Bernard POV

"Like…a real letter? On paper?"

I glanced over at Lauren where she sat in the passenger seat. She was shifted towards me with one leg tucked beneath her and our joined hands were resting on her thigh. Her expression was one of slight disbelief, but I nodded in response.

"I know. It's crazy, isn't it?" I teased. "What can I say? She's old school."

We'd completed about two-thirds of the three-hour drive to Frackville.

During the first ten minutes, Lauren recounted Connie's conversation with Schmenke.

After that, we let it go, choosing instead to purposely ignore the reason for being in the car driving out Interstate 80, but that's fine.

No sense ruining a perfectly good road trip.

During the second ten minutes, the two of us hemmed and hawed our way over and around the facts of our respective cases.

"How's your case coming?"

"Good, I guess. We…connected a few dots, and now we…might know more about who we're looking for because…well, because new information has come to light and it seems like…the motive might be different than we originally thought. You?"

"Oh, well…honestly? Exactly what you said. We started in one direction, and then we learned something unexpected and now we're heading in another direction," she answered.

"And Liz is holding up okay?"

"She's tough. She's Liz. What about Mary?"

"Same."

And since that's about all either of us could say about work, instead we started talking about our lives outside of work.

"When was the last one?" she asked me.

Because I'd just revealed the fact that I write letters to my mother. Good old-fashioned pen-to-paper letters.

My mom doesn't have a computer, and she probably wouldn't know what to do with one if she did.

Last year she finally broke down and got a cell phone, but she insists that it's only for emergencies, and I could practically feel the belt on my backside the first time I tried to text her.

"Kevin, I can't feel the emotion in a one-sentence, typed message that I read from a two-inch screen. If you can't be bothered to write me a letter, well…then just don't bother," she'd said to me, her voice filled with disappointment.

"I can still write letters, Mama. I just thought that if we start texting, you'll feel more connected to me, because I can touch base more often," I'd replied lightly, arguing my point.

"You're trying to get out of spending the time it takes to write down your thoughts. That's fine, Kevin. I'm just the woman who gave birth to you and raised you, all by myself without any help from your father. So you're right…I'm not worth ten minutes of your time."

She's a bit of a drama queen, my mother, but I guess she was just afraid that I'd stop writing altogether if I got in the habit of texting.

So I write letters.

And I call her once every other month. I tried to do it more often, but she insists that it costs too much money.

"Who do you think you are? Will Smith?" she'd asked me when I called for the second time in as many weeks. "If you've got so much money to throw around on phone calls then why don't you fly out to California and visit your mother?"

"I will as soon as I can," I'd promised. "But it doesn't cost me anything to call. See, with the cell phone…"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child, Kevin. A stamp costs twenty-eight cents. Write me a letter."

Of course, a stamp hasn't cost twenty-eight cents in quite some time, but my mom hasn't progressed with the modern world.

Not in the last decade anyway.

So I send her letters, and every few months I include a book of stamps so that she can write back to me.

"A few weeks ago," I admitted. "I'm actually over due to send her another one."

"A few weeks…so we'd only been together for a week or two at that point, huh? I guess you didn't mention me."

"Actually, I did," I replied.

"Really? Do I want to know what you said?"

"Oh, you know…the usual. I told her I met this really ugly girl who only wants me for my body."

She started laughing and then moved in the seat, letting go of my hand so that she could run her fingers over the back of my head.

"You're such a sweet guy," she said softly.

"Because I told my mother that you're ugly?" I teased.

She brought her other hand over to rest on my thigh and then she pressed her lips against my cheek for a moment before saying, "Because you write letters to your mother. And because you mentioned me at all."

She continued kissing me, along my jaw and around my ear, and that hand of hers…the one on my leg…it was creeping upwards at a measured, unhurried pace.

"It's hard to focus on the road when you're doing that," I confessed, my voice sounding almost as shaky as I felt.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

But she did, presumably to help avoid having us get into an accident because she was practically making my eyes roll back in my head already.

But even though she eased up on me in that sense, she didn't move away from me. Instead, she moved her hand up to rest against my chest and leaned her head against my shoulder.

