Chapter 2: Uncle Tommy

I lay in bed, cold and clammy but unable to move. I'd had nightmares on and off all night, which I suppose was to be expected. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in my curtains, and I could hear the birds outside. I fumbled for my cell phone on my bedside table, finally finding it, after knocking an empty glass of water onto the ground. Or hopefully empty, I wasn't getting out of bed yet. The little blue envelope in the top corner of the screen on my phone told me I had a message. 'I hope you're okay. Sleep well.' It was from Booth. I contemplated sending a text back, but images from my dreams kept coming to the forefront of my mind, and he didn't need to be any more worried. I checked the alarm on my phone, still set. I relaxed back into the cushions and let my phone fall beside me. Maybe I could get an hour or so of sleep before work.

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I heard was the piercing noise of my alarm. I switched it to snooze. Seconds later the alarm sounded again, although it can't have been seconds, it had to be ten minutes. I hit snooze once more. Again before I knew it, the alarm was off again. I exited the screen, and rolled away from my phone. Bloody alarm, I just needed to rest my eyes a few more minutes... But my phone went off yet again, but this time I had a message. I sighed. Being lazy was obviously not an option this morning. 'I'll pick you up in twenty minutes and take you into work. Ok?' Oh crap. That's right; my car is back at work. I slipped out from under the covers, they were twisted and half off the bed by this stage. I jumped as I stepped into something cold and wet. What on earth...? I moved the glass with my toe. I didn't have time for mess this morning. But I rushed off to get a towel to soak up the water I had spilt earlier knocking things off my bedside table.

I managed to be dressed and ready, and even calm before Booth arrived. I doubted anyone could see the turmoil beneath my calm facade today. Possibly Booth, but he was trained in being observant like that. Maybe Angela. She seems intuitive about how the people around here are feeling more often than not. But the rest of the 'squints'... No they wouldn't have a clue.

The doorbell rang interrupting my thoughts. I looked around her combined lounge and kitchen one last time. Everything switched off? Yes. Windows shut? Yes. I greeted Booth with the normal "good morning," and locked the doors behind me. Just a normal day. Normal day. I told myself. Nothing has changed.

"Anything new on the Prophet case...?" I asked, referring to the case of a young woman's bones they'd found a week and a half ago. They'd learned her identity by a pin found in her elbow. Horse-riding accident when she was just fifteen. They'd found cause of death, blunt force trauma to the frontal bone... there were various other injuries to the rest of the body suggesting that the young woman, Cassandra Prophet was beaten to death. So far we hadn't been able to narrow down a murder weapon.

"No, still no-one has come forward to say they know Cassandra. No-one has filed a missing persons report either." We were in the SUV now. He was surreptitiously looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"You can stop that now. I'm not going to break down. I'm fine. I'll speak to you when I am sure of what's going on. I reacted badly yesterday; I have no proof... nothing to say that it's him."

"You just reacted like any normal person in a situation that hits close to home... Because obviously you know who Thomas Benson is... And-"

"-Booth," I cut in. "I don't want to speak about it."

"The victims name is Maria." I searched my memories, drawing up a blank. There was Jeremy, the Benson's biological son. A weird but harmless young boy. Yvonne and Beatrice... and Mary Jane, but she was just a baby at the time so I didn't remember much about her. Not that I could remember a lot about the time at all. I'd never tried to look back on it until now; I had blocked the memories from my mind as soon as I left the house. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was wrong, it wasn't him! My body relaxed.

"I don't know..."

"You would have known her as Mary Jane back then." He said quietly. Why did he sound like he... knew? I tensed once more, and suppressed the tears I could feel building up again. "I had to research him... after your reaction." Anger shot through me. He would know everything. Know about Beatrice telling the school teacher about Uncle Tommy; how the police turned up... how we were removed from his home.

"Did he only molest Beatrice?"

"No," he pulled into a car park and switched the engine off, but made no move to get out.

"Are you going to explain, you said you would?" He touched my hand. "I'm not pushing you, but sometimes it's better to talk about it."

"I did, I got sent to psychologists and psychiatrists at the time. I had already buried the memories even by that early stage." I leant back. "I was the last foster kid to arrive at the house. Beatrice scared me. She was the eldest girl until I came along, she was twelve. Yvonne was nine. She and Beatrice arrived within days of each other, and were attached at the hip. I believe he only ever... touched Beatrice at first." I trailed off. "Look Booth... now isn't the time." A pain in my chest caused me to stop speaking altogether. "I can't..." I opened the car door.

Darkness had enveloped me once more. Just like the time when I lived in the house. Everything looked bleak. No-one cared enough to report Cassandra missing, why bother finding the murderer when no-one still alive cared enough about her? How did Mary Jane, or Maria end up back in the hands of Uncle Tommy? I tuned out Booth's voice, ignored whatever the guards tried to say to me, ignored Hodgin's, and slammed and locked my office door. What was the point in being here?

I lowered myself onto the couch. The emotional pain was so terrible that it felt physical. I curled my knees towards my chest, rested my head on my hands, and closed my eyes.

TBC?