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.

Shades of the Truth
By Demeter

The rich smell of the fire kept her mesmerized, just like the sound of the ocean, waves lapping against the sand endlessly. She didn't care for the small crowd, and they didn't take notice of her. So she sat, in a distance from them, shivering as the now cool sand whispered against the skin of her calves.

The fire was beautiful, but she wasn't close enough to be warmed by it.

She tilted her head back, amazed by the wealth of stars that decorated the dark night sky. In the city, light pollution never allowed such a sight. She was glad to be here, alone among strangers, the sounds of nature lulling her into an almost meditative-like state.

The past few months - who was she kidding, years - there hadn't been much time to just stop and listen.

At the same time, this very state seemed to reinforce the deep melancholy she'd brought to this place with her, a company unwanted, but just as equally unshakeable. She'd been said to be complicated before.

Folding her legs underneath herself, she closed her eyes, wanting to anchor herself in the moment, wishing for a sliver of hope, but her thoughts spiraled helplessly back to the not so distant past, and the pain she was trying to outrun.

"This is so beautiful."

She jumped, recognizing the voice before she was on her feet, but the interruption had startled her, making her feel jittery and somehow embarrassed, as if it had been her duty to always been on guard. She glared at the younger woman she had seen at the market before.

"It is. And I'm trying to appreciate the beauty in peace - by myself."

Even saying the words, she had known they wouldn't have much of an effect, and it pleased and disturbed her in equal parts.

"I can be quiet."

That made her chuckle. Quiet was not a word she'd use to describe her. "Somehow I doubt that." Still, she made room on the narrow towel she'd brought, and the other woman sat down beside her.

Too close. Too dangerous. She stole a glance at shiny red hair, warm brown eyes and a smile that brought heat to her cheeks. She quickly looked away.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice husky and breathless, giving too much away.

The young woman stared out at the fire and the ocean for the span of nearly a minute before she answered.

"I was looking for you."

Why? would have been the most logical question to follow. She didn't ask. She knew. "You found me." She wondered what it would feel like to have those rusty-red strands slip through her fingers like silk, silence words with a kiss and taste a different kind of hunger.

She should be so foolish. Remember what happened the last time?

"Yes, I did. I was wondering if you'd like to share this." She produced a bottle of wine and two paper cups from her bag. "And talk."

"About?"

Finally, she turned to face her companion again. Her less than sociable manners did little to discourage the young woman.

Hands flew up to illustrate her point as she said, "This. The beauty of nature. Us. The intangible but utter miracle of what is happening. Hell, the weather if you like."

She laughed so hard tears sprang to her eyes, and then she turned away again in shame. The boundaries were blurry still. "There are no miracles." Tears and laughter still fighting for the upper hand.

"I believe otherwise. You haven't told me to get lost yet, so that definitely qualifies as one."

"Would you, if I told you?"

This time, there was no hesitation. "No."

The sensations of nature were still around her like before, but receding to the background. The scent of the woman's perfume, the sound of her soft exhalations, her sheer presence, were a lot more prominent to her.

When she accepted the paper cup of wine, their fingers touched briefly, and she was both fascinated and frightened at the ravenous need within, made aware by just a small touch.

What would it be like to...

She downed half of the cup at once, welcoming the pleasant burn of the alcohol and the warmth it left in her belly. Mortified, she admitted to herself that she needed it. Once, she had thought of herself as brave. Much of that courage had been left behind on that long road that never seemed to lead home.

"I wasn't trying to get you drunk, though," the woman said softly, reaching out hesitantly to cover her hand with hers.

It wasn't like she couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her this tenderly. That was exactly the problem, that she could, and it was the last thing she wanted at the moment. "Why do you care?" Her words sounded harsh in her own ears, intentionally, but she was the one who flinched.

"Because I believe you're worth it, even if you don't."

She couldn't stand the conversation any longer, not the words of which each one seemed to cut right to a place she didn't even want to acknowledge, salt in not yet healed wounds, so she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she'd been thinking of since she'd realized that the other woman had followed her here.

She leaned over and kissed her, the taste of wine sweet on lips parting under hers, letting her in, the heat of the unfamiliar body beneath her burning through the fabric of their clothes. Is it that what you're after? Again, there was no answer needed. She pulled her close, sealing their lips again, feeling her shiver with want, as her hand traveled over the soft curve of a breast.

When she drew back for breath, she was surprised to feel the wetness on her face.

All this time, coming here to hide from the world and all that it had taken from her, she had wondered when it might arrive. Seemed like someone else had found her breaking point for her.

An all too familiar panic made her want to run. She couldn't. It was far too late.

The stark white walls of the room seemed to gleam in the darkness, candles flickering behind stained glass framed by delicate iron-wrought patterns in the beautifully crafted lamps. Everything was bathed in a sparse, warm light, softening the sharp edges of reason and reality.

She'd returned from the bathroom anxiously, her nerves frayed, almost expecting the other woman to be gone. She wasn't.

So she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting once more, the cool night air drifting inside through the open window chilling her skin. Each minute ticking by making room for second thoughts. Could she trust her? No, she thought bitterly, the question was rather, could she trust anyone, ever again?

The door fell shut with a soft sound, and the questions dissipated into nothing at the sight before her. "You still think this is a good idea?" The irony quite failed her, instead, her words sounded like a plea. God, please don't leave me.

Not that it was very likely, because all the young woman was wearing was a fluffy white towel. She didn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere.

"Come here."

This is now, she reminded herself, no good to think of what was or could have been. The candles cast soft shadows over her companion as she stepped closer, finally beside her, leaning into her. Once this close, she couldn't let go of her anymore. Parting the edges of the towel with trembling fingers, she wrapped her arms around her, letting the warmth of still shower-warm skin chasing away the chill that had seeped inside of her cell-deep. Not just this evening, but for months.

Her fingertips tingled with the tide of curiosity and want, brushing the skin of the woman's nape, then her shoulder blades, tickled by soft strands of hair. Her heart was beating so hard it nearly hurt as she leaned forward to press a kiss against her neck, intending to be gentle, but she wasn't. The answering moan sent a jolt of pure pleasure through her own body, centering in the sweet ache pulsing between her legs. Searching the woman's eyes in the near darkness, she found confirmation, a mirror of her own feelings ranging from confusion to a joy that was dangerous to experience, because it could turn to something ugly before you knew. Not tonight, though.

"Do you always follow random women to their hotel rooms?" she asked, fingers ghosting over a collarbone, then cupping the woman's breasts gently.

"Do you--" A small pause, catching breath. "Always take random women back home?"

Sometimes, the thought flickered on her mind, but she shook her head. "No reason to so far." Then she leaned forward to put her mouth where here hands had been a moment ago, and for a while, there was silence except for strained breathing and the blood rushing in her ears.

She shouldn't feel so alive. She didn't deserve it. Nevertheless, she took in all of it, greedily, as far as she could reach and imagine anyway, and then she let the younger woman take over. She could have easily told before that they differed when it came to experience. She didn't mind.

This woman had never been up close with the nightmares that haunted her, but tonight, she could feel safe in her hands. Forget.

Bliss was spreading into every corner of her mind while the ghosts danced around it merrily.

A kiss to the palm of her hand, her wrist... she let them all go. They'd still be here tomorrow. Hands slid under the shirt she'd donned, because it had seemed so silly to wait here with no clothes on, the touch sure and confident. Almost reverent.

She sat up to pull the shirt over her head and toss it aside, then let herself be pressed down gently, welcoming the warm weight covering her own body. The tenderness of the hands exploring her was almost more than she could handle, if exactly what she needed, even if she hadn't known.

Another trail of kisses leading downwards, making her quirm, with pleasure and nervousness, but then it was all gone in a flash when surprisingly strong hands held her hips, soft hair caressing her thighs and the touch of the woman's tongue reducing her world to fire.

She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the ocean and the flames, fire and water, as she was beginning to tremble, inside and outside.

When it was over, she reached out blindly, burying her face against the other woman's neck, letting softly murmured reassurances soothe her, as the tight, ever-present chokehold of memory finally loosened.

She cried, for the first time since the day she'd thought her life had ended.

The press had been merciless afterwards. With children having died, the public needed someone to blame, to make sense of the insanity. The tape of her answering machine was usually filled with messages ranging from hopeful requests of a statement to downright harassment.

She stopped listening to them.

At another time, she would have sought and found comfort with her friends, or the man she'd once loved, but that was in the past, too. He had made different choices. They had their own nightmares to deal with.

So she tumbled through her days, surviving on numbness and denial. Working long hours. Running. Only whenever she lay down to sleep, the images were already there. She slept as little as possible, or sometimes tried a bottle to help her chase them away.

The next time a reporter called, leaving a message when she didn't pick up, she tossed the phone against the wall, watching it break and shatter on the floor.

