--
Vacation
--
You know, vacation. It's from the Latin, vacatio. It means, you know, 'freedom' or 'release.' You might want to consider that next time.
Brennan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Her wrist throbbed at her side, and she picked at its bindings idly. Her cell smelled like vomit and she could not bring herself to attempt to sleep on the pathetic excuse for a mattress, for it was obviously intended to make sure those in holding didn't sleep at all.
This is the opposite of vacation. I mean, no wonder you snapped, went insane, and totally lost your mind.
I didn't snap, did I?
She looked around. The bars cast shadows across her body, light stripes across her skin. The nearest light was a small desk lap in an office, on the other side of one of those foggy glass doors. The cell was probably about the size of the office, maybe a little smaller, but, thankfully, she was alone inside of it.
Images of Graham floated across her eyes when she closed them. His blood dripping down the walls, his red face, his white eyes staring blankly with the loss of their skin for protection. His blood on her; her blood on him.
I didn't do that. I am a lot of things, but a murderer I am not.
Right?
She opened her eyes and rolled off the bed. She stood there, inhaling vomit and stale alcohol. She didn't know why she had stood. Exhaling, she paced around. Like a caged tiger.
This is the opposite of vacation.
But it's my vacation.
No wonder you snapped, went insane, and totally lost your mind.
She didn't have a rebuttal.
Blood was in the air, heavy and metallic. Her hands, her clothing. She hadn't done that. But then...How had it gotten there?
She could smell it, feel it. Memories mixed with doubt. She had no memories. She couldn't say for one thing or another.
Had she murdered Graham Leger? She didn't know.
Means 'freedom' or 'release.'
Release of what? My inner rage?
Hate psychology.
Facts go either way. There really isn't an explanation.
Yes, there is. I left on vacation, snapped, went insane, and murdered a colleague. Then I skinned him and disposed of the epidermis in little jars around the body while drawing symbols on the wall in his blood.
Perfectly reasonable explanation.
Let's just be wildly emotional and assume you didn't psychotically murder a co-worker who invited you over for dinner.
I think, Booth, I've had enough of the wildly emotional on this vacation.
This is the opposite of vacation.
Quiet. God knows I came here at least in part to escape comments like that.
She dropped heavily onto the mattress, hearing it creak in protest. She closed her eyes again.
But when you're alone, the world is full of possibilities.
She exhaled.
Possibilities, hm?
I'll keep that in mind for next time.
Assuming I ever leave this place.
Sighing, she shifted, knocked her head against the corner of the wall, and fell asleep.
--
If you didn't get that, that was in between scenes in Morgue.