Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No copyright infringement of publicly recognizable characters, products or services is intended.

A/N: Because it's been a while and because it was snowing.

Chapter 4: Somewhere Between Sleep and Wake

"Where are we going," Juliet asked sternly, her eye catching on a passing street sign.

They had been dipping in and out of abandoned side streets for nearly an hour and were now heading north on Helena; apparently going no place special.

From the driver's seat, Carlton's attention was fixed intently on the road. He stared unblinking into the night as if he could see more than the darkness ahead of them. Outside of his occasional sigh or low moan, he had barely said a word since they'd left the station. Initially Juliet was content to let him meander in silence but with each passing mile she felt a day's worth of fatigue and stress creeping in. The night was getting away from her and they were long overdue for the why-are-we-out-here conversation.

She tried again. "Carlton."

Nothing.

"Carlton!"

He jumped. "What?"

"Did you hear me?"

He opened his mouth as if he would respond but instead only yawned, rubbed his eye then hurriedly returned his attention to the road when the car swerved.

Juliet shook her head. "I still don't know why I let you drive."

His dark eyebrow rose and kissed a bit of light peering through the driver's window. "Because it's my car," he mumbled, setting his attention on the road again.

Sure, now he was listening.

Juliet let out a sigh. It was late. It was late and she was tired. She was tired of being awake. She was tired of worrying that Carlton was suffering from some form of psychosis. She was tired of fearing that his hunches were wrong and she was even more tired of fearing that his hunches were right.

He had scared her far too many times today—Just once was more than enough.

This last time left a strange jitteriness running through her; adrenaline, she supposed. It felt like an uncomfortable chill mixed with too much caffeine. She hugged her arms to her chest and rubbed them lightly. What he said back at the station was definitely true; whatever was happening had to stop and she was growing increasingly certain that she would need to be the one to help him bring things to a close.

"This is stupid," she said, turning the interior lights on so he could read the very stern expression that she was sending him. "I'm not going through that again. Not again."

He looked at her, squinting through the brightness of the overhead light. "I'm fine," he mumbled, turning back towards the road and sending a hand up to switch off the light.

"Stop saying that," she ordered, flipping the light back on. "We both know it's not true."

"Turn the light off," he scolded, his voice beginning to warm with annoyance. When she didn't comply he pressed the switch himself.

She turned it back on.

"O'Hara," he growled.

She stood her ground. "We have been at this for almost an hour, Carlton. You need sleep. I need sleep—"

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" She was indignant. "Look around you. Everything's quiet. No one is out here. What could possibly happen tonight?"

He was silent for a moment. Then, bringing a hand up to rub his eye, he said, "It will if it hasn't...Or has it?"

"Has what?"

He didn't respond. He only squinted ahead of them as if he were talking to the windshield.

Clearly the statement was not meant for her. He had taken to talking to himself lately—Not the common blather that most people do when they've lost their keys or are staring at a computer screen. No. He had begun having full conversations with himself, as if every thought had to be uttered.

Much of what he had to say was disjointed. Occasionally he would mumble something useful but most of the time, it seemed to be utter nonsense.

This seemed like the latter.

She crossed her arms. "If you're going to space out then at least let me drive."

"No," he said quickly, looking over to her. "I'm—"

"And if you say, I'm fine, I'll punch you in the arm."

A hint of amusement curled the corner of his mouth. "I'll let you punch me in the face if it means we can turn the light off." He strained to stare at her until she punched the light switch and sent them back into darkness. "Thanks," he sighed.

Juliet twisted in her seat until she was squared off with him—Which was a bit uncomfortable but definitely got his attention. "So, back to my first question," she said, looking sternly into his sideways glance. "Where are we going?"

He slid his eyes back to the road and leaned away from her slightly. "I don't know," he said with a good deal of hesitation.

For a moment, she wasn't certain that she heard him.

Those three simple words uttered at any other time would seem fine but now? Now they seemed foreign and grotesquely out of place. She tried to rationalize his statement three or four times before her brain gave up and surrendered one word, "What?"

Carlton continued his retreat behind the invisible line that separated the two sides of the car. "I don't really know where we're—"

"Carlton!"