She wasn't quite ready to make a decision, or to even start facing the total disruption of her life, beginning with pity and betrayal, ending in regret and death. But she knew she had to get away. Today. It was all of a sudden very clear, and even more urgent.

On her cell phone, she called her boss who used to be her lover in what seemed another life now, a different universe too vague to remember. He didn't even try to pretend being surprised. She knew he had expected this call.

"Are you going to come back?" he asked.

"I don't know."

And that didn't surprise him either.

"How far are we on the inspector's story?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Few staff members could afford this kind of behavior around the editor, but her days of him making her nervous had come and long gone. She knew her value. "There is no story. We'll never get a statement."

"Have you tried?"

"Only about twenty times? Woman never answers her phone. What am I to do?"

"Turn on your charm. Find a way. Any way."

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering how much was rhetoric, and how much insinuation. "You are not asking me to overstep any boundaries, right?"

He chuckled. "When have you ever stayed within the boundaries?"

"True. Look, I need more time."

"And I want that story ASAP. I see her sob story all over the 'Chronicle', you are so fired."

"Slave Driver."

"You need it. So, dinner at eight?"

"Sorry, no time." She smiled sweetly. "I've got a story to research."

With an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself off from the chair, shaking his head as he left her to her work.

She resumed staring at the photograph on her desk, of the beautiful dark-haired woman with the haunted gaze.

She wanted the truth. She wanted to make a difference.

"Any way," she whispered.

There hadn't been any nightmares as they'd slept in the tangled sheets, wrapped around each other. She wasn't fooling herself thinking that they were magically gone, but this small break seemed like the first feeling of strength after a long illness.

Dawn caught up with them inevitably though. She lay awake, trying to shush the doubts that were murmuring to her, but they were getting louder.

What had she been thinking anyway? Well, there hadn't been a lot of thinking involved, actually. She stretched languidly, almost ashamed to feel the smile spread on her face. The melancholy had seemed more appropriate, a pay-off for mistakes made. If she could have this, a night of insane passion with a much younger woman who hadn't snuck out on her in the dead of night, if she could feel this happy again - what would be the costs?

Next to her, the other woman was only just stirring.

She couldn't help but being amused. Age and experience aside, she could obviously keep up. It was good to know.

"Like what you see?"

She trailed her fingers down the side of the woman's smiling face, then down her shoulder, tugging at the sheet, answering her question. "Very much." She was surprised by the flash of lust, a sensation she'd almost forgotten and hadn't felt like she'd had any use for before this night. The world had become brighter, more intense. The walls that had been both blocking and sheltering her... about to crumble.

"Thank God. I was worried you'd freak out if you still found me here in the morning."

"I think I would have freaked out if I hadn't found you here," she admitted.

She let the other woman curl up against her side, pulling her close, and they lay together in silence for a while. She hadn't intended the question, not consciously, though it had been there all the time, from the first look they shared at the market. "Who are you?"

She hadn't missed her flinching, wondering what kind of secrets life had burdened her with. At that age, she had had none, ready to take on the world, contemplating her career, marriage, possible children. What had remained of that?

"Just some random woman you took back home?" It sounded sad. When had their roles reversed?

"Try again." Her tone was a tiny bit too sharp for a morning after conversation, she realized a little too late.

"Don't expect any logical explanation here. From the first time I saw you, I knew I wanted to be with you. Any--" She stopped herself, but it seemed honest, mostly, like at least two thirds of the truth. It had to be enough.

"Really? I'm flattered."

With the one question, there were more rushing in, but it seemed silly to start an interrogation now. They weren't cop and suspect, just two people whose lifelines had crossed and would run separately again. No denying.

"It's the truth. I'm still amazed you were so--"

"Easy?" she suggested dryly.

"I was going to say, open to my idea." They laughed together until other memories came forward, the moments that had not been lust and laughter. "Can I ask you a question, too?"

Somehow she didn't seem like the type who'd be satisfied with just one question. "I guess."

"It's not actually a question. I just wanted to say, if you ever want to talk about it, I would--"

"Thanks, but no thanks." This, whatever it was between them, was much too light, too fragile for words like the ones she'd need to describe and explain. They would easily crush it. She knew, because she bore the weight of them, unspoken, every day.

"If you ever change your mind, I'll make sure you know where to find me."

She forced herself to smile. "Thank you." This time, she meant more than the offer, and the gentle smile she got in response told her that the message had been understood.

Before long, she'd be dealing with the darkness again, whether she returned to face the past or not.

Stupid, she berated herself, slamming her fist against the wall of her own, smaller hotel room. The sharp pain did nothing to ease the bitter self-reproach. She had had her one chance of telling the truth, and she just couldn't. For the sake of her job as much as for that of her heart who was going to shatter anytime soon, anyway.

She had obsessed over her approach a million times, though in the end, it had been too easy. She couldn't back out now, while any step forward would drive her deeper into that tangled web of lies she had woven.

That wasn't entirely true, either.

From the first time I saw you, I knew I wanted to be with you. That hadn't been a lie. Only it hadn't been yesterday at the market, when she'd let herself get caught openly staring. It had started several weeks ago with the photo she'd seen of her, the gaze transfixed, shell-shocked, on the small bundle on the ground.

Cops and civilians had died that day, questions and accusations raised.

The people in the city whose usual exuberance was still veiled with grief, deserved answers. They needed them.

One woman needed closure.

It was a no-win situation.

It would have been too easy to just disappear, but just on time 11 AM as they'd said, there was a knock on the door. She almost fell over her own feet rushing to open.

"Hey. You're all set?"

She grabbed her jacket, keys and purse, not even trying to make it look like she hadn't waited for this moment anxiously. They were brave, withstanding not only the dawn, but also the harsh daylight outside of the confines of these walls. A long way to have come for two women who had shared everything but their names.

You're here. She'd almost said it out loud in wonder, but she refrained herself to letting her gaze travel upside down her, the comfortable but pretty red dress, the white sandals with the open toes. Red hair now wound up in a French roll.

She looked directly at her again to find her blush from the intense scrutiny, which made her smile.

"I'm good," she said, laying her arm around the younger woman's waist. "Let's go."

The village looked the same as it had yesterday, she rationally knew. Still, the colors seemed a lot brighter, the sounds a lot less like under water, the way she had experienced it yesterday and every day before.

There was no market today, but a busy time as churchgoers streamed out of the cathedral, all restaurants and cafés around the square open, attracting tourists and locals alike. Church bells, a street musician in an alley, laughter and conversation.

She felt free in this place for the first time since she had come here.

She felt scared as hell of having it taken away from her again. So silly, a woman of her age and with what she had seen should know better than to expect... anything come out of a one-night-stand with a pretty woman in a beautiful village far from home. And yet, she couldn't help it.

"It's so peaceful here. I could get used to that."

"Nothing's forever." It was the truth, reinforced in one lesson after another. This would be no exception.

"Why do you say that?" the words, spoken in a soft tone that bordered on broken-hearted, struck a spark of hope that she might not be the only one hugging foolish expectations close to her. It filled her with a warm, cozy feeling.

"That's the way it is. But you - we don't need to care about it now, do we?"

"You're right, we don't."

They walked together out of the shadow of the cathedral and along the sunlit path that brought them to the beach again, close to the place where they'd found each other only yesterday. The way lead through high bushes, a rich green competing with the purple of its blossoms in full bloom, giving off an intoxicating scent.

It was like she hadn't seen any of this before, and with each image, each sensation, the reality she'd flown from became freakish and fragmented like the distant memory of a movie. The ghost on her arm wasn't pressing so close today. Nonetheless, she shivered with the knowledge that it could only be temporary. It was waiting for her.

They didn't talk much, because there wasn't really much they could say without cracking the delicate shell of the safe space they were in, yet.

But the hand in hers made it real, more than any reassurances could have, and then she had to pull her close and kiss her again to make it even more real.

There was only so much room for evasion, though, and that afternoon, the fan above cooling the sweat on their skin, she couldn't help but asking herself again.

Who are you? And while we're at it, who am I?

"When do you have to go?"

"Huh?" The fingers drawing idle patterns on her stomach momentarily stopped. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"Not today. A week from now, or two. There must be some job waiting for you." Subtlely putting on pressure. She had always been good at that.

"I'm not sure about that. What about you?"

Go back, ask for a transfer? Start over elsewhere? She just couldn't. It was her city, her home. Here and now, the world behind the looking glass, it wasn't supposed to last. An illusion. "You're changing the subject." A little less subtle, now.

"I'm not. There is nothing else I want to think about at the moment. Nothing that's more important."

"This is getting silly." She got up, wrapping herself in the sheet, wanting... she didn't know quite what exactly. Hunting for information, or keeping that tender idea of safety from the real world, she couldn't have it both ways.

"I had the idea--" Arms came around her, the voice a soft whisper caressing the back of her neck. "This secrecy was something you felt safer with. You want to see my ID? A background check?"

