A/N: If you haven't yet, please read Chapter 5. I posted 2 chapters this week. Also, I had decided to wake up early today in order to finish this chapter for everybody. This story is different from Aberrations, and it's supposed to be since it's a completely different story. It is darker and it is also a shorter story. Only four more chapters to go.

Have a good weekend everybody.

Ch. 6: California

GIL

March 19, 2011

Los Angeles

He was sitting in the wildlife conservation main office in California where Sara worked. He'd come to visit her, as promised, and her co-worker, Andrew, grinned as he said, "Sounds like someone I need to get to know. What else does Harvey have to say?"

They had gotten into talking about Andrew Harvey, a British author and spiritual scholar. "Well," he said as he let out a sigh, "he says a lot. My favorite quote of his is: "All the great warriors of divine love have been forged in the dark night, because that's the only place where you can forge that kind of warrior." Having been through that dark night, I've been looking for someone who can walk through it with me, to remind me of the light when I'm too blind to see it."

As he said those words, his mind strayed to Sara. He turned in the chair and locked his eyes onto hers and he smiled softly. She had that look; the one that told him everything. She was hanging onto every word he spoke, taking it all in, learning, but also she was falling.

She was falling so hard, so fast, that he was afraid of what would happen once she reached the bottom. Would she crash to the ground and burst into flames? Or, would she never hit it? Would she float a while in that blissful ignorance of blind love, or would the veil clear and she would see the mask her wore?

Either way, he had been telling the truth. He lived in the dark. It was where he breathed. And she was his only light. And if that light were to ever go out, he'd be trapped in the darkness alone forever. He didn't want that. He wanted a companion.

He wanted her.

Arvin Thorpe's basement to anyone else would be considered horrifying. He never flinched at the sight of the basement because he had built it, just as he'd buried everything horrifying under the ground. Graves of the dead he'd buried, the ghosts he hid, and the past that made him what he was. All buried. Confucius had said, "Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves." He'd been born in California. It was where both his parents lived and died. And he knew that it would be where they would bury him once he was gone.

Leaving the basement, he grabbed the whiskey bottle, refilled his glass, and then paced the floor. A song played through his head, sung not by the band that had made the song famous, but by a street performer he'd met once. He'd been walking around the streets of Los Angeles, when he heard the strumming of the guitar and the voice of the singer who'd sung it as he rounded a corner, heading for the beach. Passing the man on the street, he was struck by what he'd heard and had to stop.

~"Put a candle in the window

'Cause I feel I've got to move

Though I'm going, going

I'll be coming home soon

Long as I can see the light—"~

Trying once again, he closed his eyes and tried to feel his light all the way in Las Vegas. He'd felt her before; had heard her laughter, replacing the sadist one of his father's. He had felt her hand on the back of his neck. Heard her words of "I love you" before he'd pushed it down and entered Arvin Thorpe's house.

The darkness had enveloped him once he walked inside, which caused him to no longer feel her or hear her.

His light was gone.

~"Pack my bag and let's get moving

'Cause I'm bound to drift a while—"~

"If I'm going to abstain then I have to find my own way. It's an addiction, there are ways to supplement the desire and urge," he had told her when she'd challenged him on why he couldn't go without killing.

"And if you don't, you'll relapse and someone will die," she had said.

He looked away from her and stared out the window. Out over the dark water and toward the night sky. "Why is that such a bad thing if they are killers and rapists who prey on the innocent?" he asked her.

~"Though I'm gone, gone

You don't have to worry, no

Long as I can see the light—"~

She had been right. He had relapsed and someone died.

He remembered standing in Syd Goggle's bedroom, looking down at the damage he'd done out of pure jealous rage after feeling rejected. In his mind he'd quoted Nietzsche: "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

And in that moment he'd questioned himself. Could he love? Could anyone love him? Had he become a monster. Then in his search to find the answers, he'd tried to change himself; to prove that he wasn't a monster. To prove that he was still human, at least a part of him still knew how to be. His questions led to answers, and then more questions and answers, but the one thing he never answered was the question about him being a monster.

Sara had seen him for what he was, saw the killer, and she still loved, but…that didn't mean he wasn't a monster. That just meant she could love the monster. She could shake hands with it, much like he had. And she had, without even realizing it.

