Oh, God, God, why is this happening to me?
Today I woke up and saw huge spiders crawling up the bedroom walls. Big black shadows, clicking and hissing and swarming in corners. They scuttled across the ceiling and clustered above my head.
I dove into my blankets and curled up in a ball, my hands clenched around my ears and my eyes wide in the darkness.
The way I saw it, I had two options. Either my apartment had been infested by a insidious mass of oversized spiders during the night...
...or I was having a hallucination.
Go away, I prayed. Get out. Go. Leave, now. Please...
The sounds of the spiders did not stop. I felt them beginning to scurry over the blanket, slithering and scrambling all over, scrabbling at the cracks between the covers and the sheets. I whimpered slightly and clutched the blankets closer around myself.
Go away. Get out. Go. Leave, now. Please...
I don't know how long I stayed like that, huddled up in the blankets with my eyes screwed shut and my teeth clenched. I do remember that it was dangerously close to leaving time when I poked my head out cautiously. I remember shedding the blankets, tossing aside the sheets, and rustling quickly into some clothes.
I got to work OK. No crashes, no sudden bursts of rage, just a nice even ride to the office. I'm here now. It's sunny outside, and the precinct is hot and stifling. Nothing has happened, it's a fairly boring day. Nothing to do but prepare the report on that double homicide with Eames. But I'm still drowsy from waking up so early--I get so tired lately, I've got to get to bed earlier--and I nearly nod off as we pass papers and folders back and forth over the desk.
Eames ends up snapping her fingers in my face. "Hello? Goren? Earth to Detective Goren...?"
"Right, right," I murmur, blinking furiously and shuffling my papers together. They're all messed up. I don't care. I'm too sleepy to care.
Eames peers over curiously at my stack of sheets and raises her eyebrows. "Goren, that's the information for the Poleski art theft," she informs me, taking the papers from me with a gentle tug. "The report on the Considine murders must still be on the desk, wait a minute... here we go." This time she hands me the right file folder.
"Thanks." I try to smile; I'm sure the result is hideous. Eames doesn't seem to notice or mind as we head towards Deakins's office.
The captain nods at us as we enter. "So, what do you have for me?" he asks in his dry, languid tone.
Eames talks as I settle myself into a chair at the back, rubbing my forehead. It's even hotter in Deakins's office, sweltering and muggy, and I slouch down in my seat as my eyelids droop.
"You're so cute when you do that... why don't you just go for a little nap?"
No. No. It's not her. It's not Nina. Nina is not speaking to me. She's giggling softly, humming tunelessly as she continues, and her words seep like slow drops of sweet honey into my mind.
"Of course, Alex wouldn't be impressed if you dozed off, like some old geezer... Look at her. Look at her talking, Bobby. Isn't she adorable? So young and pretty..."
You leave her out of this!
"You know, I think she may be flirting a bit with Deakins... what a naughty girl she is... you'd love it if she flirted with you, wouldn't you, Bobby? You've always been simply obsessed with her, ever since you met her... but you're so afraid, Bobby, darling, you're so afraid of getting your heart broken again... you poor, poor thing. Mind you, she probably wouldn't want you anyway. If she knew what you were thinking, right now..."
Oh, God, stop this. Stop this. I can't take this. Please, make Nina go away.
"Or what you think at nights, alone in your bed... I wonder, what if she knew about that, Bobby? Would she laugh and sneer in your face? Would she get angry and refuse to talk you? Would she blush with shame and never look you in the eyes again?"
Stop it! I'm not listening... I'm not listening...
"Goren!"
Eames and Deakins are staring at me. "Yes?" I manage hoarsely.
"Your report?" Deakins says pointedly, gesturing for me to stand up. Eames is silent, her eyebrows knitted in a knot of confusion and worry, as I lurch to my feet.
She will tell me, much later, that I rambled on incoherently for three full minutes. I slurred and stumbled through my sentences, repeated the word "have" over and over for several seconds at a time, and burst into loud laughter at the end for no apparent reason.
All I know, right now, is that I'm done. I'm breathless, uncertain, and slightly dizzy, but I'm done speaking, so I sit down in the chair.
Eames stares at me, her eyes and mouth wide open, before suddenly sealing her lips in a thin line. Something watery shines too brightly in her blue eyes. From the look on his face, Deakins is obviously baffled--and concerned. Why is he concerned? Why is she trying not to cry?
"Goren," Deakins says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "I'm giving you the day off. Why don't you go home and rest?"
"Sir, I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Eames interrupts quietly. There's a tone in her voice that makes me stare at her. "You're not. Bobby, please, go home."
Bobby? Nobody calls me Bobby anymore. Nobody but Nina. "I--"
"Detective." Deakins's voice has sharpened. "It's an order. Go home and stay there."
OK. Fine. Just humour them, and they'll stop. "Yes, sir."