"What?"

"In less than twenty minutes, it will be tomorrow!"

He matched her frustration with some of his own. "So!"

"So? So, you're just going to drive aimless until you happened upon what, exactly?"

He grit his teeth. "I'll know it when I see it."

"It's nearly midnight, you can't see anything—How about looking when there's actual daylight?"

He shook his head. "We can't afford to wait, O'Hara. This is going to happen tonight."

"How can you possibly know that?"

He grimaced and looked as if their discussion had suddenly made him nauseous. "I just do," he said bitterly.

She watched his eyes comb the streets again with certainty. They didn't have a shred of evidence. They didn't have a hint of probable cause. They only had a hunch. They were both sacrificing sleep and her sanity on a hunch. If she were honest, that was the part that bothered her the most, how he could be so sure about any of this.

The jitteriness was returning and she cradled her arms to massage it away. "Carlton, take a step back and think about this for a second. Forget what you think you know. Doesn't it bother you that you don't know how you know?"

He shot her a confused look.

"Don't pretend like you didn't get that. That totally made sense."

His eyes drifted ahead of them, his hands choked the steering wheel. "Yes, it bothers me," he said after a long pause. "It bothers me that I feel like I know so much and yet so little...Like..." He reached a hand out ahead of him as if he were going to touch something on the dash. "It's like it's right in front of me, O'Hara...Like everything would start to make sense if I could just…" He dropped his hand back to the steering wheel with a sigh.

Whatever was ahead of him was gone.

Something else appeared.

"I had another dream tonight…" His voice was just above a whisper. "It was kinda like the last one. Except this time when the woman died...I dreamed that I was the one who did it."

He glanced at her, the light catching on the whites of his eyes and strangely giving him more clarity than she had seen from him in days. He was waiting for her judgment—Or, more likely, her rebuke.

Juliet shook her head. "That just sounds like guilt."

He blinked several times and returned his attention to the road. The thought clearly was being run past his arsenal of acceptable theories.

She stoked the fire. "Look, I can't explain why you seemed to know so much about Teresa Patterson. Yes, I entertained the idea that you were somehow privy to her death—But I was trying to figure things out, Carlton. You pulled off the impossible earlier today. It was weird—I won't pretend that it wasn't. But you and I both know that there is a real killer out there. And—Spoiler alert—It's not you. You dreaming that up tonight, just sounds like the guilt of not being able to prevent the Patterson woman's death. I also think it's crazy that somehow you believe that you were supposed to be able to."

She shuffled in her seat a bit, struggling for more comfort, then continued. "You are right about one thing though, I think you're close to this case somehow. Maybe the question you should try asking yourself is how."

"You think I haven't been doing that?" The passion had returned to his voice. "You think I haven't been asking myself how I could have know about her? How I could have seen her? How I can feel so strongly that something else will happen tonight?"

Juliet pursed her lips. "I once had a dream that I found a singing starfish under my desk. When I tried to catch it, it squirted me with water and drenched my shirt." She smiled when his eyes darted curiously towards her. "A few days later, I got a birthday card from my nephew. He drew SpongeBob characters all over it and one of them was a pink starfish..."

He slid his eyes back to the road and pinched the bridge of his nose. "O'Hara, please land the plane because I have no idea where you are going with this."

"I had just been transferred," she said quickly, "And was thinking a lot about my family. My nephew usually sends me birthday cards and I must've been looking forward to it without realizing it. The singing starfish represented the birthday card that I was looking forward to getting."

Carlton raised his hand into the air, flew it over the dashboard then slowly landed it onto the steering wheel.

"Your subconscious," she said with a sigh, "Is working hard to tell you something. Now, I'm no Madeline Spencer but I saw Inception and an old Hitchcock movie so I only know enough to know that sometimes it's not what you dream but what's in your dream. Like, the woods. That word. Maybe those are actual clues that you've subconsciously collected in real life. There could even be others if you could recall anything else. What else have you dreamed?"

By the look he gave her, she reasoned that he was done talking for the night. His lips were pinched closed and his dark brows had knitted together.