He realized now, pacing the wooden floors of Arvin Thorpe's home like a panther whose will was no longer caged, that he hadn't been the one who'd gazed into the abyss so long that it swallowed him within and dragged him down. He was the monster that awaited anyone who gazed long enough into him.

He had been exactly what Sara needed him to be. He read her, adjusted himself, and then gave her what she needed in order for her to grow strong, confident, and to know herself. She'd been fighting her nature for such a long time. At first, she'd directed her anger inward. Depressed girl, even suicidal. Cutting herself to release the pain she'd felt. All that anger had been misplaced into self-hatred. There were only a few times in his life where he could remember hating himself. And both times he had gone to Heather to exorcise his demons.

They were the same in so many ways. Both lost their parents. Neither had any real family. Sara had feelings of guilt for the lives she'd taken, but she also had the need to bring justice to the men who took her innocence. They both had a sense of fulfilling their own justice. Both broken by the world but she was pure and good. Sara wasn't a killer by nature. She'd killed those she had no choice but to kill in self-defense.

She was a fighter. A survivor. She was quiet, pensive, and intelligent. She did her job with no indication she wanted anything more; she wasn't career orientated nor held any political ambitions.

But she wanted something that she fought so hard against that it had driven her away. Burning deep down in her heart, she wanted a purpose. She wanted power. She had wanted the control; to be the one in control because she couldn't control anything else in her life. Not the stalker ex-husband, not her parents, not her abusive ex-boyfriends, and most certainly not her emotions. Her anger ruled her heart when she let it.

William Shakespeare had written: "This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in."

There was where they differed. He acknowledged the darkness within. He had accepted it, lived in it, breathed it. She hadn't. She was still trapped in a prison she had no idea that she was even in. She needed him just as much as he needed her. He was her protector; her guide and stability.

And she was…

~"Guess I've got that old traveling bone

'Cause this feeling won't leave me alone

But I won't, won't

Be losing my way, no, no

Long as I can see the light—"~

She was his light. He had to find her, if not in his heart or soul, then in his memories. Downing the whiskey, his mind started to drift and as it drifted, a presence was felt at his side and he glanced over to see Sara next to him.

Placing her hand on the back of his neck, she asked him, "Couldn't sleep?"

He sighed as he leaned back into the hand, closing his eyes. Then he opened them and looked out at the water. He was sitting on the bow of the boat, thinking, and enjoying the warm air on his face. No, he couldn't sleep.

Taking the glass from his hand, she took a sip of it before sitting down next to him. Offering the glass back to him, he took it and took another drink before placing it on the deck. Staring up at the sky, he told her, "September skies are a showcase for what's called the "Summer Triangle". Three stars shining directly overhead after sunset. The equinox ushers in the official change of seasons. And it's happening tonight. See," he said as he removed her hand from the back of his neck and putting it in his, raised it to the night sky as he pointed at the stars. "The bright three points of the "Summer Triangle" are among the first stars you can see after sunset: Deneb, Vega, and Altair." He told her as he guided her hand from star to star to star. "It's called an asterism, as it's not an official constellation. The triangle is the key to spotting multiple other constellations. Its three stars are themselves the brightest in their respective constellations: Deneb, in Cygnus the Swan," he said as he showed her the constellation. "Vega, in Lyra the Harp." Tracing the stars with their intertwined hands, he felt her leaning closer to his body. "And Altair, in Aquila the Eagle. There are also so many other, smaller constellations within the triangle, but without a telescope…"

"That's what I should have gotten you for your birthday."

He smiled as he told her, "I can get my own telescope and I'm loving the underwater scooter. It has a waterproof fish finder with GPS equipped with mapping software and sonar imaging."

The smile on her face matched his own as she looked at him. And in her eyes, he saw the brightest light that he'd ever seen. Polaris, the north star that had guided those at sea, and any lost soul, for generations appeared dim compared to his girl's eyes. She was his north star.

Wherever she was, she lit his way home. And his home was in her heart. Always.

~"Put a candle in the window

'Cause I feel I've got to move

Though I'm going, going

I'll be coming home soon

Long as I can see the light—"~

Grabbing the disposable cell phone that sat on the table, he flipped it open and dialed a number. Sitting down at the table, he picked up the bottle and refilled the glass as he listened to the ringing.

"Hello?"

Leaning back in the wooden kitchen chair, staring at the bourbon on the table in front of him, he took a breath as he finally said, "I wanted to thank you."

