NOW

And if I sleep, I sleep here alone

In my bed tonight

You still haunt me

And if I'm falling, I'm falling like a stone

In my nightmares

You still hold me

"You Still Touch Me"

Sting

May 4, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

They left the house in a rush, Chuck nearly tripping down the steps as Sarah pulled him by his hand behind her. He had been unprepared for the sudden urgency, the swift shift of mood in his house, and it all seemed to have settled on Sarah, its full weight. They jumped into the car together without speaking.

The moment they were inside, Chuck turned to Sarah to ask his questions. "What does that mean…about Carina?" he asked intently. "I thought she and Shaw were—"

"They are," Sarah interjected. "He's not paying her for that. Their…arrangement…has a different…exchange system." She paused, swallowing hard. "But she started…doing that…in Vermont. She treated it like a part time job," Sarah added, her voice low, disgusted.

"Jesus, Sarah," he exclaimed in disbelief. "Is she completely crazy?"

"I didn't know that was happening…until she came home for the summer," Sarah added.

"Why would she do it?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Sarah looked out the window, turning her body slightly away. Chuck noted that, for the first time since she had accepted his proposal, they were in the car and she wasn't sitting close to him. "She needed money," Sarah said quietly.

Chuck clamped his mouth closed, keeping himself from any further comment. Everyone needed money, but there were so many other ways for her to earn it legally, respectably. He was angry, indignant, about Carina's poor judgment. He felt pity for her, too, knowing she had been disadvantaged her entire life, perhaps destined to her mother's fate, even if the wrong decision had ultimately been Carina's.

"Roxanne…never said anything about what was going on, to anyone," Sarah said. Sarah had let the distinct gap between them remain, as if she could sense his inner conflict. "Some of her…visitors were…paying her…for…you know," she said, blushing. She added quickly, "Carina suspected, but she wasn't sure until she came home this time. Usually her mother worked only while Carina was away, not while Carina was home. I guess my father…sort of… kept her…kept her afloat until he couldn't afford to anymore. Roxanne's been…selling herself…for almost a year."

That information floored Chuck. Jack and Roxanne hadn't been dating since Sarah was a young child, if their careless dalliances could classify as dating. Maybe Jack had helped pay her rent or her living expenses when they were together. In fact, Chuck thought, it was probable, since she would have had no other source of income. Jack's financial troubles, started by his mismanagement, once compounded with loan sharks and blackmail, had made the practice unsustainable.

Roxanne's reaction at Jack's funeral, then, may have been at least partially financially motivated. Another part of it, of course, was her alcoholism.

There had been nothing in Jack's ledger about Roxanne, not by name. If he had been stealing in part to keep her, he omitted it, even from his private records. The information was strange.

"How the hell did Casey find out?" Chuck queried.

She turned to Chuck, her eyes wide. "You don't think…"

"Good Lord, no!" Chuck shouted. "Casey would never do that, Sarah. Never. Come on. You've known him almost your whole life."

She blinked away the question, shaking her head. "I know. It's just…you never… really know someone, right? You think one thing, and then you realize you were wrong. They aren't who you thought they were."

He turned his attention away from the road to study her.

They were speaking of Casey, but he was certain her perspective had changed, that she was no longer referring to only Casey. Who did she mean? Me? Or herself? Or someone else? He buried the question, sure he didn't want to know the answer.

"I wish you would have told me," he said. "You were there for two weeks…while…that was going on?" He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I just..." she stammered.

He grabbed her hand and held it. "I'm not angry with you, Sarah. I'm just worried about you. I'm trying to keep you safe."

She spun quickly, sliding beside him, pressing herself against him again. "I know," she whispered against his ear. "And I never felt like I was in any danger…just…in uncomfortable situations."

"Speaking of uncomfortable situations," Chuck added under his breath. They were in Roxanne's driveway. The house was dark except for a dim light under the shade on the window on the far side of the house. Carina's room, Chuck realized. He scanned the area in the dark, noticing Shaw's black sedan parked across the street.

Sarah's eyes followed Chuck's as she gazed nervously at the situation. "All my things are in the living room, including the box I took from my father's house this morning," she said as she slid back towards the passenger door.

