Katherine Isles sat up bolt upright in bed and put one hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. With the other hand, she simultaneously yanked the sky-blue quilt from her. Katherine loved this time of year in Boston: early May, still cool nights, especially just before sunrise. If you could block out the nonstop noise from the streets down town, it was the perfect weather for sleeping with the windows open, at least for her. As far back as she could remember, Katherine herself had slept in a less heated room. After all, you could pile more blankets on top of you, she reasoned, if it was too cold. But you couldn't rip your skin off when it was too warm.
Which is what Katherine would have preferred to do at that moment. She was sweating profusely. Her nightmares were coming more frequently now. And this one, of a man around half-light, holding a knife in his hand and leaping at Katherine at the exact moment she woke up, had been the most vivid yet. She tried to shake off the feeling of dread, but her hammering heart would not settle. She reached out for the drawer with the bottle of Xanax in her nightstand, but changed her mind. If the anxiety came back tomorrow night, the next night, and the night after that, what then? Pop in a Xanax every time until they passed? She couldn't use a benzodiazepine addiction at all; the substance was among the most addictive. The nightmares were hellish enough, but drug withdrawal could kill you. Literally.
Still, as the anxiety lingered, she reconsidered. She tried to count in her head how many days in a row she had taken a pill after one of these episodes, and when she couldn't recap it, she realized it had already been too long. Long enough that she would probably lose not only her license as a forensic psychiatrist but her medical license in general if she advised a patient to do what she had done.
Doctor, heal thyself. Right. The writers of the Bible had never taken benzos.
As much as she hated to admit it to herself, Katherine realized she had to follow the advice she would give a patient.
She needed to talk about it.
She had to feel it.
Feeling, however, is too painful, she thought. And then came the thought that inevitably followed: she had suffered enough mental pain for several lifetimes.
So she did what she had always done when her feelings overtook her mind: She shut down. She drowned them out. With white noise and other sounds.
She took her iPod, put in the earbuds, and let Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven' boom out of them as loud as she could stand. Music had always been Katherine's therapy, especially during the worst of times, of which she had had more than her fair share in childhood.
Immediately, the gentle guitar melody began to ease her tension, also a drug in its own way, and Katherine strove to ignore the other part of her consciousness that wanted to tell her that music, too, was only a temporary solution. As a scientific researcher, she knew that there was a switch in her brain, in the amygdala, the most primitive neurological structure, that responded to danger. When she began to trundle into the abyss, her amygdala perceived a mortal threat. But which one? She'd had nightmares since childhood. She'd had them since the two traumas that had defined her life until now. And although Katherine had made steady progress, two weeks ago they had suddenly returned. Why?
Katherine closed her eyes and hoped the pounding rhythm of the bridge in the Led Zeppelin song would prevail over her thoughts. But not even the music could drown out the siren of an ambulance racing down Main Street thirty-eight stories below. The distraction was brief; when the noise died down, she was lost in the last minute of the song. It wasn't until Robert Plant's a cappella finale had faded that she peered through the barely opened lids and saw the first light of morning filtering through the white curtains that fluttered lightly in the spring breeze. She looked out at the fantastic cityscape and saw only beauty. No danger, no demons. Nothing that could harm her.
She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 5:29 am. Perfect. She set the alarm every night as a precaution, but she always woke up a few minutes before. Even after those seemingly endless thirty-hour shifts in internship and residency, when she had come home completely overtired and fallen into bed without eating.
Now she swung her legs out of bed, turned off her iPod and took out her earbuds, then turned on the light. The dresser, nightstand, and headboard of her wide bed were light wood and laminate, bought at one of those big furniture stores where you can pick out the furniture for every single room in your apartment, and the next day you're completely furnished. As she always did when she wasn't in a hurry, she took in her new surroundings. Hardwood floors, rectangular rooms, an average two-bedroom apartment in a modern glass tower. As featureless as Boston could be.
Perhaps as featureless as Katherine herself wanted to be at the moment.
