DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, nothing at all. I receive no monetary gain from writing, just happy feels. All characters are property of their respective owners.
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We're taking things slow. I'm getting to know Sara in new ways, learning the subtle movements of her body, the nuances of her words, the things that make her uniquely her. Under the lab coat and behind the microscope is a woman who's complex and vast, vulnerable even, though she'd never admit it.
I try not to think about Liz, the hurricane raging outside our doors, the storm itching to suck us into its throes, but it's hard knowing she could be just around the corner, lurking, stalking, waiting to attack. Sara doesn't talk about her, but it's a conversation we need to have sooner rather than later. It's been four days since she was released from the hospital, and the voice in the back of my head knows that Liz won't wait much longer to poke her head out from the foxhole, to try and reclaim what she thinks is hers.
I fall asleep on the couch, watching some documentary about ancient Egypt, and I'm awoken by a loud bang. My body jerks as my eyes snap open, and I reach under the couch for my gun, curling my fingers around the cool metal of the grip, its weight making me immediately feel safer. Still foggy with sleep, I remain unmoving, listening for sound, trying to weed out the unfamiliar or unusual from the normal house creaks and groans.
The narrator on the TV talks about King Tut and the treasures buried alongside him in his tomb. The air conditioner kicks on, rattling the loose vent in the living room. The occasional car drives by outside, headlights piercing the blinds, casting shadows on the wall behind me. I breathe, try to slow the erratic beats of my heart as another loud crash reverberates through the empty house.
I jump up, gun held in front of me, and I take slow steps toward the source of the noise, thankful that Lindsay's staying with my mother until the bedlam that my life is drowning in can be sorted out, until it's safe for her again. It's not ideal, but it's necessary, and it makes me hate Liz for putting us all in this predicament, for taking away our safety, for forcing us into fear. I peek through the curtain as I pass, noting the unmarked vehicle sitting across the street. It wouldn't be the first time a suspect's gotten past a detail.
When I approach the kitchen, there are mixing bowls on the counter, baking ingredients lined up behind them, and the refrigerator is hanging wide open. Sara rises from a hunkered position on the floor, a carton of eggs held in her hand and a half gallon of milk clutched between her chest and bicep.
"Jesus, Sara!" She whips around, surprisingly keeping both objects from dropping to the floor, and looks at me with guilty eyes.
"I woke you. I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep." She doesn't seem fazed by the gun pointed at her chest, the metal gleaming in the soft glow from the light above the sink. She doesn't mention it at all, even as I lower the weapon, clicking on the safety and placing it gently on the kitchen table.
"It's fine. I just thought you were…" The sentence doesn't need to be finished for her to know who I was expecting to find. She pulls out a chair, laying the eggs and milk on the table, her shoulders slumped and her chest deflated.
"I'm sorry, Cat. You shouldn't have to-"
"Stop it, Sara. I told you - no more apologies. Nothing that's happened is your fault, so stop taking the responsibility off of those who deserve to shoulder it." She doesn't believe me, and I don't know if she ever will. She'll be offering condolences until her hair turns grey and she's got a walker with tennis balls for feet. She wants to make everything better. She wants to wave a magic wand and disappear the villain into the mist. She wants to save us.
"I dream about her, about him. I see their faces when I close my eyes. I hear their voices in my sleep." I have the same dreams, the same nightmares. In mine, they're two heads, sharing the same body, laughing with the voices of a thousand different demons, the echoes of madness gnawing into my skin like millions of rats. I don't tell Sara, though. It's the first time she's opened up, so I let her talk. "We met at a party thrown by a mutual friend. It seems like forever ago, now. We started talking, because she was the only person that laughed at my jokes. I should have known there was something off with her then."
"You? At a party? Telling jokes?" She nudges me under the table with her foot. It's a playful gesture, something she wouldn't have done before, and I return the smile she throws at me.
"I do have interests outside of work."
"Could have fooled me."
"Yeah, yeah."
"So, you wooed her with this stunning wit of yours and the rest is history?"
"I guess."
"And then you fled to Vegas and waited five years to file for divorce?" It comes across with more sting than I had intended, small drops of bitterness from the words lingering on my lips like stains from wine.
"We had our issues."