She was quiet for a moment, obviously surprised by the phone call. "Why are you calling—"

"I needed to talk," he said as he let his body and mind finally relax as he grabbed the glass and took a drink. "And I want him to know where I'm at."

The quietness returned as she took a moment to consider his words, his tone, and come to an understanding. She knew him; could read him, better than anyone he'd ever met. Even more so than Sara.

She was waiting for him to explain. He told her, "The last time we spoke, you told me that Ray Langston had been in your house. You left him alone. I believe he put listening devices, maybe even cameras, in your sitting room."

"How do you know that?"

"Because, that's what I would have done if I were him. I fooled him once, and he has a massive ego. He wouldn't want to get fooled again. He's listening, if not right now, then he'll hear your one-sided conversation later." He took another drink and then told her, "Ask me, by name, to come...do something. Say anything, just mention my name."

It didn't take long for her to say, "Grissom, why don't you come here. We can talk—"

"I'm not in Las Vegas. I'm not even in Nevada."

"Where are you?" she asked, quickly picking up what he wanted her to do. She was that good as his dominant. She adjusted and let him steer where he wanted the conversation to go.

"California," he answered.

"California?" She asked in surprise. "Why—"

"I need to talk to her." She was quiet on the other end of the phone. She understood that this part was to be left unsaid. It was private. When she didn't immediately answer, he said, "Heather, all you have to do is give your cell phone to Sally. Sally can give it to Sara. I would have asked for Sally's phone number, but as her dominant, and her wife, you would want to protect her. Please, Heather, I need…I can't—..." he took a breath and picked up the glass and took another drink. Savoring the drink, he stared at the opposite wall, glanced at the clock and saw it was eleven o'clock at night.

In one hour it would be March 20th.

"You said you wanted to thank me. For what?" she asked.

Pushing a breath out of his chest, he knew that he'd be honest with her; he always was. But, he also needed her to as he'd instructed. So, he told her, "For helping me. When we first met, I had a shell, a wall, around my heart. I had lost my faith in humanity. The only truth I knew was…empirical science. I didn't know how to relate to people. I didn't know how to feel. How to love…I just wanted to thank you for–for opening my heart. I was able to love someone, to love Sara…and she's…she's my best friend. I used to only be able to talk to you. You were my "safe place". Now, she is. And I need to speak with her, please."

Heather no longer hesitated as she told him, "I can't talk to you any longer. I'm supposed to meet Sally in the morning for breakfast at the hotel and it's getting late."

"Thank you, Heather. You truly are a great friend."

"Grissom, take care of yourself. You sound…different."

He wanted to laugh at that. He was different. He was no longer hiding from the truth. The truth was, Heather was his friend, but despite that fact he had manipulated her with his words. She had no choice other than to help him and do as he asked.

Truth was, he wanted what he wanted, and he wanted Sara. He always had. Ever since they first met.

~"Long as I can see the light-"~

Ignoring everyone else in the restaurant, his eyes followed her. She always looked in a hurry; rushing around from table to table, one customer to another. Her hair was up out of her eyes and off her face and under all that makeup he saw her bruises. He was the only one who saw. Everyone else was too busy ignoring her, or hitting on her, to notice.

But he did. Her eyes were sad. Dark circles under them from lack of sleep. Turning toward him, finally, she smiled as she walked over to his table. There was a gap between her two front teeth. Diastema.

She asked him what he wanted and his only response was: "you". But, that wasn't on the menu. Instead, he ordered a beer. Then a coffee. He got a refill as he continued to watch her. She was beautiful.

Like a butterfly wrapped in a cocoon, she was waiting to emerge. She just didn't know how. Her shoes were worn, dirty, and she always took the bus. Her money either went all to her necessary expenses or possibly to pay for school. She looked about college age.

Having no other experience with women other than Pamela and Elizabeth, he was hesitant to say anything. He didn't want to ask her out. He wanted to show her how beautiful she was. How she brought life to an otherwise dead heart.

Night after night, he kept watching her as he ordered the same thing: one beer followed by two coffees. He couldn't get her face out of his head. He thought by sketching it that it would help, but it didn't. It made his obsession worse. Sketching her face over and over his sketchbook.

She almost caught him once, as he'd been lost in his thoughts of her, but had managed to close the book in time before she saw what he had drawn.

