex was what I used to keep me sane. Little Alex was also a permanent connection I would have with Alex. There was no way now that I could just cut off the father of my child. I couldn't just forget the life I'd had before. Little Alex is a living reminder of what I used to have, what I could have had. It's for the latter reason that he's with his father in Washington, D.C. and not with me in Seattle. That and I'm not emotionally stable enough to care for him. It's not fair to my little boy that he live with me when I can barely take care of myself.
I told Alex that maybe someday we could be together again. I believe that. I have to sort out my life and my emotions before I can add any more balls into my juggling act at the moment. I still love Doctor-Detective Alex Cross. I just can't handle anything more right now. He's a psychiatrist. I hope he understands.
Maybe someday.
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