between your ribs
Sorry for the slow update/lack of replies to reviews on chapter two! I don't have wifi at the moment, I've just moved back to university, but that will hopefully be sorted soon. Thank you for sticking with this regardless!
Chapter Three:
September 22nd, 2015
Windham is an interesting place, she decides. A far cry from Boston. She takes herself for a walk around the city, learning the lay of the land, looking for some sign as to why Maura would've been taken here. It seems illogical. To stay so close to the place that she was being looked for.
Korsak had returned to Boston late last night. He'd wanted to stay, but she just wanted to be alone. It was better for him to have gone back, anyway – inform everyone in person what had really happened, instead of whispers passing through the precinct. She'd found a cheap hotel a couple blocks away from the hospital and had decided to stay until Maura was transferred to the clinic in Boston.
A gaggle of teenaged schoolchildren pass her on the sidewalk, laughing to themselves. The shortest one of the group blushes under her gaze, eyeing the badge on her hip. She pockets her hands and moves past them, heading in the direction of the hospital. Constance had warned her that Maura's outburst yesterday might not be the only one. Had sent Jane away a couple hours after it had happened and told her she'd let her know when it was alright for her to come back. Around midday, she'd called, telling her that Maura had been much better today. A little more lucid. Still small, and confused. But better.
The nurse at the reception nods at her as she passes. It's the same one that had pushed her from Maura's room.
Maura's room is still dark when she moves in and closes the door quietly behind her. Constance's head raises from its position on the bed, beside her daughter's hip, and Jane doesn't mention it. She and Constance show their love differently. Both quietly. But differently.
"She let them bathe her this morning," Constance tells her in a hushed whisper as Jane takes a seat. "Well, it wasn't so much let as simply went with what they said."
She wants to take Maura's hand. She doesn't. "Submissive."
"Yes, that's it," Constance agrees. Her lips downturn as she says it.
Jane reaches out, lets her fingers brush against Maura's freshly washed hair. It makes her look a little better. Healthier. It's limp – probably from the vitamin deficiency and lack of care. Still, it's clean, and soft in her hands. She retracts immediately when Maura's eyes flutter, before settling on her mother.
"Darling," Constance greets her gently, like she would a cornered animal. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Maura rasps, and Constance passes her a cup of water. Maura accepts it timidly. "Thank you."
Constance squeezes her daughter's hand and Maura doesn't flinch. Jane feels hope bubble inside her chest. She thought Maura hadn't wanted contact – it had certainly seemed that way yesterday. Without thinking, she reaches out, rests a hand on Maura's arm and the woman jerks away almost instantly, crying out in either pain or surprise, she's not sure.
Jane whips her hand away so quickly it bashes against the wooden arm of the chair. It throbs but she doesn't pay attention to it, just stares at Maura as she stares wild-eyed and afraid back at her. Constance is watching the detective, too – confused. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she can think of anything to say.
"Maura? It's… It's okay. It's just me. It's Jane."
Her eyebrows pinch together. "They said you wouldn't come for me."
"What? I – Maura, I'm right here. They found you, you're safe, remember?"
Constance squeezes her daughter's shoulder as Maura pushes herself up to a sitting position. Her ribs must be hurting her, her arms trembling as she holds herself up, but she doesn't let herself fall. There's nothing Jane wants more than to be her crutches, hold her up safely, never see her fall again. Her hands feel as though they've inflated twice their size, awkward and clunky as she forces them to remain in her lap.
"You didn't come for me."
Her throat burns.
"Why didn't you come for me, Jane?"
"I did," she whispers hoarsely. "I always will."
Maura shakes her head, eyes closing and face battling a losing war with confusion. Beneath her eyelids, her eyes are moving rapidly, lost and confused.
"Yesterday. You let them hurt me yesterday."
Anger spreads through her shoulders, makes her broad and mean as she thinks back to then. No, she'd never let anyone hurt Maura. She'd been forced away from her. It isn't her fault. Everyone seems to be fighting to keep her from her best friend, including the woman herself.
"No. No, I didn't," she leans closer, reaching. "They forced me away, Maura!"
Slowly, Maura's eyes peel open again. Previous fear is replaced with abject terror, and she immediately lays back down on the bed, arms collapsing beneath her. Her head lands with a muted thud against the pillow as her eyes fill with tears.
"Melissa?"
It's barely audible in the silent room. Jane rips her eyes from Maura's to face Constance, who's covered her mouth with her hand, frozen. Melissa. Kyle's sister. The one with dark eyes and dark hair and a twisted soul. She thinks she's – Melissa?
"Please," Maura sobs. "Please, I was good. I didn't – I didn't mean to – "
"Maura," she reaches for her and Maura cries out. Constance's hand wraps around her wrist before Jane can even blink, pulling her away from her daughter and Jane looks at her in muted desperation.
"You need to go," Constance says fiercely, and when she doesn't move, she tugs on her wrist again. "Now."
Behind her, Maura whimpers.
They take almost an hour and thirty five minutes with Maura.