We drove in silence for nearly half an hour until she finally spoke.

"B., why am I doing this?"

"Because it'll help you."

"Are you sure?"

"No," I admitted. "Have you changed your mind?"

"We've come too far to go back."

"No, we haven't. If you want me to turn around, I will."

She fell silent again, but only for a moment, and then she said, "Keep going."

"Are you scared?" I asked gently, hoping she wouldn't take my question the wrong way.

I wouldn't fault her for being scared, or think less of her.

I just want her to be able to talk about whatever it is that she's feeling.

"I am," she answered. "He's had this power over me for a long time."

With my one arm that was around her shoulders, I squeezed her more tightly to me and then I kissed the top of her head.

"It ends tonight."

An hour later, the two of us were escorted into a visitors' room in Frackville SCI.

"You're my partner," she stated without looking at me.

"Okay."

"I mean, he's going to ask. So you're my partner."

"That's fine."

"Because if he knows you're my boyfriend, then he might say things…you know, like to taunt you or something, and I don't want him talking about…that. About…specific things, or…"

"Lauren, relax. It's fine."

"Yeah?" she asked, finally bringing her eyes to mine.

And the look in them – apprehension, uncertainty, fear – filled me with a fresh flood of emotion – protectiveness, compassion, anger.

And suddenly I was more afraid than ever that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing Bill Flowers.

Take a deep breath, I reminded myself. This is about Lauren, not you.

"I'm your partner," I confirmed. "And if he starts saying something you don't want to hear, we can leave. He's the one locked up in here, not us. You're in control of this visit. You're in control of everything that happens, okay?"

"I'm in control," she repeated with a nod.

But as she stood there staring nervously at the door, she began cracking her knuckles, one at a time, three on each finger. She continued the process until every one of them made a popping sound.

"Do you want to sit down?" I suggested lightly.

"Should I?" she replied, flashing her eyes to mine again, and I could see that her anxiety was increasing by the second. "I don't even know. How can I not know whether to sit or stand? Oh my God, B…what am I doing here? This is just…it's just…"

And then the door opened.

As much as I wanted to look at him, I looked at Lauren instead, and I silently willed her every bit of strength that I have because as much as I think this meeting is a good idea, if she falls apart and lets him have the upper hand, then it could set her back miles in her psychological recovery.

So I watched her watching him as he was led into the room and then pushed down into a chair. I heard the guard adjust the shackles around Flowers' wrists until the chain was secured to a steel loop on the table, and then I finally shifted my gaze to the guard, who was looking at me for confirmation.

I didn't give it to him.

Instead, I tilted my head towards Lauren, indicating that she was the one making the decisions, so he turned to her and said, "Is this good?"

"Yes," she answered, and then she said it again, only in a stronger voice. "Yes, thank you. We'll be fine. You can wait outside."

"Schmenke told me you weren't coming," Flowers stated after the guard left. He sat back in his chair and then let his eyes walk over Lauren in a slow, deliberate manner that had me clenching my fist.

"So you know who I am," she replied, and I could tell that her fear was dissipating.

She dropped her hands, where she'd still been fiddling with her fingers, and took a couple of steps closer to the table.

"Honey, I've seen your face in my dreams every night for the last ten years," Flowers said with a grin. Then he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and said cockily, "I knew you'd come. But you were supposed to come alone. Who's the pit-bull?"

"I'm her partner," I answered, even though he still wasn't looking at me.

"You're here to make sure I don't try to hurt her?" he retorted.

"No, I'm here to make sure she doesn't hurt you. Or at least not too much."

Flowers laughed and kept staring at Lauren as he said, "You'd never hurt me, would you, honey? That was probably the best night of your life, wasn't it? I mean, I only gave you what you wanted."

Schmenke had obviously coached Flowers on the off-chance that Lauren would come here. He wasn't going to admit to anything that would get him into more trouble. Of course, nothing he said in here would be admissible, but still…I guess he wasn't going to take any chances.

