Staying Silent, part eleven – September

He waited. He was good at waiting. It could take a few minutes, but he was perfectly happy to stand in the darkness until the image came out, clear and faultless. He removed it from the solution, carefully pegging it up. He had his first look at it, in the eerie red light.

Her face, so perfect. He continued waiting. When the picture was dry, he carefully unclipped it, and took it away from the dark room, towards the rear wall of his thread-bare apartment. He slipped the photo behind two clips, which would hold it up without damaging it.

His gaze roved over his collection. Yes, he thought, his lips twitching, she was his now.

A beep sounded, and he looked down at his watch. Midday already, he thought with surprise. Nowadays, he had to set the alarm on his watch, because otherwise he was liable to stand here all day looking at his photos, and forget to go to work.

Forcing himself to turn away, he carefully retrieved his camera, scowling as he saw a scratch across one lens. He would have to get a new one. And to do that, he needed money.

If you want more pictures of Kate, you need more money. Go to work, get money. He found work so... uninspiring. He was an artist. He didn't want to have to deal with the usual crap from his co-workers. He had found in the past that by rewarding himself with thoughts of her meant he could get through the day much easier.

Work, money, pictures, Kate, he thought, and left the apartment. He didn't lock it. There was no point. Nothing inside was worth stealing. Apart from the photos, a few microwave meals, and some of his camera equipment, there was nothing in there.

***

Kate yawned. She was tired, shockingly tired. After the events of last week, she had been having trouble sleeping. For the first time, actual guilt was gnawing at her.

A man was dead, and she had seen him die. Should she tell someone what she knew? Could she? Was it worth risking her life to bring justice to a man who wouldn't even see it? What about his family? Did they even know he was dead?

She shivered. She was filled with uncertainty. There was a knock on the front door, and she looked up warily.

"It's me," Mike called, and she smiled, making her way up the hall. He knew her reaction to unexpected visitors. He could have called, but she was also phone-shy. Though, for the past few days, there hadn't been a single noise from her landline. Kate was surprised – maybe her stalker didn't know she had shore leave. She doubted it. So far, he knew everything about her – when she was at work, when she was at home, and what she was doing at home.

Which left only one option – he didn't know about the body they had found, or if he did, he didn't realise it was his own victim.

"Report came out today," Mike said as way of greeting, holding up a newspaper. She frowned at it, moving aside so he could enter. She didn't bother to scan the street outside. Either he was there, or he wasn't. She knew she wouldn't see him.

"Pictures?" she asked, looking nervously at the front page.

"Nope. CGI face reconstruction. Couldn't shock the public with photos of what we saw. The crew could barely handle it, and we see more than our fair share of corpses."

Kate studied the picture, then flung it onto the table in disgust. She dropped into a chair, and shook her head.

"It's not him."

"What?" Mike asked, confused. The picture on the front page, while computerised and flat, looked pretty similar to the body he had seen.

"The water must have done things to his face," Kate said. "It should be thinner than in that picture. And his eyebrows were thicker, much thicker. His chin was more rounded."

"You sure?" Mike checked, looking from the picture to the unhappy expression on her face. She glanced up at him, her eyes burning.

"Of course I'm sure. I know what – who – I saw. That's the problem, remember?"

"Yeah... okay. Water distortion – they should have considered that."

"This picture's useless. Worse, it's misleading."

"What? You want to tell the police that?" Mike asked, stunned. Kate hesitated.

"He was... just a guy before. Now, he's a dead body, and they don't know who he is, and with that picture, they're not going to find out. He could have a family looking for him... kids, even. And they could look at this and turn the page."

Mike swallowed, sitting down beside her. "You're having second thoughts about staying silent," he said flatly. She looked up at him, and he quailed at the raw fear in her eyes.

"It's not just us anymore," she said pleadingly. "It was different before."

"So... you want to..."

"No, Mike. I do not want to say anything. I don't want to risk pissing this guy off. I don't want to have to remember what happened. I'm just thinking that morally, I should."

"So... you... are going to..." he trailed off, bending his head to meet her eyes. She turned away.

"No. I'm not saying anything. Maybe this will be enough. Or maybe they'll figure out its useless and put an actual picture in."

Mike nodded. "It's up to you," he reassured her. He felt it was an empty comfort.

