In a scurry of feet rushing through and in and out and around and about, Lisbon dreamed. Or imagined. Or died. To her, the world had quickly transformed into an arena of grayish fog that made her uneasy. She trudged forward a bit, noting the blackening leaves covering every inch of the ground despite the absence of trees. There were things in this place she didn't understand; a broken wine glass, a ragged bowl filled with muddy water, a bloody knife similar to…
Look away. Don't think. Don't remember. "It wasn't my fault," but it was. It desperately was.
In the distance she could make out a figure. She tentatively maintained her pace, weary of who might be waiting. Closer, they're kind of short. Closer, it's a woman. Closer, long hair. Closer, pale skin.
Closer, no.
Closer, it isn't. But it is.
Lisbon saw her mother, standing a few feet away from her, details muted by the mist. She could cry and run towards her and hug her, but she didn't. In shock there stood a middle-aged cop. A cop showing no emotion. It took a few minutes before she allowed tears to fall and nearly run towards the woman she hadn't seen since the accident. Eyes shut. Left side tense. Teresa didn't take time to look into her mother's eyes before she hugged her.
Warm on the inside, growing colder on the surface. Wetter. The skin of her mother's shoulder, Lisbon noticed, was not the silky texture it was seconds ago. It was red, and bloody, and shredded. In horror she pulled back, hands gripping Mom's shoulders. The face she couldn't make out, didn't look at before she embraced her, wasn't there. It was replaced by a soup of torn off skin, burnt extremities, bleeding and battered eyeballs, and anger.
Stomach drops. Muscles stiff. Sound absolved. Teresa stared in awe and terror.
In a moment the woman's broken jaw would open, allowing bloody and flakes of flesh to spill out onto her daughter's clothes. "HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT THOSE HEROS WHO DIED FOR YOU?" The scream was loud, painful, wrought.
Lisbon collapsed, unanswering, "YOU ARE NOTHING AND NOW THAT CAN NEVER CHANGE," the bones sticking out from the back of her hand made it particularly more painful for her child when she was slapped across the face. "YOU DID THIS TO ME!"
"Ugh, I know, right? She smelling up the whole bathroom with dried blood," Deena gossiped. "I don't know what I'm going to do if maintenance doesn't get rid of her before noon, I have to pee!"
Alexandra shook her head, "I know! I feel bad, though."
"What for," Deena asked surprised.
"Well," Alex began, "I just feel like we don't give the janitor's enough credit, you know? They do so much for us…"
"I suppose you're right," Deena admitted. "I'll have to catch you later, though. I have a forensic report for Grace."
She clacked in her high-heels towards the Homicide Team's bullpen, "Here you go, Grace."
"Thanks," VanPelt muttered.
"Hey, would you mind doing me a favor? My team and I are so busy today with residue analysis that I don't think I'll have time to call in that bathroom problem. Since she's Senior on your team and al, do you think you could get that taken care of?" she shuffled off before she could here Grace's reply.
Great.
This is going to begin to make sense within the next two chapters, so hang in there with me! This one is kinda messed up and there will be similar snippets for a while but they will go away eventually. Promise! Thanks to those who reviewed and motivated me to continue!
