Brian's reaction to her new hair style was expected in Olivia's mind, and perhaps normal if it were any other week of the year. He was shocked that she'd altered herself so quickly, separating herself from her former reflection. Even Olivia knew the psychology, but she hated the forced smile, the lie that he liked it. No, he would be horrified if he knew the truth that she'd not only held a gun to her head, but also maimed herself in the process.
As soon as Amanda had dropped her off at Brian's, she'd seen the look on his face, the pity and concern that made her skin crawl. He couldn't ask her if she was okay, and she couldn't tell him either. She hadn't realized how little they spoke of their feelings until now. The things that had haunted them before had been long ago, buried deep, easy to forget. The nightmare that now engulfed them had left them barely hanging on to each other's fingertips.
He'd hugged her. She didn't feel it.
Listening to the sound of her own voice, conjuring some excuse to go hide beneath the sheets in the bed, left her achingly self aware. Every syllable sounded strange, and when he released her, she could feel every muscle and limb straining as she walked numbly towards the bedroom.
Lying down on the bed, she pulled the comforter over her head, and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out all the sensations that she could. It was so unlike the peace this morning in Amanda's bed, and the realization left a wedge of panic in her chest. Leaving Amanda side was like coming down or sobering up. The soothing effects of her presence wore off quickly, leaving her to face the harsh, cold grasp of reality alone. She was afraid to sleep, but even more afraid to open her eyes.
For several, long, excruciating minutes she stared at the twirling blackness behind her lids, praying for some reprieve from the pounding of her heart, and the sweating of her palms. Every creak in the apartment walls, and every car horn blasting from beyond the walls jolted her body.
What felt like hours seemed to pass until the lines of wakefulness and sleep blurred into a pliable dream, her anxious thoughts turned into a self destructive nightmare. The images of the beach house had haunted her for days, but now the walls fell away, plunging her into a darkened world where she wandered through the empty halls of Mercy Hospital. They stretched on ahead of her, and behind her, to her left and to her right.
She was looking for something...or someone….
"Miss Benson?"
The voice echoed behind her, and she turned, her head swimming with the movement. Squinting through the hazy vision of the dream, she watched a figure appear from the depths of the abysmal hall.
Erica?
She recognized sexual assault nurse whom she'd spent two hours with, collecting evidence from her body and strength from her heart. Even inside the recesses of the dream, she balked at the sight of her, the tangible tightening of her throat clinching in an even more visceral element.
"I wasn't expecting you for two more weeks." Erica said, smiling as she walked closer.
"What's in two weeks?" Olivia heard herself asking, the icy fingers of apprehension slipping through her stomach with paralyzing dread.
A frown crossed the nurse's pretty face, and she tilted her head, slowly.
"You're ultrasound." She said at last, as if baffled by her ignorance. "You're pregnant, Olivia."
The words seemed to echo through her brain, resounding against her temples like clashing symbols. All she could feel was a horrific doom, sucking her chest into an endless vacuum. She'd imagined this moment a hundred times with longing and hopefulness, yet here all she could feel was dread, imagining the never ending cycle of rape and conception that was her life, her mother's life, and now this unborn child's.
Before her dream body could fully go through the motions, she was running, fleeing as fast as she could through the hospital corridors. At any moment, she expected to see a glowing, red exit sign, but with every turn, she became more confused until it felt like circles upon circles passing beneath her feet.
At last, an elevator appeared ahead of her, it's doors slowly yawning open with the promise of escape. With some sense of relief, she sprinted towards the inviting exit, but when she passed through, the floor fell away suddenly, revealing itself as a bottomless pit, plunging her to the darkness below….
She awoke with a start, gasping as she found herself tearing at the bed sheets. Still reeling from the dream, she heard herself choking over the ghost cries of her nightmare.
Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, the sheets tangled around her legs as she struggled to sit up on the bed. Her heart knocked heavily against her ribs and the blood rushed in her ears as she struggled to ground herself. Pushing her hair away from her perspiring face, she forced herself to lock her eyes on the walls around her.
It was just a dream. Just a dream.
The past week's time had been a diligent teacher in overcoming the aftermath of such a nightmare, but this time, she felt far more shaken. She'd dreamed of blood and of rape, of burning and violation, yet none had yet to unsettle her so. This horror was a deep seated one which went far beyond Lewis's abduction of her. This was a fear that had haunted her more than half her life span.
Kicking at the sheets, she escaped the twisted, constricting fabric, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She sat there trembling, struggling to even out her breathing as segments of the nightmare flashed through her mind, refusing to release her completely. Her stomach was rolling, and despite knowing that Lewis impregnating her was impossible, she couldn't stop imagining how it might've happened had she not broken free.