Today I woke up and saw huge spiders crawling up the bedroom walls. Big black shadows, clicking and hissing and swarming in corners. They scuttled across the ceiling and clustered above my head.
I dove into my blankets and curled up in a ball, my hands clenched around my ears and my eyes wide in the darkness.
The way I saw it, I had two options. Either my apartment had been infested by a insidious mass of oversized spiders during the night...
...or I was having a hallucination.
Go away, I prayed. Get out. Go. Leave, now. Please...
The sounds of the spiders did not stop. I felt them beginning to scurry over the blanket, slithering and scrambling all over, scrabbling at the cracks between the covers and the sheets. I whimpered slightly and clutched the blankets closer around myself.
Go away. Get out. Go. Leave, now. Please...
I don't know how long I stayed like that, huddled up in the blankets with my eyes screwed shut and my teeth clenched. I do remember that it was dangerously close to leaving time when I poked my head out cautiously. I remember shedding the blankets, tossing aside the sheets, and rustling quickly into some clothes.
I got to work OK. No crashes, no sudden bursts of rage, just a nice even ride to the office. I'm here now. It's sunny outside, and the precinct is hot and stifling. Nothing has happened, it's a fairly boring day. Nothing to do but prepare the report on that double homicide with Eames. But I'm still drowsy from waking up so early--I get so tired lately, I've got to get to bed earlier--and I nearly nod off as we pass papers and folders back and forth over the desk.
Eames ends up snapping her fingers in my face. "Hello? Goren? Earth to Detective Goren...?"
"Right, right," I murmur, blinking furiously and shuffling my papers together. They're all messed up. I don't care. I'm too sleepy to care.
Eames peers over curiously at my stack of sheets and raises her eyebrows. "Goren, that's the information for the Poleski art theft," she informs me, taking the papers from me with a gentle tug. "The report on the Considine murders must still be on the desk, wait a minute... here we go." This time she hands me the right file folder.
"Thanks." I try to smile; I'm sure the result is hideous. Eames doesn't seem to notice or mind as we head towards Deakins's office.
The captain nods at us as we enter. "So, what do you have for me?" he asks in his dry, languid tone.
Eames talks as I settle myself into a chair at the back, rubbing my forehead. It's even hotter in Deakins's office, sweltering and muggy, and I slouch down in my seat as my eyelids droop.
"You're so cute when you do that... why don't you just go for a little nap?"
No. No. It's not her. It's not Nina. Nina is not speaking to me. She's giggling softly, humming tunelessly as she continues, and her words seep like slow drops of sweet honey into my mind.
"Of course, Alex wouldn't be impressed if you dozed off, like some old geezer... Look at her. Look at her talking, Bobby. Isn't she adorable? So young and pretty..."
You leave her out of this!
"You know, I think she may be flirting a bit with Deakins... what a naughty girl she is... you'd love it if she flirted with you, wouldn't you, Bobby? You've always been simply obsessed with her, ever since you met her... but you're so afraid, Bobby, darling, you're so afraid of getting your heart broken again... you poor, poor thing. Mind you, she probably wouldn't want you anyway. If she knew what you were thinking, right now..."
Oh, God, stop this. Stop this. I can't take this. Please, make Nina go away.
"Or what you think at nights, alone in your bed... I wonder, what if she knew about that, Bobby? Would she laugh and sneer in your face? Would she get angry and refuse to talk you? Would she blush with shame and never look you in the eyes again?"
Stop it! I'm not listening... I'm not listening...
"Goren!"
Eames and Deakins are staring at me. "Yes?" I manage hoarsely.
"Your report?" Deakins says pointedly, gesturing for me to stand up. Eames is silent, her eyebrows knitted in a knot of confusion and worry, as I lurch to my feet.
She will tell me, much later, that I rambled on incoherently for three full minutes. I slurred and stumbled through my sentences, repeated the word "have" over and over for several seconds at a time, and burst into loud laughter at the end for no apparent reason.
All I know, right now, is that I'm done. I'm breathless, uncertain, and slightly dizzy, but I'm done speaking, so I sit down in the chair.
Eames stares at me, her eyes and mouth wide open, before suddenly sealing her lips in a thin line. Something watery shines too brightly in her blue eyes. From the look on his face, Deakins is obviously baffled--and concerned. Why is he concerned? Why is she trying not to cry?
"Goren," Deakins says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "I'm giving you the day off. Why don't you go home and rest?"
"Sir, I'm fine."
"No, you're not," Eames interrupts quietly. There's a tone in her voice that makes me stare at her. "You're not. Bobby, please, go home."
Bobby? Nobody calls me Bobby anymore. Nobody but Nina. "I--"
"Detective." Deakins's voice has sharpened. "It's an order. Go home and stay there."
OK. Fine. Just humour them, and they'll stop. "Yes, sir."