"You mentioned." She starts to struggle with our exchange, the light-hearted tone getting lost in the details as her life is cracked open like a fresh egg, scrambled in the pan and served on a plate.
"We started growing apart, moving away from each other. She took a job at a top law firm in the city, defending the people I was trying to put behind bars. She changed. One day, I woke up and realized I didn't know her anymore. And I didn't want to, at least not the person she was becoming."
"Ouch." If I know nothing else about Sara, it's that she's loyal. If you gain her trust, if you make it over her towering walls, you're in for life. So, for her to write Liz off so casually, so absolutely, it makes me wonder if what she saw were glimpses of the Liz I've come to know, if she saw her capacity for harm.
"I filed as soon as I got here. She never signed the papers, ran circles around me with legal ease, using trumped up lawyer tactics and tricks, throwing laws at me for the State of California that didn't translate to Nevada. It's been a mess."
"So, she just showed up out of nowhere looking to mend fences after years of strained relations and you didn't find it strange?" Sara sits up straighter, pulling her body away from me, distancing herself physically.
"Of course I thought it was strange, but I didn't think she was involved in murder plots or that she would be. She was -is- still my wife. I loved her once, trusted her. You never want to believe the people close to you can be monsters." Her eyes fall, landing on the floor and staying there.
She's right. I've known monsters, looked into their dead eyes, felt the chill of evil that coats their skin like a thick oil, but I've never loved one. I've never known what it feels like to have someone you shared your life with turn around and decimate your reality, the truths you had come to trust. It's not just the rug that's been pulled out from under her, it's the whole world.
"I'm sorry, Sara. I - I can't even imagine."
"It's fine." It's not, but I can't change that. All I can do is be here for her now. I know it will take time to prove to her that I'm not a wolf in sheep's clothing, that I won't throw her away like an old toy, that I won't break her.
The atmosphere around us has grown dismal, pregnant with pain, with the seeds of wickedness. I've had enough of Liz tonight, enough of her malignancy seeping into the walls, and I wonder if she'll always be the dark cloud that hangs over us, soaking us in her vile rain. I survey the items on the counter, watch as the container of milk sweats, tiny beads trickling down the sides, forming a puddle of water at its base.
"What were you going to cook up here? It looks like you raided the whole pantry." Sara raises her head, following my gaze, and a sheepish grin greets me when I meet her eyes.
"I was going to make a cake."
"So, not only are you a master jokester, you're also a master baker?" She laughs, leaning forward as wisps of hair shake loose from behind her ears, falling around her face. When she looks back up, her eyes sparkle, brilliant lights piercing the darkness, just like stars. There's a whole universe inside her, and I want to know every galaxy, visit every solar system, learn all the constellations in her skies.
"You're giving me too much credit. You've never tasted my baked goods."
"I've never had the chance." A ripple of fervid tension weaves through the kitchen, and Sara clears her throat as she stands.
"You wanna help?"
"Only if you tell me one of your jokes."
"No, no way. They're terrible." I rise to join her, my hand brushing across her back as I reach for a mixing bowl, relishing in the ease of our interaction and the warmth of her body close to my own.
"Aw, come on. They can't be that bad." She pours flour into a measuring cup as I unwrap a stick of butter.
"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. A neutron walks into a bar and asks how much for a beer. The bartender replies, 'For you, no charge.'" She looks directly at me when she gets to the punch line, and I laugh like it's the funniest thing I've ever heard. Maybe it's her delivery or the slight tug at the corners of her mouth like she's suppressing a laugh of her own, but it works. I'd be happy to spend every night with her, baking cakes and listening to her corny jokes. It's a side of her I didn't know existed, and I love it.
"Tell me another." She groans, sifting the flour into a bowl and adding baking soda.
"Just one more." I nod, waiting expectantly.
"Who was the first electricity detective?" She pauses for effect, whisking the dry ingredients together. "Sherlock Ohms." It's cheesy and nerdy, just like the first one, but I still laugh.
I don't know what time it is when we finally fall asleep. Flour dust covers the kitchen surfaces. Cake crumbs dot the floor. Dabs of icing smear across our shirts, and we lie together on the couch, my head in her lap as daylight breaches the horizon.