She looked to the framed photo that showed her parents Jane and Maura, her big sister Elizabeth, and her, and then to the picture that showed her fiancé Nathan, standing next to the family photo on the nightstand. Their shared apartment had been comfortably furnished with antiques and memorabilia, most of which Katherine had sold or given away.
"Can you imagine me actually living in an apartment like this?" said Katherine to Nathan's photo.
As if he could somehow answer her.
Katherine showered and brushed the brown hair she inherited from Jane, just like her eyes she got from Maura, then pulled out an elegant dark blue suit by Donna Karan, a white blouse and a pair of black pumps by Louboutin from her closet. A year ago, when she started at Mass Gen, it had seemed unimaginable to her to wear this 'disguise' every day. She had come from research work at a National Institute of Health lab, where no one cared what you wore under your white coat. At the time, she had preferred to walk around in comfortable jeans and sneakers. But when she showed up in that getup again on the second day of her fellowship, her former mentor had ridiculed her in front of her colleagues. Forensic psychiatrists were above it all and had better look the part. Reluctantly, she had bought some costumes and shoes she could barely afford. And hated it.
But that was before the problems started. In the months since returning to the program after some much-needed time off, she had filled her closet with costumes, shoes and neckwear. And actually enjoyed wearing it all. She kept catching herself wondering if this sudden craving for fashion was her way of filling the void in her life with material rewards. Then she dismissed the thought again, gave herself a break from her inner doubts, and told herself that all that mattered was that she felt good when she looked good.
She continued to get ready and was about to slip into her shoes when she remembered the guest sleeping in the other room. The clatter of heels on the hardwood floor would undoubtedly wake her.
She picked up her pumps and carefully pulled open the bedroom door, then silently crept to the apartment door. She picked up her purse from the sideboard that stood against the wall and the brown briefcase made of soft leather and took a quick glance into the living room. The sight of the woman sleeping on the couch made her smile for the first time that day.
Jane Rizzoli had begun spending more time with her daughter after Katherine returned home to Boston the previous fall for a leave of absence from her research fellowship. Jane, a Boston homicide detective, had worked her way up to Captian and Head of Homicide by that time. Her new position allowed her to leave BPD for a late breakfast or early lunch with her daughter, and Katherine enjoyed spending time with her mother, whom she had barely gotten to see as a child, and getting to know her in ways she had always dreamed of.
After sitting around at her parents' house for two months, her parents surprised her with a four-week trip to Europe, thinking it would help her. But Katherine, who was only too happy to escape back to the nest and be taken care of, wasn't ready to take care of herself yet. She didn't even want to go back to New York and her scholarship. As luxurious as it sounded, she had no desire to travel Europe alone; she feared that without the deceased love of her life, she would only feel all the more empty.
Jane talked kindly to her youngest daughter, reminding her that she had had many opportunities to travel and had turned down each one in favor of her college and medical school learning load, and after that she had worked as a resident and in two consecutive fellowships.
Later, she would open a practice without question and have a new excuse. She deserved a break, especially after last year's tragedy. If not now, when?
Katherine knew her parents were trying to make up for some lack of attention during her and Elizabeth's childhood. It was an exceedingly generous gesture, and she hated to appear ungrateful, but no matter how well Jane coaxed her, she refused.
So Jane had had to resort to Plan B. "Well, I guess we'll all have to go together," she had said with a jackal-like smile, pulling out two more tickets.
Katherine had burst into tears. Tears of joy. The first joy she had felt in a long, long time.
They had left two days later and flown to Berlin to spend a month traveling through Germany, Austria, Italy and France, with Paris as their last stop.
As the plane touched down at Boston's Logan Airport, Katherine felt a peace like she had never felt before. As if she had finally begun to make peace with, or emerge from, the darkness, depending on how you wanted to look at it, that had caused the trauma of the past year.
But even Jane hadn't anticipated what happened back home in Boston after the trip. She was making coffee in the kitchen when Katherine walked in more chipper than ever after sleeping through the night despite the jet lag and announced it was time to return to Boston and resume her old life.
