Jadie
Disclaimer: Me no own Numb3rs.
Warning: violence/graphic descriptions.
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CHAPTER 9: In the Dark—"… sitting side by side…"
The night was cool and crisp; the stars gleamed far above the city, almost invisible to an observer on the streets. Don was running, he wasn't sure why, just that he had to get there before it was too late. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and his muscles ached and burned. He seemed to move so slowly even though he felt that he was pushing himself as hard as he could. Left. Right. Right. Left. Don zigzagged through the maze of alleyways and side streets. But no matter how fast he ran, it ended like it always had.
He was too late.
The little girl had just turned five, he recalled, and there she lay, bloody, her eyes glazed over. She lay at an awkward angle, like she'd been posed—she was on her side, her blank eyes fixed on him—relentlessly staring, accusing. Don walked up to her slowly, feeling the tears stream down his face. He sat down, defeated, just a few feet from her body. She was so young. She had so much life ahead of her. And now it was all wasted. Her arms were raw, and Don could see where the shackles has been on her wrists—there was no skin left where they had chafed in her struggle and in her fear. Her legs were broken, the stark white of the bone protruding, painfully obvious to Don that her legs had been the first thing to be damaged—ridding the girl of all hopes for escape from her psychopathic tormentor. Her gray plaid schoolgirl uniform was ripped and torn, barely covering the girl, exposing the livid bite marks, and infected cuts. Her long blond hair was tangled and dirty.
Suddenly Don knew what was coming and he tried to move away, but he was rooted to the spot. Slowly, slowly—to Don's horror—the victim's broken body sat up, her eyes black and angry.
"You didn't come." She accused, her voice, hoarse and raw, "You didn't save me!" she wailed, her mangled throat was now exposed—it had been slit and the skin was purple and blue around the gaping wound. Don tried to speak, to say that he was so sorry, that he tried so hard, but there was no evidence…! Nothing came out but a strangled gasp of terror. And slowly, slowly—the victim started to crawl towards him, dragging her ruined body towards him with mangled arms. Don tried to move, yell –anything—but all he could do was to watch and cry as she got closer and closer and closer…
Don snapped awake from the nightmare, gasping for air, his heart racing. He threw back the covers and sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands. Don felt the moisture on his face, and with a shaky hand, wiped away the tears that had been shed while he slept.
After the second case, the one with the youngest victim, Don started to have this nightmare. He had it almost every night now. It was the same every time and every time there was a small part of him that knew it was a dream. Just a dream. Yet he could never seem to make himself wake up; nor was his reaction when he woke any different. Drenched in sweat, Don tried to get up, but immediately sat back down on the bed. His legs felt shaky and he wasn't so sure they would support his weight. Don surveyed his bed. It was a mess; blankets were tangled in a mess, pillows had been thrown or kicked off of the bed—it looked like a war zone—
He sat there, unmoving, for a long time. He listened to the rain that was pounding into the apartment building, and the thunder boomed out while the lightning periodically illuminated his small bedroom. Finally, when he felt calmer, he got up and changed his clothes. He leaned against the wall, and once again, praised himself for making the right decision by not letting Charlie work on the case. If this case was affecting him this badly, Don didn't even want to know what it would do to Charlie.
He ran his fingers through his damp hair as the thunder cracked again. Don looked at his alarm clock—12:36am. Don sighed. There was still plenty of time to try to go back to sleep but Don had yet to successfully do so after the nightmare. If he kept his up too much longer, his co-workers were going to start noticing. He'd been progressively waking up earlier and earlier since he'd started having the nightmare. Before too long he wasn't going to be sleeping at all, and then he'd really have problems. I'm just going to have to hurry up and get this case solved before that happens, Don thought, until then, I'm just going to have to tough it out. Don started for the living room, treading softly as he remembered a certain little girl who was sleeping on his couch.
He moved almost silently into the living room and lightning illuminated the room just long enough for him to see Jadie, her back facing towards him, lying on the couch. Don stealthily went into the kitchen and turned on the lights, silently hoping that he wouldn't wake the girl in the next room. He rummaged through his fridge for a moment before deciding that he'd be better off just drinking a glass of water. He stood in the kitchen, weariness spreading through his entire body. Don sighed and leaned his head against the cupboard. He was so tired. He stepped back and finished off the water. He might as well try to sleep again, he couldn't watch T.V. like he usually did—Jadie was in there and he didn't want to risk waking her up.