She let the silence pass between them, not wanting to press the issue any further—Unless his silence kept them meandering on the road that is.

For some time, his blue gaze remained fixed out ahead of them but after a stuttered sigh, he finally opened up.

"Tonight there was a new woman," he said quietly. "Blond." He narrowed his eye as if he were straining to see her face. "It was dark but even when I first saw her, I knew she was blond...I knew her."

He was quiet again, the sounds of the car engine growing to fill the void. Then he said, "She was walking towards a car—I think it was hers. Then before she could do anything, I…" He stopped and glanced at her, his eyes confessing that he was skipping past the part that most troubled him. "She died the same way."

He returned his glance to the road. "After that, there was a man. He was all black, like he was made of a shadow...But he felt real, O'Hara." His hand rubbed his chest then drifted to pull at the collar of his shirt. "He said that I was too late. Too late to stop him, too late to save her—I don't know—I just," his words dropped off.

Juliet mulled it over. "So, you're looking for this woman. You think you know her..."

His frown returned. "Yes, I..." He continued to study the road then looked up suddenly and punched the steering wheel. "Coffee," he said eagerly.

It was Juliet's turn to frown. "Coffee?"

Carlton nodded and pulled the car to a halt on the side of the road.

She looked from him to a small building across the street. A soft glow of yellow light peaked out of the large glass windows, decorated with hand-drawn pictures of lattes, muffins and teacups. The red and blue glow of the neon "Open" sign flickered at them, beckoning them inside.

Carlton unbuckled his seatbelt and pocketed his keys.

Juliet looked at him sternly. "Please don't tell me you're grabbing a coffee."

"No." He looked disgusted. "This is how," he said, pointing to the building. "Somehow this is how."

###

A bell on the door of the coffee shop announced their presence. The metallic ring gave way to faint music playing from a small device, somewhere in a back room. It was just the two of them in the lobby. The chairs were neatly arrayed and the smell of ammonia mixed with citrus hung about the air. There was a light gloss over the counter surface ahead of them, which seemed to have been just recently abandoned. The person who had left the residue was out of sight but judging by the looming sounds of clunks and thwacks, they were now on their way back.

"Hello," Juliet called, taking full note of how her partner tensed at the sound of the noise. He stood a little taller and was trying to bend his eyes around the corner of the back hallway.

The cacophony grew louder as whatever was causing the sounds drew nearer. Within moments a robust woman slipped from the small back hallway and into view. She wheeled a bucket of foaming water within feet of them and looked at them with annoyance.

"We're closed," she barked, dipping a wooden mop handle in and out of the water.

"We just want to ask you a few questions," Juliet began but the woman was quick to reply.

"Is one of those questions, what time do you close? Cause the answer to that is we already are, Baby."

Carlton gestured towards the window behind them. "Your sign's still on."

The woman put a pair of hands on her hips and stared blankly at him. "Sugar, don't get mad at me cause you missed your java fix. We're closed."

Juliet pulled out her badge with a frown. "We don't want to order anything," she said, holding the badge high enough for the woman to see. "We just need to ask you a few questions," she paused to read the woman's nametag, "Beatriz. Is that your real name?"

The woman looked at her own nametag then glanced around the room. "City full of bank robbers and drug dealers and you come into my shop at too-late-o'clock, to ask me that?"

Carlton grimaced. "Just answer the question."

Beatriz turned towards him, a look of scorn on her face. "Baby, that tone ain't going to boil water. Don't be comin' up in here all upset just 'cause you ran late. Like you don't know what time we close."

Juliet looked at Carlton then took a half step towards the woman, returning her badge to her waist clip. "You two know each other?"

"I don't know about all that. But he did the same thing the last time he was here—Walkin' in late, like I'm open all day. But why you askin' me?" She gestured towards Carlton. "Can't he talk?"

Juliet looked to Carlton, his eyes were fixed on the floor; lost in another train of thought. She was beginning to dread that look. She called to him softly. "Carlton?"

"I was here a few weeks ago," he mumbled, his eyes still scanning the green floor tiles. "But there was another woman." He looked up to Breatriz. "Where is she?"

