(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter 37: "A Storm is Coming"

Bette glanced up when her husband sighed, one tinged with frustration. "What's the matter?"

John shook his head, turning back to the thick medical text in his lap. "Nothing. Just a patient."

Her eyes lit up as Emily fussed, a thin cry that stretched between them. "Oh, really? Anything juicy?"

"Bette…"

"Come on, Doc! You don't have to use real names! Make it like a blind item."

He shook his head again, peering over the top of the book. "Absolutely not."

"Fine," she sighed, turning back to the child. "So, what's bothering you about this patient-who-shall-not-be-named?"

"She-"

"Ah-ha! So, it's a she…I'm getting warmer!"

"-or he is going through some marital difficulty."

She wrinkled her face and sighed as he turned back to his book. "You're no fun. You know all this gossip and can't tell me any of it!"

"Believe me, you don't want to know the half of what I know."

She held Emily up to her shoulder, rubbing the infant's back to force out the gas pocket. "That bad, hmm?"

He nodded, closing the book resoundingly and setting it aside. When he looked back, Bette's eyes were full of concern, worry rippling across her face. "Suffice to say, it is difficult to help some patients when they won't let you."

She sat quietly for a moment, the baby still squirming uncomfortably in her arms until she burped softly. "Didn't you say to me once," she asked softly, "that sometimes it's enough that they come to see you? That they recognize they need help?"

"Yes, but that's only good enough for so long. There has to be a desire to change, to rid themselves of the behavior that caused them so much destruction."

"Is that what's wrong now? A patient is caught in a never-ending cycle of destruction?"

"Yes, she's," he admitted, making no pretense of describing his patient's gender, "confided in me something that I'm struggling with my conscience not to report to the police."

"Something illegal?"

"Not quite. But something that would ease a great deal of pain and anxiety for her. She's keeping a secret on her husband's behalf."

"Does her husband know what keeping his secret is doing to his wife?"

"I believe he's got some idea, at least I hope he does. But I doubt he understands the full extent of her anguish."

"Well, he's an idiot for doing that to her." She sighed, sliding her nearly sleeping infant into the crook of her arm. "You should let me talk to her. I'm sure I could get through to her, woman-to-woman."

He nodded, distracted as his mind worked. "This woman though…I'm afraid it's going to take something drastic for her to have the breakthrough I want for her."

"Play nice!" Harris called out as two of her step-children scattered like the wind at the playground gates. She sighed, tucking her thin locks out the back end of her faded baseball cap. "Jude! Don't push your sister off the jungle gym!"

These boisterous children would be the death of her yet.

"Let them fight, Jeannie," Charlie, the oldest boy muttered. "It's not too late for me to be a great only child."

She smirked and flung her arm around the twelve-year-old boy. "Aye, you're a wise one." She plopped on the bench next to her stepson and they opened their respective books in unison. "But you'd be bored without them."

"Bored with no one messing up my stuff? Bored with no one jumping on my bed at six in the morning? Yeah," he scoffed, unfolding the dog-eared page, "whatever would I do with all that peace and quiet?"

She lay her book next to her, breathing deep and closing her eyes as she turned her face to the sun. A salty breeze blew off the ocean, stirring the palm frond and carrying the happy shrieks of the children away from her. She glanced around, eyeing eight-year-old Germaine scampering up the ladder to the top of the slide. Her twin brother, Jude, was dangling from the monkey bars by his knees, giggling as the hem of his shirt fell over his face.

Jeannie shook her head and was turning back for her book when she noticed the bench to her left. A pregnant woman sat quietly, a wide brimmed hat hiding her face from view. She swallowed hard and quickly looked at the group of children running around the pebbled playground. A familiar girl was racing down the slide, her blonde pigtails streaming behind her. The girl jumped up, waving to the woman on the bench next to her. She bit her lip and lowered the brim of her cap as the woman next to her waved back. "What's wrong?" she heard Charlie ask.

"Nothing," she murmured, angling her body so that her back was to Olivia. She forced a smile to her face and gestured to a bench on the other side of the playground. "What do you say we move over there? Looks a bit quieter."

"I don't know," he began unsurely. "There's no shade there."

"Charlie, I'll give you $10 if you zip your mouth and move over there with me right now."

"Ok." He jumped up, trotting away.

As Jeannie stood, causing the pebbles to crunch beneath her feet, the woman to her left looked over, following her child as she ran to the seesaw. "Are you following me?" she asked, causing the detective to freeze.

She turned slowly, watching as Olivia stood. "No." She stiffened as the distance between them diminished and suddenly they were a breath apart. "I brought my step-kids."

With a skeptical pause, she turned back to the children. "Which ones are they?"

"There," Jeannie replied meekly, pointing to the little girl who had her brother caught in a headlock. "Germaine, let him go!"