Lauren put her hands down on the surface of the table and I eased a little closer because I didn't like the fact that she was within arm's length of him, and just as I was having that thought, Flowers reached out and touched the back of her hand.

"I'll be out of here in a few months. And then I'll give it to you again."

Lauren froze for a moment, his words and his touch seeming to paralyze her, so as much as I'd planned to stay out of things, I couldn't any longer.

I grabbed onto the end of the table and shoved it towards Flowers. The edge of it caught him hard in the gut, pushing him backwards, but the chair legs didn't slide quite so easily, so instead the chair tipped backwards, sending Flowers flying back towards the wall, but then the chain fastened to the tabletop reached its limit and pulled him roughly forward again. He ended up half in and half out of the chair, having slid partially beneath the table, and I stepped around next to him and grabbed onto the front of his shirt, pulling him back into a sitting position, but even after he was up, I didn't let go.

"I think there's some confusion about the purpose of this visit," I ground out menacingly. "You're here to answer any question she might have for you. Other than that, you keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you. Are we clear?"

Flowers slowly brought his eyes to mine and despite the fact that he was completely at my mercy, there was no fear in them.

"I thought you were here to protect me from her," he said with a knowing grin. "But we all know the truth, don't we?"

Then he fixed his gaze on Lauren who still hadn't moved during the entire scuffle.

"You brought your partner because you're scared of me, aren't you, honey? You're afraid if I got you alone I might get out of these cuffs and then I'd pin you up against the wall, just like before, only this time I'd…"

He broke off his threat when I jerked him out of the chair and wrestled him down onto the table, with my forearm down against his windpipe.

He started gasping for breath, unable to fight me off because the shackles around his wrists wouldn't allow for his hands to reach my arm.

And while I continued to push harder and harder, I debated if Connie would be able to get me off.

Temporary insanity?

Extreme duress?

"B."

I heard Lauren's voice, but it still took me several seconds before I could respond.

Actually, she had to say it again before I finally eased up enough so that Flowers could start drawing in ragged breaths.

I glanced up at Lauren and she shook her head at me, encouraging me to let him go, so I forced myself to move away from him.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly to her while Flowers awkwardly rolled off the table and got back into his chair.

She flashed me a small smile and then her face went serious again as she turned her attention to Flowers. She moved around the table and sat on the edge of it, facing him but not too close.

"Let's get something straight," she said to him. "There's no deal for you. I didn't come because you asked me to. I came because before…when our paths crossed…I never got to see what a pathetic little man you are."

"Pathetic?" he scoffed, although he'd lost some of his bravado. "You loved every second of it. I mean, if you didn't, then why didn't you do anything about it?"

It was amazing how he instantly touched on her hot-button issue because her lack of fight is what keeps her up at night.

"You had a gun to her head," I said, carefully enunciating each word, saying them as much for Lauren as for Flowers.

"That's right. You had a gun. And I know why, too," Lauren said, her voice low and biting. "Because you're a little limp-dick mother-fucker who can only get it up by putting the fear of God into unsuspecting women."

"Fear wasn't the only thing I put into you," he fired back quickly, and then his eyes flicked over to mine. "Did she tell you about that? Does she get hot anytime she sees a piece of rebar?"

The punch came out of nowhere.

Hers, not mine.

One second, she was sitting there nodding thoughtfully as though he was saying something of probative value and the next his head was snapping back from the impact.

She followed up the left hook with an uppercut, and there probably would've been a third punch if the guard hadn't opened the door.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked, looking at me and studiously avoiding making eye contact with the prisoner.

"It's all copasetic," I told him.

He gave me a nod and closed the door again. I guess he wanted to make sure that it wasn't Flowers who was doing the beating.

I knew we wouldn't have any trouble with him. I'd chatted him up on the way in, and learned that he was former Philly PD, and he still carries a strong sense of brotherhood for boys in blue.

But the interruption was enough to settle Lauren's temper and she moved back around to the front of the table while Flowers took a moment to duck his head and wipe the blood from his mouth onto his shirt sleeve.

"Feel better?" he asked her.

"I'll feel better when you're dead."

"You should be grateful that you're not dead."