"I can't stay here forever mooching off you guys," she said with a laugh. "And besides, how was I going to find a pastime here to top last month?"
It was a turning point. Never once had Jane and Maura even hinted that Katherine should think about going back to work; they had known very well that it would have to be her wish. Without hesitation, Jane stood up, hugged Katherine, and told her how proud she was of her daughter. And that despite the reasons that had brought her home, having her here and being able to spend time with her was the greatest gift of her life.
"Mine, too," Katherine had replied, and her eyes had filled with tears.
"Let's work out a schedule," Jane said, grabbing her iPad from the kitchen counter and opening Notepad.
Katherine looked over her mother's shoulder as she typed and smiled. This was Jane Rizzoli as she lived and breathed. Always looking ahead. Always planning things.
It started with Katherine calling her new and future mentor, Dr. Claire Galloway. She hadn't spoken in many months, and when Galloway called her office, she couldn't have been more pleased.
"My dear!" she had exclaimed. She used terms of endearment all the time. "Please tell me you'll be back."
"I think I'm ready," Katherine had replied with confidence. "But I wanted to make sure it was best for the program, too -"
"Nothing better than having you here can happen to the program," Galloway had interjected, assuring her she would clear a spot for her outstanding student whenever Katherine thought of coming back to Boston.
They had chatted some more, Katherine had told of her trip to Europe, and they had agreed that she would appear at Mass Gen two weeks from Monday. Katherine would need every second between now and then to get everything organized. She had vacated the New York apartment she shared with Nathan and sold or thrown away almost everything in it, so she was literally starting from scratch.
Or so she thought. Until Jane explained that she had no intention of leaving Katherine alone until she had settled back in Boston. For that reason, she had found lodging at her parents' house until then and set out the next morning to find an apartment in Boston, which was always an arduous task. In Katherine's case, it had to be one she could pay for on the meager salary of a medical fellow. She and her dead fiancé, Nathan, had been splitting the rent on a nice co-op apartment in a small, safe building in Chelsea. But Katherine knew for herself alone she would have to cut back. She just hoped she wouldn't ultimately have to settle for a one-bedroom apartment.
That's why she was shocked when, after grabbing bagels, Jane steered her into a tall, luxurious building with a doorman immediately behind the venerable firehouse, where a sign at the entrance said there were vacant apartments.
"Are you kidding?" whispered Katherine as the doorman let her in. "This is totally out of my league."
"Do your old mother a favor, will you?" retorted Jane lightly, walking on unperturbed. Katherine followed resignedly. How could she refuse?
Sure enough, the manager in charge of rentals led them to the prettiest two-bedroom apartment they had. On the 28th floor with a view over the Charles River and the Boston skyline. And with a balcony from which to enjoy the view, which Jane and Katherine were now doing while the realtor stood behind them in the living room.
"What do you think?" asked Jane of her daughter, leaning against the railing and taking a deep breath of city air.
"I think that you're crazy," Katherine replied.
"And that's a medical term?"
"You're suffering from delusions. I don't even make as much in a month as this place costs."
Which wasn't entirely true. The place cost four thousand a month, but since the owners were offering a month rent-free as a special deal, she would only have to pay about three thousand six hundred. Only.
Katherine was about to thank the realtor for her time and make a dignified exit when she heard Jane ask, "When can she move in?"
"Immediately, next month," replied the woman, who was as surprised as Katherine. She had been in the business a long time and could tell by the body language of prospective buyers whether they wanted an apartment or not.
"Will you accept a second signature on the lease?" asked Jane, tapping her pockets for the checkbook.
"As long as your credit report is positive, yes," the realtor replied.
"Ma," Katherine pleaded, "I still can't afford this."
Jane remained undeterred and was already writing a check. The realtor's eyes grew as big as saucers when she saw the amount on it. "That should cover the security deposit and six months rent up front," Jane assured her, then clicked her pen.
