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Chapter 1: Sleep, Dream, Wake, Repeat
Lassiter had been quieter than usual and he knew it. He had been more surly than usual and he knew it. He ate less, shaved less and generally cared less than usual and he knew it.
He was also sleeping less.
A lot less.
It wasn't that he couldn't sleep, he simply didn't want to sleep. That single moment of weakness would be wrought more with anxiety than relief.
Screaming. Running. Death.
For the past six weeks he had been having nightmares. Childish, stupid, scary nightmares. Dreams darker than anything that he experienced when he was awake. They left him tired, paranoid and cranky. Okay...crankier.
So he worked longer hours and took on extra assignments. When there wasn't enough to keep him occupied at the station, he buried his attention in his home Most Wanted Wall; processing and profiling each suspect until exhaustion would ultimately usher him into the inevitable encounter with the demons of his mind.
So yes, he was irritable and a little foggy and wishing very much that their suspect would stop waisting his time and just confess.
"Sure, I hated him but that doesn't mean I killed him." Tamara Hilton, flattened a ruffle in her dress and looked expectantly at the two detectives. "I used to love Sasha. I still do a little. I didn't do this to him. I couldn't."
Lassiter fidgeted, resting his cheek on the knuckles of one hand and drumming on the table with the other.
Tamara paused at the sudden action and looked desperately to O'Hara.
"I couldn't," she said again, her eyes pleading with the only other female in the room.
"Where were you the night that he was attacked," Juliet asked dutifully.
Tamara twisted the fabric of her dress into a small knot before responding. "I...I was at the movies that night."
"What'd you see?"
It was a simple follow-up question and O'Hara was right to ask it but the statement annoyed Lassiter anyway. He sighed in spite of himself and drummed louder.
"John Carter-"
"Oh please," Lassiter sneered, realizing suddenly that he had lost both patience and interest in the interrogation. "That movie sucked more than your alibi. Anyone dumb enough to pay good money to see that film must also be dumb enough to murder Edward Lawrence and think they can get away with it."
His fingers resumed their rapping on the table and found the strangely familiar cadence of thump-thud, thump-thud.
Tamara looked at him quizzically. "Who's Edward Lawrence?"
The rapping stopped and an almost uncontrollable surge of annoyance welled up inside of him. "Are you seriously going to play the amnesia card with me?" He looked at her as if she had two heads. "It's too late for that, lady. And if you're hoping to plead "stupidity," that won't hold up in court-"
"Carlton," Juliet objected quietly but he was too upset to hear her.
He leaned forward and bore a meaningful stare into the woman. "You were the sole beneficiary in his will which obviously means you had a lot to gain. And sure you loved him. You just didn't love him enough to shake your little habit. I bet you're looking for a fix right now, aren't you?"
"Carlton." O'Hara's voice tried to reach him again but he batted it away.
"What's the going rate for a dime bag these days, Nicole?"
Tamara frowned, her eyes moistening and turning a shade of red. "Um...my name is Tamara-"
Lassiter pointed an agitated finger at her. "You do realize that lying can land you an obstruction charge and I'm sure I can find something in the California Penal Code for you waisting my time-"
"Carlton!" O'Hara grabbed his arm.
"What?"
She leaned towards him, shielding her face from Tamara as she spoke.
"This is Tamara Hilton. She's the ex-girl friend of the victim, Sasha Bryant." She waited for his gaping expression of recognition before returning her attention to Tamara, smiling apologetically.
Lassiter felt a sudden coolness in his chest as his blood rushed to warm his cheeks. He fought away the flush of embarrassment, chewing it deftly between the teeth of a clenched jaw. He swallowed hard before he spoke. "Okay. So, you were at the movies..."
Tamara nodded cautiously.
He waved a hand at her. "Continue."
"And after the movie, I went for drinks at this dive just around the corner from the theater."
"Which theater," O'Hara followed, jotting on her notepad.
"Stadium 15, on Cullen Road. It's the one with the bowling alley."
Lassiter slapped his hand on the desk. "Ha! That's less than four blocks from where the Lawrence body was recovered. That's some alibi you've got there. Sounds like you just bought yourself a thirty-year vacation in the state penitentiary."
Tamara burst into tears. "Oh my god. I didn't kill that guy. I don't even know who he is!"
The door opened suddenly; Vick's presence felt instantly.
"Detectives," she said, pronouncing each syllable as if it required perfect diction.