"Why me? It would probably help if you had an answer."

She hadn't expected the chuckle. "Why? Take a look."

She turned to face the mirror, but couldn't detect anything different. She was comfortable with her body for the most part, but didn't think of it as anything special. Catching the gaze of admiration on the younger woman's face reflected back at her, she had to smile. "Flattery again? You think it'll get you somewhere?"

"I already am where I want to be."

"Is that so?"

She studied their shared reflection once more, and all of the answers she could possibly get seemed pointless, a distraction. Did it really matter? In a time not long from now, they'd go their separate ways. There was no second chance. Theirs was now.

She turned around, pulling the younger woman to her, pushing her up against the mirror. Taking control. She could tell from the look of surprised pleasure, the widening of brown eyes, that it was very welcome.

She could see her own smirk in the mirror behind her. Oh yes, she liked it like that - and the woman, her lover, both indulged and complemented her. She felt secretly giddy calling her that, lover, but the echo of 'one-night-stand' had long vanished. They'd made it into the next day. Anything beyond that -- who knew?

"It is. I--" The rest of what she was going to say was lost in a shiver and a moan at the contrasting sensation of cool glass against her back and warm hands exploring her body.

Touch winning over words, again.

"I'm glad, too," she whispered against the woman's neck, fingers tracing goosebumps raised by the glass that mirrored their every move, brushing over trembling thighs. She wasn't going to make it last this time, trapping her against the mirror, one hand on her lower back, steadying her, as the fingers of the other one danced suggestively over sensitive skin.

Eyelids had fluttered shut and snapped open again the moment the same fingers slid inside easily. Her body tensed in pleasant sympathy, as she remembered exactly how this had felt from the other side.

It didn't take long for the other woman to get so close to the edge it would have taken her seconds to tumble over it, but no, she had other plans with her. The slow withdrawal of her fingers elicited a frustrated moan, but all of that was forgotten in a heartbeat when she went to her knees, looking up at the beautiful face, the gaze of disbelief clouded with lust.

"I wanted to try that, too." Not waiting for an answer, she leaned forward, running her tongue over places her hand had caressed moments ago.

If the gasp from above her was any indication, she had to be doing it right, and more appreciative sounds assured her of that. Her own body felt feverish with the echo of a sweet, pulsing ache. Above her, the young woman stilled, her panting turned into something that sounded like a sob as her body gave in to the pleasure offered to her.

She nearly was right there with her, but not quite, which seemed like a good metaphor for their relationship:

The burning hunger remained.

"I'm a writer."

She raised her head to look at her curiously.

"You asked."

"Okay. What kind of things do you write?"

There was a moment of hesitation. "A novel actually. It's supposed to be published next year."

"Sounds good." Granted, she didn't know a lot about the matter, but she was pretty sure that with her enthusiasm and determination, the younger woman could write at a gripping pace. You're definitely holding my attention already. She wondered if what they had was enough to ask for a sample. "So you came here to finish it?"

"Kind of. What about you?"

She felt her body tense uncomfortably at having the question redirected at her, just like always when she was more or less forced to deal with it. It made the air in the room seem stifling. It was frustrating, she thought, staring up at the ceiling, as she tried to muster the courage for such a simple answer.

"I'm a cop." She used to say it with some pride.

Before the inferno. It had been called like that in the press, and secretly, she agreed, only the vultures, who had pounced on each of them who had survived, would never know how bad it could have been. She couldn't really understand her own reaction - she had seen the work of serial killers before. She had seen children killed. All of it was a, if especially gruesome, part of her profession.

Still.

She waited, but there was no comment forthcoming. "You don't have to be so surprised."

"I'm not. You act like someone who carries a lot of responsibility."

"I do?"

Lazily, she let her fingers caress the woman's face, running her thumb over soft lips that curved into a smile at the touch. Her body tingled, remembering, her mind desperately trying to make her believe it wouldn't end the same way.

"You do the 'serving' part well, for one." The skin under her fingertips heated. The woman could talk naughty, but it still made her blush. It was the most adorable combination.

"Well, thank you."

It was in reach, only moments away, the opportunity where she would just cave and tell the story, all of it, because maybe she wouldn't have to carry it alone for the rest of her life.

Maybe it was no coincidence at all that she had met this woman who seemed to put her mind at ease without even trying. She longed for it, hadn't even know hown much. And she feared it all the same.

"Your novel, what is it about?"

The agents brought an air of unease and danger with them into the bullpen, and it built, the whole time they were inside the lieutenant's office.

Everyone was going about their work, but the tension was unmistakable. When she was called inside, all quiet converations came to a halt, curious looks following her up the stairs.

He was blond, good-looking, even smiled as he shook her hand, but she sensed a man with enough dark secrets he'd never stop looking over his shoulder under the facade. The female agent wore a business suit; she had brown curly hair, doe eyes, looks probably just as deceiving in her case.

When she learned the reason for their visit, her stomach churned with nausea. She hadn't dealt with this kind of threat in her career, ever.

"We'll need access to your resources, and any personnel available." The male agent stood in the conrner of the room, his voice quiet, but insistent.

"Of course."

She shared a worried look with her ex-turned-boss, as they both struggled to understand the way their world had turned in a heartbeat. They were both used to having to make decisions on which people's lives depended - until now, just never so many.

They spent long hours each day closing in on the suspects, formulating a plan on catching them without harming any civilians.

She'd been lonely, and scared. Maybe they both were. It would have helped if she could have talked to her friends, but this was top secret. She'd bent the rules by sharing information with them when it helped closing a case; this time, any word would shatter the rules into a million pieces, and frankly, she didn't want them anywhere near this.

So they spent more and more time together, professional and personal blending together. By the time she was able to admit the attraction to herself, the nightmare was already close.

The big day was only a few days away when they had dinner together, late one night, trying hard to hold on to a shred of sanity in a time that was all but sane. Lonely and scared. Curious.

They got drunk together that night, and that was how the kiss happened. Pleasantly warm and aroused, she was on the verge of blurting out how much she wanted, needed, more. She'd thought she'd seen all that reflected in the other woman's face. Cheeks flushed, eyes shining with promise.

"Look, I'm --" The agent hesitated. "I'm sorry. I'm married."

That had not been the only tragedy.

"Will you... will you come back?" She just had to ask. It was silly to expect anything at all, really.

The answering smile made her heart flutter just a little bit. "If you let me stay again?"

That was not the problem. Letting her go for a few hours, to do some work, make some calls to her publisher, that's what made her anxious. At some point, she'd gotten used to sharing her drinks with loneliness curled up beside her, the only reliable companion.

Hoping for something real again - potentially devastating.

"Sure. Should I wait with dinner?"

"I'm gonna be late." It was said with a trace of believable regret.

"Oh. No problem." As long as you do come back. She opened her arms and the woman stepped into her embrace, hugging her back tightly. She would survive for a few hours, wouldn't she?

Outside, dusk was falling. With a sigh, she drew the blinds and picked up one of the books she'd brought, looking at it indecisively. She'd been reading a lot since she'd come here, and it was as much an escape as early morning runs - but her running had come to a halt. Literally.

If only she'd know where to go from here.

"I told you I need more time."

"And I'm thinking you are enjoying a paid vacation over there," he shot back.

She rolled her eyes at the phone, resisting the impulse to just shut it and end the call. More and more, she was asking herself if her reasoning still held any value, if she was still certain that her virtues gave her the right to continue what she had started.

She was in over her head in every aspect of her life. She had wanted to explain, give a reason to the people in the city who wondered if they could ever feel safe again. Make sense of the trauma. Lately, the only thing she wanted to was to protect the woman who had been so intimate with that trauma that each tiny step into that direction made her withdraw as far as she could.

"So, how much longer?"

Try 'never'. She sighed. "A few days at the latest. I'll be back next weekend."

She could finally unlock that door, held the key in her hands already. There was no saying though, what would be found on the other side.

They visited the market again, before breakfast. The dark clouds had receded some, literally and in every other sense. It was an explosion of sensations, colors and scents, clothing and jewelry in one corner, food in the other, fresh fruits and vegetables, baked goods, meat.

"Let's have a picnic today," she suggested, happy to see her companion's eyes light up. She'd known, it was just the thing she would approve of.

Their basket was soon filled with fresh fruit, bread and cheese, the scents enticing, making her stomach growl appreciatively. They got coffee from one of the stands, and were good to go and choose a more quiet place for their endeavor when a piercing howl made her spin around.

The child was about three years old, but the moment she realized that she'd simply fallen and banged her knee, another, far more threatening reality was taking over, and the hot cup slipped from her fingers, its hot contents burning her skin and spilling onto the ground.

She was pressed against the wall, slowly taking step by step on the old worn stairs. The apartment was the second on the right side on the third floor. There were three suspects inside, the man, his wife and his brother. All of them were major players in the cell that had long harbored plans to wreak havoc in the city on the designed day.