Clutching at her forehead, she squeezed her eyes shut over burning tears. She tried to block the depraved images from her head, but the haze of the dream fogged her mind. She could hear her breath rasping from her throat harder and faster with every second while bile stung the back of her tongue. Nauseated and horrified, she shoved up from the bed, stumbling towards the door. Swaying down the hall, she could see the bathroom to the left, and she staggered closer with desperate whimpers.
"Liv?" She heard Brian's concerned voice emanating from the outer room.
She slammed through the bathroom door, crying out in protest. She shoved the door shut behind, her quaking fingers fumbling with the lock. Panting uncontrollably, she dropped to her knees by the toilet, her fingers digging into the rug as the dry heaves bubbled up her trachea. She wretched into the bowl, sobbing as her entire body lurched with the rebellion of her stomach. The acidic taste burned her throat and nose as equally hot tears slipped from beneath her lids.
"Liv, you okay?" Brian demanded from beyond the door.
She could hear the knob jiggling as he attempted to open it, and she was grateful she had locked it. The last thing she wanted in this moment was for someone to touch her or ask why she was sick. She could hardly bear to think of Lewis raping her, much less conceiving a human being inside of her, and telling Brian - the man she had once hoped to have family with - would only exacerbate this pain further.
Another violent regurgitation pushed at the back of her tongue, and she vomited over Brian's distant pleas. She'd barely eaten anything in the past few days, but Amanda had bought her a bagel before the salon which she'd managed to swallow. Now, it was swimming in the toilet water, leaving her feeling weak and dehydrated.
"Liv, at least tell me you're okay!" Brian called out from behind the door, sounding lost and helpless in the face of her distress.
Sinking back on her heels, Olivia grabbed at the toilet paper with a quivering hand and wiped at her mouth. She was breathing raspily, her body perspiring and shaking in the aftermath. She batted the lever, flushing away the contents of her stomach from her sight.
"Olivia." Brian demanded, although she could hear the weary undertone in his voice.
She grabbed the edge of the counter, slowly pulling herself upright on jellied limbs. Cranking the water on, she cupped it straight from the tap to her mouth, attempting to wash away the dreadful taste. Straightening, she ran her moist hands over face, swiping the sweat and tears from her cheeks. She met her expression in the mirror, and she swallowed hard at the stranger staring back her.
"Come on, Liv." Brian coaxed, "Don't make me break down my own door."
Hesitantly glancing away from her haunted expression, she finally turned the lock, allowing the door to swing open. Brian pushed inside, his brow furrowed deeply as he raked his gaze over her appearance.
"What happened?" He asked, reaching out to touch her elbow.
"I, uh…." She murmured, barely meeting his eyes, "I just think I ate something bad. A bagel."
"A bagel." Brian repeated, gently taking both her arms and aligning their bodies.
She wanted to pull away from him, hating his invasive questions and the way his hands seemed to hold her captive. She didn't want to tell him the details of the dream for fear that it would become more visceral than it already was. She didn't want him to hear her deepest fear, knowing that he couldn't assure her that it wouldn't happen. He'd never promise her a child that they would both want and adore.
"I'm fine, Bri." She said, quietly, at last, beginning to pull away from him.
"Are you sure?" He pried, although he released her voluntarily, albeit slowly.
"Yes."
Slipping past him, she headed towards the living room. Her shoes were discarded by the front door, and she began to slide them onto her feet. She heard Brian trailing behind her, his confusion rolling off of him in waves.
"What are you doing?" He asked, his eyes boring into her as she bent down to tug the boot onto her heel.
"I need to go see someone." She replied, straightening to find her wallet on the side table next to the couch.
"I'll go with you." Brian suggested immediately.
"I'd rather you not." She said, finally meeting his eyes.
He gazed back at her for half a second, his expression shifting from careful concern to astonished frustration.
"Do you think I'll let you out of my sight after the last week?" He finally asked, his voice rising. "After last night?!"
His words stung her, reminding her of her breakdown in this very apartment. They were mere yards from where she'd held a gun to her own head and begged to die less than 24 hours ago. She knew how this must look to him, and maybe somewhere in the back of her mind she realized she was heading into a manic state, but she had to see Erica, if only to convince herself that it truly had only been a dream.
"Jesus, Liv," Brian exclaimed softly, before she could form a response. "You won't tell me anything. I'm trying to help you."
