Disclaimer: see chapter one
Brackenreid stepped into Murdoch's office to find the detective staring at the blackboard. Murdoch was in his usual trance whenever he was faced with a problem. Brackenreid noticed the note taped to the corner of the blackboard.
"Three more?" the inspector asked, making Murdoch jump. "Three more what? Victims?"
"It appears so," Murdoch replied, his voice stiff.
Brackenreid glanced down at the detective's hands that were clutching the desk he was sitting on. They were shaking; visibly shaking.
"Murdoch," Brackenreid said carefully.
Murdoch slowly turned around to look at his boss. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
"You all right?" Brackenreid asked in concern.
"I'm fine," Murdoch replied.
Brackenreid narrowed his eyes. "Like hell you are," he said.
Murdoch frowned in confusion. "Sir?" he asked.
Brackenreid walked over to the detective. "Your hands are shaking," he pointed out. "This case is getting to you."
Murdoch rubbed his hands together to try to stop the shaking, but it just seemed to make it worse. He was unravelling. Brackenreid stepped around him so that he was looking at Murdoch's face. Concern shone in the inspector's eyes.
"Murdoch, what's wrong?" Brackenreid asked.
"Nothing," Murdoch insisted.
"Murdoch, I'm not just your boss, I'm your friend. And as your friend I can tell when something is off...and something is off," Brackenreid told him. "For starters, I've never seen you handle a case so intense where you actually start shaking."
"Sir-"
"And another thing," Brackenreid cut in, studying Murdoch's face. "When was the last time you've had a decent night's sleep?"
Murdoch squirmed under the scrutiny. It was one thing for Julia to point these things out to him, but his boss? It was unnerving, unnatural. He tried to come up with a logical explanation, but his sleep deprived brain didn't seem to be working properly. Besides, no one could lie to Thomas Brackenreid. Murdoch sighed in resignation and looked down at the floor.
"I haven't slept properly since Joseph Collins' trial," he confessed, his voice sounding small and ashamed.
Brackenreid straightened. Finally, the truth. "Is it about what he said to you?" he asked.
Murdoch nodded. "Yes, sir," he admitted. "Every night since the trial I've had the same recurring dream."
"What dream is that?" Brackenreid asked.
Murdoch swallowed nervously, fighting the urge to put a hand to his throat. "I'm dangling by a hangman's noose. Unable to breathe, unable to fight..." The shaking in his hands grew worse. "Unable to die."
Brackenreid could see the fear in Murdoch's eyes. It was an extremely rare occurrence to visibly see any kind of emotion on the detective's face. Murdoch was always so calm and collected, always in control of his emotions. There were times when Murdoch let his guard slip and his true emotions would shine through, but he was still always in control; never letting his emotions control him. However, it was clear now that Murdoch was losing the fight; the shaking in his hands was evidence of that.
"Have you considered talking to someone about these dreams?" Brackenreid asked.
"I don't think that's necessary," Murdoch replied.
"Bloody hell, Murdoch," Brackenreid grumbled. "Everyone needs help sometimes. You included."
He reached into his back pants pocket and took out his wallet. He pulled out a card and held it out. Murdoch reached out and took the card. The name of a psychiatrist was printed on the front. Murdoch looked up at Brackenreid and the inspector could hear the argument even before Murdoch said anything.
"Sir, I really don't think that-"
"You're going," Brackenreid cut in. "That's an order. If I find out you missed even one session, I'm taking you off this case."
Murdoch began to panic. "But, Inspector-"
"No buts, Murdoch," Brackenreid interrupted, sternly. "You're going to see that shrink. And if I find you've been ignoring his orders, I'm putting you on unpaid leave. Do I make myself clear?"
Murdoch sighed. "Yes, sir," he said.
Murdoch stood in front of the office building of the psychiatrist that Brackenreid had told him to see. He couldn't bring himself to open the door and step inside. A part of him wanted to walk away and go back to the Station House, but the other part, his detective side, reminded him that the inspector would immediately send him home for disobeying a direct order. The detective sighed softly, not knowing what to do.
"William?" a familiar female voice asked.
Murdoch turned to see Julia walk up. He frowned. "Julia? What are you doing here?"
"I came by the station to deliver my findings, but the inspector told me that you were going to see doctor Simmons," Julia replied. "So, I decided to come by and give you my findings."
Murdoch gave her a skeptical look. "So, the inspector didn't send you here to make sure I went to my appointment?" he asked.
The look that came over Julia's face was the same as a child who had been caught in a lie. "Well..." she stammered. "There was that, too."