They were going to catch them in the act of making the last preparations.

They'd been tipped off though, expecting them, starting to shoot the moment they broke down the door.

There was an exchange of fire, each shot resounding like an explosion in the hall. Inside the apartment, there was smoke, a child crying. She ventured further, coming face to face with the lead suspect in the children's room. She'd uttered a warning, but the moment she did, he turned his weapon on the toddler playing on the floor.

They knew they would never make it out - they'd never give up either.

So when the gunfire stopped, she stood frozen, staring at the sightless eyes of a child that would couldn't be more than two years old, small arms seeming to reach out for her to help. Too late. The cold, empty place inside of her just kept spreading and expanding, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn't turn away either.

If she'd had that child she probably wasn't meant to have, the age would have been the same now. She couldn't save either one.

That's when she heard someone cry out for a paramedic, something that jolted her out of her apathy.

The world as she knew it could still be starting to burn.

She'd started walking without realizing it, near running, and was only vaguely aware of the footsteps that were trying to keep up with her. That moment, she didn't even care.

"Wait!"

It was like being under water again, the sounds muted, far away, belonging to another world.

It was a ten-minute walk from the village to her hotel, but when she found herself on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and shaking hard enough to make her teeth chatter, she didn't know how she'd gotten here; the moments in between a black screen.

She'd snapped at the department shrink when he tried to approach the idea of post traumatic stress, and how training wasn't an armor against it when push came to shove. She had known all this, had seen it in other colleagues, but she'd just never thought she'd end up sitting at her kitchen table at three AM with a whiskey bottle, trying to evade the images of children executed by their own parents.

She'd been visiting too many funerals in the aftermath.

And yet, what they had planned to do would have been much worse, even if it was hard to imagine anything more horrible than that day.

The sound of the key in the lock startled her into action, a familiar move to reach for her weapon. She lowered it again when she came face to face with the frightened expression of a young woman bearing a basket with all the ingredients for a romantic picnic.

Reaching up, she pressed her hand against her forehead, trying futilely to alleviate the headache building steadily behind her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Repeat performance. Looking for you," the younger woman said breathlessly. "I told the roommaid you were my sister, and I was worried about you since you were diabetic and I hadn't heard from you so I had to--"

It was so relieving to find she wasn't the only one scared out of her mind.

"What happened at the market?"

"Don't," she said sharply. "It's not something you need to know."

She looked at the gun still in her hand, then laid it back onto the nightstand. The bed dipped softly as the other woman sat beside her, resting a hand lightly on her back. "Maybe I do."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know everything about you," came the soft-spoken answer. "Because when we have to go home, I don't want this to be over."

She had longed to hear this words, with hope and despair, but the timing couldn't have been worse. Another wave of images came rushing in to overflow her mind, crushing every beauty that could have been in this moment.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time.

"Are you going to come out? Please."

She leaned hard on the sink, fighting the vertigo. Bleary eyes stared back at her from a pale face. She remembered that look on her face, from that picture in the newspaper one of the photographers had taken. They never turned away.

"Don't you ever give up?" This wasn't something you ever wanted anybody to see, let alone someone you were having a passionate affair with in a small dreamy village where you spent your vacation.

It was supposed to be about lust, laughter, smiles and tenderness, not showing them the darkest recesses of your mind you could come up with.

"I try not to. I still haven't had breakfast either, so -- sorry," she said hastily. "Food might not be what you want to think about right now."

She sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass, still feeling queasy, but it didn't have to do with food at all. If anything, she was hungry. It was her soul that warred with sickness that made her stomach clench. With unsteady hands, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Waiting for another few moments, she opened the door.

"I'm sorry about... all this," she said vaguely.

"Don't be. It must have been bad."

She felt drained, dead-tired, sore, a simple nod all she could muster.

"Why don't you lay down for a while?" Warm hands touched the chilled skin on her arms. When she didn't move, the other woman gently steered her in the direction of the bed again. "I'll just wait here."

She was too exhausted to protest, so she just did as ordered. "Sorry about--"

"It's okay." The hand running down her back in a soothing motion almost lulled her back into sleep, at not yet 11 AM. Her body was only starting to catch up with all those long nights, staying up til she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, forcing herself out of bed early again. Lingering only for a minute was the fastest way into a flashback, sensations mocking her, snapping at her.

The hand was gone for a moment, the loss of its warmth bringing the chill back, but only until the other woman took off her shoes and lay down beside her, an arm around her waist. The warm weight against her back felt so good. She blinked, her vision blurring for a moment.

Talk to someone, the shrink had said. It doesn't have to be me, but you won't let it go until you put it out there in the open.

She wanted to. She wanted it badly, but she didn't think it could happen, not here, not with this woman who kept stealing adoring glances at her.

"I meant what I said. I'm a good listener."

"I don't doubt that for a minute." She found herself smiling, thinking that they had a lot in common. Neither of them backed down easily. The both knew a thing or two about subtle pressure. She just wasn't used to being on the receiving end of it, but she couldn't be really uncomfortable with the woman beside her.

"Someone... someone I cared for was killed during an assignment." That was only a part of it, and still her voice shook. She'd never make it through all of it and acknowledging that she wasn't talking about somebody else, that it had happened, and she'd been right in the middle of it.

"I'm sorry." The arms around her tightened.

If the suspects' plan had worked out, large parts of the city could have been in ashes. Most of the explosives had been found and defused in time. The block where the suspects had lived and planned their version of the apocalypse, hadn't been so lucky.

And how much right did she have to mourn for a woman she'd kissed once? She'd seen the husband, tall, dark, handsome, hiding his pain behind black glasses, from afar. She'd turned away, flushing with the shame of her secret.

Shame and grief made an unholy connection, and still it was only a part. Three dead children, all under five, in a modest apartment, was another. And ever-present, the Damocles Sword of what could have been.

"I can't," she whispered. "It's too much."

There was no attempt at convincing her otherwise with words, but the gentle touch of the fingers brushing over her hair, her arm, was undoing her just as effectively.

Tired of fighting, she let it happen.

They went down to the beach again that night. There was no fire this time, just the everlasting sound of the ocean, and the whisper of the wind on the sand, purple flashes of color on the horizon the last traces of the setting sun.

Ending, and beginning. An endless circle.

She held on to the hand in hers, marveling at the wonder of the two of them being here. The woman still being here with her. Day three would soon be dawning. She shivered. One day sooner that they'd have to go back to their real lives and what was left in them.

Everything had changed.

She could no longer deny it.

She'd gone away when it was still dark, leaving with whispers and caresses and the promise of words and love-making. Then, she'd retreated to her own hotel room and booted up her laptop. Part of her still felt like being in shock - got more than you bargained for, didn't you?

She'd dealt with some disturbing imagery before, but this-- she wrote until her fingers hurt, and the letters started to blur before her eyes, which wasn't a matter of too little sleep. Not that she'd gotten that much last night...

Here was a chance to rectify everything others before her had done wrong.

If she did it, she'd betray the trust of a woman who had seen too much betrayal already. She couldn't do this.

She had to.

He was already in his office, or still; she had never completely figured out his schedule.

"If you tell me you need more time, you'll be let go by the end of the month," he warned her.

"That won't be necessary."

"So you cracked her?"

She cringed at his words. "I'm not sure if that's what I want to call it."

"Whatever. You're the best, honey," he enthused. "I knew you could do it. When will you come in and put the baby to bed?"

That moment, she hated him. Not as much as herself, though. "I'll be back on Friday, just like I said."

"Don't make any dinner plans."

"Don't you make any, either," she said and hung up. For long minutes, she stared at he computer screen, the headline staring back at her: The Inferno Inside.

How appropriate. Then again, she'd always been good with words.

While she was waiting for room service to bring breakfast, she dialed the number, most certain that the person she wanted to talk to, badly, was already in her office. She was lucky.

"Hi. It's me."

There was - shock, she assumed - silence for a moment, then her friend's voice floated over the line, cheery and relieved in equal parts. "Hello stranger! Look, I know you didn't want anyone to call you, but we were so close to sending out a search party. I can't believe -- how are you? Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry," she acknowledged. "Yes, I'm fine. I-- I met someone," she blurted out, unable to keep the news to herself any longer, or the smile off her face.

"Wow. Now that's actually a valid excuse. When and how did you meet him?"

She rolled her eyes at the phone, but had expected her friend's quest for details. "Three days ago, on the beach."

"Wow."

"You said that already."

"I did, but it's a really great step forward. So, tell me about him."

Suddenly, she felt the nervousness creeping up on her. "Um, her." It wasn't like either of them really had a problem with it. It was her own uneasiness about the memories connected with that subject, of the one offer that had been made between the lines and refused by her.

"Oh. Whatever, that's great news too. Are we going to meet her, or are you just having a hot affair?"

