Title: Two Souls
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own the show, but the characters are still fun to play with.
Summary: What if Jane's wife and daughter were Red John's first victims? What if nobody at the CBI knew about Jane's past? AU, dark exploration of possibilities.
Warning: I should probably add a more explicit warning for this, but I really don't want to give too much away. So, let's just say that parts of this are as dark as midnight on a moonless night. Also, the first chapter will make sense eventually.
Written for tromana as a Jello Forever Summer Secret Santa gift. The prompt I used is "It shouldn't have come to this".
September 1975
The woman entered the lobby of the hotel, her two young sons trailing behind. The strap of the travel bag cut painfully into the flesh of her right shoulder. Other people had suitcases with wheels; she was sure that she was already attracting attention. The concierge gave them the key without even looking away from the match he was watching on a small portable TV set and she was grateful for his lack of interest. Their room was on the top floor of the building, at the very end of everything. It was exactly where they belonged; she liked the metaphor.
She was tired and sore when they finally arrived upstairs. If the hotel had an elevator, she had failed to find it. Her hand trembled when she opened the door. The room was small, glum. But, like a miracle, there were the beds. Two of them, with white bedclothes. She took off her shoes, fell onto the bed beneath the window and closed her eyes to shut herself away from the world for a while. This was nothing unusual for the kids; sometimes she slept the whole day. They got along, fixed themselves some food, watched TV. Maybe it was her constant tiredness, her inability to stay awake and to be bright and polite all day long, that distanced herself from others. Briefly she wondered how the boys would entertain themselves in a tiny hotel room with only two beds, a wardrobe and a bathroom, but she already felt herself slip away.
She left everything behind.
The town.
That room.
Herself.
Her mind and body were freed.
She felt no pain, no fear, no shame.
When she was floating between alertness and sleep, she always felt as light as a feather. But then, eventually, she fell asleep. Sometimes she believed that sleeping wasn't as bad as being awake, but once in a while her nightmares made her question that. Dreams were never a sanctuary for her; they were hell. Often she was falling, with nobody there to catch her, until the gaping abyss swallowed her whole and she awoke with a start.
Crushed.
Penalized.
Exhausted.
She heard her sons' voices which tried to pull her out of the familiar humming of her dark, cold visions. Eventually she came around, didn't know exactly where she was, but she knew that she needed to stay. Here. In this room. It was almost dark outside when she opened her eyes. The rain still unwaveringly refused to stop falling from the sky.
The boys were spread out on the other bed. She didn't tell them about the dream, pretended to feel refreshed after her nap. She wanted to convince herself that she was alright, but failed miserably when her youngest son demanded to eat. He always wanted something; she felt like she was never able to put up with his needs. She reached for her purse, took out a bag of chips. It wasn't a full meal, but no matter what others thought she was able to provide for her kids.
The boys were bickering; they always seemed to be. Love could so easily change into hate without any warning, she knew that fully well. It was a stimulus, a rage that roared, ascended. Sometimes she didn't even know who or what she was mad at. Sometimes she just wanted to scream. Sometimes her fury was infinite and everything seemed to conspire against her. She shouted at her kids and they shut up immediately, making faces at each other and at her instead. It was only a matter of time before they would actually assault each other. With fists. With a knife. Suddenly she was scared stiff, afraid of this subliminal violence that one day they wouldn't be able to suppress anymore. Just like their father. Just like herself.
Crumbs tainted the whiteness of their bedspread as the boys nibbled at their meager dinner. What would the maid say when she saw that mess? She would blame her, the mother, like everyone else did. Scuffles in the schoolyard, missed homework, dyslexia – even though neither teachers nor social workers ever said it to her face, she knew they believed it was her fault. One day her boys would start blaming her as well. Her mind started spinning, nausea spread out in her guts. She was well acquainted with this condition; soon the dreaded thoughts and emotions would assail her again.
It didn't help that she pressed her head hard against the pillow, that she squirmed and writhed. The certainty that everything was messed up already, but that it still would get worse, threatened to eat her up alive. She tried to strive against that inner voice that told her that it was her own fault, that she did everything wrong, that it was too late now to fix anything. Eventually she gave up; she wouldn't find peace in this bed tonight.
But she wanted her two boys to sleep, it was essential that they did. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to save them before it was too late for them as well. Soon they were in their pajamas. They didn't need her help to get changed anymore and that display of independence unnerved her. While they were in the bathroom, it struck her that all their clothes were either too small or too big for them. She wished that she at least would have been able to dress them properly for tonight, but it was too late for that now.
Her sons were agitated, startled. It took almost an hour of tossing and turning until they were finally asleep.
An unfamiliar bed.
Newly starched bedclothes which rustled with every move.
The long train ride.
Higher buildings than at home.
The rain that wouldn't stop pouring down all the way from the train station to the hotel.
They never went on vacation as they were always starved for money. The boys had trouble adjusting to this new development, had asked questions during the whole trip, but she had been too exhausted to even try to explain anything. She had longed for them to be quiet for so long, but now that they were, she didn't know what to do with herself. When it was dark and everyone else was asleep, it was always worst for her. Then she wasn't able to hold on any longer to the superficial normalcy that brought her through the day, especially if she forgot to take her pills as it happened so often.