It took time, patience, and a lot of poker games before he found himself sitting in his car outside the restaurant waiting for her to come outside.

Then like a spider luring a fly, he weaved his web as he loosened the connection wire to the positive post on the car battery and caught her in his trap.

~"Long as I can see the light."~

SARA

Las Vegas

The lights from outside the windows flashed across the ceiling as she laid on the bed in the hotel room. It'd been a long couple of weeks. A lot of meetings and a lot of waiting. She knew what the FBI was doing, using her to try to draw Gil out into the open. They had given him an ultimatum. Little did they know that an ultimatum was the worst thing to do. Gil didn't respond to ultimatums. He wouldn't be able to choose, for one, and secondly, it wasn't part of his plan. She honestly had no idea what his plan was, other than her part in it.

Despite what FBI Agent Moore was saying in the press, she would get her immunity. It wasn't up to Agent Moore. It was up to the D.A. and the A.G., and so far with all the information and evidence she'd provided, they had no reason not to allow her to get back to her life. They couldn't prove otherwise and the information she had provided had led them to South America.

That was where FBI Agent Moore was now. He'd taken his taskforce and headed down yesterday and she was once again waiting. Waiting for something, she didn't know. Aside from the occasional visitor, mostly FBI Agents, Sally had been her only constant ally. She was also one hell of an Attorney. Letting her do her job, she stayed mostly in the hotel room, listening to music, reading, watching bad daytime TV, and ordering room service which the Feds were paying for.

As she stared up at the ceiling, watching the flashing lights from the Las Vegas strip, she let her thoughts drift.

~"Lady, come into my room

I'll pretend I'm sleeping, half an eye on you

And slow, you take off your clothes—"~

In her nightmare there was yelling. Loud and sharp but muffled in a static of a buzzing white noise. She was in her room, sitting on the floor in the corner; the wooden walls and bookshelves, the bed, they blurred in and out of her vision as a blissful fog threatened at the edges of her vision. A bang came out of nowhere. A fist into the wall right behind her, causing her to jump to her feet. Hurrying across the room, she sat down beside the dresser as the yelling continued as she drifted into the fog as she let it take control.

The blurred image of his mother appeared over her. She was bleeding, shaking, pointing angrily at her like she was wrong and at fault and everything was fine until she came along and ruined everything. Her eyes welled up in tears, her mind tried to not believe the words as the white noise turned into a steady hum of a flatlining heart as the memory of her dying father flashed in front of her eyes. And it had been her mother who had struck the deadly blow into his chest with a kitchen knife.

The next thing she knew her father was in front of her on the kitchen floor; his eyes wide with shock in death, but something else. Something more familiar than that. It was fear and pain. Blame. His eyes were blaming her. Looking down, she saw her hand wrapped around the end of the knife that was stuck in his chest. Pulling it out, she stared at the sharp bloodied blade and dropped it as she looked back at her mother.

In her eyes she saw the same rage that rushed through her as the noise of the flatline heart grew louder. Looking back down at her dead father, she screamed at the blood pooling around his body.

~"You knew I was watching, said "How'd you like the show?"

Then I told ya I loved you and you said "Yeah, I know"—"~

Waking from her nightmare, she gasped out loud as she awoke to be staring up at the ceiling. Her heart was pounding, lungs burned, as she fought to breathe. There was a clenching pain in her chest as if something was pressing down on top. She was suffocating. Blinked up at the white ceiling, the orange glow of dawn breaking through the portals and the open hatch, her head started pounding. The pounding fueled by more than just the assaulting memory, but the wine she'd consumed the night before.

She felt tired, and sore, and in pain. Most of all, she felt like he was dying.

"Your hand shakes."

She blinked back and turned her head. Gil was in bed next to her, staring at her without a sense of concern or even worry. Just there. She went to speak, or smile back, but found she couldn't pry her jaw apart. It was tense, not only because her body felt as if it was in a frozen state of panic, but because she couldn't find the words. She couldn't get the memory of killing her father out of her head. That wasn't supposed to be her life.

But it was. She had stopped the abuse, the cycle, by becoming a killer. She'd killed her abuser. Like Gil had killed his abuser. And now, he was a serial killer of abusers. What did that say about her?

"It's like you know I'm here with you in bed, so you compound all the trembling and thrashing your body wants to do into one central location so as not to accidentally hurt me." Gil looked down and then back up to her face. "Sara, darlin'? Your hand. It's shaking."