Beatriz crossed her arms. "Lord, the man thinks I'm a mind reader," she said, more to herself that to either of them. "Who," she asked, more directly.

Carlton held his hand up as if he were trying to approximate the woman's height. "Medium build. Blond. Mid-thirties?"

The older woman frowned. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I'm asking."

Beatriz rolled her eyes. "That could be about twenty people, Boo. How about a name?"

Carlton dropped his hand with a sigh. "If I knew her name, I wouldn't be here!"

"See, that's why people don't want to do nothin' for you. Cause you so cranky!"

Juliet stepped between them. "Look, Breatriz, we're having a really tough time with a case. It may sound like a long shot but did you see anyone tonight who even remotely fits that description?"

The barista shrugged. "We've been dead most of the day. The only person that came through that door tonight, besides you two, was delivering my stock order. And he was late as anything. Dumb bus-head! He put me behind."

The sulk on Carlton's face was evident. By the looks of it, he wasn't as sure-footed here as he had been back on the trail. Juliet wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

She crossed her arms. "Since we're here, would you mind if we had a look around?"

"Go right ahead," Beatriz sang. "So long as you get off my floors so I can get them mopped and get on up outta here."

Juliet nodded Carlton towards the back room. They shuffled past the robust woman and slipped into a small hallway boasting three rooms. The first, a small counting office, was just behind them. They ducked inside of it and heard Beatriz call after them.

"And don't go gettin' any ideas about my nightly deposit. I already counted it!"

Carlton motioned to the small stack of money on the office desk. "Whoa, thirty-six bucks," he yelled back. "I wouldn't know what to do with it all."

"It'll buy you a razor and a haircut," the barista mumbled a little too loudly.

Juliet smiled though the retort was lost on Carlton. He was leafing through the papers on Beatriz's desk, pausing to read the signatures on credit card receipts.

Juliet scanned a few postings on the office bulletin board. "You know what I think?"

"No," Carlton answered absently, turning a receipt slip over in his hand. "But I'm sure you'll tell me anyway." He tossed the slip back onto the desk.

Juliet rolled her eyes and moved her attention to the office books. "It's gotta be a case. I mean, I've seen your desk—Maybe a lead brought you out here. Maybe that's how you knew what the Patterson woman would look like. Maybe that's how you even know this blond woman."

Carlton thought a moment then shook his head. "I'm not working any strangulation cases," he huffed, giving up on the stack of receipts and turning to her. "And since you want to ask how, how did I know where to find her? Where does the necklace fit in?"

Juliet frowned. "Necklace? We didn't recover a necklace."

Carlton stared at her blankly then dropped his eyes to the floor.

She walked over to him. "Carlton, the Patterson woman wasn't wearing a necklace."

When he didn't answer her, she ducked under his bowed head and caught his gaze.

"She was in my dream," he allowed, turning from her and drumming his fingers on the office desk. "They all were."

Her breath caught in her chest. "All? You only mentioned the two—The woman who screamed and the blond woman."

He shook his head, still drumming a rhythmic beat on the desk. "There's a pattern, O'Hara. I didn't see it until now. Everyone has that necklace. Everyone says that word."

She listened to the rhythm of his drumming then placed her hand over his, summoning his attention. "Hudson, right?"

He nodded. "But what does it mean?"

"Skip the word for now," she led, "Focus on the necklace. What does it look like? Is there a logo or any writing?"

"S.K.," he said absently. He hovered his thumb and index finger apart. "It's gold with a small charm that has the letters S and K."

Juliet processed the information. "Initials?"

He shrugged.

"What else could it stand for?"

Carlton dropped his hand back to the desk and shook his head. "I hadn't really thought about it." His gaze slipped past her and took in the room. "Did you find anything in here?"

She shook her head.

He motioned her towards the door and they both moved back into the hallway.

The second door was closed and just off to the right of the office. Juliet pulled on the handle, which gave way to a dark room with a protruding sink and shelves of cleaning supplies. "You may not be working on any strangulation cases but I'm certain the answer is somewhere in that mess on your desk." She pushed the door closed again. "What else are you working on?"

