A/N: I always feel bad that everyone writes bright happy stories around the holidays and I trend toward the dark...
Oh well, Happy Halloween!
Temperance Brennan knew she was going to die.
It didn't seem fair, that her life would end like this, in the trunk of a car, before she had a chance to achieve any of those things she dreamed about.
Before she used all of her knowledge and the things she would learn to find out what happened to her parents.
Dropping the plate hadn't been on her list of things to do that night. It wasn't like she'd planned it between eating dinner and finishing her homework. Who would plan something like that, knowing the end result would be pain for her? But despite her best efforts to be careful, Brennan had become distracted by criticisms of a scientific article she'd read that afternoon, and the dish had slipped from her fingers.
It had seemed like slow motion as that plate fell toward the floor. Brennan hoped it wouldn't break when it hit, but she knew all the laws of science were working against her. The sound it made when it shattered was like a gunshot in that silent house. It was as if time stopped, even though Brennan knew it wasn't possible for time to actually stop, until the adults in the house came running.
Brennan's parents would have asked if she was okay. Would have told her not to move until they swept up the shards, so she didn't step on any in her bare feet. These adults did neither. Adult One, Brennan refused to give him the respect of a name, grabbed her by the arm, his fingers biting into her flesh.
"I told you to be careful," he growled, paying no mind to her bare feet as he pulled her out of the kitchen. By the time they'd made it to the front door, Brennan could see flecks of blood left behind on the carpet.
"See what you did!" he yelled, shaking her by the arm. "You ruined the plate and the carpet. I warned you you'd be punished for ruining things."
Shaking so much she could barely walk, Brennan stumbled behind him as he pulled his keys from his pocket and dragged her to the car.
"Get in there," he commanded, after opening the trunk. Brennan had no fear of dark places, but the thought of being locked in there was almost too much for her. But knowing that in there, Adult One would not visit her room after dark, was reason enough to crawl inside.
The slam of the trunk was loud and Brennan flinched when it came down. That, she figured, was about two days ago, maybe only a day and a half. She'd mostly lost track of time, but could at least tell day from night by the heat of the trunk.
She'd had nothing to drink or eat for that time. She knew she was dehydrated and before much longer, that would lead to her death. It was only a short time now before that happened, and it was becoming harder and harder to regret it.
Her parents appeared first. Her dad, waving at her, with the smile she saw each time she closed her eyes. And her mom, standing at his side, her hand in his. It was how she always pictured them: together and happy. There was no way they could be alive. To think they might be, that they actually put her in these situations, was more than she could contemplate. Therefore, they had to be dead.
Brennan didn't believe in ghosts or heaven. Science had yet to confirm their existence and probably never would. Still, it was nice to think they were together, and that they were watching out for her, even if they couldn't help her.
Long past the stage where she felt she could speak out loud, Brennan said her good-byes in her head. She hoped she'd made them proud. She apologized that she would never get the chance to find them. Wished that she could see them just one more time. Hoped that someone could find her brother Russ and let him know what had happened. Unsure whether he should feel guilty or not, Brennan decided not to worry about that one. That would be up to him to figure out.
After they disappeared, she drifted for a time. It was getting harder for her to focus, not that there was much to focus on the in darkness, other than her suffering. So when another figure appeared in front of her, she assumed he was a hallucination.
"You have to fight," he said to her. "You can't die in this trunk."
Brennan blinked and tried to lick her lips. But there was nothing left to moisten them with. "I can't," she finally croaked.
Her visitor knelt in front of her and rested his hands on his knees. It shouldn't have been possible, there was only room for her in the trunk, yet he seemed to be right next to her.
Tentatively, he reached out and brushed the hair from her face. Brennan was sure she felt the ghost of a touch where there should have been no sensation. "You aren't supposed to die here," he said firmly. "You have to find a way."
He had the kindest brown eyes and Brennan felt as if she was falling in them. She wondered if all her beliefs were wrong. If angels really existed and this man in front of her was one of them.
Or perhaps he was a ghost. Some dead relative she didn't know about coming to help her. Neither seemed plausible, but this close to death, Brennan wasn't sure what she believed really mattered anymore.
"No way," she said again, then closed her eyes in exhaustion. It was almost too much, speaking those four words. There was nothing left to fight with.
"There is," he disagreed. "As long as you are alive, there's still hope. But you have to fight," he implored. "Find the taillights. Break them out. Stick a hand outside. Someone will see you."
Yeah, someone would see her, she thought. Adult One would catch her and kill her on the spot.
"Listen, I don't know why I'm here or who you are, but for whatever reason I am. And I'm telling you to fight." The man looked behind him, at something she couldn't see, and quickly turned back. "Do it now," he commanded and disappeared.
She was annoyed at his tone of voice. Did he think she was some sort of soldier? Despite her grumblings, she managed to turn her body, and with fingertips already sore and bloody from scratching at the closed trunk, she pulled at the carpet. Each exertion of energy cost her and she had to rest frequently, but she managed to expose her target.
It required another turn to get her feet into position to start kicking. But she was rewarded with the sound of shattering plastic and pieces falling to the ground outside the trunk. Turning her body one final time, she stuck her hand out the hole, rested her head on her arm, and waited.
"Damn it, wake up, Booth," his roommate said, kicking his mattress. "Quit talking in your sleep."
"I don't talk in my sleep," Booth groaned and rolled over, out of reach of the other man's feet. He struggled to hold on to the dream, or whatever it was he'd just experienced. There'd been a woman, no an older teen maybe, in the trunk of a car. She'd been in bad shape. He'd been trying, no commanding her to do something, anything to live.
But despite his best efforts, the dream, like most dreams tend to do, was already slipping through his fingers. Soon, it was lost, leaving nothing but a vague sense of accomplishment behind.
"I hope she got out of that car," Booth muttered as he was falling asleep, but when he awoke the next morning, he didn't remember saying it at all. During the hours, and days that followed, he was haunted by the thought that something important had happened during that night. No matter how hard he tried, Booth never recalled what it was.
She awoke in the hospital. Nurses filled her in on what happened. Sometime, after she'd stuck her hand out of the back of the car, a passerby had seen it. Help had been called, people arrested, and Brennan had been rescued, barely alive from the trunk of the car.
Foster care after that was no longer an option. She spent the rest of her teen years quietly living in a group home, isolating herself from others. Scholarships were offered and Brennan spent more hours working than asleep, but she was determined to achieve her dreams.
Every now and again, when she was in tears from exhaustion, she thought about that young man who'd appeared in the car. About his command to fight and find a way. Her science had taught her it was probably a result of lack of food and water; nothing more than a hallucination. Still, there were times she couldn't help studying the brown eyed men she met, looking for similarities between the person in front of her and her vision. In time, as she become more recognized in her career, even that habit became nothing more than a dim memory.
Until the day an FBI agent walked into her presentation and for the second time in her life, time seemed to come to a stop. She knew those eyes, that voice. And nothing that science taught her ever explained it.
Thanks for reading!