The hands that aided Maura's descent into darkness gripped her ankles with the biting caress of rusted manacles. Downwards they pulled with the weight and unwavering speed of an anchor moving through the high dynamic viscosity of blackstrap. Down, down, down, into the fathoms of an obsidian ocean.

Despite the pain, a profound feeling of bliss overcame Maura as she was dragged through the darkness. She felt that nothing could disturb her newfound calm. Her mind felt keen and clear; a barrage of questions danced in her mind before she quietly projected them into the darkness:

Is there a bottom?

Will the bottom be like an ocean floor, full of lost things and terrible creatures?

How long will it take to get to there?

Is she tethered to something like most anchors?

If so, what was she tethered to?

The inevitable…

Maura grew bored with her questions. She was easing into a meditative state when some distant noise—unmelodious mumblings—filled her ears. The noise was relentless and Maura felt serenity flee from her. She couldn't tune out the noise; her mind reeled and her ears rang. Maura desperately wanted to regain some impression of tranquility, but she couldn't.

Then, like the deft sheers of a draper, Jane's strong, distinct, familiar voice cut through the noise, separating out words, creating patterns, creating phrases.

Jane's voice rose above and it mingled with a merrier version of her own voice.

"Did you ever have a best friend?"

"No."

"You'd tell me if you were a cyborg right?"

"No, I don't think I would."

Jane…

Maura opened her mouth and sharply gasped. Her tranquility was long destroyed. She felt anxious. A throbbing ache budded into a searing pain as the hands tightened the manacles around the tender flesh of her ankles. Maura cried out. She tried to curl her body, but the forceful pull kept her erect.

Maura's mind was overflowing; she felt on the verge of remembering too much all at once. Had she forgotten? Is that why she was remembering? Maura wasn't sure. She crossed her arms over her chest in a lame attempt to comfort herself. Her memories began to rapidly stack together and form into a twisted tower of misshapen stones, barely held together by moss encrusted roots.

As the stones stacked higher, the roots wove and grew more complex. Images began to flash in Maura's mind. The image of Jane shook her, triggering a memory.

Because it's true...

She wasn't going to let Jane ruin them.

You'll have to drag me away!

Jane…

Maura flinched. There was no order to the images or conversations, no sense of time.

The stones clashed as they were pulled together by roots and sounded like thunder. A great stone, far larger than the rest, with an odd mix of crevices, sharp and smooth angles, snapped many of the roots that attempted to lift it into place. But the roots were persistent; when they finally slid the stone in place, a surprising level of panic seized Maura.

A memory came fourth and Maura lost herself in it. She was there, in that moment, that memory, experiencing it, albeit mechanically. Every moment that she relived, every sound that she reheard, was anticipated, automated, and passionless. This was when she answered the call, so she did. This was when she inhaled and briefly held her breath, so she did. This was when she cried, so she did. This was when she shouted, so she did. This was when everything went dark, so it did. In her memory she was a spectator, a subdued participator in a stilted play, nothing more.

Maura was immediately taken away from the details of that memory, that horrifying experience, back to Jane and a conversation that they once had.

"I want to be buried at sea. Jane I want to return to the primordial soup that spawned us all…with nothing fancy…a small group of friends and family…a cello…there would only be one and it should play Bach's suite in G major…and then everyone can toast me with a nice bottle of Champaign before you throw me overboard."

Tears welled in Maura's eyes. She raised her hands toward her face only to realize that a soft, yet stiff bundle of something was tangled between her fingers. Maura closely observed the bundle and recognized it for what it was, a bridle made of tektite colored hair. Maura was mesmerized by the bridle, the intricate knots and braids; it was beautiful; she twisted it in her hands, and rubbed it against her face. Yes, it was hair.

A strong wave of heat brushed against Maura and colorful flames appeared around her. She gripped the bridle and clutched it to her chest. She couldn't allow it to be burned.

Maura was at a loss about what to do when an unexpected cool gust of wind swept through and momentarily weakened the flames. She widened her eyes when an eclipse of gray moths burst forth from the darkness and fluttered into the fire, burning, but somehow shielding her body.

Maura looked at the bridle in her hands and everything became clear. She found that she knew exactly what to do. She took quick hold of the reins and the darkness around her began take shape. She let the headstall pull forward; she adjusted to the dip beneath her; she saw a tousled mane spring up before her, and she felt a strong presence behind her. Maura's deathlike grip on the reins slackened as inky black arms extend, covered Maura's hands, and secured the reigns.

Jane…

At an impossible speed, out of the darkness, Maura traveled into piercing light.


Angela Rizzoli closed the door to Maura's house gently, a heavy sigh held fast in the back of her throat. She took slow steps towards that car where Frankie waited for her. She couldn't help but reflect on the gathering that had taken place only an hour before.

Angela and Frankie had contacted all of Maura's close friends and family. Constance had been the last to arrive since her plane had been delayed twice in Europe. Barry and Maura's father couldn't arrive in person, but they joined via Skype. Hope, Cailin, Lydia, Tommy, Tommy Jr., Susie, Sean, Frankie, and Vince had solemnly gathered in Maura's living room. They exhaustively discussed Maura and what to do about Jane.

They had all suggested their varying ideas, some silly and uniformed, some blunt and valid: Maura should be moved to an exceptional hospital. Maura should be home, monitored by the best specialists. Jane loves being a detective; she just needs a little convincing to get back to work; that will help her.

The debating and suggestions went on and on. In the end, it was decided that all decisions concerning Maura and Jane would be left to their mothers—Angela and Constance.

Angela thought back to Vince. She was surprised when he started talking about the accident. After he'd finished telling everyone what he knew, Angela realized that she'd barely known anything at all; she most definitely hadn't known any of the details. Eventually she decided that Vince's story and the accident itself didn't matter. All that mattered was that Maura lay in a coma and that Jane was possibly forever changed. Angela didn't want to dwell on the problems. She just wanted solutions.

Angela gripped the handle of her purse as Frankie pulled into a parking space at the hospital. As she waited for Frankie to open her car door, she sat still and whispered a little prayer. She took a deep breath and collected herself. She was a fiercely determined mother; of course she knew what to do about Jane.


AN: I want to thank everyone for their patience! This story is an experimental piece of free writing—sorry about the grammar, punctuation, and spelling errors—that I do when I have spare time. I really appreciate those of you that have read, reviewed, favored, and followed— thank you. Just know that updates will be very slow, and that I will finish the story. I won't leave you hanging!

BlueCanto