At the sound of her name, she flinched slightly as she tried to focus. She pulled her right hand up and laid it on her chest as it violently trembled. Trying to willed it to stop but she couldn't force it to obey. It was like it was a separate limb on someone else's body, completely out of her control. She couldn't even control her own hand from shaking.

She turned away from Gil as she tried to steady her breathing, to ease the pressure out of her chest, and to stop the shaking. Her left hand grasped hold of her right as she tried to stop it by applying pressure or to massage it, but it still shook. Closing her eyes, she told herself to chill out. To just breathe. Steady, she quietly told her mind in a silent mantra in her head when she couldn't calm down. Steady…"Tell your mind to steady itself," Gil had written to her once in an email.

Letting out a breath, she tried to calm down, to steady her mind like he'd told her to do but it wasn't working.

"Lycaeides melissa samuelis…Karner butterfly. Originally from Karner, New York, they are the rarest butterflies on earth, having become nearly extinct due to deforestation. The way they live is very specific, and they need a certain habitat to survive. They can only be found in the Northeast part of the United States, in areas like New York and New Hampshire," Gil spoke to her as she kept her eyes closed.

His voice was so steady and smooth, calm and gentle, that it floated through the harsh pounding in her head and forced her to listen.

"Karner Blue caterpillars can only feed on the leaves of the wild lupine plant, which severely restricts where they can survive. Habitats have been lost as a result of land development and lack of natural disturbance, such as, you know, wildfire and grazing by large mammals. Such disturbance helps to maintain the butterfly's natural habitat by setting back encroaching forests, encouraging lupine and flowering plant growth. The Karner blue butterfly's rarity and beauty make it a desirable addition to anyone's butterfly collection. Including mine. But, because butterfly numbers are so low, the collection of even a few individuals could harm the butterfly population. But…that didn't stop me from taking one once I found it."

She opened her eyes and turned to look at Gil who was staring up at the ceiling. He appeared relaxed and calm; steady.

"I was in Maryland, walking around this property of this single-story house. Huge property. Plenty of room for a garden, had a secluded boat dock off the Potomac River. And trees, lots of trees: pines, hickory's and plenty of vegetation. There's this dirt path that cuts through the trees; you walk for five minutes and you'll arrive at a cabin. Along the walk I saw Ilex opaca, American Holly's, thuja occidentalis, Arborvitae, they're white cedars. There were red cedars, Juniperus virginiana. Through the magnolias I spotted them: wild lupine plants. I couldn't believe it. I have no idea if they were native to that area or if the previous owner of the property planted them, but…there they were. So, I searched around and…I saw these lime green cocoons. Then I saw a transparent one." His eyes widened and mouth twitched up into a brief smile for a moment at the memory before he shook his head, saying, "I was awestruck. I could tell by the black and blue, and white, what it was. A Karner blue. Right there in front of me. It was so beautiful. It reminded me of you." He stopped talking, turned his head to look at her, and smiled. "That's why I sent it to you. A rare beauty only for me to have."

Tears welled in her eyes as she softly smiled. She realized that her hand had stopped trembling and she hadn't even realized it. She also felt calmer, more settled and at ease. How did he do that? She remembered being a child, scared and alone in her bedroom, thinking about wanting to meet someone nice. Someone who was like her: read books, loved animals and nature. Someone to save her.

Gil had saved her. He existed. Resting her hand on the back of his neck and seeing his soft smile before he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, she told him, "This isn't my life. This is a fantasy of a life I could've had."

Opening his eyes, he looked at her in confusion. He was thinking, in his head, trying to figure that out. Reaching up, he placed his hand over her's as he said, "No, darlin', I'm real. This is real."

~"Babe I thought I could die before I'd ever let go

Well, I fell under a spell

All the love you gave me, I took it from myself—"~

Her throat was tense, and it wasn't from the hangover. He moved closer as he pulled her into a hug then he leaned and kissed her before moving away. "I'll get you some water and aspirin, then I'll start on breakfast."

She watched as he got up, slipped on a pair of sweatpants, and left the room. She laid there and tried to get her body to move. Before she could manage it, he was back with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Another kiss, this one to her head as he sat everything on the table next to the bed, before he was gone again. She took the pills, drank the water, and smelt the brewing coffee in the air. It was time to move, to get up, even though everything hurt. Her head from the hangover and her heart from her husband's words.