"They're…energetic," Olivia said softly, watching as the twins shoved each other before separating.

"Yeah," she said flatly, folding her arms over her chest. "That's one word for them." She cleared her throat and went back on her heels. "They like coming here when they stay with my husband and I." A gust of wind blew back the brim of Olivia's hat and for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the other woman's pale face and the dark smudges beneath her eyes. "I really didn't know you would be here. I can get the kids and go."

Olivia shrugged and turned back to the bench, exhaling heavily as she sat. "I think there's more than enough room for the both of us."

She balked, caught between the natural urge to sit and continue the conversation and fleeing as the Chief's warning echoed in her mind. With a sigh, she slowly returned to her original bench, stretching out her legs before her. "Are you doing better?" she asked slowly.

"Better than the last time we saw each other," Olivia said flatly, unconsciously rubbing her belly. "For the most part, that is." Silence fell between them and she watched Caitlin abandon the seesaw, instead crawling though the maze of tubes that lined the playground. For a moment, she envied her daughter's carefree bliss, her freedom to run, the wind blowing through her hair. She shifted on the bench as she heard Harris clear her throat.

"Mrs. Richards, I am so sorry for-"

She held up her hand, turning slowly to look at the detective. "You know, I really don't want to hear it."

Harris watched with bated breath as Olivia's hand rose, turning up the floppy brim of her hat. She squirmed, receiving the other woman's withering gaze, oozing with contempt. "You think you know my husband," she heard her say, her voice cracking. "You think you know all about our marriage." She watched Olivia stand, gripping the bench. "You know nothing about us."

"Mrs. Richards," she began, jumping to her feet, "I-"

"Jeannie, why did you make me move benches if you were going to stay where we were?"

Both women turned, the bespectacled twelve-year-old giving them pause. He glanced at Olivia dismissively and glanced at his step-mother. "Sorry, Charlie," she said softly, grabbing her book from the bench. "I'm coming now."

She was about to step away when Olivia grabbed her arm. She grimaced, the other woman's icy fingers digging into her skin. "Whatever you think about us, you're wrong," Olivia whispered, looking deep into the detective's eyes. "Please…you have to help us."

Harris shook her head, confused. "What are you talking about, Mrs. Richards?" She stifled a cry as Olivia squeezed her hand, pressing something into her palm as she gripped it. "What- what are you doing?"

"Please," she gasped, her eyes pleading as a deep voice cut through the tense silence. "Help me."

"Olivia, we need to leave. Now."

The detective felt Olivia release her hand, shuddering as she watched Morris Stanton extend his hand to her. He shook his head, anticipating the question forming on her lips. "Have a nice day, Detective," he said, passing her as he led Olivia out of the playground, Caitlin skipping along side her mother. "By the way, your step-daughter gave her brother a black eye."

She turned, barely registering what he said as she watched them leave. Olivia never turned around, her hat firmly on her head to shield her face. She tightened her fists, the faint sound of paper crackling as she did. She looked down and opened her hand, revealing a crumpled piece of pale pink paper.

"Who was that, Jeannie?" Charlie asked, watching his step-mother sink down to the bench. "What did she want?"

Harris glanced up, looking blindly at the boys. "I'm not sure." She turned, watching the unlikely trio walk away. "I'm not sure at all anymore."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing."

Olivia sighed, the grass crunching beneath their feet as they walked through the park. "It wasn't nothing. You didn't have to tell me Jeannie Harris took her step-children to the park every Saturday."

"There was a time when Greg wanted to know everything about her. He thought she was the enemy that needed to be tracked." He sighed, shaking his head. "How wrong we were…and now, I've done the very thing he asked me not to do." Stanton frowned, the sunlight dancing through the canopy of tree branches they walked under. "And, so did you." She shrugged, her hat obscuring her face. "Why?"

"Because I can. I'm his wife."

"Olivia-"

"Morris, I'm scared!" she exclaimed, turning to him. He reached out, gently turning the brim of her hat up. Tears filled her eyes, clinging to her eyelashes. Her throat worked as Caitlin stood solemnly beside her, watching with curious blue eyes. "You're right: he is wrong. The police need to know about the letters - about everything." She shook her head as a sob rose in her throat and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I can't live like this anymore." He watched her wipe her face and turn back, staring through the trees to where the playground was. "Detective Harris is my last hope."

"Olivia-"

"Something's going to happen, Morris." She turned back to him, her eyes teary and broken, submitting to the beating she knew was inevitable. "I can feel it," she whispered.

"I told you, not on my watch."

She shook her head and looked up at the sky, puffy clouds dotting the blue. "No. A storm is coming."

"Daddy, I'm home!"

