Between Sleep and Awake (Rated M, mystery, angst, fluff, insanity)

This is going to be bizarre, but it will make sense in due time.

Between Sleep and Awake

Part I: A Step Away From Reality

My eye had swollen shut. I could feel my blood thudding through the wound like a drummer at a rock concert.

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD.

How did I get here?

Scanning the room, I could see very little. Glimmers of light, revealing the presence of a small window not six feet above my head.

Duct tape.

It covered the aperture. Slits between the opaque gray strips gave way to a dull glow. It did not fill the room. I wish it had. Fear and anxiety quickened my thoughts, sped my pulse up, tormented my imagination.

CLICK!

What was that sound? My chest tightened.

A stale bust of air came up beside my head. I could feel my hair lifting into the air like little soldiers standing at attention, searching for any signs of life. My cheek lay on the cold concrete surface. The coolness felt good on my face. Within seconds, however, I could feel my face warming from the forced air heat and the THUD-THUD-THUD growing louder in my achy head.

I tried desperately to adjust my one good eye to the darkness. I cursed my circumstances. I cursed the fact that I had once again found myself in a situation where I was weak and helpless.

Blindly, my fingers examined the wound on my face. The stinging sensation let me know the approximate shape and size of the abrasion.

Abrasion. Ha. That's litotes if I'd ever heard it.

The gap was at least 3/4 of an inch wide. The length extended from my maxilla to my eyebrow. No wonder I couldn't see anything.

Had I suffered a concussion?

There are seventeen cranial sutures. Each placed under one of three categories. I named and spelled each, placing each in their relative category and sighed with relief when I came to the final letter.

Recitation had its benefits. At least I knew I had my wits about me. That much I could do. An eyesight check would be useless in the dark.

Dizzy? Yes.

Blind? Possibly.

Senseless? Not completely.

I moved to stand, but quickly found my leg was glued in place. My fingers hiked to the hem of my blue jeans. Cold. Hard. Metal, most likely. Attached to a metal chain.

My finger tips traveled the steel road to the base of the concrete wall. Chained like an animal. Like a bear in a trap.

Laying on the cold concrete like a damp rag doll, my mind found its way back to cases we'd worked together. Kidnapping cases, particularly one. A woman. A young woman. Bound, beaten, laying on her side for days on rough concrete, her side being eaten away by disease and infection.

I didn't like the images that found their way into my brain. I shivered at the memory. No, I hadn't actually been there with the woman, but I knew how she felt. The pain in her side. I felt my own hip joint aching. Her shoulder hurt. Mine ached, too.

I quickly retrained my thoughts, but despite my best efforts, they wound their way back to Booth. Back to death and murder. Back to the case we were working only yesterday. Six women, at various stages of decomposition. Kidnapped. Ransomed. Murdered.

I wondered if I would end up at the dump site just like the rest of them.

I rolled into a supine position, the back of my head laying on the concrete, my eye exploring the ceiling. Looking at the duct tape, I imagined that the glowing shapes created from the gaps in the duct tape were stars. Some were triangular. Some were octagonal. Some were rectangular. Most were random quadrilaterals.

For what seemed like hours, I drifted in and out of consciousness. My mind never focused on escape. It never begged for freedom. I almost seemed at ease in my enclosure.

Boredom set in. I took that as a good sign. Not many people in captivity would find themselves bored. Even the self deprecating sense of angst had left me. How had it left me, I mused? The door was locked. The one little window above me was closed. Through the ventilation shaft, I reasoned. Perhaps my fear hadn't grown to such a ridiculous size that it couldn't fit through that three by six opening? Another good sign, I smirked.

I watched the window. What was it? At least 12 by 24. Could I fit my hips through that hole? My head? My bust? Probably.

Another good sign. I chuckled. Oh, G-d, I was losing it. At least with insanity, one can leave their fears behind. The stars disappeared behind a hazy black cloud.

I woke up again.

My eye socket continued its rhythmic pounding. I realized I hadn't heard a thing in hours. The lack of sunlight, moonlight, the works, made it difficult to tell how much time had passed. I guessed five hours.

As I calculated how much time had passed, the world grew dark once again.

Thirst. An overwhelming feeling of thirst. My mouth felt like the Gobe Desert. Minus the sand. My tongue ran over my teeth. Plus the plaque. Why can't a girl get a good toothbrush and toothpaste when she's being held captive? Whoever these people are, they certainly weren't going to be the next Hilton. I couldn't help but to wonder if my partner would have found my joke amusing.