It took Lassiter a moment to pry his eyes from Tamara. When he finally did he found Karen's rebuking glare beaming into him.
"Outside. Now." She turned stiffly and strode from the room, leaving each of them to collect themselves.
###
"You know the question now start explaining." Karen crossed her arms in front of her, looking from O'Hara to Lassiter and back.
O'Hara fanned a finger over the pages of her notepad as she looked over her partner, curiously.
Lassiter looked subdued, his eyes searching the ground as if playing the conversation back through his head. "I mistook her for someone else," he said finally, his eyes still unsettled.
"Oh, you think," Karen nearly shouted before reminding herself that they were in the observation room and then again reminding herself that the room was soundproof. She stole a glance at Tamara Hilton who was sitting alone in the room, in complete dismay. "That's the third interrogation you've botched this week, Detective. And need I remind you that it's only Tuesday!"
Lassiter nodded quietly. He still hadn't brought his eyes up from the floor.
Karen took in his appearance. His tie and hair were mussed. Stubble had grown on his usually clean-shaven face and his routinely pressed jacket and shirt looked as if they had been discarded in a hamper and retrieved in a moment of desperation.
She would have to be blind and uncaring to miss the fact that something was wrong with him. She'd noticed the extra hours he'd put in over the past few weeks and had fielded more than a few comments on the state of his ever-souring mood. While she wasn't completely sure what to make of it, she had learned early on not to pry into the personal lives of her detectives. So week after week, she had kept her distance but now his problems were beginning to affect his performance and that was becoming her problem. She also found it completely impossible to separate her maternal instincts from her role as an administrator. Something cried from within her to rescue him from whatever malice he had come across in the last few weeks.
She shook her head as she tried to decide which side of herself would reach out to him: Karen-His-Boss or Karen-His-Friend. She opted for something fitting for both sides of her. "Carlton, what's wrong?"
The question fell on deaf ears. Lassiter stared lazily at the floor, his eyelids sliding until they revealed nothing but tiny slivers of grayish-blue.
"Carlton," Karen said more assertively, content that she had reminded herself about the soundproof glass.
Lassiter snapped to attention, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. "Yes. What?"
Karen shook her head and pointed a stern finger in his direction. "If you can't get it together, I'm going to have to send you home for the day."
"What?" The pitch in his voice hit a new octave. "Why?" He looked to O'Hara for support.
"You're making rookie mistakes. Yesterday, with the Mayor's fishing buddy and then that old lady's dog-"
"That wasn't a dog," he objected passionately, "It was a rat with a collar."
"Tamara Hilton today," Karen continued. "One more outburst like-" She stopped herself and cringed inwardly. "No, if I see anything even remotely like what just happened in there, I'll mandate that you take an entire week off." She leaned forward slightly so that he knew she meant business.
Lassiter's shoulders slumped. "Yes, ma'am." The bass in his voice had returned.
Karen quickly ran the station's staffing and case loads through her head. There were no double-shifts on her radar. No over-night stakeouts to be concerned about. The most traumatizing thing that Carlton had experienced within the last six weeks was being drugged by his neighbor at Prospect Gardens but the effects from that had long since worn off. What's more, he had been promptly cleared for duty just days afterwards. It seemed the only real inconvenience from that ordeal was Carlton's sprained ankle, completely mended and even that was only a minor injury.
She sighed and glanced at O'Hara whose face was contorted into a solemn frown. The poor thing was always caught in the middle.
"When you're finished here," Karen led, checking again on sobbing Tamara, "I need you both to head up to Cherry Springs. A pair of astronomy students uncovered a body off of one of the trails."
She waited for their quiet affirmations then turned to leave, stopping to call over her shoulder. "And Carlton." From the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten and glance in her direction. "Get it together."
She left the room under the utterance of his baritone "Yes ma'am," and headed immediately for her office.
She had a phone call to make.
###
The trek through the woods of Cherry Springs was strangely familiar. The ground was moist beneath his feet and the dancing leaves of towering trees, sprinkled their collection of raindrops from overhead. Branches clapped and birds sang as if nature itself was clamoring to tell them their tragic story.
Lassiter turned an ear to hear their song but there was a sudden silence about him as the wind weaved in and out of the foliage, whispering an encompassing "hush" into the woods. The cool mountain breeze bit through his blazer and gave him an involuntary chill. He shrugged it off quickly, glancing about him to see if anyone noticed.