I hear her call, childlike excitement bordering on insanity. I set the box of documents aside and peer through partially open doorway. The crack in the door affords me an unobstructed view of the hallway and, if I strain my neck far enough, the foyer.

With a smile, I watch our girl dance excitedly before he comes in from the living room and swoops her into his arms. She shrieks with delight, throwing her arms around him before she buries her face in his neck. Tears come to my eyes and I sniffle, watching as he turns in a small circle with her in his arms. This is all I want, I realize. Him and her, together…their hands outstretched to me as I join them, the missing piece to our triangle.

They move out of sight and I gently push open the door, walking softly down the dark hall. Out of sight, I lean against the wall, my eyes closed as I listen to her regale him with tales from her adventure at the playground. His voice is a hushed whisper and I inch closer, struggling to hear.

A moment later, I hear our girl scamper through the foyer, her feet thudding on the steps as she runs upstairs.

Gregory watched Caitlin scamper up the stairs and turned to Olivia, watching her fiddle with the stereo. "I didn't know you were taking her. I would've come too."

She turned back to him, the soft jazz drifting out of the speakers as she forced a smiled to her lips and took off her hat. "That's alright, Darling. I know you had work to do." She gripped the arm of the sofa, wondering if he could read the deception on her face as he crossed the room to her. "You don't look like you got a lot of work done."

He shook his head, glancing down at his now-dry swim trunks. "Hardly any," he murmured, guilt churning in his stomach as the dark circles under her eyes imprinted in his memory. "I reminded my secretary it was Saturday and that I didn't need her."

"Again?" she asked, squirming as he cupped her face. She rested her hands on his bare chest, rising and falling with his breath.

"It doesn't matter." His thumbs ran across her cheekbones, sighing deeply as he felt her tremble. "She doesn't matter. My cases don't matter. You matter."

My eyes fly open as my blood runs cold. I turn, my shoulder digging into the wall as I catch sight of them in the reflection of a mirror. He's holding her as she slumps against the arm of the sofa, partially hidden by him.

I barely feel the way my fingers dig into my palm, the ball of my fist jamming into my mouth. He's whispering to her, smoothing the hair back from her face. He steps aside and for a moment, I see her face. She's looking up at him, naked adoration glowing in her expression.

"I know that," she sighed, smiling up at him. He coaxed her to her feet and she obliged, relishing the way he held her hips, steadying her. "It was good to take in the fresh air though."

"Morris went with you?" he asked, the strains of a familiar song echoing around them. He took her hand and held her close, slowly dancing them around the living room.

"Of course." She smiled as he turned his face into her hair. He didn't suspect anything, she decided as she closed her eyes, letting the music and the way he hummed along with the song carry her away. "What are you going to do when the house is invaded this afternoon for the baby shower?"

He shrugged as she nuzzled his neck, her weight perfect against him. "Skulk around my study, avoiding all sounds of the women cooing over baby clothes." She chuckled, breathing in the scent of his sun-warmed flesh. "Do you remember the way we used to dance on The Splendour?" he asked softly, squeezing her hand.

She nodded, letting him lead her around the room. "On the deck for hours in the moonlight." With a smile, she looked up, pressing her cheek to his. "The only station we could get clearly on the radio was the one that played all that old music from the 40's." She looked up into his eyes, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Then, you would take me below deck and have your way with me."

"I thought it was you who had your way with me?" he asked, making her giggle. She pushed herself up on her toes, their lips meeting quietly as the singer's crescendo wavered. Her arms curled around his neck as he drew her against him. And, she let him, savoring the brief moment when they were caught up in the dreams of yesterday and free of the nightmare that was today.

I pray for her death.

Instantaneous death that would strike her down and for a hole to appear in the floor, swallowing her up.

I am blinded by tears as my teeth sink into the fist wedged in my mouth. The lies he tells her are harder and harder to bear. I know he must appease her to spare his children, but it's cruel to give her such hope when the inevitable is nearly upon us. Not to mention that my patience for listening to him spout these beautiful untruths to her is wearing thin.

As if he could forsake me so easily.

With my free hand, I wipe the tears from my eyes and look back into the mirror. Revealing all, I see her in his arms, kissing him without abandon. And he lets her, holding her against him as he pulls her down to the sofa. They fall out of the mirror's sight and, luckily, mine as well.

But, I know.

I know because I can hear.

I submit to listening, hearing the way she gasps and he chuckles. I flinch when I hear the gentle sound of her clothes falling to the ground, the leather giving way beneath them.

Moaning and laughing.

Sighing and grunting.

I slide to the floor, my teeth sinking into my flesh, drawing blood. She goes too far and he lets her, too afraid of letting her win and take the children. She'll never be gone. He'll never be free of her. We'll never be free of her.

Never.