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD

I could almost picture that look of concern in his eyes as he inspected my wounded cheek and eye. He could really be nurturing sometimes. It could be endearing. It could also be infuriating. I preferred to think of it as endearing, as long as he didn't know about it.

As I drifted into a restless sleep state, terrible, wonderful dreams plagued me. Dreams of macaroni dinners, diner moments, apprentices, incomplete skeletons, silver screws, stolen glances, memories of my mother.

My stomach began twisting in my abdomen, rearing back and wrenching its jaws into its side. When was the last time I'd eaten? I couldn't remember. Well, in all honesty, I simply did not know. Time and darkness played tricks on me. The irony. Was it time for dinner, lunch, or breakfast? I guessed breakfast. My stomach protested, so I turned my thoughts to other things.

I remembered sitting at that table. His chestnut eyes staring back at me. I'd looked back in them several times before. Brown, people said. His license even said it. They were not brown. Brown, specks of green, flecks of gold. Brown was a gross understatement. That was like saying a prism is clear. Prisms are NOT clear. Pinks, blues, reds, oranges, yellows, greens sparkle from its hearth.

My imagination was playing games with my mind once again. Running away like a hyena with its catch.

Concentrate!

My fingers traced the chain, piecing together a picture in my mind's eye. The shape of a keyhole. Fat at the base, narrow at the top like hallow lollipop. I jerked at the lock.

CLICK! THUD-THUD-THUD... CLINK!

I imagined the world turning their heads in my direction. Could the mystery perpetrator be listening in? Taking notes? Plotting my demise? I pulled harder.

Digging my grave? I put my back into it.

Gathering together lime and plastic trash bags? I strained my whole body.

CLINK! Nothing. CLINK! Was it useless?

I stopped. My chest heaving as my diaphragm pulled the musty air into my lungs.

With my head feeling heavy once again, like a sandbags piling up, creating a barrier against a torrential flood, I began to feel faint. Was I feverish? I could feel the heat rising from my collar as if someone had poured hot asphalt down my blouse. Drops of hot tar must have splattered my cheek, because the throbbing was becoming unbearable. My eyelids felt weighed down and finally pushed out what little light I could see.

* * *

The memories came quickly. Ephemeral. Like silvery snow flakes tumbling from hot breath. Sweet, fast, slow.

I walked through the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building. I heard my heals clicking lightly on the tile floor. I saw his office coming into focus. I saw myself walking at the same time that I could see the office grow larger in my sight.

Two familiar faces. One belonging to my partner. The other belonging to a man whose name was fleeting. I had the feeling that we had met before.

He smiled and at first I felt distrustful, but my partner's warm eyes calmed my nerves.

I blinked.

Consciousness was as easy to catch as a feather in the wind. I blinked hard. Harder.

How had I gotten here in the first place? My memories were dull and ethereal at first. Twisting and turning in the room like I was watching Fantasia at twelve years old again. The dullness quickly drifted away as my eyelids grew thicker. One with exhaustion. The other with pus and other things I didn't care to think about. I tried to force myself to stay conscious, but my body refused and I found myself reliving Sunday all over again.

I tumbled. Falling over leaves and broken boughs, finally landing in a pit of decaying cadavers. The stench. Hot. Sweet. Stomach-curdling.

His lips touched mine and I only wanted him closer.

Cold porcelain against my cheek.

500 count Egyptian cotton sheets that weren't mine.

Corpses on bitterly cold stainless steel.

A knife. Rough bricks. Penetrating ice-cold lake water.

Tide with Bleach. Bleach has such an indefinable odor. So pungent, always clinging, claiming its presence long after the water had been rinsed away. Resplendent sunshine trickled through the curtains and on the inside of my eyelids, although I refused to open them at first, the bright red color of my own blood coursing through them shook me into a more wakeful mood.

Monday. What is it about Mondays that always keep us from wanting to begin our week? The only limb I allowed movement was my arm with which I tossed the blanket aside, effectively disturbing my perfect cocoon of warmth.

I lowered my feet onto blood-red carpet. Or was it really blood? Hot and oozing between my toes. Coagulating like cottage cheese, seeping like blood can only do.

The shower washed my thoughts away. The faucet was turned up high, just a shade under scorching. A few degrees away from stripping my flesh and rinsing it away down the drain.

Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, causing my hands to shake uncontrollably. Nightmares were never uncommon for me. Thoughts of death, blood, and more recently, evil in the form of the malignant and villainous human being always danced around in my subconscious, causing my mind to wander to places I wish I could only escape from. There was my escape. In the white-hot liquid rippling over my nude body, pouring away my fear, my anxiety, my truth.

I closed my eyes, soaking in the baptismal. How ironic that baptisms are meant to wash away sins, but this particular ritual bathed away my demons.

A flash of light. Voices whispering. I quickly opened them once again and shut off the water, running from the room in which my succubus had remanifested itself.

This time cold tile met my feet and I followed the vibrating sound of my cell phone against my night stand, not bothering to cover my nakedness with a robe.

As the night stand came into view, so did a tall oak. Old and venerable from years of weathering rain and storms. Six foot snow drifts. Leaves that crunched beneath my feet, echoing in a deep vibrato against my tympanum.

I knelt against the oak, leaning one gloved hand against its ancient trunk. After stabilizing myself, I studied the skull which had sunk into the mire. Black mud had crept up the cranium. White bone was yellowed and cracked. Summer, autumn, winter, spring and summer again. The cycle of seasons, dust, decay, cold, hot, rainy, snowy, had all left little of this victim. Missing mandible, shattered parietal. Fragments and shards littered the soil. I pushed away decayed leaves, revealing more shards, half covered in mud. Sticking up from the soil like crooked nails in a four-by-four.

"Female," I told Booth. "Early thirties."

"Ship it all to the Jeffersonian? Just like old times," he grinned at me, patting my back and flashing me that disturbingly sexy smile. Was he trying to make me feel guilty for leaving or glad to have returned? Either way, I smiled back at him, then turned my face back to the remains before me. I spotted what I thought was the mandible and dug my forefinger into the muck, tracing the horseshoe outline just enough to decide that yes, this was my missing bone.

Yellow tape at 90 degree angles, pegs, brushes that were frustratingly small. Fingers that felt stiff as bones from the freezing autumn temperatures exposing my skin to the biting cold.

Eventually, every last bone was released, placed along with extra soil into the evidence bags. Everything was accounted for. With the exception of a femur.

I walked through the forest, shifting leaves left and right. Kicking aside fallen boughs. I tumbled. Falling over leaves and broken boughs, finally landing in a pit of decaying cadavers. The stench. Hot. Sweet. Stomach-curdling scents that stung my nostrils. Despite being accustomed to that smell, laying among the dead when you are one of the living is something that will throw your tolerance level far to the left of center.

"Bones!" He shuffled down the little hill, mud thickening at his shoes, not caring for a moment how much they cost, despite the fact that his feet were quickly filling with questionable fluids. A hand to help a partner. Then an exchange of bewildered fear. Deathly silence.

"What the hell is going on here?" He whispered. And I wondered the same thing.

I gripped the cool porcelain and heaved until I felt that my eyes would fall from my head, then bob in the water like some macabre Halloween game. Slimy chunks of whatever had once gone down now hit the water with a puissant force, back-splashing some of the contents onto my forehead and making the process repeat itself once again. Then my cheek was back against the cold tile, easing the throbbing of my head. My job had taken the phrase, 'a day at the office' to a new level.

The duct tape stars glittered a resplendent pattern on the floor. I watched it. The full moon outside of the small window above my head let very little of the quiescent light fall on the lifeless concrete floor.

intense imagery, looking forward to more

Thanks! This brings me back to how I wrote in high school now that I think about it... I won't be reposting so soon, but I had the first chapter already written when I posted it. Plus I was incredibly bored today, so here's part II...

Between Sleep and Awake

Part II: Scarlet Ribbons

Rotting flesh against sterile tables. Warm with decay, cold with death. Every table held a body. Six in all. Two skeletal. Four meaty, as he put it. And people wonder why I reconsider vegetarianism so often.

They all had names. They were all loved. All were missed by someone. It was times like that when I felt like the weight of the world would push me so far down that I would l would suffocate. I would be forced to breathe in dirt, sucking it into my lungs.

Six women.

Six mothers.

Six children.

Six daughters.

Six people who I would soon understand more about than I wanted to understand about myself. Six lives lost. And I could still smell their decayed bodily fluids beneath my cuticles, in my hair.

I put that aside as tears stung my sinuses and turned my focus to the first cadaver. The first woman to be thrown like scum, the filth of the earth, thrown aside like last week's newspaper into the pit that would be her grave.