She stood and was surprised when a towel fell off her waist to the floor. She'd fallen asleep with a towel wrapped around her body? Shaking her head, she slowly went about the task of dressing. A two-piece swimsuit and Gil's shirt. Good enough. She padded her way the short distance up the steps into the cabin. He stood at the windows, looking out as the sun rose up over the horizon. Without a shirt on, she could see the tension in his shoulders, how his muscles flexed and moved as he raised the cup of coffee to his lips.

"Coffee's on the table."

She glanced at the cup already on the table but ignored it for the moment as she eased up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned into his back, and sighed in complete content as she whispered, "Thank you," before kissing his back and neck.

She sat at the table and pulled the cup of hot coffee closer as she held it for a moment before bringing it up to her lips. Moments later a plate of toast and a vegan omelet appeared in front of her along with a bowl of oatmeal with fresh grapes on top, and a banana.

"Potassium helps with hangovers. Eat."

She glared over at him as he sat across from her with his own plate and coffee. Peeling the banana first, she ate it. Testing her stomach to make sure she wouldn't get sick. She didn't feel sick, but that didn't mean anything. Next, she started on the toast and oatmeal. She would save the omelet for last.

"Still drawing a blank on what happened last night?"

Frowning at him, she said, "I got a pretty good idea."

"You broke the thru-hull."

"If I remember correctly, you are the one who broke the thru-hull."

He glared over at her, his eyes narrowing, and said, "Your foot—"

"Your kiss."

He smirked and laughed a little as he picked up his cup of coffee. "You win."

~"And no matter what you tried

I wouldn't let you help me or look you in the eye—"~

It had been so easy to get wrapped up in slow paced life on the boat. Time didn't matter on the ocean when they had nowhere to go. But over time, reality had a way of creeping in. That had been her problem. Reality. It always has been. She'd been running from it since she was a child. Drifting along when things got hard before finally running away. She had wanted to run away when things got hard on the boat; looking for an excuse to leave.

~"I remember the day that we said our goodbyes

Though I can't for the life of me remember why—"~

Why had she gone off with him? Of course it was love, but had it been something else? Gil seemed to think so. And the question hadn't been a new one. It was the same thing she'd asked herself after she found out what he'd been doing when he wasn't at home.

She still recalled seeing him, the look of disbelief on his face when he saw her at his warehouse when she was not supposed to be there. Her shock had turned to anger and then fear as she realized what she was seeing. But then he started talking and she'd seen the look of absolute honesty in his eyes, heard his defeat, and knew that he would never hurt her.

But, somehow, someway, she was able to accept it. She attributed it to knowing him; to always being able to rely on him, and that she loved him. All those things were associated with Gil; the entomologist and CSI. Could she attribute those same things to the killer that he was? She had, but she didn't know why.

~"I'm still going to town, not too often

Nails in my coffin

To Old Lang Syne

Every time, every time—"~

"And if you don't, you'll relapse and someone will die."

He looked away from her and stared out the window. "Why is that such a bad thing if they are killers and rapists who prey on the innocent?" he asked her as he kept his eyes out on the water.

She had no answer because she realized then how conflicted she was in her belief. On one hand, she knew how dangerous it was for him and how wrong it was legally and morally. On the other hand, she felt okay and even, in a way, powerful when she had held the control for him.

They hadn't needed that dynamic in their relationship since he went after McKeen. And she remembered that in that moment, watching him and knowing what he was going to do and the reasons why, she hadn't wanted him to stop.

He shifted his eyes over to her as he asked, "How about you?"

"Me?" she asked in confusion.

He tilted his head at her as if studying who she was and said, "Sara...have you asked yourself why you're with me? How is it that you can love me?"

She was startled by the question as she felt the conflict grow deep inside of her. She knew her reasons for loving him, but maybe the reason why she wanted to know more was because of her own self-reflection. Her own questioning of the exact same questions he threw her way now.

Coming to a quick answer, she said, "The heart wants what the heart wants."

"True, but... that's not an answer, is it." When she could only look away as she feared the answer that burned in her heart, he stood and grabbed the book as he leaned down. After kissing her head, he said, "When you know-"

"Gil," she said as she looked up at him while the fear burned inside her heart, "where I can see you, you can see me. You have always been able to read me better than anyone I've ever met." He stared down at her and waited for her to say or ask what he already knew.