Murdoch nodded. "Very well, doctor. You may tell me what you found while I wait," he said.
He opened the door and Julia walked inside first before Murdoch followed her inside. They walked up to the reception desk where a young woman was typing away at a type writer. The woman looked up when she heard them approaching. She smiled warmly.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Detective William Murdoch here to see doctor Simmons," Murdoch said.
The woman nodded. "Have a seat. I'll tell him you're here."
Murdoch and Julia sat down in the waiting area as the woman got up from the desk and went into an inner office. Julia glanced down at Murdoch's hands and noticed they were shaking as he gripped the edge of his hat.
"What did you find?" Murdoch asked.
"Because of the extent of the damage, it was difficult to determine the weapon," Julia began. "But, I was able to determine that it was caused by something large and sharp. Possibly a butcher knife."
Murdoch nodded. "Anything else?" he asked.
"Disturbingly, yes," Julia answered quietly. "She was awake when she was being cut open. Whoever killed her took his time. He wanted her to suffer."
The dream flashed through Murdoch's thoughts and he jumped when his name was called. He looked up to see the doctor standing in the doorway to the inner office. Julia patted his leg and smiled. Murdoch smiled back, though his was a bit forced. He got to his feet and followed the doctor into the office. Simmons closed the office door.
"Have a seat, Detective," he said.
Murdoch sat down in one of the chairs as Simmons took the second chair. Simmons picked up a pad of paper and a pen, placing the pad in his lap.
"Now, Detective. What can I help you with?" the doctor asked.
"Inspector Brackenreid thinks I need to talk to someone about a dream I've been having," Murdoch replied.
"And do you?" Simmons asked. His eyes moved down towards Murdoch's hands. "Is that recent?" he asked, pointing at the detective's hands.
Murdoch looked down to see his hands shaking uncontrollably. "Maybe I do," he answered in defeat.
"Tell me about this dream," Simmons instructed.
Murdoch swallowed nervously. "I'm dangling by a hangman's noose," he started. "The rope is too short. No one moves to help me; they just stand there. I can't move, I can't breathe." A cold chill shot down his spine. "I can't die."
"And, what brought on this dream?" Simmons enquired.
"A few days ago, at the trial of Joseph Collins, he yelled that my time with the noose was soon at hand," Murdoch explained. "That I haven't seen the last of him."
Simmons wrote down some notes, nodding in thought. "Is this the first time this has happened?" he asked.
"I have been threatened many times," Murdoch explained. "But, there was something about this threat that shook me. But, I don't know why that is."
"Is there anything else?" Simmons asked.
Murdoch swallowed, debating whether to him about the note or not. The flood gates were already opened, might as well let all the water out. "At a crime scene this morning, I found a note on the victim that said that three more people would die before the killer came after me," he answered.
Simmons nodded again, taking down more notes. Murdoch briefly wondered what the doctor was writing. His stomach felt as though he had swallowed several fluttering butterflies. Although, the shaking in his hands had subsided. Maybe talking to someone about these dreams was a good thing.
"Do you think that maybe you do know why this case is difficult for you?" Simmons asked. "Subconsciously, that is?"
Murdoch frowned slightly as he thought back to the trial. The scene played through his memories as if it had just been the day before. The court room was full of the victim's families, as well as some of the Constables from Station House Four, including Murdoch himself, Brackenreid, Higgins and Crabtree. The testimonies had been heard and it was now up to the judge to deliver the verdict. Murdoch remembered looking over at Collins' family on the other side of the court room. He locked gazes with Noah Collins, the son of the killer.
Murdoch recalled the look of pure hatred in the young man's eyes. The look grew even worse when the judge declared, "Guilty". Joseph Collins began to yell, but Murdoch's eyes never left Noah Collins. The young man gave him a murderous look before he opened his mouth. Murdoch had thought that the noose threat had come from Joseph, but, it had actually come from his son.
"Detective?" Simmons asked.
Murdoch blinked back to reality. "I think I know the reason why I've been so shaken," he said.
"Noah Collins?" Julia asked.
"Yes. I thought the threat had come from Joseph Collins originally," Murdoch explained as they walked down the street towards Station House Four. "But, Noah Collins sounded so much like his father I got the two confused."
Julia hummed thoughtfully. "That's as good a reason as any, I suppose," she said. "But, that doesn't sound like you to get things mixed up."
"I suppose I was more startled than I cared to admit," Murdoch speculated.
"Well, at least now you know who to look for," Julia said.
Murdoch nodded. However, he got the feeling that Noah Collins was going to be the one to find him.
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