Author's Note: So, apparently, my muse is really fond of Rizzoli & Isles lately. Unlike the previous story though, which has nothing to do with this new one, the following tale will be much less bloody and gruesome. Yeah, muse wanted to do some angsty stuff, so I said, Why not, and here we go. For some strange reason, my muse also had the great idea to start each chapter with citing a song, so now I spend a lot of time searching through music. Makes me wonder why I do these things… But anyway! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: None of the characters used from Rizzoli & Isles are mine. Songs cited are copyrighted to their respective creators, as well.
When the Walls Go Down
Give me a sign
Sing the words of innocence
and broken pride
Make my conclusions fail
Send me a sign
Hear this broken melody
Cause each night
I die in Hell
Kamelot – My Confession
She awoke in a cold sweat, as she always did after a particularly bad dream, with a high-pitched wheezing noise that should have been a scream, but only left her throat as a breathless whisper. For a few moments, she just laid there, staring into the darkness of the bedroom, seeing their faces over and over, the faces of the men and women who had fallen victim to their murderers before she had been able to save them – and the faces of the men who had caused her the most pain in her life, Paddy Doyle, Dominic Bianchi, and most of all Charles Hoyt, the worst of them all and the one who haunted her the most in her dreams.
Trying hard to calm herself down, she remained perfectly still, only her chest rising and falling slightly as she made herself take deep and slow breaths; she felt a chill run up and down her spine and automatically glanced over to the window, having a second to wonder if she had left it open before she saw that it was tightly closed, her next breath escaping her as a heavy sigh – before she nearly screamed again as she saw the dark figure looking in through the window, staring right at her.
Now breathless, she scrambled to get out of bed, eager to get something she could defend herself with, even though she wasn't sure her trembling hands would be able to grip anything tight enough, and then she blinked and the figure was gone, prompting her to freeze in the darkness of her bedroom as she stared hard, debating with herself if she should go and look or not.
Finally, she told herself not to be a coward, and moved to the window, peering through the glass at first, then opening it and looking outside; no one was there, the area empty and quiet, as it was fitting for the late hour, and she briefly closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself yet again before she closed the window and leaned her forehead against the cool glass, taking a few more deep breaths.
It had been the same almost every night for the last few weeks, her nightmares tearing her out of her sleep between two and three a.m.; and just like every night before, she knew she wouldn't get any more sleep, having spent the previous nights tossing and turning until her alarm clock tore her out of her slumber.
Still she went back to bed, knowing she at least had to try, knowing that she had a lot of work ahead of her in the next morning; and as she turned back to her bed, Hoyt stood there, his scalpel flashing as he smiled at her, and this time, she did scream, her cry going unheard as she flinched back, automatically raising her hands in a useless attempt to defend herself, squeezing her eyes shut – before the rational part of her mind caught up and reminded her of the fact that Hoyt was gone, dead and gone, that he couldn't harm her anymore.
Suddenly on the verge of tears, she slid down against the wall until she ended up on the floor, tightly hugging her knees to her chest, staring into nothingness again as she tried to remember all the things she knew about meditation; and as she sat there in the dark, fighting the urge to rock back and forth, Dr Maura Isles asked herself if she was slowly, but steadily losing her mind.