"Everything and nothing," Carlton sighed, leading them towards the last room in the hallway. "Sometimes it's just anything to keep from falling asleep." He paused outside of the third door. "Or from buying another sword." He started to turn the doorknob but then turned back towards her with a serious look on his face. "Don't tell Guster about that last part," he added quickly.

Juliet nodded, trying to mask her smile. "Mum's the word," she pledged, following him past the threshold of the third room.

Carlton flipped on the light switch just inside the door and stared at a mound of unprocessed inventory. "She wasn't lying about the stock order," he confessed, running a hand along the large pallet of coffee, cups and boxes of napkins, sitting in the center of the room. The inventory was stacked waist-high and wrapped in plastic wrap with a packing slip protruding from it.

"Or the delivery time," he added, reading over the packing slip. He handed the paper to Juliet then stared at the floor thoughtfully.

"What," Juliet asked, paying no attention to the invoice and dreading his now frequent far-off look.

Carlton squinted his eye and cocked his head as if there were a pain in his ear. "I thought I heard something," he finally allowed, walking briskly from the room and through the emergency exit at the end of the hall.

Juliet followed him outside and met him at the back of the building, their figures illuminated by a single streetlight.

Carlton stared intently at the ground, his head still cocked to one side.

"You heard something way out here," she led, taking a short look at the area around them.

His expression was unchanged. He sounded a quiet "Mm hmm," that was nestled deep in his throat.

"What," she followed, determination growing in her chest.

"That sound," Carlton whispered, quietly, as if trying not to disturb whatever it was that he was listening to.

Juliet tuned her ear. There was nothing to be heard; only the faint hum of the coffee shop's power and a light breeze weaving through the palm trees.

"What sound," she asked after a moment of idle listening.

Carlton squinted, still staring at the ground. "In my dream, I remember hearing a deep whooshing sound." He paused a moment then pointed a finger into the air. "Like that!"

Juliet narrowed an eye and tilted her head, straining to hear what he had heard. It wasn't long before she could detect the faint crescendo and decrescendo of a noise off in the distance.

"Cars," she asked looking up to him and finding his eyes locked on hers.

"But it was louder," he said in earnest.

"Or just closer," Juliet offered, catching Beatriz from the corner of her eye. The woman was making her way to the dumpers, loaded down with trash bags and muttering something under her breath. "Beatriz," Juliet called, summoning the barista's attention. "Is there another coffee shop near here? Perhaps a little bit closer to the highway?"

Beatriz dropped her bags and stood upright, pressing her hands to her back. "Y'all hard up for some coffee ain't cha?"

"Beatriz, forget the coffee," Juliet shouted. "We may have a lead so just answer the question."

The barista mumbled something to herself then pointed a finger at the main road. "Pam's place is up that way. And if you aint hard up for coffee then you need to get your boo cause he just took off, baby."

Juliet looked over to where Carlton had been standing and found him long gone. His rapidly moving form was barely more than a distant shadow in dark the street. She tried calling out to him but it was no use.

"Don't try and tell me he ain't got a caffeine addiction," Beatriz sighed, hoisting the bags back into the air. "That man needs a self-help group."

Juliet shuffled back towards the car, calling to the older woman over her shoulder. "Go back inside, lock your door and wait until you hear from us again."

"I'm tryin' to go home," Beatriz yelled.

"Just do it," Juliet scolded. She continued under the barista's rumbled complaining and jogged towards the car. Her stomach turned when Carlton's Fusion came into view. The doors were locked. The keys were…

Juliet tilted her head towards the sky and hissed a sigh. "He has the keys!"

She spun on her heels and ran back towards the dumpsters. "I need to use your car," she called, catching Beatriz in an awkward position with the trash bags.

The bulging bags were pressed precariously against the mouth of the dumpster and Beatriz was struggling to keep each from falling back onto her. When she saw Juliet again she let go of them entirely and allowed them to fall at her feet into a mess of coffee grounds and paper cups.

"Are you serious," Beatriz screamed.

Juliet thrust her hand forward. "Yes!"

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