To say that Bree Van De Kamp had been through hell the past several months would be a bit of an understatement. How many other people could experience the untimely death of a husband, the suicide of a psychotic boyfriend who'd murdered said husband, finding a son, whom was later abandoned in the middle of nowhere because his mother could no longer love him unconditionally, in bed with boyfriend number two who also happened to be an alcohol and sex addict which culminated in having a teenage daughter run off with the murderous next door neighbor who was shot dead in front of her very eyes while you helplessly watched her scream and cry? Bree had thought about all these things over and over again as she vehemently and vigorously tried to scrub the blood of her now ex-neighbor's son from her floor. After finally getting her hysterical daughter to go to sleep, Bree had decided to clean the mess that was leftover from the evening's ordeal–the darkened, thick blood stain that had settled on her living room floor after it had dripped from the lifeless body of Matthew Applewhite. With her hair carelessly tied back in a knot, bright yellow plastic gloves covering her hands and a pail of cleaning supplies by her side, she began scrubbing harder than she'd ever scrubbed in her life.
Blood is a curious thing. It sustains life by carrying oxygen to the lungs, can save a life when donated to help those in need, establishes relationships between family members and its stain is one of the hardest to remove completely, if at all. Even after the application of a half-dozen or so heavy duty chemicals aimed at eradicating it from plain view, a small portion will remain behind, just below the surface, to remind those of its presence and of the event that caused its spill. Bree knew this, but yet she still continued to scrub earnestly. She sought to remove all evidence that Matthew's blood had ever been shed at all, but a part of her knew that it would always be there, forever connecting her to a time in her life that she'd rather forget.
In the dark maroon color of the blood she had seen all their faces–the death mask of Matthew as his life seeped from his once able, anger-filled body. The lines borne of the young man's belligerence that were etched in his face were still visible and still very frightening, but as this face was gradually fading from view, another took its place. George's face, as pale and pathetic as it had been as he lay dying in the bed in the hotel room, was staring at her, unmoving. His eyes were closed, his brow even, his mouth thin. There was a disturbing calm about it that made Bree work a bit more desperately to rid it from her home. But George's face melded into Andrew's and his was anything but calm. He mouthed his last words to her and she could hear his voice in her head. "I win," was all he said, with a sickeningly satisfied smirk. She'd seen that face countless times before and all the overwhelming feelings of vulnerability and guilt flooded the pit of her stomach. Sweat beads trickled from her brow to mingle with the tears that bedimmed her eyes. The emotion within her soul erupted as the broken heart that only a mother could feel cracked into two complete parts. Bree let loose a primordial cry that had escaped the mouths of an infinite number of distraught mothers since the dawn of time; since the first mothers had felt the pains and burdens of realizing they could no longer mend the invisible wounds of their prodigal children. When she could see no more through the tears that clouded her eyes, she stopped scrubbing and just sat in her living room floor and wept.
Gravity pulled her tears down her flushed face where they continued to mix with the sweat of her labor. Her breathing was erratic and her heart, which was broken beyond repair, pounded rapidly in her chest. For the first time that night, she had truly felt tired–of life, of motherhood, of widowhood, of perfection, of Wisteria Lane, of appearances, of secrets, of lies and of blood that binds us to the past, the present, the future and to each other. Bree had lost all the control she ever had. If control was money, she was now destitute, and as blood is to the survival of humans, control is to the survival of Bree. Her seemingly perfect world had endured cracks from which it could never heal. She'd somehow gone from being the envy of Wisteria Lane and Fairview County to being its biggest joke.
Bree was never good at being alone and she had been slowly succumbing to the pressure that single motherhood brings upon those who are thrust into the position with no warning or preparation. For a person who never had to learn from mistakes because she'd never made any, it was an almost impossible transition to living by trial and error. There were no guides or warning signs. That would've been Rex, but Rex was gone now. He had been her beacon in the marriage, her haven and her rock. As with a lighthouse, in times of stormy weather she could look to him and find tranquility. Now it was as though she was trying to navigate through a storm in a car with no windshield wipers. There was no calm or serenity anymore. Her husband wasn't there to soothe her or to aid her through the rough patches. She was condemned by karma to stand defenseless on a deserted beach with never ending waves beating her mercilessly for the rest of her life, with no one to hear her miserable cries.