"Sarah, I can go," Chuck offered, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Just tell me exactly where and what."

"No, Chuck, it's ok," Sarah countered. "Just a quick in and out. It doesn't look like Roxanne is awake and Carina is…busy. I can just call her in the morning and tell her that I'm staying with you. She'll understand."

He wanted her to remain behind, safe in the car. If he wanted it done as quickly as possible, it would be faster if Sarah did it. But the idea of her being in the house with Carina and Shaw repulsed him. All the more reason why he needed to get Sarah out of there for good. "Come on," he said, nodding once affirmatively.

They exited the car. Sarah hurried around the front of the car to Chuck, reaching for and holding his hand. They walked up the steps together.

Chuck was on the porch, waiting in the dark for Sarah to open the door, when he heard noises coming from Carina's room. Her shades were pulled down, but her window was open. Muffled laughter, first male, then female…followed by the low vibration of muffled conversation. Carina and Shaw were in a relaxed discussion. No duress. At least that was something, he told himself.

The living room was dark, unlit. Chuck followed Sarah as she crept into the room, stepping gingerly so as to not make any sound with her shoes on the hardwood floor. Sarah reached for the lamp on the end table and pulled the string. A dim but warm light suffused into the room.

Chuck hadn't been inside Roxanne's home since he was a child, and less than a handful of times even then, but it looked just as he remembered. All of the furniture and decor, as well as the walls and the carpet, were the same, and weathered, now after 15 years of use and haphazard housekeeping since his last viewing. The sofa in front of them where Sarah had been sleeping was clean, but threadbare.

"Right there," Sarah said as she pointed. Beside the sofa was the box from her father's house with Sarah's overnight bag perched atop it. Chuck reached for her bag, lifting it by the handles and passing it to her over his shoulder. He stooped and lifted the box, surprised at its weight, remembering it felt lighter when he had carried it out of Jack's house for her earlier.

That was almost too easy, Chuck thought, as they prepared to leave.

He realized his mistake, that his rejoicing was premature, when he heard Roxanne's voice, projecting towards them from the darkness of the kitchen.

"Cari said you were getting married," Roxanne said, her voice slurred. Roxanne staggered into the living room, gliding her hand against the wainscoting as she moved, her means of balance. "To that…boy you were always with all the time..." She stepped into the light.

The light revealed Roxanne's disheveled state. She wore only a clingy nightgown, inappropriate for company, but, Chuck reminded himself, they were skulking in to grab Sarah's things, not paying a visit. It was an older nightgown, dull and stained, and now a size too small, for her breasts almost overflowed the top, barely restrained.

"Oh, it's you, Chuck," she said, a bleary smile of belated recognition on her face. "Con…con…congratulations," she stuttered, slurring the word.

Chuck felt Sarah's hand on his arm, tight and pinching. She tugged at his arm, like she wanted him to just turn and run. He glanced at Sarah out of the corner of his eye; she looked anxious and frantic.

Chuck couldn't simply ignore Roxanne. "Thank you for taking Sarah in when you did, Mrs. Miller, but she's going to stay with us for a few days. We're getting married this weekend," Chuck explained neutrally and quickly.

"Shotgun wedding, is that it?" Roxanne slurred again, then cackled at her own joke.

It was rude, but she was heavily intoxicated. He turned to see Sarah's skin was florid, as if she had been slapped. Her mouth was open. There was no answer Chuck could give to Roxanne in her present state, so he stayed silent.

Inside the house, in the absence of other conversation, the muffled, nonverbal communication that was happening in Carina's bedroom was audible. His skin crawled and his stomach lurched at the picture those sounds painted in his head.

"We need to go," Sarah whispered to Chuck urgently.

He was so uncomfortable, he just nodded and turned with her to exit the room, on the way out of the house.

"That man…you know…the one your father–"

"Goodbye, Roxanne," Sarah barked over the other woman's comment, cutting her off sharply. Sarah was in the lead, pulling Chuck behind her by his arm.

They were outside on the porch; Roxanne did not follow. The sounds coming from Carina's bedroom were louder outside, next to the open window. Chuck consciously blocked all of it out, moving quickly and silently with Sarah. It was impossible to unhear it, though, for the sheer volume. They were no longer in relaxed discussion.

