Kirsten
I go over the stitch in my head again.
And again.
And again.
And-
"Kirsten?" Cameron asks. He's sitting on the opposite end of the couch as me. I have the urge to lean against his chest or at the very least sit shoulder to shoulder but I stay where I am. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." I snap, harsher than I mean to. I notice my right foot is tapping violently against the couch cushion where it's resting, shaking the couch. "I'm fine." I repeat, calmer, stopping my foot. "I'm just mad I can't stitch in again and that I didn't see anything of any use."
"That's not true." He assures me, tentatively resting his left hand over my sock clad feet. "I believe you that she didn't kill herself and Fisher's going to question everyone in Lindsey's life but…she may have killed herself, Kirsten, you have to prepare yourself for that." I close my eyes and rewind to stitching ten hours before.
I see flashes of Lindsey Walsh and her boss, Brandon Young. They are in love. They were in love. That was the first thing I saw when I stitched in. I saw how happy they were and then I felt the sadness when she broke up with him because of the strict no dating rule at their firm. It was a soul crushing pain that surprised me because, if you loved someone, why would you stay away from them? The next few flashes of memory had that overwhelming sadness in them that felt like they were crushing me or Lindsey or both of us. I wasn't sure. They were hazy, like she was half asleep or had been drunk. Flashes of Lindsey sitting by herself on her couch, flashes of her ignoring Brandon at work, flashes of her sitting across from the other executive assistant, Mark, and simply staring at the computer screen. I let out a long sigh and open my eyes.
"Lindsey did not want to die." I promise Cameron.
"Okay." I placates me, giving my feet a squeeze. That's enough for me. I pull my feet out of his grasp and climb to his side of the couch. I prop myself against his chest and he wraps an arm around me. "If you decide you want to talk about-"
"I was just sad before I stitched into her." I start, before he's even finished speaking. "And Lindsey was so sad in most of her recent memories and so now I'm just extra sad."
"I'm sorry, Kirsten." He sighs, "Maybe you should take a break from stitching for a little while, maybe you should-"
"No!" I gasp, pulling back from his chest a little so I can look at him. "I have to stitch, Cameron, otherwise all these killers will just roam free and the victims families won't have closure." He's insane to suggest I don't stitch. There is no one else to do my job.
"Kirsten, it is not your job to save everyone. If it's too much then you can take a break and no one will have a problem with that." He says. He shifts so he can glance down at me. "Okay, so maybe there are some higher ups that would have a problem with that."
"I'm okay, I feel better already." I admit. And I did. I didn't feel quite as sad pressed up against Cameron's side. I shut my eyes again and rewind to the only semi-valuable information I gathered from the stitch.
Lindsey is walking through the office and she feels nervous and relieved and there is no more crushing sadness. It flashes again to her standing in front of Brandon's desk. It's late at night, no one else is in the office. She writes 'I'm sorry' in looping cursive on a post-it note. And she's standing at the window overlooking the city and smiling. And the next part only lasts a few seconds. I slow it down. She's standing there and the envelope opener is stabbing into the front of her. First her stomach and then her rib and then her chest. I can feel the cool handle of the envelope opener in her hands. I know Lindsey was the one holding it while it stabbed into her but I also know that feeling of surprised panic she felt when the first stab of the letter opener went through her.
Her hands were on it but she didn't want to do it. She didn't kill herself.
"She didn't want to die." I tell Cameron again. "I know she didn't. She was relieved about the note she wrote and she was content after that while she stared out at the city."
"Maybe she stabbed herself and then regretted it?" Cameron suggests, tracing circles on my arm while continuing to scroll through Lindsey's social media pages, looking for something.
"If she only stabbed herself once I could say that but she was stabbed three times, she didn't want to do it. There's no way she killed herself." I insist.
The last bit of the memory is all hazy as Lindsey bled out and there's just this buzzing sound in the background. That's when her memories started to really collapse and I quickly typed in 'iheartlinus' before Cameron had a heart attack.
"Like I said, Stretch, I believe you." He starts. I glance up at him, knowing there's more. "But, the M.E. report shows that the wounds are at the angle where Lindsey was inflicting them on herself. There are no other prints on the weapon and the police believe the 'I'm sorry' post it note is a really unspecific suicide note."
"I know." I admit. "But I still say she didn't kill herself."
"Okay, we're not getting any more work done and I'm exhausted, someone woke me up last night." He gives me a teasing accusatory glare. "What do you say we call it a night and grab some dinner?"
"Speaking of last night…" I start, biting my lip. "Do you think I could stay at your place again tonight?" He looks a little surprised.
"Of course you can stay." He finally says, getting up and starting to pack up his things. "What do you want for dinner?"
"Pancakes." I decide.
"That can be arranged."
Cameron
"Do you, uh, want me to sleep on the couch?" I ask, bouncing from foot to foot uncomfortably. I didn't want to assume she wanted me in bed with her again.
"Uh, no?" She questions back, climbing into my bed. And, god, she is going to be the death of me. She's dressed, like the night before, in just a t-shirt of mine. The hem shifts when she moves revealing her boy short underwear underneath. I had offered her pants or boxers but she had declined. "Why would you sleep on the couch?"