"I don't know," she said, feeling her cheeks heat. She got up and walked around the room, needing to connect with the traces left behind, like the scarf lying over the chair, with the flowery scent of a certain perfume clinging to it. The woman would come back to her; she'd said so. They hadn't talked about meeting their respective friends yet.

"Because when we have to go home, I don't want this to be over." She held these words close to her heart, carrying them with her like a page with the favorite passage of a beloved book, the words imprinted on her restless mind.

"Doesn't matter. You sound... happy."

"That's a big word," she said dryly. She couldn't deny its lure, though.

"You do," her friend insisted, sounding genuinely pleased.

It was too much to be communicated in a long-distance phone call. She was happy, because this encounter had gone way beyond her hopes and expectations, every single time that they were together. And she wasn't, because she was aware that yesterday's confession had only been the first step, the opening of Pandora's box. Dealing with all that was inside would take longer than that.

"Well, maybe I am." She ran her hand over the smooth silk of the scarf, her palm tingling with the memory of another sensation.

"Are you coming back - eventually?" The was an anxious tone to the words, but that was one fear she could alleviate.

"Yes. I have to."

"The press has calmed down. No one's going to bother you. And if they do, I'll sue the hell out of them."

She actually had to smile at that. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. I'm still looking into the possibility with some of--"

"No. Don't. It's in the past."

"Is it really?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," she said with enough conviction to even make herself believe. She would work through everything at her own pace, but she was pretty sure that written words could not hurt her any longer.

The pendant was a black gemstone with the shape of a heart, dangling from a delicate silver chain.

"No, you don't have to give me anything." The blush and smile revealed that the protest was half-hearted. It was beautiful. It would look even more beautiful on her. The vendor's appreciative grin told her that he thought so, too.

"I want to," she whispered, fastening at the back of the woman's neck, making her shiver at the touch of cool silver. If they had been alone, she would have traced that shiver with her lips, all the way down the woman's back.

The vendor held up a mirror. "Perfect," she said and handed him a few bills. "Keep the change."

He was speechless.

"You are crazy," said the overjoyed recipient of the gift.

"No. Happy," she corrected.

"I talked to the publisher. I need to be back on Friday."

"So soon?"

She felt winded, forced back into a reality that had only existed on the edges of her mind so far. The question of where they would go from here - if anywhere. And still, she'd always known the moment would arrive at some time. It would always be too soon.

"I'm sorry about that. But I want to see you again, once I've straightened out some things."

With a handful of words, the beasts that were her fears released her and vanished back into their hiding place. "I'd like that." And maybe you can tame them for me.

"Good. I'm not gone yet, though..."

What could you possibly do when offered a world of promises?

Hold on, as tightly as you could.

They explored the town together that afternoon, visiting small gift shops, the townhouse, the cathedral with its amazing stained glass windows, the sunlight breaking in them, but the warmth not reaching into the cool interior.

She couldn't stand to be inside long, though, faced with memories of the last times she'd been inside a church.

There were no words necessary. They left in silence.

Next, the path down to the historical lighthouse. She had often passed it by on her morning runs, but never felt the desire to take a closer look; now, they climbed up all the stairs to the top. Standing at the railing, she wrapped both arms around her lover from behind, the wind blowing strands of strawberry-scented red hair into her face.

On top of the world - she was certainly feeling it now.

I love you. Her heart was beating too hard to get the words out. It was much too early for them, too dangerous to want so much, but she could at least acknowledge their truth for herself.

They'd stayed outside until the daylight was long gone, stars glittering in the sky as they walked back to the hotel. This time they shared the shower, the dreaded thought of goodbye lost in the contrasting sensations from the feel of cold tiles, hot steam, and the sensual glide of skin.

She would have to make a few phone calls, announce her return, but before that, she wanted to have a glimpse of the world she left behind from a safe distance. In all those weeks spent here, she had avoided newspapers and TV best she could, and except for the big, world-wide news you couldn't really escape anywhere, she had remained blissfully oblivious. It was time to change that again.

In one of the cafés frequented by a younger audience, there were three computers with internet access. She ordered a coffee and started browsing the sites of several local newspapers.

She found the usual incidents of a big city, but indeed, other news had replaced the most devastating ones, and there seemed an air of what passed for normal in this city. The relief was so profund it made her hand shake when she reached for the coffee the waitress had placed on the table beside her.

It seemed like this was the right time to come home. If the memories were waiting for her there, she wouldn't have to face them all alone.

Leaning back in her chair, she took another sip, leisurely clicking on several links leading her to various sections, and individual staff writers. So y'all found someone else to bother. Thank you so much.

The names meant nothing to her, though some of them probably had left her a message weeks ago. Pretty black and white pictures of youthful, eager faces, ambitious vultures in the making.

And then she gripped the cup hard, some of the still hot coffee sloshed over the rim and burned her hand, letting her drop the cup, though the sensations barely registered with her. She kept staring at the photo until she realized the waitress was speaking to her.

"Miss? Are you alright? You're white as a sheet!"

I'm fine. Her lips moved, but she couldn't seem to get out the words.

'I'm a writer.'

She was indeed.

The young woman breezed into the room, all joyful enthusiasm and youth. She was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Not even knowing she was burning until the flames consumed her, the metaphor uncomfortable and fitting.

The pain was worse than anything, because it was just hitting her when she had started to nurture a hope she should have known to be foolish. She had known, actually, but didn't want to see it.

She accepted the embrace and a deep, mint and strawberry tasting kiss, making her remember when she'd licked the juice of real strawberries off her lover's skin. They'd had that picnic after all. Then she stepped back, taking in the sight of brown eyes sparkling with mischief and lust. She wanted her so much - the woman she'd dreamed, her personal illusion that never existed in reality.

She slapped her, hard, the sound obscenely loud, followed by shocked silence.

She was just as shocked. She'd wanted to confront her, probably yell at her, but not this.Her palm was stinging with the force of the blow.

"What the hell are you--" The fight was leaking out of the words as the realization set in, and panic replaced the look of surprise.

"You don't understand. Please, you've got to let me explain, I--"

"No, I don't have to. Go. Get out of here."

"I never wanted to--"

She was in the younger woman's personal space quickly enough to make her flinch, keeping her voice low, calm, and dangerous. "I know how you think that I'm not going to sue because of the way you got this story. I'll tell you something: Don't count on it. Now get the hell out of here!"

She yanked the door open and waited, actually surprised when her wish was met. She was grateful that no more words were forthcoming, imploring her to change her mind, even if the gaze on her was just as bad, pressing, begging. She closed her heart to it. It was the only way she could still keep her sanity.

When she could no longer hear the frantic click-clack of high heels on the floor, she walked back into the room, sinking into the next chair.

She wasn't really all that mad anymore - or saddened. The only thing that remained was an empty, hollow feeling.

She made another call shortly after, this time to her oldest friend, who had probably heard the formerly happy news from the friend they had in common. She was right. "Don't be mad with her, she just wanted to share the good news. Honey, I'm so happy for you."

She had been determined not to cry, but the familiar, caring voice unraveled her easily.

The last night, she went to the beach alone, walked again in the sand, let small waves curl around her bare ankles. The touch cold and clean, just like her thoughts that night.

A bright full moon shone, her only company as she tried. Make sense of her life, or fail.

For six weeks, she hadn't been able, even in her imagination, to go back to the room where a man had pointed a gun at his kids and fired. The mother was in the other room with the fourth kid, a girl, a little older than the others. The woman had a gun, too, and she, too thought that death would be a more acceptable fate for her children that to have them go to the custody of strangers.

This time, she was faster. The blood splattered on her, on the girl who stood staring at the nightmare unfolding, frozen. That girl was the only one of the family who had survived. The only one she could save and who hated her for it.

She'd carried her back outside, shielding her view from the horror. Back outside in the hallway, she stopped cold at the sight: it was the female ATF agent, she woman she'd kissed two days ago, and who had touched her in a way that had been unmistakable only to bring up her marital status she'd negelected to mention so far. She lay in a pool of blood, her eyes already starting to glaze over.

"It's all my fault," were the words she forced out.

She dropped to her side, taking a cold hand into hers. She wanted to protest, but the fingers in hers went lax, and then the explosions started.

She'd only learn later that the words weren't meant metaphorically.

"That vacation must have been truly relaxing. You look gorgeous!"

She lifted an eyebrow at the neighbor, knowing this to be a blatant lie, and the woman blushed fiercely. She couldn't be too hard on her though, having left her dog in her care for nearly six weeks.

When the border collie had heard her mistress's voice, she'd come running nearly toppling her over with the enthusiastic welcome.

"That's right, girl, I left you alone for an awful long time," she acknowledged guiltily. "I'm surprised you still know me."

"She understands. I just made some tea, do you have time to chat for a bit?"

"I'm sorry, no. I've got to see someone."

She sat staring at the screen long after her colleagues were gone, the editor's praise still on her mind, sounding empty to her. She didn't feel like she'd done well, in fact she felt horrible about what she had done and was going to do.

