Title : WHEN THE DEAD AWAKEN
Chapter Five
*****
Peace.
Catherine knew the word, knew its meaning, even felt it sometimes. When holding
Lindsey, when lying in warmth of a hot bad, when solving a case and putting the
dead to rest. She knew peace, peace she created.
But she had forgotten it was also a gift to be given. If Eddie had ever given it
to her, she did not remember anymore. The roar of their disagreements and youth
had long since drowned out what else might have been. And others since had given
her many things and perhaps even a fleeting glimpse of peace, but she had always
moved on.
Peace was in gentleness, kindness, deeds done only for the benefit of others, in
the simple things. It was a long time since she had sought it. And now...
She looked at Warrick and Lindsey huddled together and her heart felt the first
tentative feelings of peace. It might not last. Dating a co-worker would bring
all kinds of complications. And neither one had a particular great track record.
It might not even be love, just desire.
But he knew her and wanted her, and she knew him and wanted him. They could not
hide from each other, not with all they had been through together, all the death
they had seen. There was a bond, a friendship they had maintained. And love had
been built on worse foundations than that.
She looked at him, remembering the warmth of his skin and the gentleness of his
kiss. It might not be enough.
It might be.
And he lifted his eyes to look at her, his smile a promise of tomorrow.
*****
He had thought of her sleeping, her still figure as pale as the sheets, the
colour of death upon her. He had thought of her nightmares and their claws on
her skin, leaving marks that could be felt, but not seen.
He had thought of her voice on the phone, her soft giggle as he had sung badly
and slightly off-key. He had thought of her after he had hung up and looked at
the blood of someone who should not have died.
He had thought of the dead and the living and those who could not make up their
mind and walked the path of twillight. He had thought of the dead awakening in
the living and Sara's soul lost to the abyss they all looked in.
And then Catherine's voice had echoed in his mind, clear and strong.
“Sometimes I wonder why you just don’t sleep with her and get it over with.”
And he had come, invited himself into the cool shade of her apartment where the
sun could not burn. She had let him in, her eyes still cloudy with sleep, lashes
dark against her pale skin. He had smiled and she had smiled hesitantly back at
him, a faint echo of brilliant smiles she had given him in the past.
"Sara," he had said and she had closed her eyes. Suddenly, all had seemed as
clear as glass in his mind and he had brushed the caress of death from her skin
and kissed her.
Her lips had been cool at first, her hair almost brittle under his fingers. She
had leaned into him, her soft sighs mixing with the air conditioner in a lullaby
of the day, beackoning them both to bed.
It had not been as he imagined. She was warmer, darker, winter and flame both
and sometimes her touch had been so intense it was almost pain. Somewhere, he
had lost control and his mind had lost itself in her body, her bright presence.
And now he sat in the dark, watching her sleep. He could not tell what she
dreamt, but if she did he hoped it was of fire and not death. He hoped she
didn't dream at all, merely slept and rested so that she could come back to him,
strong and fair and sorrowless.
Or perhaps he needed to come back to her. Strangely, he had not even considered
that he might be lost or where he might have stepped wrong.
Closing his eyes, he touched his body to hers, embracing her and then sleep.
*****
The body of Victoria was found by a humming jogger who at first thought she was
sleeping, so still and beautiful was her form. But her hands were coated in
blood and her face was like cold marble with tears frozen in her lashes. She
slept a sleep beyond life and all the desperate prayers in the world would not
awaken her.
Still, the jogger found himself tip-toeing away as he went to call the proper
authorities, as if sounds would somehow disturb her peace. Her grave.
And the day went on, loudly and brightly and with Victoria's young murderer
walking the streets of Las Vegas. Few noticed her, even as her face shone with
pain and her tears streaked her cheeks.
She had forgotten that all humans were the sum of their tears. Too little and
the ground was not fertile and nothing might grow. Too much and the best was
washed away.
Her tears could not comfort the dead. They could not make right the wrong she
had done, could not make the blood wash away. They would heal nothing, undo
nothing. Unseen they fell to the ground and was soon burned away by the raging
sun. And no trace was left that they had ever been.
Her tears were her story, but no one aside from one had listened to it. Tara had
seen her tears. Tara had listened.
Tara was dead.
And she yet lived, but the dead screamed in her mind and their roar was all she
could hear anymore.
*****