The sounds of pleasure from the window were almost indistinguishable from sounds of pain. Low howls. If he hadn't known what was happening, he wouldn't have known if he heard torture or ecstacy. He couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps it was both.

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Chuck was dreaming.

The images were hazy, insubstantial…more two-dimensional emotions than images of an event or a place. He was troubled, despairing…lost and searching for…something. Something he was terrified he would never find…

"Chuck!"

He had been thrashing in his sleep, in the throes of his shadowy nightmare. The residue of the movement he could still feel as he woke with a start, sitting upright at the sound of his name, as it was whispered sharply. Part of the dream? Or was it real?

In the dark, he felt a cool hand on his cheek, soothing. "Chuck, you were having a bad dream." Sarah's voice.

He felt her hand on his cheek and her body beside him as she sat on the side of his bed. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw her blonde hair loose and falling across her shoulders. She wore her nightgown, a light color that was a faded gray in the absence of light. Light blue…or lavender.

Slowly, he became able to arrange time and events in his conscious mind again.

He had been asleep, in his bed, and had been having a nightmare. Sarah was here, in his house, sleeping in his sister's old room, what the Caseys now called the guest room. Gertrude and Casey had insisted she move in to protect her from Roxanne's illicit activities.

Sarah was in his room, seated on his bed, in the middle of the night.

He reached for her wrist, gentle, but pulling her hand away from his face just the same. "What are you doing? If Gertrude heard you get up–"

He held her wrist and that hand relaxed against his chest while she reached with her other hand to touch the opposite cheek. "No one heard me, I promise. I checked before I left my room," she whispered, leaning closer to him to speak in his ear. Her perfume overwhelmed him. Her voice was tender, soft when she spoke again. "I didn't know you still had nightmares… those nightmares."

"What do you mean?" he asked, perplexed.

She sighed softly. "You were…saying your sister's name. You had them when you were little, but…"

"I didn't remember what I was dreaming about," he told her, still a little bewildered. That would explain the way he felt right before he had awoken, he thought. Dread, loss, emptiness…the echoes of the dream made his eyes sting in the dark. He was thankful Sarah couldn't see.

How had she heard…and yet not Gertrude? He strained to hear movement in the house, listening for additional footsteps. Only silence answered him. It had been a very long time since he'd had any nightmare about the hurricane.

As if answering his unasked question, she whispered to him, a confession. "I couldn't sleep." The hand on his face shifted to his shoulder, and she bowed her head. "I wanted to…watch you sleep." He heard the sound of her gulping. "Like when we were little."

Her tenderness refocused him. "When did you do that?" he asked, slowly, his voice deep. All at once, he was aware of where she was touching him, the nearness of her in the dark.

"Whenever I was here…and I crept into your room to sleep. The sound of you…breathing…always calmed me," she admitted. She slid her hands around him, under his arms, and hugged him around his back, resting her head on his shoulder. "You always, always made me feel so safe."

That had always been his hope, his desire, to be what she needed. Sarah had never been expressive of her feelings, even to him. The few times she had shared how she felt with him were like treasures, hidden jewels shown only to him. Hearing the words now was a relief.

"Maybe you didn't know I had those dreams…because when you were here, they went away," he offered. The child inside him was speaking, the child who had known her and been comforted by her presence, the boy who had grown into the man who loved her, the emotion rooted in his heart as it grew and changed.

She sat in silence, cradled against his chest, her face turned away. "Did you talk to Casey before you went to bed?" she asked, knowing he had mentioned wanting to have a conversation with Casey as they had driven back from Roxanne's house.

"Yeah," he said. "Turns out Gertrude heard some gossip after church on Sunday. Mrs. Woodcomb, you know, the doctor's wife? And…mother, I guess, now that his son runs the practice," Chuck explained. "Certain…ailments…common to…that sort of situation."

Gertrude, upright as she was, hated gossip. She never participated, believing the practice disrespectful and unbefitting to a Christian. She was the minority, however, even in the garden outside the church. Hypocrisy abounded. Coming from the doctor's wife, it was worse, whispering about other people's medical issues, breaking her son's confidence, violating his duty to his patients.