Brown dried blood coated the fleshier of the victims. Metacarpals of the hands and wrists strained, dislocated, separated like they had been hung for hours by their hands, beaten, debased, raped.

I reached down and caressed his cheek, my thumb running along the thick rough beard. Jolts of lightning running through my body, between my legs, making me only want him more. More of his lips, his hands running along my torso, his lips against my neck, my breasts, my thighs.

"What are you thinking?" I whispered, looking into those beautiful chestnut eyes of his.

"Just... how happy I am."

"That was lame." I rolled my eyes.

He rolled me onto my back, wrapping a leg around my body, playing footsie with me in the cool morning.

"It's true," he muttered against my neck.

I wrapped my legs around him.

My hands clutched the Egyptian cotton sheets as I reached climax.

Red ribbon.

"Silk," Hodgins said.

"This is one of those creepy anti-female serial killer things, isn't it?" Cam grasped her elbows.

"Not necessarily," I clarified. No matter how often I inculcate it, conclusions are jumped to on a daily basis. "There's no fact-base yet. Conclusions aren't to be jumped to. They're to be reached through logical deduction."

"Despite your inclinations to be pertinacious, I must remonstrate that there is evidence before us that cannot be ignored," Sweets cut in. Booth blinked, probably lost by all of the four-dollar words, or annoyed that Sweets felt had he had to use so many. My money's on the latter of the two.

I shot Sweets a dirty look. Pertinacious? Maybe my stubbornly persistent beliefs has helped lead to the capture of dozens of criminals. Has he thought of that?

"Red ribbon or not, the case has hardly been investigated yet. How about you keep your theories in the office, Dr. Sweets?" I pushed past him, jogging off the forensic platform and straight into a pit of tar.

He lifted my hair from my neck, threading the silken ribbon beneath. His calloused hands scratched at my neck and behind my ears. The scarlet band was tied in a bow above my left temple. He kissed me with what could only be described as convoluted passion, his tongue invading my mouth, the strong scent of chewing tobacco crawling up the back of my throat. I fought my gag reflex, closed my eyes and breathed through my nose rhythmically. I could feel flecks of tobacco floating in my saliva. I spat as soon as he pulled back.

"Beautiful," he said, running the back of his hand along my jaw.

"F-ck you," I snarled with as much hatred and fury as I could muster. It wasn't difficult. The tears sipped from the corners of my eyes. I didn't bawl. I was too furious to bawl. Too angry about being a victim.

He moved his face closer to mine, but it was still obscured by a blotch of ink in my vision. He spoke with yellowed and crooked teeth, "You keep up that f-cking attitude, I'll remove your eyes with a f-cking teaspoon, bitch." A thick mucousy ball of phlegm was drawn into his throat, then shot out, onto my cheek.

I closed my eyes. The bodies were scattered around my feet. Putrid limbs protruded from between greasy leaves and rain-soaked soil.

"What the hell is going here?" Booth whispered.

"Good question," I whispered back. Decomposing flesh, skin slippage, algor mortis. A corpse lay immediately at my feet. The very one that broke my fall. The very one whose scent I was now covered in. Algor mortis had set in. The flesh had already begun marbeling. The veins were greenish black, dull and lifeless beneath the cold flesh.

As my eyes adjusted and my view grew, the sight became more horrendously clear. One more lay a few feet off, skeletonized. Three more. One bloated, her naked breasts filled with the gases of decay like water balloons. One more, a yard or two off, had begun the stage of skin slippage, her face was white and soapy from adipocere. The flesh of the hands were falling off like old used leather gloves. The face was covered in mud, the hair matted with mud. The last was the newest of the bodies. It was bloated and lividity had made her back a deep black from pooled blood.

"You should... probably take a shower," he muttered.

"Thanks for the tip, Booth."

Darkness.

"Beautiful," he said, breathing on me, making me want to grip the porcelain once again. He reached up and pulled the red ribbon down, loosened the bow, then pulled tightly on either end, closing the circle around my neck. "Purple is your color."

I wished for breath. I could feel the pressure in my face, making my lips, nose, and eyes feel like they were filling with water, thickening, swelling. Shoots of pain, like hundreds of needles embedding themselves in my eyes. I imagined the blood vessels bursting under pressure, my eyes turning blood-red, threaded with red lace. "Stop," I choked out. Hot tears slipped down both cheeks. This time it was fear that made them fall, not anger.

