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.
Dream
By GilliganKane
Lindsay opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, watching the headlights making nonscensical shapes of lights dance across the room. She closed her eyes momentairly as she took in the warmth of the bed, burrowing in further from the coolness of the night. Claire always told her that it was unnatural to be so cold all the time. Sometimes, Lindsay had a hard time guessing whether she was talking about a physical coldness, or an emotional one.
As she nestled under the down comforter, she felt a hand, which she hadn't noticed before, move from a tight, owning grasp on her forearm to her stomach. And a husky-sounding morning voice whispered "a few more minutes babe" that echoed in the silent bedroom. Lindsay turned and laid her head on the shoulder next to her. She smiled into the red locks of hair, happy for a moment.
But Lindsay had had this dream before. And it always ended the same way.
She always woke up alone.
Every morning, she rolled over in bed and shivered, because somehow, she had managed to kick the comorter to the floor in the process of the night. She fought the urge to throw her alarm clock out her bedroom window and hurried across her cold wood floor to the bathroom, turning on the shower to a temperature most people considered scalding. Then she headed downstairs and patted Martha on the head, gave her broken coffee pot a disgusted look and headed to the station.
She never drove past the paper, even though the alternate route added another five minutes to her drive time, because the one time she did, she caught sight of a certain red head and almost didn't see the guy in front of her brake. When she got to the stoplight a hundred yards down the road, the scrawny chicken neck driver in front of her got out of his car to yell at her, and then ran back to his Prius in fear when she flashed her badge and gave him what everyone called "lazer vision."
And when she got to work, every morning, Jacobi was a nice enough guy to make sure that there was still enough crappy cop coffee in the machine for a cup. And she hocked it down, then called up to Jill's office, barking a greeting at the lawyer's secretary. She'd go and ask Jill about her night, acting as if they'd been away from each other for days, when in reality, she had said goodnight to the blond woman a little over ten hours before. On her way back to her desk, she headed down to the basement of The Hall to say "hey" to Claire and grab a few Tootsie Rolls, rolling her eyes when Momma Claire lectured her about cavities. And then a major case broke, and even though she had managed to avoid Cindy so far that day, she'd have to let Jill call the reporter, or things in their "club" would go south.
And the four of them solved the murder and went off into the night after having a drink - or two - together. Claire went home to Edmund and her boys. Jill went home to her life-saving ER doc. Cindy usually went home to her laptop, but lately she wasn't going home at all, and Jill and Claire would smile when they saw Jamie Galvin picking up the young reporter at their "club headquarters." Lindsay went home to her dog.
Every night it was the same thing. Get home, lock the doors, then double lock the doors. She stood in front of the fridge for a moment, comtemplating whether she should have a beer or not. She never did. On the way up the stairs, she shut off all the lights and began undressing herself as she headed down the hallway. By the time she reached her bed, she was wearing next to nothing and she fell into bed, letting exhaustion take over her body as Martha padded around the room, trying to find somewhere suitable to sleep.
And then Lindsay would open her eyes and stare up at the ceiling, watching the headlights making nonscensical shapes of lights dance across the room. She would close her eyes momentairly as she took in the warmth of the bed, burrowing in further from the coolness of the night.
Then she would feel someone next to her, holding her tight, like the person beside her feared to let go. And Lindsay would turn and she would smile into the red locks of hair, happy for a moment.
But Lindsay had had this dream before. And it always ended the same way.
She always woke up alone.
The End