She's lying in bed, asleep nine months pregnant. Her covers are folded at her waist. Her growing stomach is rather apparent through her oversized t-shirt. She hears footsteps, and her eyes fly open. She sees her worst nightmare standing next to her bed. He grins devilishly, as he always has. The shine of a metallic object in his hand catches her eye. Her limbs feel like jello, she can't move. He presses his hand against her stomach. She wants to scream, but nothing comes out. He lifts up her shirt, and the scalpel draws closer to her abdomen with each passing second.

"You don't have to worry about being anybody's mommy. I'll take it from here. He's going to be just like me." He presses the scalpel into her skin.


She jerks into consciousness, waking in a cold sweat. She opens her eyes, and looks around the room. She finds herself asleep on her couch, with her arm asleep from hanging over the edge. She takes a deep breath, and her hand flutters to her stomach without a second a thought. She's still in her work clothes. The baby moves inside of her. She sits up, and flips on the lamp. She finds a pair of eyes staring at her, but she feels a sense of calm wash over her.

"Are you okay?"

She swallows hard, "Yeah."

"What time is it?" He questions reaching for the remote controller to turn off the T.V.

In a sitting position she looks down at her left wrist.

"Two thirty. You don't have to baby-sit me, Nick. You can go home."

"You had a really rough day, I just want to make sure that you're okay."

"I'll be fine."

"Another nightmare?"

"Yeah," she nods.

"Can I ask?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Are they getting more, or less frequent?"

"More."

"What happened this time?"

"He came into my room and..." she trails off.

"And?"

"He had a scalpel to..."

"Olivia why don't you take a shower, and try to go to bed and get some rest?"

"I can't sleep."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nick you can't stay here every night checking for monsters under my bed."

"Right now I'm more worried about the monsters in your head."

"I want him dead, and in the ground. I want him to rot. That is the only thing that will help me sleep."

"I know. We're going to catch him."

"Can we go over the file one more time?" She questions looking at the cover of a well worn manila folder.

"Olivia we have been over the file a dozen times in the past week."

"Maybe we should re-interview..."

"No," he argues.

"I hate this feeling. I..."

"Go get ready for bed. I'll tuck you in," he jokes.

"I'm fine here," she argues.

"I have a crook in my neck from sleeping in this chair."

"Then go home."

"Do you really want me to go home?"

She exhales, "No."

"Please," he begs.


In the bathroom she exits the shower, and reaches for a towel. She wraps the towel around her, and heads towards the bathroom sink. She wipes the steam from the mirror. She only briefly glances at her reflection in the mirror. She quickly dries off, and gets dressed. She brushes her teeth, but she's too tired to bother drying her hair. Standing in the bathroom in silence she looks at the door. Before she can take a step towards the exit she feels a kick in the rib. She sighs, and chooses to live in reality for a single moment in time.

She pulls at the back of her loose fitting shirt. She pulls the shirt tight, and stares at her stomach. Her stomach grows rounder with each day despite the fact that she can still barely keep her food down. She stares at her stomach, and the guilt washes over her. She should be twice as big as she is by now. She lets go of the shirt, and heads for the door. She steps into the bedroom. The lamp by her bed illuminates her room.

"I thought you said you were going to tuck me in," she teases.

Nick appears in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants, and a white wife beater.

"My offer is still good," he smirks.

"I'll be okay," she pulls down the covers.

He stays in the doorway, just watching her. She hesitates to get into bed. He picks up on her nervous energy.

"What's wrong?"

She turns, and looks at him.

"Why do you want me to look at them?"

"Do you want to see the pictures?"

"I..."

Without a word he exits the room, and grabs the pictures out of a drawer in her kitchen. He returns to her bedroom. This time he crosses over the threshold. He approaches her bed. She takes a seat on the edge of her bed. He hands the stack of photos to her. He slides onto the bed next to her. She looks over at him.

"Why are there so many of them?"

"You should look at them," he suggests.

"What's wrong with them?" She queries.

"The pictures? As far as I can tell, nothing."

"Then why are you so insistent?"

"When you look, you'll know."

She nods in agreement. She takes a deep breath, and begins to thumb through the pictures. Her heart skips a beat as she studies the black and white images.

"Oh," the words fall from her lips, and she hands the pictures back to him.

"Are you okay?"

She doesn't make eye contact. She refuses to even look in his direction. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"I dreamed it was a boy. This is too much. I..."