He wrapped his fingers around the ribbon, tightening. If I had strength to kick, I would. If I had air, I would. I could feel the ropes tearing into my wrists, pulling them apart. My shoulder popped out of its socket, but I didn't care. Oxygen. I only want oxygen. I only need oxygen.

And him.

He smelled like Old Spice and mint. Booth.

"Here's to our partnership," he said, lifting a wine glass in the air. The cool night air made my skin prick with goosebumps, and I imagine that I was giving the man quite a view from my low cut dress. But to say that I didn't pull my jacket closed out of naivety of the situation would have been a total lie.

I saw his eyes drift southward throughout the night. Settling on my breasts.

It was all so confusing. Should partnership truly be black and white. Friends? Coworkers? Could we cross that line into lovers?

He must have seen me catch him with that last glance, because he drew in a sharp breath. "You look... great, Bones."

"And you, too. You look... very handsome." And when did he ever not?

"I'm glad you're back in D.C., Bones."

"Me, too." When I thought on it coolly, I believed that my decision to leave for six months was rational. It brought me farther along in my career, reconnecting me with my first love. But I missed him. When had this man crossed from friend to something more? More importantly, when did rationality become a thing that could no longer be considered my strong-suit?

"We should, um, go."

"Yeah," I agreed.

He pushed in my chair, then let his hand settle on my back as we walked. Where was the SUV? The concrete beneath our feet crumbled, fragmented beneath our heels as the house came into sight. Red brick loomed from gray sky. The buildings twisted into tall firs.

"OK, Bones, just hold back." He took his service weapon from its holster and handed it to me, then reached for his ankle holster. A man with a weapon? Incredibly sexy. As long as it isn't pointed at you.

"I'm not going to stay back, Booth."

He sighed and looked at me for a few seconds, then nodded.

Memories became hazy and indistinct as we walked through a world that granulated beneath our feet.

I wasn't the first to fall, he was.

"You're not leaving me again, Booth!" I pressed my fingers to his neck and prayed that it wasn't his carotid. "God, please," I whispered.

His eyes opened just enough to flash an amused expression my way before rolling into his head.

"She was shot in the head. Point-blank," Cam said.

Booth nodded. "Find the projectile?"

Cam's eyes shifted to me.

"Uh, markings on the bone suggest that it was retrieved."

"Retrieved?" He repeated with disbelief.

I nodded. "Most likely with needle-nose pliers."

"So what do we have?"

"Hodgins is going over particulates."

"And I should have the tox screen within the hour," Cam added.

"Why the hell is it going so slow?" I could tell he was aggitated.

"There are six sets of remains, Booth."

"Six people, Bones. And don't you forget it. These people, Bones, they were somebody's kid, OK? Somebody's mother, wife, daughter, what-have-you. They deserve to have their story told."

"And we'll tell it. It will just take a little more time considering the ratio of victims to squints, but we'll have your evidence. You don't think that I understand that these are people, Booth?" I could feel my pulse thudding through my head like a metronome, keeping time with my anger.

A second passed before his own fury dissipated. "I'm sorry, Bones. It's just... I've got Cullen on my ass. And--" He paused, taking in the wall I build up against his attitude. Then he pulled me into a hug.

The hot water washed over my body, cleansing me from my fears, my pain, my demons. How is it that no matter how many showers I take, the pain is always there? Always lurking, always bringing the dark things to the surface. Always percolating the repugnant, the black, the dark, the malignant into the parts where I have tried so hard to bring in light. I tipped my head back and rinsed the soap from my hair.

Hot.

Cold.

He pressed me against the door. And I let him slip his hand beneath my shirt and stroke my breasts.

The laceration made my head throb. White-hot pain. Cold with terror.

Smooth tile.

Musty air, thick with mold spores.

The knife slipped beneath the scarlet ribbon, digging into my throat, slicing it. It fell to the ground, dampened with blood.

I plunged beneath the surface of the lake and for a moment, everything went black.

Wow.. That's different. But very interesting. Really looking forward for next chappies.

oh wow.

Wow! This stuff is amazing! I was completely mesmerized by the first chapter, with its powerful and jerky imagery. Then the second one maintained the jumpiness but with more forensics (parts of it reminded me of Patricia Cornwell's writing). What *exactly* is going on is still not entirely clear to me (probably your intention), but I'm already completely drawn in and very curious what happens next.

wow, I'd love to read more!

as always Mama, i am eager for more, i can just start to see the pieces falling into order.