Then she stopped herself. She couldn't voice it.

As he looked down at her in a way that reminded her of their first meeting, with such intrigue and contemplation in his eyes, but most of all, understanding, she knew he'd known for years what was inside. He knew her.

And he wanted her to know herself.

They met for the first time because she had killed a man. She had become what her mother had been and what Gil was: a murderer.

Was that why she could love him? Was that why she was there with him? She understood?

What was it that burned in her heart?

~"I was afraid of time

If I didn't change me, I would fall behind—"~

Knowing what he was doing to criminals, murderers and rapist, and other serial killers in order to stop there from being more victims had been both frightening and enthralling and that made her stomach twist into knots. How could she think that? How could she be okay with the way that Gil could systematically take apart another human being. The most chilling thing of all was that throughout everything, all the killing he'd done and turning himself into the police, that Gil never seemed angry, or sorry, or anything. There was no emotion at all. He stayed calm and distant.

But under that calm she saw the rage. It was in his eyes. It really made her wonder what caused all that rage in her husband. He truly was a tortured soul. And it wasn't that she wanted to change him. It was that she didn't want him to change. She thought once that if she held the control for him, if he left it up to her then she would lose herself in it. She didn't trust herself with him, because she didn't trust her own rage. Her own anger.

Even though Gil never talked too much about his life or anything, having spent time with him over the last twenty-one years, she knew him when no one else did. In the silence that engulfed the hotel room she could still hear him even though he was so far away.

~"And so I went on the road

On to California, here I am alone—"~

His nightmares, night terrors and the panic that rushed through his head at night while he slept was the same that rushed through hers. She remembered how his jerking body and screaming had woken her in the middle of the night. To calm him down, she had placed a hand to his chest and rubbed over his pounding heart. In that moment she felt an ache in her own chest at the pain she saw on his face before he finally calmed and relaxed. That was before he started sleepwalking.

The darkness in Gil's eyes weren't just from the dark of the room, but from a life that had seen more darkness and death than light and love. The man was in constant pain, whether it be physical or mental, it was never-ending. Just like her.

He dreamed of death and of killing, and so did she.

He was the same man she'd fallen in love with all those years ago. It was just now they had no break from each other. She had no break from him, the boat, the water, and from her life. She was an escape artist. That was what she was.

"You said I can read you better than anyone. Whenever you don't want to admit to something, the way you feel or a truth you know about yourself, you turn it onto the other person."

She realized what Gil had been asking her. She knew why she understood him so well. He wasn't the one in denial. She was.

He stared at their hands as he shook his head. He didn't understand. She could tell he was struggling to understand. "'There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us...with or without repentance'." Looking up at her, he said, "Charles Dickens."

"Is that what's haunting you? Your memory and...remorse, or, your lack of it?"

Was that what was haunting her? Her memory and remorse. The lack of it that she had for Gil's victims. When she thought of those he'd killed, she didn't feel regret. She didn't feel any sympathy. She felt like they got what they deserved. She felt…She was glad he'd done it.

She turned away as she felt her chest clench tight. Gil truly was damaged and broken by the world. He used his mind, his love of science, to break people, to hurt and torment them, and to kill. She was truly damaged and broken by the world because she loved the man who did those things. At first, she wasn't okay with the killing only because she was afraid of what that meant for her.

Then McKeen happened and she would have been okay if he'd gone through with it and had killed him. Gil had left McKeen alive but she couldn't shake the feeling. She wanted it to happen.

~"I know how to do right but I've been getting it wrong—"~

As she continued to stare up at the ceiling, thinking about the man she loved and the burning of anger that kept growing inside her chest, she understood an undeniable truth of her own. It would never stop. It would be a life-long struggle between the monster Gil truly was underneath and the good man he thought he was.

And in that struggle, he would suffer; he was suffering right now. They both were. This separation was worse than she thought it would be, but it had given her the time she needed away from him to reflect, to think, and to confront what she'd been running from for so long.

Why was she with him? Why was she with a serial killer? It wasn't just love. It was understanding. It was because what burned in Gil's heart also burned in her own.

Looking into Gil was like looking into herself.

~"Now I'm sitting here hoping I'll come back to form."~

Finally feeling the weight of tiredness pressing down on her, she rolled away from the windows, pulled the blanket up and closed her eyes to sleep.