When he listened again, all was silent. Only their footfalls and the occasional drawl of their guide, the park ranger, could be heard.
The ranger was at least a good conversationalist, Lassiter would give him that. For a man who was little more than a fully grown Boy Scout, the ranger had a sober take on real police work and didn't try, too hard, to butt in on their process. He ushered them on, dutifully answering O'Hara's questions and following up with a few of his own.
He had driven them as far as the trail's entrance but had taken to walking through the more dense collection of shrubbery. The pace was slow and in the moist ground, their footing was tricky. Mud was already caking up on the sides of Lassiter's dress shoes and he was instantly regretting the decision not to change into his spares.
The conversation (if you could call it a conversation) all but disappeared as they approached the steeper parts of the trail. The only thing any of them wanted to do was focus on their breathing. And those breathes came in heavy pants.
A few steps, a few breaths.
A few steps, a few breaths.
In. Climb. Out. Climb.
In. Climb. Out. Climb.
In. Out. In. Out.
In. Out. In. Out.
There was a rhythm. Some very strange rhythm began to beat in his chest.
Thump-thud. Thump-thud.
Lassiter marveled. He knew this beat. He listened as the tune began to play.
Thump-thud. Thump-thud.
But the words.
What were the words?
"Hudson," he whispered as the world about him suddenly fell into place. The trees were not just any trees. The ground was not just any ground.
No. He had been here before.
His heartbeat quickened and his stomach began to climb into his chest. In his mind, images blurred too fast to process. There was heavy breathing, branches breaking, leaves rustling and the telltale chant.
Hudson. Hudson. Hudson.
He brought a hand to his neck and helped a rather insistent breath escape past the knot of his tie.
"It's one of our steeper trails," the ranger said. He stopped to regard the detective then pointed a calloused thumb over his shoulder at a random collection of foliage. "It's just ahead there."
Lassiter nodded, letting his eyes close long enough to gather his resolve.
A cool hand grabbed his wrist.
In his mind's eye, he saw the woman with her red, bloodied hair. He heard her pleas and felt her grief. He pulled away with a gasp and let his hand hover just over the buckle of his shoulder holster.
He found his embarrassment in O'Hara's startled expression.
"The hell," she said, looking at him aghast.
Lassiter was at a loss for words. The image of the woman was still vividly in his head. He tried, in vain, to displace it with Juliet's visage but the scarlet hair, glassy eyes and shrill scream was a permanent stain in his mind's eye. No amount of blinking was going to wash it away. He searched for an explanation but nothing made sense.
What was wrong with him?
He locked eyes with O'Hara again. She had taken a slight step away from him, her own hand frozen in the space that was once occupied by his arm. Her lips were separated in plain shock and her thin brows were pressing together.
It seemed like the lag in his explanation was becoming just as egregious as his initial response. He pointed quickly at a general spot in the distance, "Up here, right?"
He hardly expected her to answer the question and when she only continued to stare, he set his gaze, collected his dignity and hurried past.
He assumed a pace that was too quick for the ranger or O'Hara to match, using his long stride to create some breathing room and a little space to think. As he walked, he felt familiarity settle on him like a cloak. The moist ground gave way to his footfalls, the leaves and branches snapped beneath his feet. His lungs began to rasp for air and in between each strained breath he could hear his heart beating to the rhythm of, "Hudson, Hudson, Hudson."
In one fleeting moment, clarity flooded his mind and pulled him in a single direction. He followed blindly not stopping to ask himself where he was going or why. He moved quickly, his eyes combing the foliage until they came upon a pair of white sneakers, loosely affixed to a pair of stockinged legs. He trotted the rest of the distance until he was able to see more clearly.
It was her.
Her fixed gaze. Her bloody scalp. Her bruised neck.
It was definitely her.
A gasp escaped as he staggered backwards, reaching blindly for a nearby tree and gripping its trunk as if the ground would drop from beneath him. His lips began uttering words that his mind couldn't comprehend. His eyes strained to see past floating blue spots that were drifting into view.
He sensed O'Hara near him, calling to him but she seemed too far away. A wave of dizziness overtook him as the floating spots grew into a terrifying and quiet black.
When awareness returned, he found himself half-seated on the grill of the ranger's jeep, gripping a lukewarm bottle of water. O'Hara was rubbing his back soothingly and whispering words that he wasn't able to make out.