Telling the story that needed to be told, that even if one ATF agent had been conspiring with the perpetrator's, it didn't mean that the rest of her colleagues together with the local police department hadn't done a fine job to prevent a catastrophe of unbelievable dimensions.

She still believed it.

She also knew she would have never had the chance to hear it, if she hadn't seen the key figure of the drama, the lead investigator alongside the ATF agents, in a weak moment. They could have never had that conversation, had she revealed her occupation.

She hadn't planned any of it, not running into her at the market on the first night, not ending up in her bed on the same night. It had happened anyway, and each remembered caress, each whispered word now served as a punishment for her indiscretion.

Because the woman she'd fallen in love with now hated her.

There was nothing she could do about it, except being prepared to lose the most important story of her career, and probably, subsequently, her job.

She was reclaiming her old territory bit by bit, while, at the back of her mind, there was still the sound of the ocean, the smell of the fire, and kisses tasting of sweet wine. She didn't let it come too close, though. She couldn't afford to. She refused to.

Before long, she'd be back in the treadmill without too much time to think. She'd always thought that her job, its outcome, was worth the costs in the end. Maybe that's what the other woman had thought, too - whatever, she wasn't in the mood to be forgiving.

"It's a shame, you sounded so happy over the phone," her friend said sadly.

I was, she remembered.

"Are you sure there wasn't any misunderstanding?"

One glare of hers was enough; there were no further words needed. She watched as her friend's beautiful blue eyes turned ice before she said, "Okay. If there's just one word out, I'll sue the bitch."

Being friends with the Assistant District Attorney had its advantages.

She hoped that it wouldn't come to that, though. While it might have been satisfying, it would do nothing to the state of her heart.

Sunday night, she sat out on the porch steps, inhaling the scent of flowers, trying not to let another memory flood her as she struggled to overcome her fear for the next day, the supposed return to a normal life, and the feeling of being more lonely than ever before.

It was cold outside, the temperature having dropped remarkably since her return, but she hardly noticed it. She dreamed of warm summer nights and a state of blissful ignorance.

Fool me twice.

Maybe she should just learn her life lesson from all this and stay away from relationships. She could blame it all on smart, beautiful and conniving women, but then again, her marriage hadn't exactly worked out either.

She was tired of being mocked by cruel twists of fate, fantasizing about a new start while the end was already dangling over her head. No more.

From tomorrow on, she'd do her job and be damn good at it again, and nothing else.

Hard as she tried, the resolve couldn't ban the feel of the woman's embrace, the way she said her name in a passionate whisper. Angrily, she wiped her face, got up and walked back into the house.

"Can I help you?"

She'd never met him, but she could easily imagine who he was. The partner. Protective, a cool guy who sometimes read way too much between the lines, but never overbearing, that's what the description had been. She didn't assume he knew.

She reached out her hand with a smile and told him who she was waiting for. "I'll just sit here."

He was the perfect gentlemen. "If you tell me your name, I'll call her."

When she did, his eyes turned unexpectedly cold, so did his demeanor. "You can just stop wasting your time. She won't want to see you."

"But I need to see her," she said desperately. Need as in why couldn't he see that she hadn't slept in days? Need as in a burning craving, and guilt having lodged in her mind, and neither of them would leave her alone as long as she didn't have the chance for atonement?

"For what? Getting another 'statement'? Forget about it, Lady."

"Getting authorization for my story," she said softly. "And a chance to explain myself."

"I'm still thinking it would be wiser if you kept the distance. For either of you."

Then you don't know anything. She sensed though that it wouldn't be a good thing to say when he was about to grudgingly acknowledge the desperate state she was in. "I can't. Please, you have to help me."

"You're lucky there hasn't been a word of this in print yet. You could be finding yourself in a holding cell sooner than you think."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, restraining the impulse to argue with him. She could tell that he had to equally as hard restrain the impulse to smile.

"I'm trusting you, even though I have absolutely no reason to do so," he warned her, as he handed her the slip of paper. "But something tells me you are right about talking things out, so... you never got this address from me."

"Of course not!" She beamed, taking a step backwards when she realized she'd come that close to hugging him. That would have probably not gone over well. "You won't regret it!"

"Not sure of that yet," he mumbled, but with the treasure in her hands now, she couldn't spare the time to be offended about it.

She had good instincts. Always had. So she knew by the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach at the ring of the doorbell just who the visitor was. Part of her longed to run for the door and open, another, to slam it in the woman's face -- she still couldn't get it.

She'd thought it would get better with time, but actually, the woman, the time they'd shared and all the hopes that had been revolving around her just wouldn't vanish. But no matter how many excuses her dream lover of a few days could come up with, she couldn't erase the betrayal. It would just always be there.

She was aware of her friends' concerned gazes. She'd sought shelter here, but it had been compromised. She also had an idea who was to blame. "She's got a lot of nerve, coming here," she said finally. "I'm going to talk to her. I'll be alright."

The few steps walking through the room and into the hallway was like dragging her feet through molasses. She remembered the brief last encounter in her hotel room, where she'd been so out of control, so mindless with the anger at having been betrayed, she'd hit her. And she remembered being with her, another kind of out of control.

Gripping the door handle hard, she opened the door with such vehemence that the woman in front of it took a startled step backwards.

"What do you want?" she asked, not particularly loudly, but not very friendly either. There was no room for niceties in the space between them, not anymore. She needed this awfully thin armor against the pain raging inside, against the notion how she looked just how she remembered her, beautiful, and how much she wanted--

To her surprise, the other woman held her gaze. "To apologize. And to ask for your permission to go into print."

She replayed those words on her mind, because she wasn't sure she'd heard them correctly. She was feeling dizzy all of a sudden. "You're crazy if you think I'd ever do that."

"I want you to read it."

She ignored the outstretched hand holding the USB drive out to her.

"Read it, and give your okay. What happened, wasn't your fault. Somebody has to stand up and say it."

The woman had always seemed so open and honest, from the first time they met. She knew better now. Did she? "So trying to wring the story out of me was really just a way to make justice happen, for the greater good, is it that what you're saying?"

"I shouldn't have--" Her face fell instantly, and she hurried to correct herself. "No, I don't regret anything. I mean I just should have told you the truth, right away."

"That's right, you should have. But you didn't, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all I need to know. Would you just leave me alone now? And by the way, stop bothering my friends and colleagues."

"Please, read it. You tell me no, the story dies." This time, the slim object was laid into her hand, fingers curling around hers, making sure she accepted the dubious gift. The woman was as brave as she was foolish, considering what had happened at the hotel.

"You sure about that? I'd hate to stand in the way of your career. No, wait. With your creative ways of getting what you want, that shouldn't be a problem either." Sarcasm was a less than insufficent defense.

"I want you to know I'm sorry. If I don't hear anything from you in 24 hours, we'll run the story. I'm... you know I'm really sorry, but I can't keep this." There were tears in her voice, but she turned and fled before they ever had a chance to fall.

She went back into the house a moment later, the back heart-shaped gemstone on the silver chain feeling cold and smooth in her hand. Marking the end, for real.

Symbol of a lie, a self-deception.

When would it ever stop hurting?

"Look, I know you're still mad at her, and for a reason, but this is good."

She couldn't bring herself to take a look. It wasn't surprising that the woman who had talked her into telling her story was talented. She'd never doubted it.

"It's not just good," her friend continued, "it's something somebody should have written long ago. I'd still like to sue her for what she did to you, but certainly not for this piece of writing."

"It's just that the two of them are rather closely connected." She tried hard to keep it together, but the irony just kept bleeding out of her words, leaving what was underneath, exposed.

"You really fell hard for her, didn't you?" came the soft, inevitable question.

"That much is obvious, huh?"

And I still didn't make it back up. She could go to work, be around her colleagues, her boss, and everyone would agree that she had done the right thing, to take some time far away from it all to heal. That she was looking good.

She didn't feel it, though the fact that she was able to fool them, was a relief.

Looking up, she noticed the thoughtful gaze on her. "What?"

"Let's just say, for a moment, hypothetically speaking, of course..."

It was nothing she'd like, she was quite sure of that.

"The story came out. I actually think it wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"And?"

"Let go of it. Deal with everything else after it."

That sounded too easily. "You know what the worst thing is? I don't know, I keep thinking back and how I used to be annoyed that none of them got it right. I once hoped that just one of them would make the attempt. She'd just needed to ask."

She held the doubtful gaze. "I know. But there was a moment... I would have told her anyway." She sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair. "Whatever. I am not going to call her. She can do with that story whatever the hell she wants. I don't care anymore."

Which wasn't entirely true. But she was trying.

She went to see the department shrink, once again leaving out half of the story to tell, but that part was none of his business. She talked about the man who had grinned at her, telling her it was her fault before he pulled the trigger on his own daughter. And the other child who had quietly cursed her when she saved her life, because in order to do it, she had to shoot the mother.

