Author's Note: All right so…I lied. This story isn't going to be 45 chapters after all. I had a plot line that said it would be, but then things got combined and…well…yeah. I think there are about three or four chapters left so enjoy what's still there to enjoy and keep reviewing. I'm really kind of sad…but…not…I've been working on this fic for such a long time I also want to finish. All right…enough rambling from me…go read…and don't hurt me.

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Chapter 38: In the Dead of Night

September 29th

3:22 AM

The Loft

The car was speeding down the highway at an alarming rate. Huge rain drops and sharp little pieces of hail pelted the roof and windshield, creating a delicate spider web of cracks in the thick glass. There was a bend in the road and suddenly the other car appeared, seemingly from nowhere, moving at an impossible speed. Roger grabbed for the steering wheel, desperate to get out of the way, but it had vanished. In its place was an open white hallway, looming in front of him, stretching out, widening. At the end it became a waiting room, bright, filled with the metallic scent of disinfectant. There were men in uniforms everywhere. Then the windshield reappeared and there was the other car. It struck a glancing blow, but the sound, the explosion of shattered glass never came. Instead the car spun away, faster and faster, until Roger felt that he was flying. Images floated up out of the clouds that were now in front of the car. Bars, cheap cigarettes, gallons and gallons of alcohol. And the needles. Thousands of rusted needles. Roger felt a sting in his arm, the familiar burning sensation. He glanced down and was horrified to see one of them embedded in his arm. As he watched it changed before his eyes into a needle drawing blood from his veins. He looked back up and found that the car had vanished. In its place was an office, a hospital room, and a man dressed all in white. Roger gasped as he began to speak.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have some bad news for you."

Roger woke with a start, drenched in sweat, his throat raw from screaming. Although they were becoming less frequent, the nightmares only seemed to grow more and more intense. He took a deep breath and sat up.

Mimi was standing at the window, arms crossed over her chest, her back to him. It was raining outside, no, pouring was a better word for the gale that was slapping against the old windows of the loft. Every few seconds the room was lit by a flash of lightning and a piece of hail hit the glass with a small "ping."

"Did I wake you?" Roger asked softly.

Mimi shook her head without turning.

Roger sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold floor.

"Yes I did. You don't have to lie to me."

"Roger…all right, you did."

"I'm sorry."

Roger got up and went over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She turned in his embrace and put her arms around his neck.

"Don't apologize." She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down onto her shoulder. "I just wish there was something I could do. Talk to me?"

Roger shook his head against her shoulder and swallowed hard.

"I can't."

Mimi sighed and rubbed his back gently.

"Roger…I think maybe you should consider seeing a therapist," she said softly, her voice apologetic. She knew her words would not be well-received.

Roger stiffened and pulled away just as a flash of lightning lit the room in eerie black and white shapes. He stood in the corner facing the wall and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"No," he said finally. "No, I'm fine. I'm getting better."

Mimi walked over and sat on the bed.

"Roger, you're not. You need help. At least admit it to yourself. Since Mark left—"She shrugged helplessly. "I feel like I hardly know you anymore. You spend all day either sleeping or drinking until you pass out. Then you're out all night and when you are home you have these nightmares all the time. I've tried not to say anything, but don't think I haven't noticed."

Roger turned, suddenly angry.

"I'm *fine*. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Roger—" Mimi tried again, but Roger was determined to ignore her.

"I don't want to talk about it!" he shouted, trembling.

Mimi stared at him, disturbed by the sudden outburst. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

"All right. Fine. We won't talk about it now." Her voice was soft, filled with defeat.

Roger sighed.

"Come on, let's go back to bed."

Roger climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. He tried to put his arms around Mimi but she pulled away and refused to let him touch her.

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4:23 AM

Joanne's Apartment

Maureen shut the door quietly behind her and slipped off her leather jacket, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke and sour beer that clung to her clothes. She would have to take a shower or Joanne would notice. She walked quickly into the bathroom and shut the door, then pulled the band out of her long curly brown hair and shook her head wildly, laughing at her appearance in the mirror.

She'd meant to come straight home after her show, but as always, it hadn't worked out that way. A group of her fellow ensemble members had decided to go to a nearby bar and bonding was important to a show's success, Maureen told herself.

And there was Jason. Tall, with dark shaggy hair and green eyes, the star of a successful Broadway show and entirely too interested in Maureen for his own good. She knew she was leading him on, but it was too much fun to pass up. Maureen turned on the water in the bathtub and grabbed a bottle of purple passion-flower shower gel from the shelf and poured it into the bathtub, inhaling deeply.

The sound of the door flying open and smashing into the wall behind her made Maureen jump. She turned around to find Joanne standing behind her, her features arranged in a characteristic glare. Maureen smiled sweetly, then stuck out her tongue at Joanne and turned back to stare intently at the growing mass of soap suds in the bathtub.

"You want to explain this?" Joanne asked testily.

Maureen snorted.

"You ever hear of privacy? You know, that thing where you don't just randomly walk through a closed door without knocking?"

Joanne laughed condescendingly.

"I'm pretty powerful if I can walk through a closed door. Next thing you know I'll be walking through walls, too…and developing x-ray vision."

Maureen turned and glared at her, but Joanne wasn't finished.

"You know, that might be a good thing, actually. At least then I could always keep an eye on you. Not that it would stop you from doing exactly what you please."

"Oh, is *that* what this is about?" Maureen asked, feigning boredom.

"It's not every night that I wake up to find you taking a bath at four thirty in the morning."

"My show ran late."

"That's *awfully* late for a seven o'clock show."

Maureen shrugged.

"Telling you that I didn't do anything *obviously* isn't going to do me any good here, so I really don't see why I should even bother. If you don't trust me, then there's no point in trying."

Joanne laughed meanly.

"*Trust* you? You don't know the *meaning* of the word!"

"Fine. Fine. Believe what you want!"

Joanne turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Maureen dipped her hand in the bathwater and inhaled deeply, lost in the buzz of alcohol and the memory of Jason's lips on her neck.

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