The fear was barely hidden in his tone, veiled behind his eyes, and guilt put a knot in her throat. She should be grateful for his efforts as awkward and desperate as they were, but she could not even look him in the eyes. She could hardly begin to tell him the deepest horrors which crawled beneath her skin with every agonizing minute of the day. If his pleas changed anything at all, they moved her from quiet avoidance to outright rejection.
"I'll be fine, Brian." He insisted, ducking her head as she turned to towards the door. "I don't need you to worry about me."
She wrenched open the deadbolt, her fingers trembling and clammy against the cold metal.
"Olivia, hold on." Brian insisted, charging up behind her. "You really have lost your mind if you think you're going anywhere."
Reaching around her, he pressed his hand flat against the door blocking her escape. Her fingers were still taut around the knob, and they struggled for control for only a moment before she sank against the door, her forehead pressed to the unyielding surface. Hot tears pressed at her lids, and although the sense of urgency had yet to leave her, she felt too weak to fight him.
"The last time I thought you'd be fine you ended up in the hands of that maniac." Brian murmured, his voice gritted against emotion.
She bit hard at her lip, swallowing back her disgust with herself. In the past, Brian had adored her strength and independence. They'd been able to spend days apart, only to meet again in flurry of lustful kisses and long hours beneath his sheets. Now, he watched her every move, handling her like some kind of porcelain doll, afraid to shatter her fragile frame; and if she ever told him what Lewis had done to her, he'd certainly never touch her again with the unbridled passion they'd once shared. Perhaps, he would still love her, but things would never be the same. She would never be the same.
Grasping her shoulder, Brian pulled her around, and she sagged against the door, clasping her hands over her face. The panicked sobs hit her, sweeping her away in a high tide of helplessness and confusion.
Of all the things Lewis had taken from her, she hadn't imagined her relationship would be the first to slip from between her fingertips. And even when Brian wrapped his arms around her, the space between them was enough to become lost in. When she looked up, she couldn't recognize a single fragment of her former life.
For all intents and purposes, she might as well have died in that beach house.
xxxxxx
The Bellevue Hospital rose sharply above Amanda's head, shrouded in ivy and the historical character that she didn't have much time to admire. The grandeur of the structure held little significance. It was more reassuring to cling to the logical thought that a man who'd barely escaped death wouldn't have the strength to break out of these old walls.
Standing on the front stoop of his prison, however, was enough to instill a tremor, the effects of darkly mixed breed of fear and anger. The rage was abundant, flowing through her veins with an almost horrifying ease. It was just enough to cloud the doubt that she'd made a wise decision by coming here, yet hardly sufficient to dull the sharp blade of terror at the thought of looking into his eyes again.
Her cavalier attitude at the boardwalk had begun to dwindle slowly the longer she stood here. She'd told herself that she just needed one cigarette to even out the jitters from the caffeine, but one had turned into two, and the daylight was fading quickly into night.
The breeze from the East River clutched her, and she tugged her trench coat higher around her neck as she took one last drag of her cigarette.
The last time she'd seen Lewis his body had been so mangled he'd hardly been recognizable. She wondered how much three days and a hoard of doctors could have healed. When she had contacted James, she hadn't imagined that Lewis would be conscious enough to sense her presence, but she'd come too far to back out now. She'd feared plenty of things in her life, and she had never conquered them by standing on the sidewalk, watching.
She blew smoke from between her lips as she tossed the spent cigarette to the ground. She ground the heel of her boot over the dying embers, hoping the vicious action would also stamp out the doubt that lingered in her mind.
She hadn't contemplated exactly what she wanted from this visit before she'd reached this moment. She'd been running off of vehemence and pure emotion ever since finding Olivia on the very edge of sanity in Brian's apartment. The events in her own home had nearly pushed her over her own cliff of self control.
Maybe, she simply wanted to reassure herself that he was locked away behind these walls, unable to hurt anyone else. Maybe, she just felt helpless and wanted to feel the sense of victory and control she'd experienced upon seeing Lewis rolled out of the beach house on a stretcher. Maybe, now that she knew he'd be able to hear her, she wanted to gloat over his broken frame, scrub his failure hard into his battered face.
From her trench coat's deep pocket, she felt her cell phone vibrate, and she pulled it out before she could contemplate another cigarette. James's number was flashing on her screen, and she grimaced in annoyance with herself. He was most likely wondering where she was at, and she'd be damned if he found her cowering on the sidewalk.
"Hello." She said, pressing the cell to her ear.
"Come in through the main entrance and go to the visitor's check in." James ordered immediately, surprising her with his calm tone. "Tell the desk you want to visit Sam Burely."