Maybe the curse had worked? She didn't share that theory, though.

Actually, this time it was helpful, and she could acknowledge some of the advice he gave her.

If only trying to find a safe inner place hadn't always lead her back to one place, and one person, and her embrace.

She read the story in the newspaper the day it came out, at the breakfast table. It was worse that she could have imagined, in some way. She'd been prepared to find something that would anger her, broadening the chasm, improving her chances to just move on - instead the words were honest and caring, the voice of the woman who had written them, just like the touch of her hands had been.

She found herself longing to feel it again, against reason and better judgment.

It was too late, though.

The black heart pendant reminded her of that every day.

That, and she couldn't forgive either. Not all of it, at least.

She'd been stalling a lot on that novel, the deadline creeping closer steadily, while she found herself unable to find the words to describe love. Reality got in the way every time and seemed to taint every one of her ideas shallow and inconsequential.

She'd known nothing. Reading over the last chapter again, she sighed in frustration and closed the file again.

It would never work like that. She felt like her characters were flat, a cliché; they'd never now how cold it was in the shadow cast by an inevitable turn of events.

How crazy had she been anyway to think, hope, it would all be fine somehow?

There'd been lots and lots of praise in the wake of that story, job offers, opportunities that would have filled her with excitement at another time, but left her indifferent now. It wasn't like she regretted having written it. Even months after the horrific incident had shaken the city, no one had really forgotten. She'd painted the survivors of the incidents as the heroes they were.

She'd become the worst liar of all in order to tell the truth.

It wasn't true that time healed all wounds. Memories didn't go away, they just changed when you learned to put them into perspective, and if you were lucky, bad memories became quieter and less bright with time.

Then there were those memories that you didn't want to pale, where you prefered feeling the pain they caused to have them vanishing altogether.

It was probably some kind of masochism that the first weekend she had off since getting back on the job, she thought about going to that place again. Confronting the ghosts; she had become pretty good at that. Maybe she'd bury the rejected piece of jewelry right there at the beach, or let the ocean take it. A letting it go ritual.

One that she obviously needed, because she was aware of falling back into old habits, working long hours, exercising hard enough so she could fall into an exhausted sleep afterwards. The nightmares were becoming less frequently, but every now and then she woke with the hope to find her, the 'writer', curled up next to her, copper hair fanned out over the pillow.

She had given the pendant back. It meant she'd been ready to move on, to a new story, maybe, another person who would tell her their deepest secrets.

There was nothing left for her to cling to, and maybe going where it all had started would help her realize that, and shatter again what had finally stabilized.

See what power the curse really had.

There'd be only one place where she'd be able to bring the characters back to life, make all their emotions, the love they felt for each other, and their pain, real.

She was afraid to go back there, but if she didn't, they'd be haunting her forever.

The woman with the beautiful smile behind the haunted gaze would be haunting her forever.

She picked up a rental at the airport, and then drove all the way to the village without a stop, oblivious to the beauty of nature as she ventured further south once more. There was simply no time for it; she was afraid that just stopping for a coffee would have been enough to make her think twice and turn around.

It was another hotel this time - she wasn't that masochistically inclined - but since the village was small, familiar places couldn't be completely avoided. That was fine. She was not about to drive all those miles to end up taking the coward's way out.

She arrived at the hotel around eight. By the time she had put some of her clothes away and taken a quick shower, she could barely keep her eyes open, so she slipped between the soft sheets, falling asleep to the sound of melancholic guitar music somewhere out on the street. The soft notes followed down the stairs of her subconcious, unlocking that familiar door again.

In her dream, they were dancing together at some kind of local fiesta. The woman was wearing a traditional dress with a white blouse and a swinging red skirt, her hair bound back by red and green beads. She was laughing and pulling her close.

The scenery changed, the image dissolving to reveal another: they were naked, the white sheet slipping from their bodies. "Liar," she whispered.

It was night, people screamed in terror, running from the inferno. Garlands lay torn in the dirt, broken glass stained with blood lying all around. She found her sitting on the curb, no shoes, the pristine white of her blouse tainted with...

She gathered her close, then looked down at her hand, the skin of her palm a wet, shiny crimson. The body in her arms went lax. "No!"

She woke up with her heart pounding painfully, her face wet. So much for closure.

She couldn't make herself fall asleep again after the nightmare, so at 7 AM, she was blissfully alone in the breakfast room, the daylight a reliable ally in battling demons, though they lingered.

Resignedly, she had to admit it had been only a matter of time before the puzzle pieces came together; it was moments like this when she wished she hadn't left out half the story at the shrink's. He'd probably make sense of where there wasn't any, because writing wasn't such a dangerous job after all, wasn't it?

Well, investigative journalism probably brought its own dangers. She shivered involuntarily. Get a grip. It was just a dream.

The first time, at the market, it had felt like a déja-vu. This time, she thought she was hallucinating, but she wasn't, it was really her. Reality mingled with the memory of their first encounter, something that, she knew now, wasn't coincidence. She'd been too easy.

She remembered how their eyes had met across the place, a moment frozen in time as they were surrounded by busy, chatting people. The woman had been one of them, actually, bartering with one of the vendors over the price of a scarf, pausing briefly to smile this intimately at someone she allegedly saw for the first time.

She'd been unguarded, open, naked in a sense.

She wasn't today.

After overcoming the first shock, she deicided to stay close. For what, she didn't really know. Demand another explanation, ask for something that would finally help her let go? She wasn't that delusional.

Unobtrusively, unnoticed, she followed her anyway.

Her journey, though vaguely planned, had been taken somewhat hastily, so she was glad to remember the ATM she'd found in the village last time. With some cash in her purse, finally, she went to get herself some dinner, but for some reasons, her footsteps took her away from the market and onto that path they had walked not so long ago.

The color of the bushes leaves was about to change, the blossoms long gone. Somehow, that made her sad. Such an appropriate metaphor for what had happened to them, and such an obvious thing that it had all been her fault.

It was a vicious circle: the truth had to be told. She believed firmly in that. There had been no other way than lying and cheating to get it, though. And while other papers and TV had picked up the tone and suddenly talked way differently about the bombings, she was left with her own doubts.

She wanted to turn back time and have a second chance.

Lost in thought and misery, she hadn't taken notice of the footsteps following her, or the shadow falling over her. At the sound of a branch breaking underneath a person's shoe, she spun around with a startled gasp, the sight robbing her of all possible words to say.

What business did she have following the woman anyway? What did she expect to find? Because everything would have still happened like it did, and she hadn't come here to turn everything around, but to find the strength to turn away. Which she wasn't doing such a fine job of at the moment.

What ever she had planned or wanted lost all meaning the moment she caught sight of the shadowy figure, following just like she was.

Drawing a knife.

"Don't scream," he warned. "Just give me the money, and I'm not going to hurt you!"

A distanced part of her brain kept wondering what reason she ever had to believe the twenty-something guy who was pressing the knife against her throat.

None, she gave herself the sobering answer.

She thought of the pepper spray in her purse and all the good it was doing her now.

She thought of all the things she still wanted to do in life, and missed chances.

She thought of how he was probably going to kill her any moment, because her fingers felt too numb to move, even if she had wanted to hand over her money.

Then all thought stopped.

"How about, you drop the knife and I'm not going to shoot you?"

Her heart nearly stopped, too, from the utter surprise on top of the fear of dying. She'd never expected to hear this voice. She'd never heard this cadence of it before. "Some time today."

Another few seconds ticked by, seeming like an eternity. Then the guy seemed to decide that a few hundred dollars probably weren't worth dying for, and the knife fell to the ground with a nerve-jarring clatter.

Her knees were shaking.

He pushed her aside roughly, trying to run, but a pained yelped alerted her to the fact that he hadn't gone far. More people were arriving now that the situation was under control, and someone called the police on a cell.

She didn't feel very much in control, still sitting on the sidewalk, knee and palms bleeding, waiting for the shaking to stop, trying not to think that it might have been a mere coincidence that had kept her alive.

At the feel of a hand at her back, she jumped, only to wince with the pain. Turning, she looked into eyes she'd seen darken with passion, hurt, disappointed, just never this... indifferent. It made her want to cry, ridiculously, more than anything that had happened.

Truth be told, there was a lot about the woman she didn't known. She'd seen her with her guard down, broken, craving the comfort of a safe embrace - she'd never seen her like this, moments before, calm and in control dealing with a guy who'd tried to mug a woman at knifepoint.

But that was her job, even though she was here in private, and wasn't that all that described their relationship these days? She felt a tear roll down her face and looked away quickly. "Thanks," she murmured.

"You're welcome. The police are here now. I'll talk to them and then I'll leave you alone, okay?"

"Good," she said over the thunder in her head. A heart didn't break just once for the same person.

"You okay?"

