Chapter 9: In this together
Jess sat on a park bench, eyes following Lilly as she played with Lucy in the grass. Her little blonde head bobbed as she ran, a small smile tugging at her lips—rare, but real. Don sat beside Jess, one arm draped across the back of the bench, his gaze also on the girls. A few feet away, Lindsay and Danny were chatting, keeping a relaxed but watchful eye on their daughters.
It had been a week since they brought Lilly home.
The first few nights had been rough—nightmares, tears, and restless sleep—but Lilly had quickly learned that Jess and Don were there when she woke up. That she was safe now. Both Jess and Don had taken the week off, using vacation and sick time to help Lilly settle in. They'd just had their first home visit with Dana, and it had gone as well as they could've hoped.
Tomorrow was Monday, and life would start to resemble normal again. They would go back to work, and Lilly would begin daycare—thankfully, the same one Lucy attended. The girls seemed to be forming a quiet bond, a comfort to everyone.
Lilly still hadn't said much—if anything. Her trauma counselor explained that it was a form of selective mutism, a coping mechanism. But with time, love, and a safe space to heal, there was hope she'd eventually find her voice.
Jess reached over, her fingers lightly brushing Don's. "She looks okay today," she said quietly.
Don nodded. "She's trying. That's all we can ask."
And for now, that was enough.
Jess leaned into Don slightly, her head resting briefly against his shoulder. "It's kind of wild," she murmured. "A week ago she was in a group home. Now she's here… with us."
"With you," Don said, nudging her gently. "You're the one who found her. You never let her go."
"She didn't let go of me either," Jess replied, her voice softening.
Out in the grass, Lucy giggled, tugging Lilly toward the swing set. Lilly hesitated at first, her small hand clinging to Lucy's. But Lucy gave her a reassuring smile and said something only a kid could make sound like magic. Slowly, Lilly nodded.
Jess watched with a tight chest as Lilly sat in the swing. Lucy pushed gently, and for the first time, Lilly let her legs lift, just a little, as she swung forward.
"She's smiling," Jess said, barely above a whisper. "Don—she's smiling."
Don reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. "She'll get there. We all will."
Lindsay came over with two cups of coffee. "Looks like we've got a couple of park regulars now," she said, handing one to Jess. "Lucy's already told me they're going to be best friends."
Jess let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I really hope so."
Danny joined them next, tossing a frisbee to Don before flopping onto the grass. "You guys ready for tomorrow?"
Jess made a face. "No. Not even a little. I never realized how fast mornings come with a three-year-old in the house."
"You'll find your rhythm," Lindsay assured her. "Just take it one day at a time."
They all sat together in a quiet kind of peace, the afternoon sun stretching shadows across the grass. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy. But it was real—and it was theirs.
As Lilly let out a tiny laugh from the swing, Jess squeezed Don's hand, hope flickering steady in her chest for the first time in what felt like forever.
Dropping Lilly off at daycare felt like ripping a piece of Jess's heart out. It wasn't logical—Lilly was safe, the staff was kind, and Jess would pick her up again at five—but her chest still tightened the moment she let go of that little hand.
This week, Jess was working 9 to 5 as best she could. Don would work the same hours, picking up overtime if needed, and then next week they'd switch. It was the only way they could both bond with Lilly and still clock the hours and experience needed for the lieutenant and captain positions that had been hinted at.
If, for some reason, Jess couldn't get to the daycare by five when it closed, her brother Chris would step in. That had all been cleared with Dana and approved by the court. Chris and his wife—or her dad and stepmom, Sherry—were the only other adults legally allowed to care for Lilly right now.
It wasn't perfect, but it was a plan. And they were sticking to it.
Still, as Jess watched Lilly cling to her bunny and give a hesitant wave from the classroom door, a lump formed in her throat.
"She'll be okay," Don murmured beside her, placing a hand on her back.
Jess nodded, not trusting her voice.
They turned toward the elevators, hand in hand, the workday ahead of them—but their hearts still lingering by that door.
Jess didn't even make it to her desk before her phone buzzed with a call from dispatch. The call was for a brownstone downtown.
The brownstone had that eerie kind of silence that settled into the walls after something terrible had happened—like the house was holding its breath.
Jess ducked under the crime scene tape, the morning chill clinging to her coat. The uniform at the door nodded her through, but it was Lindsay who met her just inside the narrow hallway.