He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, trying not to see the red-haired woman in his mind; trying not to see the tragedy of her disfigured neck or hear the sound of her desperate voice. He tried to reconcile the two images, how a woman from his dreams could now be dead at his feet. He shivered inwardly as he shook what was becoming his obvious conclusion: He was loosing his mind.
"Have another drink," Juliet said softly, nudging his hand with her own.
Lassiter looked questionably at the bottle. He didn't remember taking the first drink. He tried to piece together the events that transpired from the time that he saw the body until now but he was at a loss. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. He wasn't sure how he came to be sitting on the ranger's jeep or even why he was sitting on the ranger's jeep, for that matter.
It was all an uncomfortable blur and that worried him. It also seemed to worry Juliet and that worried him. In fact, he wasn't certain which worried him more, the fact that he was worried about himself or the thought that he had worried O'Hara.
He shook his head wearily, staring at the bottle as if it would answer the questions in his mind. He might have spent a good deal of time trying to reason with it if O'Hara hadn't taken it from his grasp, unscrewed the top then returned it to him, guiding his elbow until the drink was at his lips.
He took a reluctant sip and forced the warm liquid down.
"What happened back there," she asked softly, leaning into him and rubbing his back once more.
Lassiter shrugged as he wiped a dribble of water from his chin. He had never felt like that before. Ever. At least, not sober.
"Exhaustion." The ranger's voice came from behind them. They turned to see him rummage through the front seat and retrieve a small cooler. "I know it when I see it," he said, fishing a hand into the cooler and retrieving a granola bar.
He held the bar out for Lassiter who looked at it repulsively.
"This should help. Unless of course you're allergic to nuts." The older man chuckled lightly and pushed the bar closer.
Lassiter's scowl grew. "Is that your lunch?"
Juliet reached over him, took the bar from the ranger and placed it roughly in Lassiter's free hand. "Just eat it, Carlton. You scared us half to death back there. I don't want to see you like that again." She pulled the drink from his hand and screwed the top on slowly, seemingly lost in her thoughts.
Lassiter played with the granola wrapper, turning it over in his hands as he tried to think of the best way to ask his burning question.
What did happen back there? How was it that he felt that he had seen this before? Why did everything suddenly feel so familiar? How did he manage to lose control?
He pondered a little before summoning his courage and clearing his throat. "What...happened," he stuttered.
O'Hara's eyes shot quickly to him. "I was hoping you could tell me."
"I...don't..." He stammered rather un-artfully and felt like a buffoon. It was nearly a half mile from where the ranger parked and from where they had found the body. The bloody, pale, lifeless body. He remembered seeing it. He remembered feeling dizzy and sick and tormented all at once. But that was all he remembered. Everything from then until now was a blank.
His stomach turned. "I didn't," he swallowed bitterly, "Pass out did I?"
O'Hara's worry rested delicately on her furrowed brows. "No," she said softly, as if her answer might break him.
Lassiter relaxed instantly but tensed again as he watched the unbidden concern grow on Juliet's face.
"What then," he probed.
O'Hara took a moment to respond. She played with the ridges of the bottle cap before setting the water beside her and looking up at him. "Who is Hudson," she asked, finally.
Lassiter's heart skipped a beat. His mouth suddenly went dry. "What?"
"Hudson," she said again, her eyes searching his. "You were saying it over and over again, even while we helped you back to the jeep."
Lassiter's eyes slipped from hers and back to the trail.
Hudson?
It was the word in the rhythm, he knew that much. He knew that he dreamed about it but he didn't know what the word meant. He searched the images that flooded his mind until he saw the dead woman clearly.
Her hair.
Her necklace.
Her cloths.
"Is that the name of the Jane Doe," the ranger offered, squatting so that he was eye level with the two detectives.
Lassiter shook his head, letting his eyes slide closed and pinching his fingers over his eyelids as if he could rub the bloody image out of his mind. "Her name was Patterson," he said dismissively, almost matter-of-factly, not even truly aware of what he had said.
"Did you know her," the ranger followed.
"No," Lassiter grunted. His fingers worked their way to the bridge of his nose where he massaged a growing headache back into submission. For an instant, there was stillness. Peace. His mind was clear. The images were gone. For the briefest of moments, there was absolutely nothing. Then, a hand on his shoulder.
"Carlton!"
He jumped, opening his eyes to see O'Hara regarding him with more worry than before.