Hell, no. The last time I was okay... She didn't want to get into an argument though, not now. "I'll live. Who would've thought? It seemed so peaceful here."

"Yeah." The sigh carried a hints of regret and frustration, and... something else. "I didn't hear of any crime in six weeks... too good to be true, I guess. There's an ambulance. You should go with them."

She didn't really want to, but if she was going to have a nervous breakdown anytime soon, at least she'd be in the right place.

"Is there anything else you need from me?"

Yes. For you to forgive me.

"I'm fine."

"Alright. Good luck on that book."

She watched her walk away until one of the paramedics came over, blocking her view. That was not how she had dreamed to meet again.

Wrong, all wrong. She felt exhausted as the door of her hotel room finally fell shut behind her. Explaining to the local police how come she'd caught a robber miles away from home, hadn't been the worst of it.

She'd hated to brush her off, hated her own issues standing in the way of - what? Starting over? It was the other woman, the one she'd thought of as a lover, who had given the gift back. She might be sorry for the betrayal, but she certainly would have done it all over again, because she'd felt it was the right thing to do.

She laughed to herself unhappily. The wrong kind of right thing to do maybe. She shouldn't complain. The story had not only corrected a few facts, it had indeed restored her name in public.

What if she wanted to forgive? Would it even still count?

The fear for that answer had made her run again like the coward she was, bringing her back here, with the bottle of wine her only company. She'd been running around in circles, finding herself at the beginning. Ironically, that she was so afraid of trusting someone, when it was in fact herself she couldn't trust.

Letting tears mingle with the fluid that had the color of blood, she pushed away the pain of self-reproach, until it mellowed and blurred into something bittersweet like the images that came.

Trust had been a curious thing with them right from the start.

Once, she had blindfolded her with one of those soft silk scarves sold at the market, the other woman lying absolutely still under her caresses, lips, fingers, the curious swipe of a tongue. The petals of a flower. She'd drawn patterns on her lovers body with a feather, each gasp, each whimper bringing her own body closer to that peak without even being touched.

Even the memory of it was almost intense enough. She drank deeply from her glass, enjoying the merciful reprieve from reality and the nagging feeling that she'd made one mistake after another ever since she'd found out about the story.

The alcohol wrapped her into a warm blanket of images and sensations from a time that seemed mere imagination now, not that she'd be able to tell the difference right now.

The glass tilted in her hand, some wine spilling over the rim, staining the white of the sheet.

Uncaring, she closed her eyes. The glass fell to the floor, shattering. She didn't care about that either, the lure of dreams stronger than any reality she could ever want to be in.

On the threshold between waking and dreaming though, there were menacing words and the blink of a shiny blade, the questions starting to press in on her. Why hadn't she stayed? Jolted out of the mist of her own thoughts, she jumped up, stepping right into a shard.

She cursed herself only to be reminded again that she already was.

The pain had felt intense, but that had come more from the shock. She'd gotten a Bandaid for her knee, got her hands cleaned, and it was all scratches, nothing as severe as the bleeding of her heart.

She sat behind the laptop, words pouring from her fingertips, listening to the muse whispering in her ear. All the right words. All the right emotions. Her publisher was going to kill her.

She didn't stop to acknowledge the shudder that ran through her body at the thought that getting killed had been a possible outcome of today. Instead, her mind went to uncover the images veiled by her words, happy memories carefully tucked away, photographs of the past.

Pathetic, wasn't she, dreaming of what could never be now, because she had turned and broken the hands of fate.

Alone in her hotel room, in the relative safety, she was scared. She hated it.

Getting up, she lit a candle, slipping one of the CDs she'd brought into the DVD drive, waiting until soft music filled the room, guitar sounds, the melancholic voice of a woman singing of heartbreak and loss. This wasn't working.

This feeling kept beckoning her over and over again, the one she'd only gotten a glimpse of. She wanted it back. Aloud, she said the words that had brought her so much trouble before, and the most cherished days of her life, ever:

"Any way."

She swept up the shards and used a towel to wipe up the wine from the floor, shame making her stomach churn. Once upon a time, she'd maybe had right and reason to feel sorry for herself. Not anymore. And if there was nothing left but shards to sweep up, she'd done her share.

Feeling very sober all of a sudden, she walked to the window and opened it wide. She let her gaze travel over the lights of the village, wondering if she was just as sleepless. If she was also wondering...

She'd find out. Tomorrow. It was kind of ironic that they had slept together, entwined, exhausted after igniting the fire again and again, but never exchanged profane things like a phone number. Today's incidents might actually help with that. She also wasn't above using her credentials to get the information.

If this was supposed to end, it should be ending properly. Just as well that this wicked twist of fate that had created the opportunity for the two of them to be in this place again.

The rich smell of the fire kept her mesmerized, just like the sound of the ocean, waves lapping against the sand endlessly. She didn't care for the small crowd, and they didn't take notice of her. So she sat, in a distance from them, shivering as the now cool sand whispered against the skin of her calves.

The fire was beautiful, but she wasn't close enough to be warmed by it.

She tilted her head back, amazed by the wealth of stars that decorated the dark night sky. In the city, light pollution never allowed such a sight. She was glad to be here, alone among strangers, the sounds of nature lulling her into an almost meditative-like state.

The past few days - who was she kidding, weeks - there hadn't been much time to just stop and listen.

At the same time, this very state seemed to reinforce the deep melancholy she'd brought to this place with her, a company unwanted, but just as equally unshakeable. She'd been said to be complicated before.

Folding her legs underneath herself, she closed her eyes, wanting to anchor herself in the moment, wishing for a sliver of hope, but her thoughts spiraled helplessly back to the not so distant past, and the pain she was trying to outrun.

"Really beautiful."

She jumped, recognizing the voice before she was on her feet, but the interruption had startled her, making her feel jittery and somehow embarrassed, as if she should have noticed her approach earlier. She glanced anxiously at the other woman.

"It is. You want to come join me?"

She waited for an answer, terrified and excited in equal parts.

"If you want me to."

That made her want to laugh. She could have never found the words how much she wanted that. Still, she made room on the narrow towel she'd brought, and the other woman sat down beside her.

Too close. Too dangerous. She stole a glance at raven-colored hair, dark eyes and a tentative smile that brought heat to her cheeks. She quickly looked away.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice husky and breathless, giving too much away.

The other woman stared out at the fire and the ocean for the span of nearly a minute before she answered.

"I was looking for you."

Why? would have been the most logical question to follow. She didn't ask. She knew, or at least she hoped she did. "You found me." Wistfully, she remembered what it felt like to have those sable strands slip through her fingers like silk, to silence words with a kiss and taste a different kind of hunger.

She should be so foolish. Remember what happened the last time?

"Yes, fortunately. And I brought something." She produced a bottle of wine, the same one they'd shared the last time, and two paper cups from her bag. "I hoped we could talk."

"About?" she asked, holding her breath. Finally, she turned to face her companion again.

"Us? What's left?"

Tears sprang to her eyes, and then she turned away again in shame. The boundaries were blurry still. "I think I killed all that was ever there, didn't I?" Tears so close again to gaining the upper hand.

"I don't think so."

"You did at some point."

This time, there was no hesitation. "Yes." It was honest, at least, if slightly brutal.

The sensations of nature were still around her like before, but receding to the background. The scent of the woman's perfume, the sound of her soft exhalations, her sheer presence, were a lot more prominent to her.

When she accepted the paper cup of wine, their fingers touched briefly, and she was both fascinated and frightened at the ravenous need within, made aware by just a small touch.

What would it be like to...

She downed half of the cup at once, welcoming the pleasant burn of the alcohol and the warmth it left in her belly. Mortified, she admitted to herself that she needed it. Once, she had thought of herself as brave. Much of that courage had been left behind on that long road that never seemed to lead home. Except what if it did, today?

"I wasn't trying to get you drunk, either," the woman said softly, reaching out hesitantly to cover her hand with hers.

She remembered the last time they had touched this tenderly. It was all too easily brought up, but was the memory of better days really enough? "Why do you still care?" Her words sounded harsh in her own ears, intentionally, but she was the one who flinched.

"I couldn't forget you. Believe me, I tried."

She couldn't stand the conversation any longer, not the words of which each one seemed to cut right to a place she didn't even want to acknowledge, salt in not yet healed wounds, so she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing she'd been thinking of since she'd realized that the other woman had followed her here.

She leaned over and kissed her, the taste of wine sweet on lips parting under hers, letting her in, the heat of the familiar body beneath her burning through the fabric of their clothes. Do you really still want me? Again, there was no answer needed. She pulled her close, sealing their lips again, feeling her shiver with want, as her hand traveled over the soft curve of a breast.

When she drew back for breath, she was surprised to feel the wetness on her face.

All this time, coming here to hide from the world and all that it had taken from her, she had wondered when it might arrive. Seemed like someone else had found her breaking point for her.

She couldn't run from it, and she didn't want to.

The End

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