The silence dragged on, Mike not knowing what to say, Kate wondering how to express what she was feeling. Eventually, she sighed, and he waited, guessing she had something she wanted to get off her chest.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered. "I just... don't feel safe anymore. Ever. Except while we're out at sea, and that's because we're completely cut off from any contact with this guy."

His chest tightened. Ever since the incident with Marshall and the photo, they had tried to avoid contact on shore leave, never knowing when someone might take a happy-snap. As such, they each returned to their own homes, keeping contact through the phone, and through 'work-related' conversations, like this one.

But at night, she found herself twitching at every shadow, and quivering fearfully at every sound. The house seemed too empty without him there. She wasn't sleeping properly, and as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, guilt was only a part of the problem. But the consequences of being caught with him would mean one of them leaving the Hammersley, and probably not seeing each other for months at a time.

"What if we buy a house boat? Run off to sea, away from stalkers, murderers, and Marshall," Mike suggested teasingly. Kate laughed, her mood brightening just a little. Then she fell silent, and after a pause, turned to him sombrely.

"Would you?" she asked. He baulked.

"Well... maybe. I didn't mean... just that..."

Her smile returned as she watched him bluster. Realising she was toying with him, Mike sighed. It would by idyllic.

"Just you, me, and the sea," he said, and the idea was tempting. But they both knew it was impractical, and surrendered to the bite of reality. She stared at the table beneath her elbows, looking lonely and lost.

As he watched her, he felt a twist, somewhere between his chest and his gut. He saw her hair, unkempt and wisping over her face, and he wanted to brush it away. He saw the shadows under her eyes, the tiredness looming over her, and he wanted to take her in his arms and let her sleep, safe for once. His gaze brushed past the hunch in her shoulders, and he knew he needed to fix this. Somehow.

She suddenly looked up, meeting his eyes. The feeling intensified, a crushing ache somewhere near his sternum, so strong that it brought tears to his eyes. It hurt, and yet he yearned for more.

"What?" she asked, confused by his sudden stillness. He licked his lips nervously.

"Nothing," he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. She wasn't just beautiful. She was perfect. Strong as an ox at times, and at others, fragile and desperate. She was self-reliant, but could still make him feel needed, wanted, lo–

"What is it?" she asked, reaching a hand forward, her thumb touching his cheek. His breath caught, and his chest tightened even further.

"I... Kate, I... nothing."

"Say it," she demanded, frowning as his eyes lowered shamefully. She cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"I think I love you," he whispered. She gazed at him steadily, and he realised that their breaths were out of phase – the air she was inhaling had just come from his lungs, and vice versa. He could see a passion and desire in her face that hadn't been there a minute ago, along with a deep tenderness.

And fear.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, trying to look away, but she continued to hold him.

"Don't leave," she begged, and he blinked in surprise.

"Why would I –"

"Because last time..." she began, biting her lip gently, before sucking in a shaky breath and continuing. "Last time, you fell in love with me, and then you left."

He inhaled sharply. How had she known that?

"I saw you, I saw how scared you were... and I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything to help you, and then you left," she explained. "I'm a woman. We can sense these things."

A tear tickled the corner of his eye, and he wasn't worried about her seeing it.

"I didn't know what it would mean for us... if it got any deeper, if someone found out..."

"I know. And you had taken a posting, so we wouldn't even be together... but, Mike..." She met his eyes again. "Don't do it again. Don't get into something you can't handle. Because I can't deal with you running again."

"I won't," he whispered. Her eyes flickered, as she searched for the emotion behind it. He clasped her hands. "I regretted it, I always regretted it... I hated myself. And then... I thought you must have moved on."

"I could never move on," she replied, her lips now only an inch from his. Their gazes met, and she moved away.

"The only way we can be together is if we're not together," she said sadly. He nodded.

"I could take a shore posting..."

"No. You hate them, remember?"

Mike sighed bitterly, but nodded. "The houseboat is sounding pretty good, right now, isn't it?" he said, and she smiled coyly.

"But still impossible."

For a moment, there was silence.

"But I promise, I will do whatever I have to, to protect you," he said. She swallowed.

"Thankyou," she whispered. She looked at him levelly. "I think I love you, too," she added, and he grinned, but the moment was cut short.

The phone rang.