An hour later, when everything was settled and signed, they crossed the building's marble entrance hall and stepped out onto the street.
Katherine's head was still swimming. It was clear to her now that Jane had acted on Maura's behalf, that Maura was the one who had financed the apartment. Just as she had financed her sister's apartment.
As a psychiatrist, she wondered what had caused such a sudden change from her parents' behavior.
And she didn't quite know how to address it, but she had to. "You didn't have to do this, Ma," she began, looking stubbornly straight ahead.
Jane, for her part, moved with the confidence of a woman who had accomplished an exceedingly important thing. She didn't look at her daughter when she answered. "All your life, even as a child, you never asked us for anything. Not a toy, not a book, not a cent. Nothing at all."
It was the first time she had ever said such a thing to Katherine. Her mother's inner life had always been a mystery to Katherine, for she had revealed very little of it over the years. Except for her kindness and her love for her two daughters. Which was never in question for Katherine. "Are you going to tell me, or do you want to know why?" she asked.
Jane continued as if she hadn't heard her daughter. "Everything you've accomplished, everything -" She let the sentence trail off as if she were talking to herself, and perhaps she was doing just that. "Everything you've always accomplished on your own." At that moment, she apparently became aware that Katherine was right beside her. She stopped and looked her daughter in the eye. "Like you think we -"
"That you what, Ma?" asked Katherine, moderating her somewhat too harsh, urgent tone. Why? Why now?
But if Jane had intended to drop some kind of emotional bombshell, she suddenly changed her mind. "We have so much money set aside for your education. And you've gotten scholarship after scholarship, so we've never had to use any of it. It's been sitting in an escrow account under your name all these years. We just thought it was time we put some of that money to good use."
What irritated Katherine at that moment wasn't her mother's words. It was the look on her face. Or what she thought she saw in Jane's eyes, at least. Almost as if she were begging her to accept that explanation and not probe further.
Katherine was desperate to know what Jane wasn't telling her. But she had been so generous and seemed so uncomfortable in her skin that Katherine couldn't bring herself to ask. Jane must have sensed this, because suddenly she continued to speak.
"It's just that your mother and I ... we want to help you get through this -"
"Stop, Ma," Katherine said softly. "I don't know where I would be right now emotionally or otherwise if I hadn't had you three for the past year."
„The child shouldn't have to worry about the parents," Jane snapped. "Emotionally or otherwise. I always thought you never asked for anything because something inside you told you it was your job to take care of us. To take care of our needs. When we should have been taking care of yours -"
"You did," Katherine interrupted her, "Don't punishing yourself for anything."
Jane raised her hand to silence her. "Let me finish," she said, her voice trembling as if she might burst into tears at any moment. "I know you think you're going to be okay now. You're going to throw yourself into your research fellowship and become completely absorbed in it. Just like both your parents each threw themselves into their careers and became absorbed in them. You emulated what you saw, as all children do. We did a wonderful job of teaching you how to survive and get ahead. But we never showed you how to live." She over-emphasized the word to make it clear what she was about. "I know you had a great time in Europe. It was the first time I'd seen you enjoy anything since ... well." She looked up at the skyscraper that would soon become Katherine's new home and stretched her arm up in the air as if holding a new world in her hand. "It's time you got a little life. I'm no expert at it, but since we didn't teach you back then, you may have to allow your old mother to spoil you a bit." She smiled. "Just a little."
Katherine returned the smile, especially when that twinkle was back in her mother's eyes, that mischievous grin that always appeared on her face when she had another ace up her sleeve. She still wanted to know what the Captian wasn't telling her, but she didn't want to ruin her mother's big moment. "I guess I could use a little life right now," she replied.
"Let's go, then," Jane said, and headed for her car.
They had driven to one of the most popular furniture stores in town and Jane pushed her daughter inside. Jane had seemed a little disappointed when Katherine, who loved antiques, had picked out the IKEA-style bedroom and living room furniture that now filled her apartment, but had insisted on paying for it.