Don was almost to the hallway when lightning struck again, thunder booming so loudly that the few pictures hanging on the walls rattled. In that moment of illumination, Don could see Jadie was lying in a way that he wouldn't associate with sleep. Her muscles are tensed up, Don groaned inwardly, what a moron I am—like she's going to sleep that easy after all she's been through. Don made his way over to the couch, not bothering to be quiet anymore. He sat down on the edge of the couch by Jadie's feet. In the next flash of lightning, Don saw that Jadie's eyes were open, and fearful—not of him—She's afraid of the storm, Don thought with some wonder.
"You know," Don spoke softly, "My brother Charlie used to be terrified of thunderstorms." Don smiled to himself, remembering. "He used to sit in his bed with the covers pulled up to right under his nose, muttering math equations about the probability that he, or the house, would get struck by lightning." Don looked over at Jadie. Slowly, without speaking, she sat up next to Don. She sat closer than Don would have expected—so close that her shoulder rested against his arm. There was something oddly comforting about that closeness—them sitting side by side in the dark like they were. Don waited; if she wanted to speak that was fine—if she didn't, Don didn't mind that either. He was perfectly content to just sit next to her, although he did hope that his presence was soothing to her—he hated to see her frightened like she was for some reason...
"She likes it when it rains…in the dark," Jadie whispered, her voice hushed, "I never did." Don waited for her to say more but she didn't so Don just waited, mulling over her words. Thunder boomed out, lightning lit up the small apartment. Don felt Jadie flinch.
"It's ok," Don murmured, and without thinking, he put his arm around the girl's narrow shoulders. She was tense, but only for a moment and then ever so slowly she relaxed against Don.
Don debated with himself; there was a question he wanted, no needed, to ask her but he knew that it would most likely upset her. With a resigned sigh, he decided he had to do it.
"Jadie," he spoke softly, "how do you know her like you do?" Jadie started to speak and then she stopped. Wordlessly she began to cry, heaving sobs that wracked her entire body. Don could feel her shaking. "Shhh…" Don pulled Jadie into a hug, where she immediately grabbed his t-shirt and cried into his chest. "Shhh" he continued to coo. Don's heart squeezed inside his chest. It tore him up to see her so upset.
"She's always been there…" Jadie's voice, muffled by Don's chest, croaked out. "Just us," Jadie hiccupped, "Danny was nice to me anyway, he—he used to talk to me through the window—he lived next door, but he didn't understand!" Jadie sobbed, shaking like a leaf. "She didn't like him and I tried to help him but I couldn't! It was dark, in the rain—I tired to get her to stop but she wouldn't!" Jadie collapsed again into gut-wrenching sobs. Don felt a lump rise in his throat and he tried to repress it. He rested his chin on top of her head, and gently rocked her back and forth. He had a slightly clearer picture of who Danny was and what happened to him and he didn't like it.
"She never loved me." Jadie croaked out. What? Don thought. Then it occurred to him, an awful truth—no, oh please no, not to this poor child—
"My own mother and she didn't love me," Don's heart crashed in his chest. Dear god, her mother… "If my own mother didn't love me then how can anyone else?" Jadie hiccupped and looked up at Don, anguish in her features. Don was at a loss for words, so instead, he gently pulled her close to his chest, and he rocked her gently, gently and he hummed a long forgotten lullaby that had been in the back of his head. He began to croon a few words of the song, and before long, he was singing quietly to the lost little girl. He held her, he held her close, until she cried herself to sleep.
In the dark, he cradled her small body and only then, after she was in a deep sleep, did he cry for her, silently, his tears fell.
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Note: Whew, this was tricky to write. The next chapter will be another shorty in between one but the chapter after that will be a little angsty with a slight confrontation between Don and his father and Charlie—anyway there's a little preview to keep you all waiting! Please R&R all input is welcome and appreciated.