The house seemed so big and empty now that only Danielle and herself occupied it. It was scary how she heard the hollow echos of her sobs bounce from one wall to the other, taunting her and mocking her with her own voice. She couldn't even give herself a break! It was all too much! Her fear of a nervous breakdown was becoming more tangible with each passing second. On the verge of hyperventilation, Bree reached for the scrub-brush and tried to concentrate on the damned stain. Her efforts seemed wasted, however because now the floor seemed to be bleeding; fresh, bright red blood was seeping upwards. Andrew's face laughed at her failure to remove it, causing her to scrub harder. Finally, she decided to take drastic measures. Reaching into the pail, she retrieved a utility knife and began stabbing at the blood as forcefully as she could, over and over again, chipping away at the floor. If she could just get beneath the surface, she could make it stop. It would all go away if she could make that blood go away. With her eyes shut tightly, she focused all her strength on the task at hand and pierced the floor. Pulling the knife up and out, she pierced again. In the meantime, enormous tears dripped onto her hands and knees. It had to go away. If it didn't, she couldn't go on.
"Damn, Rex!" she exclaimed through clenched teeth as she simultaneously wailed from the deepest depths of her conflicted soul. "Damn him! Damn him to hell for leaving me! I don't know what I'm doing! I'm lost!" She exhaled heavily, releasing another sob. "I'm lost without you, Rex!" Looking towards the ceiling, it might as well have been heaven for she called out to her dead husband, "Do you even hear me, Rex! I can't do it alone! I can't! I can't! I didn't kill you! I swear it on my own life! Don't leave me here, Rex! Don't leave me here alone!" Laying the utility knife aside, she clutched her stomach with her hands still clad in the yellow rubber gloves and bent over so that her head was touching the floor. Her body still shook from her muffled cries.
"Rex... Rex... Rex..." she repeated over and over, the previous one fainter than the one before, as though the mantra was going to being her some kind of nirvana. Instead of spiraling toward a resolution of her mangled feelings, she was falling into a depressive void and catatonic numbness. Reality had all but slipped through her fingers when a hand was placed on either side of her shoulders, pulling up her listless body. Perturbed, Bree opened her eyes barely enough to see a face looking back at her. Usually, mussed hair and streaked make-up would've horrified her, but at the moment, the normally kempt Mrs. Van De Kamp could've cared less how she looked.
"Bree, I'm here honey. I'm here." The figure engulfed her with two strong arms that brought her trembling body close to his steady one. Without a fight, she lay her head on a soft shoulder.
Her vision cleared as the last of her tears left her eyes and streamed down her face. She would've recognized that voice anywhere. The scent, the feel, the touch...
"Rex?" the whisper left her chapped pink lips. The final bit of blurriness dissipated and the man sitting in her living room floor holding her as he had for the last eighteen years was indeed Dr. Rex Van De Kamp. Freeing herself from his embrace, she leaned back to get a good look of him.
Wiping her eye with the back of her hand, she laughed caustically, "Oh my God, I've finally gone insane. I'm hallucinating i and /i hearing voices."
"Bree, you're not hallucinating and you're definitely not mad," responded the man in all seriousness. "I'm just as real as... as you. As this house." He reached for her arm but she quickly jerked it away.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed. "You... you're just not real, plain and simple. I'm not going to look at you any more. I'm going to ignore you and... and I'm going to continue to clean this blood off my floor." Picking up her scrub-brush, she intended to pick up where she'd left off, but the man before her gently took it from her hand and laid it down beside him.
"Honey, listen to me. You're not crazy. I know this is a little strange, but Bree, I'm not dead. I'm here. With you. In our house."
