Author's Note

More than two months since my last update. Ouch.

I've been dabbling in some horror fandoms to get my creative juices flowing again. Know that I do intend to finish this story. Eventually.

I was stunned by the amount of feedback the last chapter generated. What can I say, but… thanks?

Uh… Please note that I originally intended for this chapter to be much longer, but I haven't been able to get myself into a mood appropriate to write for Monk lately, so I've only posted the little I've been able to get done since the last update. I apologize.

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Chapter Nine – "Channeling Fear: Part One"

Present

Oh my God. Sharona felt as though she were toeing the edge of a cliff, poised and waiting for that final nudge into an abyss of truth, of understanding, and – she feared – regret. She'd aged nearly seven years with this man (she wouldn't think about the emotional aging his neuroses had wreaked on her) and seen him through countless infinitesimal steps toward a state of functionality. The realization that the three months she had spent apart from Adrian Monk could have translated into decades on his internal timeline inflicted a terrible sense of loss, rending at her gut. It was as though she had walked out of a movie at the consummate moment, or returned a borrowed book just before enjoying its climax. Only… this was different. This was a story that she should have been part of. Right?

A moment of cold, vibrating silence – cold as though a door stood ajar – rolled over the two before Sharona acknowledged that her companion's soft voice no longer warmed the strange atmosphere. Her gaze shifted from the lukewarm mug between her hands. She nearly slid off the side of her seat as she caught his eyes favoring her with an intensity that should have been frightening.

"Adrian?" She pushed for his attention, chewing the edge of her tongue. What could he possibly be thinking... for a look like that? Staring back, she willed herself to match his intensity with her concern. This seemed to jolt Monk out of whatever trance had descended upon him, as he blinked, gave his head a good shake, and rolled those dark eyes back to her face. Relief bubbled up beneath her previous unease as she noticed that the hard edge she had seen there a half-second before had fled.

"I-I still can't believe it. Seventy-six days. That's-that's how long I've been living like this, and-" he curled his fingers, resting on the tabletop, back against his palm, "And I still can't believe that I've got him." He was drifting again, but this time it was not toward her.

"Who, Adrian?" she coaxed, "The murderer? What did that man tell you?" Skepticism over Wolf's intentions refused to abate. On the same train of thought, though, something else occurred to her. "Wait a sec. If Wolf wasn't dangerous, why didn't you try to contact me?" Monk touched his temple, and a line emerged between his brows as they drew together.

"I may be crazy, Sharona, but I'm not an idiot. I knew. I-I knew that you had other reasons for dumping me and putting the entire… country between us," he sighed and laced his fingers at the very edge of the table, "But it did take an enormous amount of self-control to keep from looking you up. Actually, I—uh—I told Stottlemeyer that I'd kill him if he let me touch a phonebook." Sharona, though sufficiently saturated by a wave of guilt, managed to put on enough of a cover to quirk a brow at this last confession. Monk emitted a nervous chuckle.

"I don't think he believed me."

"Excuse me? Do you know who you are? You can't even handle putting a couple of ants down the sink; would you touch a phonebook? I don't think so. Could you kill someone?" She snickered. To her relief, the corners of Monk's lips twitched gently.

"Hey, I was a cop, remember? And there was more than a couple, as you well know. It wasn't that long ago."

"Uh-huh. I'm sure there was," she crossed her elbows on the table, leaning so that her chin came to rest against her forearms, "So… are you gonna to tell me what the nutcase in the green suit said?" Parting his lips, Monk appeared slightly miffed in response to her casual dismissal of the sink and the ants, and… that day.

"The-? Yes. Uhm…" His fingers flexed instinctively, and he glanced out into the dining room. Before he'd the chance to continue, Sharona had unfolded her hands from beneath her jaw – all fingers raised on one, a single on the other. Six.

He turned his attention back very slowly, staring. It was then, for the first time since she'd arrived, that Sharona felt she could accept the dark, groomed tufts flanking his mouth and see Adrian Monk in every facet of the satisfied smile.

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Before…

"Ask them to hold for a minute, Randy. I'm checking up on Monk." The man himself had little difficulty picking up the aside over the connection. He remained silent until the Captain's voice rumbled from a position closer to his telephone's receiver. "Hey. How're you doin', Monk?"

"I – uh – hi. I'm fine. No—I'm great."

"Great?" Monk registered the incredulity flooding over the line only to confirm his suspicion that the news of Sharona had reached the department. But then, when had Adrian Monk ever been great?

"You heard me: I've never been better."

A beat.

"Monk, buddy? Uhm… I heard about Sharona. Want me to come over?" The detective faltered. Hearing the fact aloud fetched a cold, metallic taste to his tongue. Sharona was gone. Sharona… was… gone.

Yes, she is. You'll have plenty of time left for mourning after you've killed the bastard that murdered your wife.

Monk rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye and shook it off.

"That's not—uh—necessary. Besides, I have… things. To do. You know – vacuuming, and—and dusting. You know, I've been meaning to inspect the silverware; it can get bent, and scratched an—" the cool plastic squeaked beneath his grip as it tightened over the phone's molded, white body, "—Leland. I have a lead. Ten years, and now I have a lead."

"What the hell are you—wait—you mean…? Where? How?"

"Just… come and get me, would you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be right over."

Click