"Well I didn't know if maybe you didn't want my company, just my comfortable bed." I smile, willing myself to pretend this is natural and happens all the time. Of course hot blondes with no pants ask to sleep in my bed with me all the time. I climb into the bed next to her and, like the night before, she cuddles up against my side, resting her head against my chest.
"Your bed is very comfortable but if I wanted to sleep by myself I could do that at my house." She explains. Damn, she was actually was going to be the death of me.
"And you want my company to…what? Help with the hurt?" I ask, needing some type of answer from her to justify and explain her behavior.
"Something like that." She mumbles into my neck. I'm so selfish, I know I am, but I can't find it in me to care. She's told me she's hurt and sad. I know she's come to me for comfort but I am elated at being able to hold her against me or that her fingers seemed to find my mine whenever we were in proximity to each other today. I'm selfishly happy that she chose me. Granted she didn't have many options but she wasn't climbing into Camille's bed or entrusting Linus with her thoughts and feelings.
I don't remember falling asleep but I wake up early and Kirsten's no longer pressed against my side.
"Kirsten?" I mumble, wondering if she's simply decided sleeping against my chest isn't as comfortable as it was last night. I find my glasses and put them on my face. The clock reads that it's 5:11, way too early to get up when we don't have to be to work until 8:30. It's still dark outside but I can see a sliver of light from just under my bedroom door. I get out of bed, yawning, and go to investigate. Kirsten's sitting at one of the bar stools and hunched over a tablet with papers surrounding her. "Watcha doing?" I ask, picking up one of the papers that has fallen onto the floor. It's a picture of Lindsay's body laying on the ground of the office at the crime scene.
"Did I wake you?" She asks, glancing over at me.
"You need to stop obsessing about this." I sigh putting the photo back down on the counter. I drape my arms around her shoulders and lean down to look at the tablet. She's going over the M.E. report, again.
"I couldn't sleep." She sighs, but leans back into my embrace a little bit. "I realized I was looking at this too broadly, insisting that Lindsey didn't kill herself. I have the break this down. If she didn't kill herself which, by the way, she didn't, then how did the stab wounds get to be at the angle where it looks like she did?"
"Do you have any theories?" I ask.
"No." She responds, sounding frustrated. "But, you know what's odd? The paper opener only has her prints on it but it wasn't hers. The police confirmed that the envelope opener belonged to Brandon Young but his prints are no where on it. It's almost like—"
"—Like it was wiped clean and then placed back in her hands to get her prints." I finish. "But that still doesn't explain the stab wounds." We stay like that for a few more minutes, her scrolling through the report and me reading over her shoulder.
"I need to go to the crime scene and see the office myself." She finally states, reaching up and stroking my wrist.
"Can we please go back to bed?" I ask. "You can't get into the office now anyway."
"I suppose." She finally agrees. Her hand freezes. "Oh my god."
"What?" I ask, starting to pull away.
"No." She locks her hand around my wrist keeping me in place. "Cameron, you're a genius." She lets go of my wrist and spins around to give me a hug.
"Uh, thanks?" I question, but not needing to be told twice to wrap my arms back around her.
"Let's go back to bed, it's way too early for this." She proclaims. I fall asleep almost immediately as soon as we are back in bed and my arm is back around Kirsten. I don't wake up again until my alarm goes off at 7:15. I feel tired. I'm not used to my sleep schedule being interrupted by blonde girls who go bump in the night. Kirsten rolls away from me and get's up, stretching her long arms up in the air.
"Come on, Cameron, get ready. We need to go to my house first so I can shower and change." She says. I get up and yawn.
"Just give me a few minutes to shower and get dressed." I say. She patters out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. A few seconds later I hear the sound of my espresso machine turning on. I take a quick shower and pull on jeans and a red button up shirt. When I walk into my kitchen, Kirsten's still not dressed but she's pushed aside all her papers and is attempting to cut up a papaya without getting the seeds everywhere. There is already bananas, goji berries, and what looks like milk in the blender. "Whatcha doing, Stretch?"
"I'm trying to make a fruit smoothie because, FYI they are way better than your gross veggie smoothies." She explains, sounding very frustrated. She manages to cut off a piece of the papaya and tosses it in. "Also how much acai powder is too much acai powder because I may have put way too much in."
"I'm sure it will be great." I try to hold back my amused laugh. "This is very domestic of you." I comment. "Have you ever used a blender before?"
"Haha." She responds, giving up on the papaya and putting the cap on the blender. "I broke a blender once if that counts." She says loudly over the blending sound. It only takes thirty seconds for the fruit and milk to blend together. She finishes and pulls two glasses out of the cabinet. She fills them each and passes me one. We both take a sip. She starts coughing immediately.
"Way too much acai powder." She coughs again.
"Actually this could be way worse. It's not that bad." I compliment.
"Gee, thanks." She responds sarcastically. "I'm never doing anything nice for you ever again."
