Chapter 13

"Damn it, Bobby! You're letting her do it to you again!"

"I'm not… letting her… do anything! She had Andy, Alex! She could have had Katie! She could have killed our daughter!"

"She could have killed her 16 years ago, when she saw her on her tricycle." It was horrible to say it, but it was painfully true. They were in no more danger today than they had been every day of their life together.

Bobby glared at his wife.

"Bobby," Alex said, purposely softening her voice. "Every time… every time she does this to you… she wins."

"She hasn't won!" He shouted, and paced to the other end of the room. His mind was bombarded by images from his dream, images of sweat and sex. "She hasn't!" His emotions almost got the best of him, and he gulped them back and buried them deep.

Alex closed her lips tight. She folded her arms. "Nicole is a master at destroying lives, Bobby. Sometimes she murders. But sometimes, she takes a life away by leaving a beating heart in an empty shell. If you let her take you away," Alex gestured to the rest of the apartment on the other side of the study wall, "from us, she's won."

He stood in silence and refused to look at her. In frustration, Alex dropped her hands with a smack on her legs and stomped out of the room.

Alex spent the evening running the necessary errands. She picked up the dry cleaning, did the grocery shopping. All the while, her mind was racing. Mostly, she was angry with herself. After all, they'd been married 20 years, friends 10 years more. How could she be so upset, when he was only doing what was in his nature to do?

And he was right to be worried about Katie, to want to protect her. That was his job as a father, as a parent, and he'd always done it well. How could she have reprimanded him for loving their daughter?

With a sigh, she turned the key in the lock and gathered up a handful of bags. She brought them inside and went back for the rest, then closed the door and walked to the kitchen to put things away. Turning, she could see the study was locked. He was either gone or in bed.

As she began to put the groceries away, she noticed the bottle was moved to the front of the cabinet. His sleeping pills. As much as he despised them, he'd taken one. Somehow, the knowledge both relieved her and made her heart ache for him even more.

She moved quietly into the bedroom and took off her clothes. Bobby was very still in bed, and his breath was steady. She slipped into bed beside him and put her hand on his arm. Alex kissed his temple and lay down with him.

His arm was around her. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, too," she replied, as tears welled up in her eyes. Slowly, they moved into a firm embrace.

Bobby was comforted to have her in his arms again. He had learned at least one thing in the last twenty years: sometimes, he needed to listen to his wife.

"He's got enough to worry about," Carolyn said. "You should know that, you're the one who always has to help him with his homework."

"I don't help that much. He just needs a reminder now and then."

"And with the Eagle Scout project coming up…"

"But Carolyn, this isn't a small thing. His life may depend on it."

"That's exactly why I don't think we should do this. He's 17, Mike. We lay this on him and he'll be terrified, waiting for her to attack, when he should be worrying about scouts and school and prom. Let him be a kid. Let him just be happy."

"But Carolyn, she could be stalking him."

"Darren knows what she looks like, and I'll bet he can't forget."

Mike nodded soberly. "He is just a kid, isn't he?" He said, looking at the family picture on the nightstand. His son always seemed so young when Mike saw him in pictures, and so grown in real life.

"If Goren tells us we need to worry, then we'll talk to Andy."

Mike nodded against her shoulder and closed his eyes to go to sleep.

"Are you okay?"

Bobby was panting, sweat beaded up on his forehead. The turmoil on his face was apparent, but his eyes were still distant, like he was still trapped in the dream.

"Bobby?"

Abruptly, he pushed himself away from her and stumbled out of bed. Alex rose to her knees. "Bobby, are you all right?" she repeated.

He rested his head against the door frame and struggled to catch his breath. "I'm okay," he muttered. "Just… need some air," he added, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

It was the damn pills. The dream was bad enough, but the pills made him struggle to escape from it. Every aspect of the dream was more intense. The duration of each event was much longer.

Bobby wiped his forehead on his arm and went to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass from the cabinet and turned the tap on, full blast, to fill it. He closed off the water with a slap and downed the glass in one long gulp.

Bobby smacked the glass onto the counter and leaned against it heavily. His mind replayed the dream again, all the way from the sensation of her bare skin under his hands to the thrill of his climax, to the euphoria of murdering her.

She murdered, over and over again, with no remorse. That must have been what it felt like for her, he thought to himself. Bobby shuddered, disgusted with himself. He heard Alex opening the bedroom door, and he retreated quickly to the study. He couldn't talk to her now, he couldn't even face her.