Disc: please don't sue, and avoid taking with alcohol.

A/N: I was just inundated with review alerts... after going without any for several days:D Thanks, sorry for not responding to them until now! Yes, yes, I know it's a sad story, but it will get better. I promise.



Chapter 7
Lindsay: Everywhere

Lindsay's head was throbbing - a dull pain radiated from her temples and spread down her neck. Tension, she thought As she swallowed two aspirin and washed them down with a soft drink, she remembered regretfully that no medicine could ease heartache.

Stella and Flack had been questioning Travis Gonzales for nearly an hour, as she watched through the two-way mirror. It began with Travis vehemently denying any knowledge of or involvement in the crime. When confronted with the evidence of his boot print in the flour, he was now finally admitting to knowledge of the murder.

"I heard noises over there," he told Flack, "like banging and yelling and stuff. So yeah, I was going to go tell old man Rothbart to shut the hell up. When I went in the back door, I saw him lying there on the floor, with blood and flour and this other red stuff everywhere. Then I freaked out and just ran. That's how the flour got on my shoes."

"And why didn't you call the police?" Stella interjected, exasperated.

Travis glared at her. "Why? Because of this!" He waved his hand around the dark interrogation room. "I knew I'd be a prime suspect."

"You know what I think?" Flack asked, egging Travis on. "I think you went over there to shut him up, and decided to shut him up permanently. Is that what happened, Travis? It would be easier on all of us if you'd just admit to it."

Travis slammed his fist down on the table with rage. "I didn't do it!" he shouted. "That's the truth!"

Flack stood abruptly and left the room in a huff, Stella close at his heels. He explained to both Stella and Lindsay where the investigation stood. "Travis has no alibi, and we have the boot print, but we don't have enough evidence to hold him. Technically, his story could be legit. We'll need some DNA, or a fingerprint, if we want to arrest him." Flack shrugged. "I've told him not to leave town, and we'll have an officer outside his place to keep an eye on him. For now, I'm headed back to the station - I'll catch up with you tomorrow." He waved, then disappeared down the corridor.

Stella turned to Lindsay. She smiled, noting the exhaustion on Lindsay's face. "Why don't you go home and get some rest?" she suggested gently. "Tomorrow we'll start fresh, and interview the people from the Truesdales' guest list."

Lindsay didn't argue, though she wasn't sure if she was grateful for the excuse to leave, or dreading the thought of going home to her lonely apartment. But for now, her heart just wasn't in the case. Her heart was with Danny, and she had no idea where he was. She walked to the locker room, gathered her belongings, and then opened the locker next to hers: Danny's. Inside was his jacket. She gathered it up to take with her, as a sort of security blanket, savoring his familiar scent.

When Lindsay entered her dark apartment that evening, the silence was painful. There was no one there to give her a reassuring hug, to tease her mercilessly for trivial things; no one there to make her feel secure and wanted. Danny was not there, he would not be coming tonight. He was gone, but signs of him remained everywhere.

She putted around the kitchen first, trying to decide what to fix herself for dinner. She was so used to cooking for two, or at least ordering for two, as they always spent their evenings together. She noticed Danny's empty coffee mug in the sink, and his beer in her fridge. She could have heated up some leftovers, but ultimately, she decided she just wasn't hungry.

She went in the bathroom to wash her face, glad that the headache had at last begun to fade. She grinned ruefully at a damp towel, tossed in a heap on top of the hamper. Time after time she had told Danny, the towel goes in the hamper - but he never listened. He did the same thing at his own apartment, and it drove her nuts. Right now, she would be willing to pick up a million towels if it meant him coming back to her.

In the living room, she cuddled up on the cozy leather recliner chair in which Danny always sat. She noticed a section of newspaper stuck between the cushions. Picking it up, she saw Sassone's ugly, pudgy face glaring back at her. "Gang Leader Trial Begins Monday," the headline announced. With a sigh, she crumpled up the paper and let it fall to the floor.

For about an hour, Lindsay sat and stared into space. Her eyes were drifting shut, and she needed to give in and go where she dreaded going: the bedroom. She had been putting it off, but it was growing late and she needed to get to sleep. Avoiding it any longer wouldn't help matters. Physical and emotional fatigue bearing down on her, she crept towards her bedroom.

Her bed was still unmade - the sheets rumpled from the night before, the pillows in a disarray. She had been in too much of a hurry to make the bed that morning. In the middle of the mess was the shirt Danny had slept in: a balled-up white tank top. Lindsay picked it up, holding it tightly to her chest as if it were somehow a conduit between them.

She had lived 28 years of her life perfectly fine, not needing or depending on anyone else to make her content. Life had taught her independence and self-sufficiency. So how could someone she had known less than a year leave such a void behind? Perhaps, she realized, she had been missing something all along.

Turning off the lights, she crawled under the covers and curled up in the center of the bed - it made the empty space around her seem less expansive. She drifted off into a restless, troubled sleep.

She dreamt that she and Danny were being chased through a dense, dark forest as a pair of oversized, snarling wolves chased them. They crawled on their hands and knees, sliding through the thick underbrush which snagged and scraped them, but the creatures were coming faster and faster. Danny disappeared, and Lindsay kept going, unsure if she should risk going back to look for him. Lindsay awoke in a panic, sweaty and shaking, still clutching Danny's shirt.

This time, there was no one there to hold her.