Thank you to CSIHuntermom, wendysam, connielover and Danielle (anonymous) for reviewing! Also AutumnDoe, Busapan, connielover, CSIHuntermom and wendysam for adding this story to storyalert. Here's the next chapter...
Lindsey was waiting for her at the door, for once glad to see her. They sat down on the couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food (Lindsey's favourite) and watched a teen flick until it was time to go to bed. It had become a family ritual, whenever Catherine or Lindsey had a bad day, which was quite often. It had started two days after the kidnapping when Catherine had slouched exhausted on the couch and Lindsey had handed her a tub of ice cream and a spoon proclaiming that, "Ice cream fixes everything" before sitting down beside her with another spoon and digging in.
They had grown closer after the kidnapping, even though Catherine had insisted that she go see a counsellor. The counsellor had talked some sense into her and Lindsey now looked up to and trusted her mother. Lindsey had inherited her mother's dislike of talking about her feelings, but she really liked her counsellor, a twenty-something blonde part time yoga teacher, who she seemed to trust. She was making good progress, her school results were getting better and the trauma she experienced had barely affected her at all. She slept well at night and seemed to be like a normal teenager in Las Vegas, but special enough that her mum was proud of her.
She, on the other hand, was not bearing up quite so well. The ice cream, the time with her daughter and the fact that her daughter was happy was not quite enough. She woke up screaming in the night - just because there was no evidence of sexual assault or rape, it did not mean it didn't happen. She drank in the night, normally a shot or two of vodka or whiskey to help comfort her and send her to sleep. She woke up angry and confused in the mornings and had to use caffeine drinks, coffee or pain killers to help ease her confused, aching head and try to lift the fog from around her. The caffeine was becoming a problem – it helped clear the world, and that she did not want. The dull fog of pain killers helped her see the world differently, dulling the sharp edge of the knife of life, stopping her from being hurt.
The continuous stream of assault cases did not help her mood. In one week she had dealt with over three assaults, all easily solved with DNA testing and one kidnapping, which ended quite well. Sure, she felt good helping all those people get their lives back on track, but how come they got answers when she didn't? All she could remember from that night was a blur of black, white and grey with splatters of red reaching angrily into the distance; and for some reason she remembered hands, hands of black reaching out towards her. For some reason she was white, a sparkling, brilliant white that glowed throughout the room, yet there was still black, so much black, reaching towards her. Dark black drowning the white, whilst red laughed from the sidelines. White is going to die tonight, it whispered, black is going to win. The words shook through her in her dreams, dreams of few colours, and dreams of few thoughts; only 'white is going to die tonight' echoing through her mind.
What did it matter? Who cared? She was there to care for people, not the other way round. She was the bridge that was placed over the crevice for people to cross, the path that was laid through the fire for people to walk through. She was the jailer, the keeper, the fare collector, the bus driver: queen and pawn in a deadly game created by people, and things she could not see. People said they would try to protect her, that she could trust them and they would help her, but they couldn't help her. Nothing could help her, but the continuous fog of pain killers and the blur of shots that relieved the stress of the night.
The night was black, like her dreams, she thought as an empty shot glass sat in her hand, the dregs of her third shot of whiskey glimmering in the bottom, taunting her to have another shot. Get drunk... it whispered feel the feeling that you are indestructible and perfect. But she knew she would regret it in the morning, because facing Ecklie with a hangover would be like running the fifteen hundred meters with a slab of concrete on her back. Instead, she opted for the numbing fog of painkillers, and fell back into bed.
She stared at the ceiling, trying to tempt herself to sleep. The ceiling swirled in a seemingly endless mist, black and white shapes dancing in the fog. The white was a lighthouse, strong and proud, and the black was a storm, terrifying and large, yet the red didn't seem to fit. Perhaps it was a boat, lost in the storm. She scrunched her eyes up and stared fiercely at the ceiling, but didn't notice Lindsey standing in the doorway.
"Mom?" Lindsey asked.
Catherine turned and faced her daughter. Her daughter was white, a brilliant white, whiter than she ever was.
"Do you need anything honey?" Catherine asked, confused why she was up at such a late hour.
"Can I talk to you?" Lindsey asked.
Catherine smiled. It had been years since Lindsey had just wanted to talk with her. "Sure," She said, indicating that she should sit, and moving over so there was room. Lindsey curled up underneath the bed sheet next to her. Catherine stroked her hair and pulled her in close to her.
"Why did they take me?" Lindsey asked.
Catherine was afraid that this question was going to come and she still didn't have a complete answer, despite the many hours she had spent thinking about it. Lindsey knew Sam was dead, and Catherine didn't want to tell her that Sam was a thug in a thousand dollar shoes. She wanted her to remember him as a good grandfather, no matter how much of a bastard he was.
"Well," Catherine began, unsure where her mind would take her. "Sam dealt with a lot of bad people in his profession, and because of some of the decisions he made, some people lost a lot of money and they wanted revenge."
"And they used me to get to him." Lindsey said, her voice partially muffled by the white sheets.
Catherine wrapped her arms round her daughter. "And no one is ever going to hurt you again." She promised Lindsey. "I promise." She muttered.
"What did they do to you?" Lindsey asked.
Catherine nearly jumped the other side of the room in shock, but she managed not to, instead opting to hold Lindsey tighter.
"Nothing honey." She lied. "Nothing at all."
"Good." Said Lindsey, before getting out of the bed and going back to her room. "Night" she said without looking back.
"Night!" Catherine said after her. She curled up in the bed, knees to her chest, and let a few tears fall. It didn't help the black pit of fear in her stomach, or the swirling redness in her head.
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