Constance leaves the room when the hospital's psychiatrist finally agrees to see Maura. She says nothing to Jane. Instead, she stands by the window, hand wrapped around the locket she's wearing, staring out at the rain. She supposes the patter of the rain against the window should be soothing. Rhythmic. It simply has her sitting on the edge of the seat. It feels too much like something out of a sad movie.
The psychiatrist comes and goes, speaking in hushed tones with the doctor at the end of the hall. It drives her mad; she can hear their sounds, she simply can't make out what they're supposed to be saying.
"Mrs Isles," the doctor approaches her, psychiatrist in tow, and Constance accepts their hands to shake. "Perhaps you'd like to take a seat?"
"Tell me about my daughter," Constance demands, and Jane stands beside her, glowering.
The doctor looks glances between them, flicking his gaze over to the psychiatrist before speaking. "This is a family – "
"Whatever news you have, Jane deserves to hear it too," Constance cuts in. "Now tell me. What's wrong with her?"
The psychiatrist clears his throat, looking down at her notes.
"Miss Isles is suffering from an extreme case of PTSD. As is evident from her change of personality – which you both have noted. She seems confused as to whether this is all real or not, submissive in nature. Probably due to the mental abuse she suffered at the hands of her abusers. She had been taught that this was her new way of life."
PTSD. Okay, she understands that – she can help that. Can't she? With a little bit of time, and perseverance, they can beat this.
"Then why did she call me Melissa?"
The psychiatrist rests his fingers against his chin. "It's possible that she's blended you, the one she viewed as her saviour, with her captor. Do you have a photo of the suspect?"
Jane searches through her phone for the files she'd emailed herself back when the FBI had given her access to the case. She's still waiting for the moment that they realise what she's done and have her escorted somewhere very dark by men in suits.
She pulls up a photo of Melissa Matthews and passes her cell to the psychiatrist. "This is one of them. The one that she… confused me with."
He hums, staring down at the photo. "You've similar features. I understand why – after what she's experienced – she's experiencing these… visions, shall we say. She has difficultly separating the two of you."
As he passes her phone back, he turns to Constance. "I understand you've arranged for Miss Isles to see Doctor Reyes alongside physical treatment?" He asks, and after Constance nods he continues. "Good. I know her well. She's one of the best mental health professionals in the state of Massachusetts. Maura will need a long time to recover, and, as well as therapy, she'll need a solid unit of support."
"I'll be there for her," Jane steps forwards. "I can visit her. At the clinic. And when she's ready to go home, if she needs it, I can look after her. If that's okay with you, Constance."
Constance smiles. "I think that is a wonderful idea, detective."
The psychiatrist clears his throat uncomfortably. "Actually, detective… Miss Isles should be ready to transfer to the clinic in Boston in a couple days time but… It is under my recommendation that you do not see her."
She is underwater. She stares at his mouth, trying to make sense of his words.
"Excuse me?"
"Miss Isles has experienced a traumatic event and the repercussions are deeper than you could ever imagine. She needs to learn to accept the events that happened to her, and come to terms with moving on. You, consciously or not, are a deep reminder of that experience. You'll only hinder the recovery process, which I'm sure you understand is of the greatest importance here. It will be a long and arduous time for her; experiences such as these can sometimes take years to overcome. When Miss Isles is ready to face you, I'm sure she'll find you."
Jane can feel Constance's eyes on her as her cheeks fill with heat. "And if she doesn't?"
The psychiatrist clasps his hands together. "Then she isn't ready."
There is water everywhere.
She is vaguely aware of the world beating on around her. People and cars pass her as she stands on the sidewalk outside the hospital, but she cannot make herself focus on them. They merge into blurs, swerving around her and she stumbles, reaching for a wall to hold herself up on.
Experiences such as these can sometimes take years to overcome.
Jane pushes away from the wall and begins marching towards her hotel. It's as though her legs are underwater, pushing against the currents slowly, impossibly. The sounds of life around her are distorted. They do not make sense to her ears, and she curls her hands into fists, needing a way to release all of her energy.
And if she doesn't? Then she isn't ready.
The moment she's in her hotel room, she slides down to the floor, back pressed against the door. She slides her hands into her hair and presses her face between her knees, keeping her breathing deep. It's only now that she becomes vaguely aware that she's gasping – and then her fingers are groping the air, searching for something, she doesn't know what. Is this a panic attack? Maura would know. Maura always knew.
Surging up onto her feet, Jane stumbles into the bathroom. Turns the shower on cold. She loses her clothes in seconds, stepping under the spray and it freezes her. Cold water beating against her skin and she buries her face in her hands, shivering as her breathing begins to deepen and slow. Returns to normal, and then she's sitting, the water pouring over her head and making her splutter as it spills between her lips. But it's okay, because feeling is beginning to come back to her. Fingertips not so much numb as they are shaking and lungs not so much lost as they are raw.
She had been right there. Under her fingers. Her hair. Her skin. Maura. Real, and alive, and safe. She hadn't found her, but she could've helped her become who she once was. She'd thought –
Jane curses, spitting blood when she bites down too hard on the inside of her cheek. She'd had Maura.
And then she'd lost her again.
TBC