DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Colour and Sound
Gaping vortexes that stretch across both body and mind; overwhelming numbness and all other matter of paradoxes; canyons so deep and hollow that they threaten to swallow the cosmos Lindsay knew them well. She knew them all. She knew horrors so vast that they seep into one's skin and bones. Each skilled movement of the needle sealed more than just blue lips; they sealed her fate. Constantly riding the edge of utter lack of feeling and complete anguish, Lindsay was perpetually on the verge of falling.
Looking out at the city lights, Lindsay didn't know which way to fall. They twinkled as she imagined the stars would if they were able to shine against the glare of the metropolitan electric flames. Each flash and horn pulled the brunette farther into the question that seemed to have no answer. The question that carved its nails down into her psyche.
Did she want to be an empty shell without any capacity for empathy? Or did she want to feel every tear and spilt drop of blood as a needle plunging into her flesh? The night brought no answers to her. The wind brought only a momentary peace before submerging her back into the inferno.
She had said that she would break herself in order to catch him. His gaze was fixed on her, and hers had never wavered from him. The Kiss-Me-Not killer and her were bound in a mental staring contest, and who ever blinked first was dead.
She wanted him. She wanted his name, his face, and his essence bared to the world. She wanted him to rot, or perhaps to fry she couldn't decide. Sometimes the desire to catch him was the only thing that kept her feeling something. Until lately.
Lately, she had begun to feel things anew. Small things. Inconsequential things. She felt the light caress of a touch on the arm. She felt the churning of amusement, and the leaky faucet pangs of annoyance. Her feelings began to have colour and sound. Hues of green when her attention was directed elsewhere. Vibrant shades of purple when she watched smiles not only reach her eyes, but go beyond and encompass her. And when their eyes locked, she was lost. Every colour imaginable swirled together in the pallet of her soul.
She pushed, screamed, and kicked it all away. Lindsay couldn't allow herself the pleasure of colour and sound. They made her weak; they made her need. No. Lindsay needed to reside in gray and black. Those colours were predictable; those colours she could understand. They could be controlled. They didn't mix and change. Rigid and safe. With a psycho serial killer out to get her, Lindsay needed something safe.
Hiding in the shadows, she watched. She watched the colours dance just outside of her reach. She listened in the haze, listening as one would to a whispered conversation in which one cannot make out the words. She both longed for and despised them. Just as she was torn between longing and despising her. Her. She who made it all begin. She who attempted to yank her from Kansas into Oz with each laugh and bite of the lip.
"Lindsay." Sound protruded through the silence of her flimsily clasped mind. Lindsay resisted the urge to turn from the city view of the roof and face the woman who seemed to materialize from her thoughts.
Such effervescent red locks and dazzling chocolate eyes could never be trapped in the world of black and gray. Ceaselessly blithering lips and twittering laughter could not be placed in a realm without sound.
Lindsay could not respond. She had no words or sound. She could not face the woman; doing so would blow the barrier she had placed in order to stop the colours. Black. Gray. Silence. Black. Gray. Silence. The words echoed like a mantra in her head as she struggled to hold to her resolve.
She could feel the other woman draw near. A touch lingered on her shoulder; a finger traced along her cheek. Against her better judgment, she turned.
A polyphony burst open in the brunette's mind. Every note, volume, and resonance came alive. She had sound. Absorbing the sight before her, an impasto brought every tint and shade into being.
She saw red fires of passion, and heard the thudding of her heart within her chest.
Return to Women's Murder Club Fiction
Return to Main Page