She shook her head violently. "No, no, no! I should've talked to that psychiatrist. I'm losing my mind! I can't handle this! I should've stayed at the hospital, but Danielle needed me. She was in trouble..."
"I know, I know..."
"...and then Matthew pointed the gun at my head. He almost shot me. i Almost /i . If the police hadn't shot him first, that blood stain could've been mine. Danielle would've had to clean my blood off of the floor like I cleaned my mother's off the street. And the whole time he had that gun pointed at my head I kept saying to myself, 'If I don't die, then I get to stay with Danielle, but if he pulls the trigger, then I'll get to see you again'." The words resembled rambling as they rapidly spilled from her mouth in quick succession. Her lips quivered with emotion and she teared up again.
"Oh Bree, I'm so sorry." The man claiming to be Bree's husband reached for her, and though she tried to back away, he seized her body securely with his arms, refusing to let her go. A little reluctant at first to melt into his embrace, her defenses hastily gave way and she grasped onto him for dear life. Two tears slid down her cheek and onto his shirt-clad shoulder as she laced her fingers through his dark hair.
"If you are a hallucination, please leave now because I don't think I could handle losing you again," Bree whispered into his ear.
He stroked her back as if he was soothing a fussy baby. "You won't lose me again, Bree. I'm here to stay. I'm so sorry for everything you've been through. We'll get passed it, I'm sure of it."
"Why did you leave me! Why did you leave me all alone to deal with the problems with Andrew and George? Why, Rex? Just tell me why," she lamented sorrowfully. Her body trembled with eight months of heartache.
Rex pulled away to look at his wife. He tucked a wayward strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear and she caught the hand and held it to her cheek. Moist green eyes looked back at him pleading for answers, but he regretfully shook his head.
"Tomorrow I promise to answer whatever question you have, but tonight you should rest. You're exhausted."
"No!" she replied furiously, letting go of his hand. "We're going to talk now! I want answers. I want to know why you left me, why you left your children. Do you know what kind of hell you put them through? Do you know what I've been through trying to raise them by myself while you were off God knows where doing... doing God knows what!"
"In the morning, Bree, after you've slept, I promise to give you all the answers you need, but right now, I'm concerned about your state of mind." Looking around at the piece of floor that had been stabbed repeatedly, he licked his lips and decided to proceed with extra caution, mindful of Bree's fragile state. "I don't... I don't want to add to the stress that's already been placed on it tonight. I'm not trying to evade your questions, please just trust me. Tomorrow we'll talk about anything and everything you want, but right now I want to take care of you like I should've been doing these past few months."
Bree just stared at her husband. She'd stopped crying, but the look of incredulity on her face remained. Deep down, she still couldn't decide whether she was experiencing a nervous breakdown or if her husband, in the living flesh, was actually in her house standing in front of her. She'd made up her mind not to get her hopes up, because for all she knew she had fallen asleep while cleaning the floor and was dreaming. It was a cruel joke that her mind was playing on her, but she felt powerless to fight it at the moment.
"Will you stay with me?" she asked in a small, scared voice.
"Do you want me to?"
"More than anything."
Rex breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
Lifting himself off the floor, he then extended his hand to his wife and helped her up. Without letting go, she affectionately and quietly guided him up the stairs to the bedroom they had once shared. When Bree opened the door to the darkened room, it was like all those other nights before his supposed death when they'd climbed the stairs to go to bed. Nearly a year of loneliness and grief was forgotten in the magic of the present. Bree didn't believe in dreams coming true. That was fairytale stuff, yet it all felt real to her. She felt the floor beneath her feet, she felt the softness of Rex's skin in her hand, she felt the fatigue in her bones and muscles and she felt the confusion in her mind. Right now, she didn't want to have to think because she feared that if she thought to much, the alternate reality into which she had inadvertently stumbled would fade and Rex would be gone from her. Again.