"Grateful to you?"

"I'm the one who let you live."

"Yeah, and why is that?" she asked casually, even though I knew it was weighing heavily on her mind.

"Maybe it's because you're a damn fine piece of ass and I was planning to tap that shit again," he said smartly.

"I bet your cellie says the same thing," I retorted, reining in my anger so that I could see what else might get Flowers riled up, because he didn't seem to mind what Lauren and I had done so far. I guess he knew we weren't going to actually kill him.

And my comment hit its mark.

"What do you know about that?" he asked me.

"I'm just saying…I had a nice little chat with him earlier and I might have mentioned that you've got a things for kids. You know, even hardcore felons don't like pedophiles. I bet he's waiting for you right now…counting down the minutes to lights out."

"You're full of shit."

"Don't answer her question and see how full of shit I am."

"You want to know why I didn't kill you?" he repeated, looking back at Lauren. "Dumb luck. I pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed."

Thirty minutes later, we were back in the car.

By the time we hit the interstate, I had a feeling that Flowers was already in the infirmary.

As much as I want him dead, I'm not a killer, but I did make sure that the word about Flowers being a pedophile got back to his cellmate.

More importantly, the promise of an eradicated speeding ticket received in Manhattan assured me that the guard would swear that Flowers looked fine when we left.

But most important of all was what the trip did for Lauren, so after we were several miles down the road, I asked her.

"Is that how you envisioned it would go?"

"No," she answered, and then she resumed her position from our trip down, sitting as close to me as possible with her hand on my chest and her head against my shoulder. "No, I thought I'd kill him."

"That makes two of us."

"Yeah, when you had him on the table, choking the life out of him…I thought about how easy it would be to just do it. To let him die."

"I was wondering if Connie would be good enough to get me off," I said lightly.

She chuckled and said, "She is. But I'm glad you didn't. I want him to live a very long life. Behind bars."

"That definitely has its merits," I agreed.

"And you know, you were right about him. He's nothing but a coward who hid behind a gun."

"That's right. He doesn't have any power over you."

She hummed thoughtfully and then said, "B., what he said about…I mean the…um…you know, I didn't tell you details about some things because…"

"I don't need to know details," I interrupted.

"I know, but…"

"Just wait."

This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with her while I was driving. I need to see her face.

I saw an exit for a rest stop coming up, so I got into the right lane and put on my blinker and then moved over onto the off-ramp.

The rest area parking lot was nearly empty, which made it the perfect place.

Once I parked the car, I cut off the engine and we both got out, moving over to sit on one of the picnic tables.

She held onto my hand and then tipped her head back, looking up at the sky which was mostly black except for a scattering of stars.

"The gun jammed," she said quietly. "That's the only reason why I'm sitting here today. How am I supposed to reconcile that in my head?"

"I don't know, but I think you have to. Otherwise it might as well have gone the other way, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I know you're right. I guess I was just expecting him to have another answer. I thought there was something about me that made me different."

"You are different," I said firmly. "But not because of anything that happened with that loser back in Frackville."

She stopped looking at the stars and instead settled her eyes on mine.

"Do you want to know what I told my mother about you?" I continued.

"I don't know," she said with a slightly hesitant smile.

And damn if she isn't just the most beautiful woman…

"I told her that I thought I'd met the one."

"The one. As in…"

"As in exactly what I've been looking for my whole life."

"B.," she said simply, her voice catching on that single syllable.

"No, I'm serious. And maybe we don't make it, I don't know. But I do know that you'll be the measuring stick for any other woman who might come into my life. And I can tell you already that no one else will ever be good enough, so even though I'm casually saying maybe we don't make it…I'm really hoping that we do. Really, really hoping."

She smiled fully as I finished my declaration and then she put her hand on my cheek, lightly rubbing along my two-day old beard.

"You'd better not have other women coming into your life. You know I carry a gun, right?"

She didn't wait for my response, but instead leaned over and kissed me, and then she said seriously, "Thank you for tonight."

"You're very welcome. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'm ready to put Frackville in my rearview mirror for good."

TBC...