Chapter Twenty Nine: Flashbacks*
Marie stood in front of her bathroom mirror, her reflection staring back at her with the haunted, hollow look she'd had after crawling out of the worst days of her life. Her skin felt slimy, tainted where Kevin had touched. The events of the night weighed on her like a heavy cloak, suffocating in its presence. She could still feel Kevin's hands on her, every touch branding her, and she shivered in disgust.
She turned on the shower, the water scalding hot. Stripping off the black dress that had done its job far too well, she stepped into the shower, letting the heat wash over her. For a moment, it was comforting—numbing, even. But as her hands moved over her skin, scrubbing vigorously, the flashes began.
It started as just a flicker. Kevin's hand gripping her thigh, his breath against her neck. But then the image blurred, morphed into something else. Hands that weren't Kevin's. The rough, calloused hands of the serial killer she had hunted during her last case with the FBI. The hands that had grabbed her, bruised her, strapped her to that god awful chair.
Marie scrubbed harder, the loofah nearly tearing at her skin, but it didn't feel clean. She wasn't sure it ever would. The flashbacks came quicker, fragments of that awful night invading her mind. The struggle. The pain. The cold, detached look in the killer's eyes as he tried to crush the life out of her.
She gasped, her breath hitching, the water now stinging her eyes as tears mixed with the stream. She pressed her back against the cold tile, swiping and clawing at her wrists to get rid of the feel of the leather, but it wasn't enough. The hands were still there, still grabbing, still—
A sob tore from her throat, and she slid down to the floor of the shower, her knees pulled to her chest as the memories flooded her, overwhelming and relentless.
It wasn't real. It wasn't happening again. But it felt so real.
She didn't know how long she stayed like that, curled up under the pounding water, her body trembling with silent cries. But the faint sound of a knock broke through the haze.
"Marie?" Edd's voice was soft, hesitant. "Are you… okay?"
There was no response at first, only the sound of water. Edd, ever cautious but deeply worried, knocked again, gently opening the door when he didn't hear a reply.
He found her there, huddled in the corner of the shower, her hair plastered to her skin, her face buried against her knees. His heart clenched at the sight of her like this—so strong, so determined, yet in this moment, so vulnerable.
Edd didn't speak. He reached over and turned off the water, kneeling beside the tub with a towel in his hands. He wasn't sure what to say, didn't want to say the wrong thing, so instead, he did what he could—he wrapped the towel gently around her shoulders, careful not to touch her directly, giving her space while still offering his presence.
"Marie…" he whispered, his voice thick with concern.
Her sobs quieted, but her body still shook with the remnants of fear and pain. She leaned into the towel, letting it soak up the water and some of the overwhelming weight of the night.
Edd stayed close, his eyes never leaving her face, his heart aching at the sight of her so broken. He had never seen her like this before, not even in the hardest moments of their investigation. But this wasn't about the case anymore. This was something deeper.
"I'm sorry," she whispered finally, her voice hoarse from crying. She slowly raised her head but didn't meet his gaze.
"You don't have to apologize," Edd said softly. "Not to me."
She managed a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't think it would… hit me like this." Her voice cracked, and she clenched her fists, as if she could will the memories away. "I just… I don't know how to stop it."
Edd's heart twisted at the helplessness in her voice. He wasn't used to this—comforting someone like this, in such an intimate moment—but for Marie, he wanted to do whatever he could. He moved a bit closer, but still kept a respectful distance. "You don't have to go through this alone, Marie. I'm here. We're all here for you."
She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a blanket, soothing but heavy. She leaned into the towel a bit more, feeling the warmth of his presence without being overwhelmed by it.
"Can you…" she started, hesitating. "Can you stay?"
Edd nodded without hesitation. "Of course."
He helped her out of the tub, wrapping the towel around her more securely before handing her a dry one for her hair. She didn't resist as he led her to the bedroom, offering her space to change into something comfortable while he waited, never straying far from the door.
When she finally emerged, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, she looked fragile, but more composed. Her eyes met Edd's, and she managed a small smile. "Thank you."
Edd smiled softly, not needing to say anything. They sat together on the bed, a quiet understanding between them. He didn't push her to talk, didn't ask her to relive the pain. Instead, he just sat with her, offering his silent support.
After a few minutes, Marie leaned her head against his shoulder, and Edd felt his heart skip a beat. He wrapped an arm around her, careful and gentle, holding her close without smothering her. They stayed like that for a long time, the silence between them comforting rather than awkward.
As the night stretched on, they eventually lay down, side by side. Edd didn't move, didn't try to push any boundaries. He just stayed, his presence a shield against the nightmares he knew she feared.
Marie felt safe in a way she hadn't in a long time. She knew the road ahead would be hard—there were still so many questions, so much danger—but for now, in Edd's arms, she let herself rest.
For the first time in weeks, when she closed her eyes, the nightmares didn't come.
