Hello everyone! This is the last chapter - more of an epilogue really. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! It's been a heck of a ride and I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the favorites and especially reviews. The encouragement I received during this whole process really kept me going. So thank you, again, to everyone who's stuck with me to this point! (If you'd like to see doodles, or more interactions between Clair and Eddie, please come find me on tumblr at Amarvelfangirl and Clairjohnson. Thanks!)

Clair was having that dream again. She'd expected nightmares, lots of them. She expected to see the bodies, his disfigured face, to be able to hear the sound of his voice. What she hadn't expected was dreaming about being in bed. Feeling safe. Clair didn't want to feel this way in a dream he was in. Her therapist told her it was probably her way of coping, but that didn't make the dream any less distressing.

It was always the same. She'd wake up in a small, tidy bedroom with a giant white comforter over her body. God, it felt so good. Curled up in a tank top and sweatpants – she didn't want to leave. Then he'd show up. He'd always come around from the other side of the bed, yawning and stretching, before treading over to her.

"Darling."

No. She wasn't going to acknowledge him. Not in this setting. Not like this. Clair moved under the covers more, like she did every time she had this dream, and placed her hands over her ears.

"Darling?"

He placed his hand on her blanket covered shoulder and gave it a rub. This was always the hardest part. Having him try and touch her. She never wanted him to touch her again. These dreams were worse than any nightmare she expected to have. Clair could deal with the blood, and his face, and the bodies – but this was too much for her.

Eddie would eventually leave and walk towards the bedroom door. He'd give her a fleeting, worried look before opening it and walking out. She never could see what was out that doorway – it was always just a giant wall of white light. For 2 months she'd been having the same dream and not once had she gotten out of bed. If she stayed in the same place long enough Clair would eventually wake up.

But not tonight. Her therapist told her things had to change.

She really didn't want to go through that fucking door.

Clair lifted herself from the bed and moved the covers out of the way, her body now freezing. She wanted to climb back under, but at this point, it wasn't an option. She couldn't stand this dream anymore – it needed to end. The carpet was soft against her feet as she padded over to the bedroom door. With a shaky hand she gripped the knob and pulled.

There wasn't a wall of light anymore, just yellow walls. Soft yellow. She stepped out into what looked like a living room and turned her head to the right. Two couches were situated around a coffee table, all the furniture bathed in rays of light coming from the glass slider door. Through the glass she could see grass, a brilliant green, kept close to the house by a white fence. It all looked like something out of a 60's television show.

"Oh good sweetheart, you're awake. I was getting worried."

His voice made her insides flip and she slowly turned to face him. He wasn't covered in blood, or disfigured: he was normal, dressed in a white button up shirt and black pants. Oh, she had been right before, he was handsome without all the sores and gore. He gave her a smile and placed a large hand on her bare shoulder. Her first instinct was to jerk away – but she stayed put. He couldn't hurt her here.

"Abby has been asking for you all morning, you're supposed to drive her to school today." He said, disappearing back into the kitchen across from the living room.

Abby.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal in front of her. She couldn't have been more than six or seven. One of her tiny hands held a spoon, but she instantly placed it down on the table, a smile blossoming on her face.

"Good morning Mommy!" Abigail said, jumping down from her seat and hurrying over to Clair. The child wrapped her arms around her mother's middle and beamed up at her. Clair didn't move at first. The sight of this fictional child was too much for her. She remembered her and Eddie's last real conversation. How he wanted a house, a family, to be a father. That was exactly this – and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why she was here. Dreaming this.

The child below Clair creased her brows when her mother didn't responded and Eddie poked his head out from the kitchen.

"Is everything all right, darling? You seem off." Eddie walked over and placed the back of his hand on Clair's forehead, his expression souring as he made a tsk noise. "Oh, you feel much too warm. Stay here today, I'll take her to school." He said while placing his large hand on the top of Abby's head. The girl hurried away from him and picked her backpack up from near the door.

"I'll pick her up on my way home. You go get some rest." His voice was a little condescending. As he made his way to the front door – something happened. The wall started to become dark, the paint curling and peeling off. The furniture became tattered and worn and Clair felt herself start to sweat. She snapped her head in the direction of the door and her stomach dropped.

He was Eddie again. Blood-soaked and horrifying. The monster she'd remember for the rest of her life. He was still smiling at her, but it wasn't pleasant. It was hard and twisted – there was no love behind it. She doubted he'd ever actually loved or received love in his life. Her daughter was holding his hand and her own smile was gone. She was staring at Clair, somber, and then she turned back to her father.

That is what he would have done, if he had it his way. He would have made a home just like the one he was raised in. Maybe it would have been different if he'd gotten help before – long before any the abuse had started. But not now. Not when she knew him. He was too far gone by that point. Clair wanted to reach out and grab the child, to take her close and hide her from him, but it was too late. Eddie opened the front door of the house and the two walked out in silence.

Clair woke up in a pool of sweat, the sheets clinging to her body as she tried to sit up. There were tears in her eyes and she blinked them away.

She needed this. Clair had been questioned after her and Waylon had escaped the asylum, and she'd brushed over her interaction with Eddie. Played him off as broken man who'd lost all touch with reality. She'd pitied him, tried to empathize with him, to make excuses. She'd made excuses for Mark, for almost 10 years she'd made excuses, and it needed to stop. They were both bad men who were nothing but words. They could weave a lie as easily as they could breathe. Clair needed that image of him.

She'd been staying with Waylon and his family for 2 months now, using their spare bedroom, and she felt like a burden. But Waylon had assured her she wasn't. He was gone most days, talking to police and news reporters, and Clair was left at home with Lisa. She was brilliant and kind, everything Waylon had said she would be while they were staying in the hospital. She was carful around both Clair and Waylon, doing her best not to mention certain things in fear she might set someone off. They talked a lot, Clair and Lisa, and she probably knew more about what happened to her than Waylon did.

Clair placed a hand on her stomach and frowned. There was another reason for that dream, she knew, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet. It was just too much. With the interviews and constant running around, she'd happily let what had happened in there fade into the background – at least for a little while. It was such a good distraction. But now that things were winding down she had time to think. And thinking was the worst. She'd hoped beyond hope that their coitus would yield nothing but shame and self-disgust – but that unfortunately wasn't the case.

On the subject of what to do about it, she wasn't sure. Lisa had noticed things that reminded her of her own two pregnancies, but Clair would always change the subject. Assure her that it wasn't the case. But it was. Clair listlessly fell back onto the cool damp sheets, a shiver wracking her body at the unpleasant sensation. In the morning – she'd deal with everything in the morning. She'd tell Lisa then, too, and Waylon. For now, though, she needed to get back to sleep.

The dream didn't come again that night.