She looked at Jane now, and her soft snoring somehow comforted her. Katherine thought back to that Monday when the furniture had been delivered and she expected her mother to give her a kiss, pick up her bags, and drive back to Beacon Hill.
"I didn't think we'd find you something so soon," Jane had said. "That's why I agreed to take two weeks off."
To Katherine's surprise, Jane had occupied the sofa bed for that time. And had been back to visit many times since, at least once every two weeks, always pretending she was in the area anyway. But Katherine was not fooled. The horrors of the past year had made headlines, and everyone in BPD knew what had happened.
Jane's explanation for her daughter was that she wanted to spend more time with her, and Katherine knew that was true, but it was only half the truth. The same was true of Jane's insistence on paying her half the rent for a high rise apartment with a doorman: She wanted to make sure she was as protected as possible. And Katherine loved her for it.
Katherine was about to pull open the door when a wide-awake voice sounded behind her.
"You look beautiful."
Katherine turned around. Her mother sat up. Jane flipped back the quilt. "I thought I was quiet," the young woman said, walking back into the living room.
"You didn't wake me," the captain assured her.
Katherine gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Get some more sleep."
"Oh, no," Jane replied. "I'm going for a run, and then I have a day of meetings ahead of me. What time do you think you'll be home?"
Katherine knew she was only asking out of caring. "Probably around eight," she said, "My schedule is full, too."
"Is that why you look so worn out?" the older woman asked.
Katherine thought she hadn't let on. How did she do it?
"I could always tell when something was bothering you," the Captian read her mind. "Even before you realized it yourself."
"It's nothing," Katherine replied, slipping on her pumps. "I had a nightmare."
"You had those as a kid, too," Jane said with a slight frown. "You woke up in the middle of the night and told me everything."
"I'd tell you the one from last night, too, but I don't remember." Katherine pretended to adjust her skirt so she wouldn't have to look at Jane. She wished she hadn't said anything. She didn't want to talk about the dream, lest she be late, lest the dams of her fear break.
"Maybe I can jog your memory," Jane said, yawning and pulling open the curtains. "Do you remember how you woke up?"
"I was sitting upright in bed with my hand over my mouth," Katherine replied, looking at her watch to indicate she didn't have time for that now.
It wasn't working. "So I can't hear you scream?" asked Jane, folding up the blanket. "How could you be thinking about something like that in a nightmare?"
Katherine smiled at the irony of a cop playing shrink to her. "So I don't wake you up?" she asked playfully.
Now her mother smiled. "Maybe the nightmare was about me."
"I don't think so."
"But you said you didn't remember," her mother said, folding up the bed. "Then how can you be so sure?"
Checkmate. The conversation ended as it always did, against a wall. Until Jane, who was constantly moving and now putting the sofa cushions in their place, tried another tactic. "You know," she said, dropping down on her work, "that when you were a kid you were always talking to someone who wasn't there."
"Yes, Ma," Katherine confirmed with a sigh. "I remember that very well."
"We were worried about that. Your mom and me."
"Invisible playmates are common in children," the young woman said in her official psychiatrist's voice.
Jane knew that tone. She had heard it often from her daughter and understood what it meant in this case: 'I have to go.' She often used a similar tone with her daughters, even if she didn't like to admit it, and knew when to back off. "It's okay. Don't take too long," she said, getting up from the couch.
"Thanks, Ma."
Jane came over to her and gave her a kiss. "Have a good day, kiddo."
Katherine smiled over Jane's shoulder as she hugged her. Jane had always called her by that pet name and she liked it every time. She kissed her mother once more on the cheek and hurried to the door to face the world with a little more confidence.
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He would be late. He gathered all the items he would need: the pots, the rolled up cloth with the razor sharp knives and scissors, the tent. He felt a pounding in his head, a rhythm almost like a drum that would drown out any thoughts that might prevent him from doing what he needed to do. Then he left the apartment and stepped out into the cool morning sunlight that promised a beautiful day.