"What are you thinking about?" Rex asked as he watched her undress for bed. The ghostly light of the moon fell through the window and bathed her porcelain skin with its translucent beams. The copper hue of her hair was especially illuminated, contrasting sharply with the pale color of her skin. It was then that even Rex began to question whether this wasn't a dream that would lead them both to disappointment when they awoke.
Turning to face him clad only in a shoulder-bearing nightgown, she once more had the look of someone who had lost her way in a big, merciless world. "I'm thinking of all the things that I'd planned to say when I saw you again. If your death had, in fact, turned out to be a bad dream or if you were merely trying to get even with me for the things I did to you before you left, I'd made a mental list of things to say to you when you returned."
Bree went over to the bed and pulled the comforter down to its foot. Untucking the blanket and sheet, Rex lifted them up, allowing Bree to crawl in underneath. He slipped in behind her, opening his arms in an invitation to join him. Without hesitation, Bree left her side of the bed and nestled into his warmth, surrounding herself with what she had missed so desperately. Placing her nose in the crook of his neck, she inhaled deeply.
"I've missed you," she said ever so softly.
Rex responded by kissing her forehead and saying, "I've missed you, too. And the kids. I thought about you all everyday."
Bree tightened her grip on her husband, as though any minute he would disappear forever, leaving her with just another memory to cling to when the silence of the night became too loud.
After a while of laying in each others' arms, Rex inquired curiously, "What kinds of things had you planned to say to me?"
Her voice thick with sleep, Bree answered, "I never knew whether to slap you or to jump you. In almost every scenario I imagined, I may have started out being angry with you, but I always ended up forgiving you."
"That's good to know," Rex softly chuckled. He felt Bree's breathing even out somewhat and become more serene. He knew that she was straddling the border of consciousness and its opposite. With deft fingers, he delicately caressed her long locks of hair, twining it around his fingers and letting it glide along his skin.
"Rex, there are many things that you need to know."
"Not tonight, darling. They can wait until tomorrow."
Almost slurring her words, Bree half-heartedly fought to stay awake long enough to spill those things which made her heart so heavy. "No, I have to tell you tonight. Just in case I wake up and you're gone."
"Honey, I'll be here in the morning. There's no rush."
"Rex, shut up and listen. I didn't poison you, it was George Williams, the pharmacist. I–I didn't know until it was too late. I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Rex. It was all my fault that you died..."
"Shhh, Bree. Go to sleep," hushed Rex.
"And Andrew. I dropped him off. I packed his things, gave him money and dropped him off. He's alone out there and I don't know where he is. I couldn't control him. It was all too much. Couldn't take it anymore... I'm a bad mother..." Bree's voice spiraled down the tunnel of sleep, dropping off more and more after each sentence. Her body became more restful as her worries were silenced by the contentment that swept her body. Rex continued to stroke her hair as he placed another kiss on her brow.
"You're not a bad mother. Our kids, unfortunately, just can't tell the difference."
"And... And I slapped your mother," she paused for a moment and then continued, "Well, i bitch-slap /i is what Danielle termed it."
"Oh, really. Did she deserve it?" Rex tried to contain his amusement. Bree's closed eyes didn't get to see the mirthful smile that played on his lips.
"I thought so, but then you know about my zero tolerance for dramatic displays of emotional over-kill. I'm sure someone probably thought I came across a little harsh."
"Good night, Bree."
"There's one more thing, Rex. In case you really are just a dream or a hallucination that's messing with my poor mind, I want you to know that I love you. So very much I love you and am in love with you... Always have been... Always will be..." With those final words, Bree finally let loose the strings that kept her in the world of the awake and the sentient and drifted into slumber, finally satisfied that she'd gotten to speak to her husband just one more time.
When the golden rays of the sun woke her in the morning, she felt rested and strangely at ease. When her drowsy early-morning thoughts reverted to the events of the night before, she immediately turned over in bed to find that Rex wasn't laying beside her. She was alone. Looking around the room, she didn't see an article of his clothing or any evidence that he'd come for a late night visit. Whether he'd really been there or not, Bree lay back down and buried her face in her pillow, letting out a heart-wrenching sob.