The next morning had started slow. She'd gotten breakfast, took a long warm bath, and then waited for Sally to arrive for their usual daily meeting. And she also was someone to talk to. She was actually funny and easy to get along with. Heather, from the little time she'd spent with the other woman, was also so tense and serious. Sally could be that way as well but once they were left alone, all their walls down and they could both relax, she had shown the woman she was underneath the pretense. Easy-going, funny, and quiet. She also loved to read and even though she preferred cats to dogs, she was enjoying Edmond's company and would sometimes bring him by the hotel room.

That morning she brought Edmond with her, and she couldn't help but wrap her arms around Gil's dog and hug him tight before petting him. "Once this is over, I will be taking him with me."

Sally smiled as she shut the hotel room door. "We wouldn't expect anything else. Even though Heather and I will greatly miss him, he is your dog. We knew it was only temporary."

"If we would have thought he could live on the boat with us and have a happy existence he would have come with us. But life on a boat for a dog is no life. Nowhere to run or go to the bathroom. Though, Gil would have easily been able to train him; it still would have been a difficult life." Finally looking up at Sally as she petted Edmond, she saw the hesitation in her eyes. "Something's wrong?"

She shook her head as she walked over to her. "I don't know if something is wrong or not." She pulled out a cell phone and held it out to her. "He wants to talk to you."

Taking the phone, she looked at it. Gil wanted to talk to her.

"He said he'd call at twelve o'clock."

Looking at the clock, she saw it was almost noon.

Sally turned and left the hotel room, giving her the privacy that she wanted without her even asking for it.

Sitting down on the bed, Edmond jumped up beside her and laid down with his head on her lap. At exactly twelve o'clock, it rang. She didn't know why but her hands shook as she quickly answered it and said into the phone, "Gil?"

There was an audible sigh of relief and a smile in his voice as he said, "Good morning, darlin'."

She smiled through the tears of relief that hit her. Wiping the tears away, she nearly laughed as she told him, "Good morning to you. I've missed you."

"Me too."

They were both silent for a long moment, she was at a loss for words while he was thinking. She knew that this wasn't a social call; he wouldn't risk it if he wasn't important. What he had to tell her was critical and even though she wanted to spend hours talking to him and never letting him go, she knew this had to be quick, so whatever he had to tell her she wouldn't interrupt him or delay it.

Maybe he needed the prompt because he was still quiet. "Gil, babe, whatever you have to tell me, just say it." At the name "Gil", Edmond perked up and looked around as he started whining. "Edmond's here with me and he misses you too."

"Give him a big hug for me."

"You got it," she told him as she hugged the boxer who wagged his tail and looked expectantly at her. Waiting for him to speak again, she petted Edmond behind his ears as she thought about hopefully one day again, waking up in bed on a lazy Sunday morning with the warmth of Gil next to her and Edmond at the foot of the bed.

"Okay…" he said after a moment's consideration. "There is a woman, posing as a maid for the hotel. She'd be blond with a Star of David necklace—"

"Yeah, Tina. She's been in the room a few times. How did you know that?"

He was silent again before telling her, "She's helping Nate Haskell. She's there to take you."

Her eyes widened as her hand gripped Edmond's fur into her hand. Tina was working for Nate Haskell? She thought about the blond who wore the necklace. She'd been quiet and would come in and change the sheets and give her more towels and soaps. There hadn't been anything indicating that she was a threat. She never lingered or asked her questions.

Then he surprised her as he told her, "You're going to let her."

Then, he told her his plan. It was quite simple but, in the end, it would guarantee what they both wanted: for her to have her freedom. Looking down at Edmond, she knew what she had to do. She'd known this day would come eventually ever since he escaped prison and got on the jet.

She had known that it would end this way. It was the only way it could end.

"Sara," he said. "Are you there?"

She'd realized she'd gone silent. Rubbing over Edmond's head, she nodded into the phone. "I'm here."

He had resigned himself to this fate a long time ago she realized as she heard him tell her, "I love you."

Feeling the tears in her eyes again, she told him, "I love you too."

TBC…

Disclaimer songs used/mentioned: "Long As I Can See the Light" cover by Ted Hawkins (original by Creedence Clearwater Revival), and "California" by Mick Flannery.

Note about Ted Hawkings. He was an actual street performer in Los Angeles, California.