"Glad you're here," Lindsay said, her voice low. "You need to see this one."
Jess arched a brow. "That bad?"
Lindsay didn't answer, just turned and led her up the creaking staircase. Mac's voice echoed faintly from one of the rooms above, calm and steady as always.
"Scene's secure. No forced entry, no signs of a struggle. Just the kid."
They reached the second floor. The bedroom door stood open, and Mac looked up from where he stood beside a small mattress on the floor. Jess stepped into the room behind Lindsay—and froze.
A boy, maybe ten, lay curled on his side on the bare mattress. He looked asleep—peaceful, even. His hair damp with sweat, hands tucked under his chin like he'd simply laid down and never bothered to wake up.
But the stillness in the room said otherwise.
"No injuries?" Jess asked.
Mac shook his head. "None visible. EMTs say vitals are normal. Breathing, pulse, oxygen levels—all fine. But he's unresponsive. Won't wake up."
Lindsay crouched next to the boy, her gloved hand brushing back a curl from his forehead. "It's like he's dreaming something he can't come back from."
Jess scanned the room. Burned-down candles on every windowsill. Dried herbs scattered across the floor. Symbols faintly etched into the wood under the bed. She knew ritual scenes—usually they were messier, louder. This one was... careful.
"This feels planned," she murmured. "Deliberate."
"Kid's name is Elijah Martinez," Lindsay supplied. "Ten years old. Lives here with his mom—Marisol Martinez. Neighbor says she's been acting strange lately. Reclusive. Obsessed with 'protecting Elijah from the world.'"
"She left?" Jess asked.
"Gone," Mac said. "No note. No phone activity since last night. The back door was locked from the inside, upstairs door locked from the outside. The neighbor had a spare key."
Jess glanced at the window. A single bookshelf sat beneath it. One book on the shelf: Peter Pan. She picked it up. Inside the front cover, someone had scrawled in shaky handwriting:
"To sleep is to be safe.
To dream is to be free."
Jess felt a chill work its way down her spine.
"This wasn't just a breakdown," she said. "This was intentional. She did something to him."
Lindsay stood and crossed her arms. "But what? It's not drugs. Toxicology came back clean. No physical trauma, no neurological symptoms."
Jess looked down at Elijah, his little chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. He didn't look hurt.
He just wasn't there.
"Whatever this is," Mac said quietly, "it's not over."
Jess nodded, her eyes never leaving the boy. "Then we better find his mother. Fast."
The emergency department buzzed around them, doctors and nurses moving in fluid, practiced patterns. But Room 6 was still. Eerily still.
Jess stood just inside the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched Elijah lying in the hospital bed. The boy hadn't moved since they brought him in. Machines beeped softly beside him, charting vitals that told one story—healthy, stable, breathing—but his silence told another.
"He hasn't stirred once?" Jess asked quietly.
A nurse, adjusting an IV line, shook her head. "Not a twitch. He's not sedated, there's nothing in his system. His brain scans are clean, but he's… not responding."
Jess stepped closer. Elijah's cheeks were flushed, his mouth slightly parted like he was mid-dream. But his eyes didn't flutter. No restlessness, no REM. Just a strange, suspended peace.
Mac entered behind her, setting a thin file on the counter. "Pediatric neurologist says she's never seen anything like it. It's not a coma. It's not sleep. It's something in between."
Jess turned slowly. "There were ritual elements in that bedroom. Candles, symbols. Herbs I couldn't identify. That doesn't sound medical to me."
"I don't disagree," Mac said. "But we're walking a fine line. We have to consider every possibility—trauma, mental illness, even delusion on the mother's part."
"She wanted to protect him," Jess said, almost to herself. "From what? The world? Reality?"
Lindsay entered the room with a coffee in each hand, offering one to Jess.
"Thanks," Jess murmured, taking it.
"They've issued a BOLO on Marisol," Lindsay said. "No hits yet. Dana's checking CPS records—see if there were any red flags before this. We also found some drawings Elijah did. All of them are… unsettling."
Jess raised an eyebrow. "Unsettling how?"
"All fantasy. Creatures with sharp teeth. Forests with no exits. One showed a woman—maybe his mom—standing at the edge of a cliff holding Elijah's hand, both of them staring into this giant… void. All in crayon, but still."
Jess stepped beside the bed. "He's scared," she said softly. "Even if he's not awake, you can feel it."