"Who's that?" Amanda asked with a frown, glancing up towards the building.
"Someone your precinct arrested years ago." James supplied before quickly moving on. "Once you're in, you'll be taken to a holding room. All visitors of violent prisoners must prove they haven't smuggled weapons into the prisoners. I'll meet you there."
"Fine." Amanda replied. "I'll see you soon."
She hung up the phone, pleased by James's ingenuity. She'd never pegged him as stupid, only reckless when his passions got in the way, and now she was certain she'd chosen the correct person to manipulate. His plan seemed solid enough, and it was more than Amanda had come prepared with.
Squaring her shoulders, Amanda strode towards the front entrance. Upon stepping inside, she followed the signs towards the visitor's desk. Although she was here under the pretense of seeing a prisoner, she kept her head down, and the rim of her baseball cap covering her face.
"I'm here to see Sam Burely." She told the receptionist who appeared as if she needed two or three more coffees in order to make it through her graveyard shift.
Amanda flashed her badge at the woman who gave her the clipboard to sign in, stating in monotone that she should sign her name, her unit, and her reason for the visit. She wrote down a vague but believable enough explanation, and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
"Right through the door over there." She waved towards to the left, and Amanda murmured a thank you before she eyed the door.
Once she went through to the other side there wouldn't be any chance to turn back. In mere minutes she'd be in the same room as William Lewis, a murderer and a rapist, the worst of humanity. He was clever and cunning enough to manipulate his injuries in his favor, and while logically, she was certain he wouldn't harm her, it was the idea of he could do that chilled her to the bone. She could face fear with a straight face, but inside, her stomach was twisting unbearably.
Nevertheless, she stepped forward, passing through the door in long, heavy strides, determined to gain some sort of justice from this hasty, dangerous plot.
Once inside, a stoic security guard relieved her of her service weapon, and waved the metal detector over her body. Holding her arms out, she tried to focus on evening her breathing, but her palms were slick with sweat, and she could feel her heart knocking fast and shallow against her ribs.
"Detective Rollins."
She started when she heard her name, her mind snapping out of its hyper focused state. She glanced up to see James striding down the hall towards them. He flashed her a short, unconvincing smile before turning to the guard.
"I'll take her from here."
The guard nodded and stepped back, and Amanda lowered her arms, watching him closely.
"Right this way." James said, gesturing for her to follow him. "Mr. Burely's room is several floors up."
They fell into step together, their feet hitting the floor in tandem as they quickly left the guard behind. Amanda glanced over at James, itching to demand what the plan was, but she'd been undercover enough times to know to keep her mouth shut, especially when cameras were in use. As much as she hated it, she had to trust James.
They stepped into the elevator, and James hit the button for the proper floor. He stepped back and they stood in silence as the elevator rumbled to life, whirring as it shifted gears and began to lift them upwards. Amanda's already uneasy stomach rolled with the motions, and she clenched her teeth against the nauseating feeling. Her heart pounded harder with each second, and she watched the buttons lighting up as they passed each floor.
When the elevator finally dinged, the noise caused her heart to jump. She swallowed a gasp as the doors slide open, revealing a dim, tiled hall. James stepped out first, and she followed after him, curling her hands into fists at her sides.
They headed down the hall for several yards before James slowed next to a set of bathrooms, and motioned for her to step closer.
"There's a pair of scrubs in the trashcan in there." He whispered. "Put them on, then go to room 1142. Use the bdage to open the door."
Amanda nodded, swallowing down the loud exhales that wanted to escape her throat.
"Five minutes." James insisted, his brow furrowed. "Then you come back here, put your clothes back on and get out."
She nodded once more, and James slightly shook his head before turning to leave.
"James." Amanda whispered, catching his arm.
He turned, his gaze guarded at her softer tone.
"Thank you." Amanda murmured, "You don't know what you've done for me."
"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"
"No, but I'm still grateful. Your wife won't know a thing. I swear." She replied, holding up her hand in promise.
James gave her another brief smile, though she doubted it was sincere.
"Don't contact me again, okay?" He said, turning to walk away. "And don't get caught."
"I won't." She called after him as he retreated, clearly ready to walk away from her and her I'll advised plan.
She couldn't blame him. She'd put both his marriage and his career in jeopardy in one day, but she supposed that was all that a man who preferred teenage girls deserved.
Turning back towards the bathroom, she squared her shoulders, and bolstered her strength. She was going to walk straight into the lion's den, and she'd be damned if he saw one single hint of fear in her eyes; but she wouldn't rest until she saw it in his.