"I think he sort of…asked around, and he got an earful. He said he felt like he was the last one in the city to find out," Chuck added. "But they both wanted you out of there, without adding to the gossip." That had been Casey's reason for not telling Chuck, although, during their conversation, Chuck had suspected there was more Casey knew that he wasn't saying.

Chuck expected Sarah to tense up, given the topic, but she did not. She stayed relaxed, snuggling against him. It was some consolation, anyway, that not everything he said upset her the same way. In the darkest part of his mind, he heard a whisper, At least her secret isn't prostitution.

He forced the thought away, banishing it from his mind. Guessing would only cause pain and anxiety. Was his subconscious mind making guesses while he slept? Was that what Sarah had overheard?

When she spoke again, it was like she was reading his mind. "Are you…having those dreams again…because I'm here now?" she asked, still facing away from him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, placing his hand gently on the back of her head. His hand had moved almost of its own volition, his body aware of her proximity in spite of himself. Desire stirred in him, kept stirring.

"I…I…don't want to hurt you, ever," she said, the strength in her voice wavering.

He stroked her hair. Anxiety battled mounting desire. "I'm alright, Sarah," he whispered. "Now that I know how you feel, there isn't anything that could take that knowledge from me."

"Chuck," she said, passion in her voice as she lifted her head. "I love you," she said, emphasizing each word. She took his face in her hands. "I'm sorry I didn't say it before," she added hurriedly. "It's just…I've never said it before…to anyone…" She leaned forward and kissed him, softly, so softly, her lips both saying the words and doing them, loving him. "I've never felt like this about anyone…but you."

"Sarah," he uttered, hypnotized by the look in her eyes, two sapphires that seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, her desire echoing his. Before he was even aware of himself, he was kissing her again, deeply, losing himself in her, as the time seemed to stand still. He forced himself to pull back, breathless. "We…"

"I know," she answered, just as breathless. "I should go. I just wanted to make sure you were ok." He felt her smile so close to his lips, teasing herself and teasing him all at once. "We're going…slow… remember?"

"Right," he said with a smile, shutting his mouth with an audible click. "I'm sorry if that was…coming on a little too fast."

"No. But…being in your room like this. It reminds me of those times I would climb the trellis," she recollected, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"It does?" he asked curiously. "Because I seem to remember being so cautious I was afraid to touch you."

She giggled as she moved to stand. Her face was serious, though, when she replied, "Every time I climbed up here, I told myself…that I would tell you. Show you. How I felt. What I wanted. But I always lost my nerve. And you…you were so…good, so honest, so…careful. You had every opportunity, every invitation other than words, to take advantage, but you never did."

He was surprised, even here and now, as he told himself, deep down, he had known that all along, but actively worked to convince himself otherwise. Two summers in a row, when she was 14 and 15, she had climbed into his bedroom at night… because she wanted him. Even if he had known, she was right, of course. She would not put her desire into words, and, even if she had, he never would have taken advantage; it would have been wrong for a host of reasons, legal and moral and religious.

For the thousandth time in just the last few weeks, he wondered how he could have been so blind and deaf to Sarah's hopes and desires when they were young. So blind or deaf to his own feelings. He could only chalk it up to the way the Caseys had raised him, to be decent and honest, to put other people first. Sarah's unorthodox upbringing and her strange wildness had forced Chuck to be vigilant and protective. He had disregarded his own feelings, believing them unacceptable. But, in this case, his own feelings, had he attended to them, might have helped him decipher Sarah's.

Still, as Chuck watched Sarah tiptoe out of his room, he said a silent prayer, thankful for Casey and Gertrude, for the help they had given him, for the decency they had taught him. Judging by his reaction now as he lay awake, so completely and uncomfortably aroused, without that instilled virtue he very easily could have indulged Sarah, granted her strong wish to know what it would be like to be as close to Chuck as she possibly could.

The cost could have been their ruination. His blindness and deafness may have been blessings after all, their salvation.

A/N: Thanks again to Zettel for pre-reading. A bit of a bridge here. Things pick up from this point. Thought? Let me know.