She had plans for tonight, wanted to get it over with in the first night away from home, but she just couldn't do it. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere the kids had spotted a herd of cows grazing next to the rail tracks and on a whim she had promised to take them to the zoo. Suddenly she was determined to keep her rash promise. Just for once. Just to prove that she was not as unreliable and irresponsible as people thought she was. She would spend their last money on tickets for the zoo. It didn't matter that she then wouldn't be able to pay for the hotel room anymore.
The mother quietly got undressed. Her clothes were damp from the rain. From her own perspiration. They - she - smelled of a long, fatiguing day. The reasonable thing to do would be taking a shower, but she didn't have the strength for that. It dawned on her that she didn't even bring spare clothes for herself. She simply forget, didn't expect to need them.
In her underwear, she crawled under the covers. Staring at the wall, she felt the presence of her boys in the other bed. She should have taken the most expensive room available so they could each sleep in their own bed. Inside her head a voice started mocking her, made fun of her for not having this idea earlier. The woman hated that voice, despised the thoughts that went on and on whenever she made a mistake.
She turned around and looked at the kids, bathed in moonlight. Their chests rose and fell and she was fully aware of the fact that she herself once breathed life into their frail bodies. This knowledge had weighed heavily on her as long as she could remember.
There were times, when even trivialities got her down, when she believed she was doomed to fail no matter what she tried. It were those moments that brought her to this room in an unfamiliar town with a plan that she was now too afraid to put into action. She admitted to herself that she didn't want to go to the zoo tomorrow. Her hand folded back the blanket, her naked feet came into touch with the cold floor boards.
She winced when she heard noises from the room next to them. A man laughed. Whenever she felt lonely, she assumed that everyone around her, every human being, just disappeared. She hadn't taken into account that there would be other people. Doing it at home had seemed downright impossible, but now the crowded hotel looked like a bad choice as well. She listened carefully and was relieved when the neighbors left their room after a few minutes. Probably to go out for dinner. To have some real food in an expensive restaurant. Her stomach rumbled, if due to hunger or anxiety she wasn't able to tell.
She stumbled over to the other bed and sat down on the edge of it, close to her ten-year-old. He was sleeping with clenched fists and had sleep in the corners of his eyes. Her younger son had his back to her, but she could still see that he had fallen asleep with his thumb in his mouth.
Her boys. They were so different, but still both so like her. There also had been good times, she reminded herself, a long time ago. It's alright as long as we're together. She used this hollow phrase whenever one of the boys felt the need to vent his displeasure with their situation. They bought it, still were young enough to believe that a hug could make the world a better place. Her boys would never feel the gnawing sting of inferiority. The hostility of the world wouldn't sweep them away like it had happened to her.
Gently she pulled out the pillow from under her eldest son's head. He would be the first one; she was convinced that this was the way it was supposed to happen. If his big brother was gone, it would be easier for the younger one to follow. He had had a brother all his life; he wouldn't want to stay behind. The pillow was warm in her hands. She resisted the urge to inhale its scent, to trace a saliva stain with her fingertip. She needed to be cool-headed, just for once in her life, just now when it really mattered.
She lowered the pillow, let it hover over her son's calm face. He trusted her, knew that she would make the right decision for him. Her hands pressed the pillow down. Vigorous. As hard as she was able to. She didn't want him to wake up. Didn't want to scare him. She forgot to breathe, coughed, urged herself to be quiet. She pushed harder until her wrists hurt. The pain was welcome, it helped to distracted her from her fear.
She didn't want to deface him, but she knew she needed to go on for some minutes to be sure. The social worker would be astounded how well she was prepared, that she even did research. There was no clock, but she felt the time tiptoe by. She alternated between hands, used one to apply pressure while the other one rested. She tasted the salty sweat of exhaustion on her upper lip. Her son didn't twitch once, just kept still until her deed was done.
Suddenly she was paranoid that her other son was watching her, but she couldn't look at him yet. She took the pillow away, laid it down on the bed. Her little boy. He still looked the same as before. Hands in fists. Hair unkempt. Eyes shut. She moved closer to him. His breath was gone. It was over. She studied his face, wanted to stay with him like that for a while. She felt thirsty. But then everything had to be done faster than she would have wanted: her other son stirred in his sleep. She wondered if he was already aware that his brother was dead. She grabbed the pillow again.
This time she felt more secure, knew better what to do. There was a slight movement under her hands, gentle as butterfly wings. His feet under the blanket twitched. A short groan before the room fell completely silent. She persevered, then finally let go.
The woman stood up from the bed to have one last look at her two sons. They weren't facing each other. She gave a howl of pain. The sight, the thought that death had torn them apart, was unbearable. She had failed miserably. Again. Even when it really mattered. All the planing. All in vain.
She didn't stand to be in the same room with her dead kids any longer. In the bathroom she smashed the mirror. She didn't want to see her face anymore, needed to abandon the sight of guilt and madness in her eyes once and for all. She didn't care if anybody would hear the noise she was making. Now, at the end of everything, it wasn't important anymore to behave inconspicuously.
The water in the bathtub felt icy against her skin. The tinny sound of razor blade against enameled steel was strangely soothing. In the pale moonlight, she observed the blood pulsating out of her body. The redness beautifully contrasted with the white bathroom tiles. She slid deeper into the water, resigning herself to her fate. Her body soon gave up the ability to feel coldness or pain.
She had already lost consciousness, when in the next room her youngest son opened his eyes and greedily gasped for air.
TBC...