DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. Dollhouse belongs to Joss Whedon and Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
A Light To Guide My Way
By Demeter
"Linds, please, stop," she pleads. "You're scaring me." The despairing tone and expression is almost enough to sway Lindsay, but not quite.
"You tell me everything. Then you can go." She's used a few of her interrogation tactics and for sure, she's got some left. So far, she's done well with the intimidation, not so much regarding results, though.
"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman, a ghost, cries, wincing as the cuffs bite into the soft skin of her wrists.
It's too late now, Lindsay knows, because Echo has switched back to Cindy mode and if she hadn't, it might not have been so easy to restrain her. 'Cindy' never knew what hit her after the message was delivered. Don't give up. Find me.
It is everything she could have hoped for. It's nothing. She needs more information, but it begins to dawn on her that the woman she has cuffed to her bed can't give it. She had no knowledge of it.
Lindsay sits on the edge, leaning closer, making the other woman flinch. This is Cindy, her Cindy cringing in fear because for all she knows, Lindsay has lost her mind. And another part of her, either locked up somewhere in the mysterious Dollhouse in an oblivious state, or out on an 'engagement', her mind being shaped to some clever criminals' wishes. Or worse, though that is hardly imaginable. None of this really is.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, carefully reaching out to wipe the tears from Echo's face though part of her wants to lean on her really hard, in a way far from police protocol. Lindsay takes a deep breath, remaining still until the urge to have a breakdown passes. They did a fine job messing with her mind, too.
And what if she ever manage to get Cindy out of that manufactured hell? a small voice asks from within. Not that her chances are actually good at the moment, but what if? Could she ever be the same? Could they?
For a long time, Lindsay didn't think she could hate anyone more than she hated the infamous Kiss Me Not killer, but now she's going to have to revise. The Dollhouse people are murderes all the same. They're killing souls.
"Are you going to tell me what just happened?"
With a sigh, Lindsay leans over to open the cuffs with the keys. She starts to massage the other woman's reddened wrists with a feeling of shame. Surprisingly, Echo – Cindy – doesn't pull away, that's how much she trusts Lindsay and the realization is just unraveling her more.
"I don't know. I'm sorry," she says again. "I'd never hurt you."
Curiosity flickers over the pretty face. With Cindy, curiosity always wins. "I know that, but you've got to admit – this is strange."
No kidding. It's killing her. How is this even possible?
"It's this case. I promise I'm going to tell you, just not yet, okay?"
"Off the record?"
"I love you." For the life of her, Lindsay can't hold back the words.
Echo's arms come around her, and Lindsay holds on.
Don't give up. Find me.
For sure, she will and not for a second allow the thought that this message, proof that Cindy is alive, could simply be another lie.
The End