Mac nodded. "And we need to figure out what he's hiding from."
Just then, a doctor stepped in with a clipboard. "You're the detective on this?"
Jess turned. "Yeah."
He handed her a sheet. "We found something unusual in his bloodwork. Elevated melatonin and serotonin levels—way beyond natural production, but no synthetic traces. If it was ingested, it left no markers. If it's psychological, it's unlike anything we've seen. His body is preparing for sleep. Deep, sustained sleep. Like it was triggered."
Jess scanned the page, frowning. "So, what? Someone taught his body to shut down?"
The doctor sighed. "We don't know yet. But he's not waking up until something changes."
Jess looked at Elijah again, heart clenching. A little boy stuck in a world he couldn't escape from. A mother who believed she was saving him—and vanished.
She turned to Lindsay and Mac.
"Let's find out who Marisol really is. We need to know what she believed in—and who might have helped her."
"Okay, thanks, Chris," Jess sighed, slipping her phone back into her pocket. First day back at work, and already she wouldn't make it home for dinner.
Don was tied up downtown, knee-deep in a robbery-gone-wrong case that had turned into a hostage standoff. And now, this—her own case pulling her into what felt like the shadows of something darker than anyone had expected.
She leaned against the precinct's stairwell wall for a moment, letting herself breathe. Chris would pick Lilly up from daycare, take her home, and make sure she ate. Jess trusted him—trusted that Lilly would feel safe. But it didn't make it any easier.
The guilt still pressed in.
This was her fear. The one that kept her up at night.
How could she be both?
A good mom and a good detective.
How would the judge look at this? Her hours could be a reason not to get full custody.
She whispered to herself, "Just a few more hours, baby girl. Then I'm home."
Pushing down her fears-right now Eljiah needed her.
Jess pushed off the wall, grabbed her coat, and headed for the elevator. There was a missing mother out there, a boy who wouldn't wake up, and a case that felt like it was just beginning to unravel.
The sun was beginning to set as Jess and Lindsay stood outside an apartment building on 12th Avenue
Inside, Jess sat at the kitchen table, the faded wallpaper and mismatched furniture telling stories of a life lived in this space. Marisol Martinez's mother, Rosemary Espinosa, had agreed to speak with them, her face etched with worry and fatigue.
"I don't know where she is," Rosemary said, her voice trembling. "Marisol's been acting strange lately. She was always protective of Elijah, but this... this is different. She started talking about keeping him safe from the world, from people she thought were after him."
Jess exchanged a glance with Lindsay. "Did she mention anyone specific? Any names?"
Rosemary shook her head. "No, but she was obsessed with this idea of protecting him. She said she had to keep him away from 'them.' I thought it was just stress, but now... now I don't know."
Lindsay leaned forward. "Did she have any contact with anyone unusual? Anyone who might have influenced her?"
Rosemary hesitated. "There was a man. I don't know his name, but he came around a few times. He seemed to know a lot about Elijah, about his habits, his routines. Marisol trusted him, but I didn't like him. He gave me the creeps."
Jess's heart sank. "Do you know where he is now?"
Rosemary shook her head. "No. I haven't seen him in weeks."
As Jess processed this new information, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Mac: "Found something. Meet me at the lab."
"I have to go," Jess said, standing up. "Thank you for talking to us, Rosemary. We'll find her."
Outside, the evening air was cool against Jess's skin as she made her way to the lab. Her mind raced with questions. Who was this man? What influence did he have over Marisol? And most importantly, where was she now?
Jess stepped into the dimly lit lab, the hum of equipment and soft tapping of keyboards the only sounds. Mac stood over one of the evidence tables, examining photographs and handwritten notes. He didn't look up as she approached, just gestured for her to come closer.
"You said you found something?" Jess asked, pulling her coat tighter. It had been a long day, and this case was beginning to feel heavier than most.
Mac nodded, his tone quiet but serious. "We ran a deeper analysis on the symbols carved into the floor under Elijah's bed. At first, I thought it was just ritualistic nonsense—some kind of occult posturing. But it's not random. The etchings are part of an old protection sign. Latin, mostly. Some mixed Indigenous influences. The phrase keeps coming up: 'Somnium Custos'—Guardian of the Dream."
Jess furrowed her brow. "So… she was trying to protect him? From what?"