"You mean you're never going to make a huge mess of my kitchen ever again?" I ask in mock hurt. She rolls her eyes but puts the blender, cutting board, and knives in the sink, running water over them. I decide I can leave them there for the day just this once.
"You ready to go?" She asks.
"Yeah, but are you?" I question. "Have you decided not to wear pants?" She glances down at her legs as if realizing for the first time that she's not wearing any.
"Huh, probably should." She shrugs. She comes back out of my room a few minutes later with her jeans on. She's still wearing my t-shirt but she's added a flannel of mine on top. She puts her sneakers on.
Lucky for me, Camille isn't at the house when we get there. I don't need to give her more reasons to taunt me or a closed room with just the two of us where she can make fun of Kirsten and mines not-relationship.
"I'll just be a few minutes, you can hang in my room." Kirsten says. She comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later dressed in a new pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She's brushing her teeth and simply watching me from where I lay on her bed, tossing the stupid stone I had given her up and down, catching it each time. 'For your heart' I had told her. God, she probably thought I sounded so stupid. But it had been sitting right on her nightstand when I walked in her room so I took it as a sign that she didn't totally hate it.
"Hey, isn't using your own toothbrush so nice?" I ask. She turns back into her bathroom and I hear her spit out the toothpaste.
"I like yours better." She calls and I roll my eyes. She comes back out a minute later.
"You know, if you want to stay over again, you can just pack a bag." I offer. For a second I'm worried that what I've suggested is inappropriate but then her face lights up.
"Really?" She asks, already grabbing a bag out of her closet.
"Sure, I mean it will just save us time in the morning, right?" I answer, trying to play it off as cool. The truth was, I'd never lived with a girl or had a girl stay at my apartment for any length of time. My first and only girlfriend during college had stayed in my dorm room a few times but that was completely different. I sit up just as she puts the plastic cap on her toothbrush and tosses it on top in her bag.
"Ready for work?" She asks. "Because I've solved the case and I can't wait to rub it in everyone's faces." I had forgotten her moment of clarity early this morning that she hadn't felt necessary to share with me. It takes us almost a half hour with traffic to get to the lab and Kirsten is once again completely silent, just staring out the window. I know if I were to talk to her she would respond but she seems so content just sitting there and turning the crystal over and over in her hands that she had promptly taken from me before we left her house.
She jumps a little when I pull into my parking space as if she's confused how we suddenly arrived. And then she's pulling me across the street, into the Chinese restaurant, and into the elevator to the lab. The door opens to the lab and the first thing I spot is both Camille and Linus leaning up against Linus's desk. Maggie is standing in front of them, her arms crossed. Linus looks like he keeps trying to interrupt but Maggie is having none of it.
"Lindsey didn't kill herself!" Kirsten announces, promptly dropping my hand and grabbing a pen out of Tim's. He had been sitting at his desk doing a crossword puzzle and looks up angry at whoever has taken the pen, realizes it is Kirsten, and decides not to say anything.
"Kirsten, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it's a mother-fucking duck." Camille rolls her eyes. Kirsten pauses and gives Camille a once over.
"Lindsey didn't have a pet duck." She responds. "Anyway, I can prove Lindsey didn't stab herself. Cameron come put your arms around me."
"What?" I squeak, doing the exact opposite and taking a big step away from her.
"Like you did this morning." She explains impatiently. I can feel my face turning bright red.
"Yeah, Cameron, like you did this morning." Camille taunts. Kirsten ignores her and continues to stare expectantly at me. I walk slowly back over to her and stiffly drape my arms over her shoulders.
"Okay, now put this in your right hand and hold it like a knife." She explains, handing me Tim's pen. "Now clasp both hands around it." I do as she says. She grabs the bottom part of the pen right below my hands. "Someone came up behind Lindsey while she was staring out the window and stabbed her first in the stomach like this." She moves our hands and the pen so that the tip is resting against her stomach. "Lindsey grabs the hilt of the knife as they pull it out, she's in shock and doesn't realize what's happening until they stab a second time between her ribs." She moves our hands so that the pen is now resting between her ribs. "And then she struggles to pull the knife out and before she can get away, they stab her in the heart." She moves our hands and the pen to rest over her heart. "They move and she falls to the ground where she bleeds out in Brandon Young's office. They wipe the knife down and move her fingers to touch it so that she's the only one whose finger prints are on the weapon."
It is a plausible explanation for the angle of the knife pointing towards suicide and even Camille looks thoughtful as if considering Kirsten's story. I pull my arms from back around her and toss Tim his pen. He catches it and gives me a nod.
"That isn't proof, Kirsten, that's just a theory." Maggie sighs. "But if you really believe she was killed, go see Fisher. Brandon Young was just brought in for questioning this morning, they couldn't get ahold of him last night. You and Cameron can do your little performance for him and see if he buys it." Maggie hasn't even finished speaking and she's already got my hand in a vice grip again, pulling me back towards the elevator.
"Bye guys!" Linus calls.
"Nice to see you both!" Camille adds and I can hear them laughing. I swear it's at me.