"How do you know her name?"
He shrugged, slightly embarrassed to have fallen asleep and slightly perturbed that she had disturbed it. "Gee, I don't know, O'Hara. Wait, yes I do. It was on her name tag!"
O'Hara grimaced, glancing briefly at the ranger then back to him.
Lassiter could feel his patience waning. "What?"
"I didn't see a name tag."
Lassiter scoffed. "It was pinned to her shirt, O'Hara." He waited for her recognition but she only continued to stare quizzically. "Oh, come on," he sang, standing quickly and pointing the granola bar in her direction. "You're slipping."
Juliet stood as well. "Carlton, there wasn't a name tag. I would have noticed a name tag."
"A white plastic thing, pinned conspicuously on her shirt..."
Juliet shook her head. "It wasn't there."
"T. Patterson written in black letters, right across the front..."
"It doesn't matter how much you describe it, Carlton. It wasn't there."
"Come on! It was stuck on her left lapel."
Juliet shook her head, the concern on her face was seeming to grow by the minute.
Lassiter threw his hands into the air.
"If it helps," the ranger began, standing to his feet. "I'm fairly certain that I didn't see it either."
Lassiter resisted the urge to chuck the granola bar at the man's head. He turned, instead, back to Juliet. "I know what I saw, O'Hara."
Juliet frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "Maybe the Chief was right. Maybe you should go home and rest a bit."
Lassiter's mouth dropped open. Her words were like daggers. No, it was worse than that. She was echoing Vick's words and those were like daggers. O'Hara was salting the wound.
Suddenly, it didn't matter what they thought of him. Sure, he may have botched a few cases this week but this wasn't one of them. He couldn't have been more certain of what he saw.
"Fine," he said, turning on his heels and heading back towards the trail.
"Carlton, where are you going," Juliet called.
"Back," he allowed, as he huffed through the shrubs, not caring who followed.
"You should eat that granola bar before you try to tackle that trail again," the ranger called.
This time Lassiter couldn't resist the temptation. He spun around, pulled back his arm and let the granola bar fly fast and hard directly at the ranger's head.
###
The second look at the body was no different than the first and Juliet was far from happy to make note of it. The fact that she was right only meant that there was something very, very wrong with Carlton. His prolonged exposure to amyl nitrates had done their worst weeks ago. There was no way that he could still be suffering the same side effects now. Could he?
She thought back to that experience and of the crazy woman at Prospect Gardens. She hated that she was not the one to notice the dramatic change in his behavior. That honor rested solely on Shawn and Gus who, strangely, had been a better confidant for him during that time than she had. How did she miss that? She kicked herself internally and glanced over to her partner.
Carlton stood wearily beside her, swaying like the top of a tall tree that threatened to tip over at the slightest wind. He ran a hand over his face and let it rest on closed eyelids.
Juliet sensed his embarrassment but as she gathered a breath to speak, he beat her to it.
"I know what I saw, O'Hara."
Juliet inched closer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Carlton, I really think you should-"
She stopped suddenly, distracted by his hand which raised quickly into the air, poised as if he would speak. A knowing look illuminated his face and he trotted off towards the greenery just ahead of them.
"Where are you going now?"
He didn't respond, he only continued ahead in a light jog, head tilted towards the ground.
The ranger stepped closer to her. "He's probably going to hit the head." He adjusted the waist of his pants. "I think I may need to go too."
Juliet rolled her eyes in disgust. "We actually have this funny little habit of not peeing at a crime scene." She looked again towards Carlton who had stopped several yards in front of them and was staring intently at the ground.
"He's got something," she whispered aloud before trotting the distance towards her partner; the ranger close behind her. "Carlton, what is it?"
Lassiter looked as if he didn't hear her. He was focussed on the ground, breathing heavily and had brought a hand up to loosen his already loosened tie.
Juliet followed his gaze to the ground. There, lightly covered by soil, was a white name tag embroidered with black letters that spelled the name "T. Patterson." She looked from it back to Carlton who seemed just as surprised by the discovery as she was. In fact, he was more than surprised. He was breathing heavier, almost panting. The hand on his tie had moved to his chest, where he lightly clenched his shirt and began to shake.
"Carlton," she asked cautiously, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm.
He flinched, looking to her with a look of terror. "Gotta stop it," he rasped, pausing only to gather a strained breath. "Gotta stop it."