Mac pushed a stack of printouts toward her. "That's the question. But here's the kicker. We got access to her search history. In the weeks leading up to this, Marisol became obsessed with something called 'Induced Dream States'—she was reading forums, downloading academic papers, even emailing with a former neurology student named Isaac Crane."
He tapped a name on one of the papers. "Crane runs a fringe group now. Calls it The Threshold Circle. Claims they've developed techniques to enter a 'shared dream environment.' They believe dreams are alternate planes of consciousness—real places."
Jess stared at the name. "Let me guess. Crane's the man her mother didn't like?"
Mac nodded. "We ran facial recognition off old security footage from a bookstore Marisol visited weekly. Matched a guy to Isaac Crane. He was seen with her three days before Elijah fell into his coma."
A chill worked its way up Jess's spine. "So this wasn't just about protecting her kid from the outside world—Marisol believed he was safer in the dream world."
Mac met her eyes. "And Crane may have helped her put him there. Thats all we have for now"
Jess exhaled slowly, tension buzzing under her skin. She glanced at her watch—6:57 PM. If she didn't leave now, Lilly would be spending the night at Chris' house. Again.
This wasn't how the day was supposed to go. She was supposed to be home by five. They had plans—dinner, a new bedtime story, just... time. But the hours slipped away, lost in interviews and leads, in trying to rescue another child while pushing her own to the margins.
The guilt tightened in her chest, sharp and twisting. How could she balance this? Be both protector of the city and protector of a little girl who already had too much taken from her?
Mac's voice broke through the fog, firm but kind. "We have nothing new, and you're off the clock. Go get Lilly."
Jess hesitated, but Mac gave her a look that told her he meant it.
"If something breaks, we'll call," he added. "And I know your dad's always close. We've got it, Jess."
She gave a grateful nod, voice softer than usual. "Thanks, Mac."
Jess grabbed her coat and headed for the elevator. As the doors slid closed, she texted Chris—On my way. Tell her I missed her. Then she stared at the screen for a moment, fingers hovering.
Tell her I'll always come home.
She hit send.
And for the first time that day, the weight started to lift.
Jess stepped out of Lilly's room, the door clicking softly shut behind her. The little girl was finally asleep, her breathing slow and even, one arm wrapped around Cupcake the bunny.
Jess barely made it to the couch before she collapsed into it, every part of her aching. The weight of the day settled over her like a blanket she couldn't shake off.
What was she thinking?
She loved Lilly—God, she loved her—and there wasn't a single part of her that regretted bringing her home. But this… this was why she'd hesitated for so long about having kids.
Trying to do both felt impossible.
It wasn't that being a working mom couldn't be done—she'd seen it. Her sisters-in-law, her stepmother—they made it work. But their jobs were predictable. Structured. Hers was chaos by nature. Crime didn't wait for convenience.
She was home now, but Mac could call at any moment. One lead, one break in Elijah's case, and she'd have to choose again.
Would she really not go?
But how could she leave Lilly, after barely seeing her today—even if she'd been asleep the whole time?
And still, Elijah needed her too. Another child. Another life caught in something they didn't ask for.
Jess leaned her head back against the cushions, guilt twisting deep in her chest. This wasn't a simple case of work-life balance. This was a war inside her.
And she didn't know how to win it.
Jess heard the knob of the front door open, heard Don take his boots and jacet off and then the footsteps on the stairs as he left the porch and came down the hallway into the living room. He crashed next to her. He had a hell of a day too.
Jess heard the front door creak open, followed by the familiar thud of Don's boots being kicked off and the soft rustle of his jacket landing on the hook by the door. His footsteps moved down the hallway, slow and heavy, before he finally appeared in the living room and dropped onto the couch beside her with a sigh.
He didn't say anything at first. Just leaned back, shoulder brushing hers, the silence between them filled with mutual exhaustion.
"Long day?" she asked quietly, eyes still on the ceiling.
Don let out a tired breath. "Hell of one."
She nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
He reached over, his hand finding hers without needing to look. Their fingers laced together easily, like they always did.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They just sat there in the quiet, the weight of the day slowly easing between them, not gone—but lighter.
"I don't know how to do this," Jess said finally, voice low. "Not without screwing something up."
"You're not screwing anything up," Don said gently. "You're just carrying more than most people ever have to. And still doing it better than anyone I know."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, letting his warmth settle the storm in her chest. "I'm scared."
"I know," he said. "Me too. But we're in this together, Jess. That hasn't changed."
And in that moment, it was enough.