DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. Rizzoli & Isles and its characters are the property of Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro and TNT television network. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Demeter94[at]yahoo.de
SERIES: Falling Dreams Series

By Demeter

  A person's dreams could go from wonderful to exremely disturbing in a heartbeat, Lindsay thought as she stared back into the demonic mask hovering over her. Too bad though that this wasn't a dream. The chilling cold and the smell in the room hinting at a dead body somewhere close where real just as the grinning face in front of her. Though she'd never before met him in person, of course Lindsay knew who Charles Hoyt was.

From somewhere deep inside, a scream rose that she barely kept inside.

He smiled. "Your eyes," he said, sounding pleased and even a bit surprised. "You've got my Janie's eyes."

It had been a few stressful weeks, but that day, Lindsay had taken the afternoon off, done some elaborate grocery shopping and prepared dinner, the comfort of mundane things. Cindy had come home to a nicely domestic scene, table set, homecooked meal ready for her, and she had shown her appreaciation later.

For once, Lindsay had truly found some distance from the never-ending demands, of her job and other challenges life had presented lately as she drifted off to sleep with Cindy's arms around her. The beginnings of a cold the next morning couldn't really dampen her mood.

"There I thought I was the one giving you the fever," Cindy said affectionately, and Lindsay had just the time for a heartfelt smile before the next sneezing fit.

Life was good. It wouldn't last. It never did.

"No. Don't tell me that... Just, no!"

When Jane jumped to her feet, Gabriel didn't follow her to the window where she started pacing, fortunately understanding that she needed space more than an affectionate touch.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. He could go anywhere."

As always, he tried to be the voice of reason, but as far as Jane was concerned, reason was no help when dealing with the monster they were talking about. Not just any of them. THE one. "How the hell could that happen? And don't tell me he's about to escape to a tropic island. You and I both know where he's going." Instinctively, she flexed her fingers. It was both disturbing and fascinating how the body stored memories. The memory of Hoyt, especially knowing he was, once again, out there, never failed to create that twinge of pain.

"I called Lindsay," Gabriel said. "I got the voicemail, but at least they're warned. If Hoyt is really planning to go to San Francisco, which wouldn't be the smart thing to do."

Jane shook her head. "He doesn't care about smart. Here's the perfect opportunity for revenge, he won't let that pass."

Gabriel's expression said that he wanted to disagree, to assure her, but really couldn't, because he shared her assessment.

It was cold, so damn cold in the room. She was shaking, not from fear which would have been sensible, sort of, but from the temperature and her own not so perfect condition. This was bad. She couldn't allow herself to slip into a gentle fantasy; she'd end up dead, but the overpowering smell was making her sick.

Lindsay tried to move her hands which were tied above her head, trying to get some of the feeling back. Her toes barely touched the floor, the strain getting more painful by the minute. She had to find a way out of this, somehow. If she needed Jane to bail her out once more, it would seriously mess with her ego.

That, and she was done with hunting evil. This time, for real. Lindsay was all but sure that she'd make it out of this alive, but if she did, she wouldn't poison her life, or Cindy's, for that matter, with the fantasies of men who loved hurting women most in the world. No more.

The thought of Cindy was enough to shatter her composure. As she cried, Lindsay was only grateful to be alone in the room.

The End

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