Wow, very interesting story! I can't wait for more.

Wow! Thanks for the great response. I'll be back for more of course. I write when I have nothing else to do and today there'll be nothing to do as usual. So I'll be writing like a mad thing at my computer.

Between Sleep and Awake

Part III: Purification

I jerked awake. It took several minutes before I could breathe at a normal pace again. The room had dropped at least ten degrees since my last bout of wakefulness. It was just as lifeless, gray, and cold as it was hours before. Deep brown stains spattered the bare concrete. The same window glittered its sidereal light through the slits in the duct tape.

And I felt alone. For the first time in years, I felt alone.

Then I was back in my dream world before I could breathe in another breath of reality.

Booth's warm smile made me feel calm as I looked between him and the man whose name was fleeting.

"Bones, this is Edmond Prideaux. Eddie, my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. You've met before?"

I shook my head slowly. "Not formally, but I've seen Agent Prideaux around."

He grasped my hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Brennan."

"I detect a slight accent. French Canadian?" He smiled in return. "Comment allez-vous?"

"Ah. Je vais très bien, merci."

Booth watched the exchanged with an amused expression.

"Your partner is lovely," Prideaux smiled a white charming smile.

I turned to smile at Booth just in time to see him fall to the ground, his head hitting the leaves, dry ground cover tossing in slow motion into the air, then falling to the ground once again.

Without a thought about was aiming or shooting, I stumbled over to my partner and pressed my hands to his neck. The blood seeped out quickly. Before a second even had a chance to pass, my hands were coated in the red sticky blood.

"You're not going to leave me again, Booth!" I fumbled for the cell phone, which slipped from my free hand.

Trees.

They passed on either side of me like I was descending through a vortex. I kept looking back, making sure he wasn't there.

Then he was there. And there was only one way to go. Down.

I leapt. The water coming closer, slower, then it cloaked me in glacial cold. Black, dark, icy. Sucking the air from my lungs, making my arms feel numb, making my muscles misfire, misinterpreting the signals that said, "Swim!" as signals that said, "Sink!"

And I did. I sunk. Deep beneath the icy surface, the water taking my life. And I didn't fight it. I let it take my life. Was life worth living if he was gone?

Was life worth living if he wasn't there, letting me rest my head on his bare chest, listening to him breathe in? A soft cadence of breath. In. Out. In. Out.

I turned so that I could see his face. A five o'clock shadow was darkening his cheeks and I gently caressed his rough beard with my thumb.

He smiled and ran his hand along my naked back, his finger tips falling into the grooves of my spine.

"What are you thinking?" I asked softly.

"Just... how happy I am."

"That was lame," I chastised him.

He rolled me onto my back and ran four fingers through my hair. "It's true," he smiled. One smile. That's all it took. I wrapped my legs around him as he kissed my neck. I moved my hands down his body and limned his familiar curves.

I could still feel him inside me, his body against mine, his lips against me.

Egyptian cotton sheets. Still moist and hot from the throws of passion.

Sterile hospital sheets. White. Plain. Devoid of warmth. And a hand that refused to squeeze back.

"Sweetie," a familiar voice beckoned.

I looked up and quickly brushed away tears with my sleeves. "Yeah, Ange?"

"I brought you coffee," she said, walking into the room. Her eyes shifted over to the man in the bed. "How's he doing?"

I sucked in a quaking breath before answering. "He's doing fine. He'll open his eyes soon."

Angela sat beside me and measured me for a while before speaking again. "It's induced, right? The coma?"

I nodded.

She sighed. Her hand reached out for mine.

Hands.

I plunged beneath the surface. The frigid waters engulfed my body. My larynx closed up, blocking the water from entering my lungs and the murky water swallowed me, yanking me deeper to the hell that dwelled below.

Then the hands reached into the water, pulling me from the gelid deep.

I fell into his arms on the bank.

Savior or enemy? The man with the yellow teeth drew me from my grave only to bring me to another.

"What are you going to do with me?" I asked as he dragged me over the bridge. A light snow began to sprinkle from the sky, clinging to my hair as it became ice and I shivered, my teeth chattering, my jaw tightening.

"I'm going to purify you," he said.

My eyes drifted toward the sky as white-gray clouds rolled in.

"Whoever this is," Dr. Sweets said, looking between my partner and me. "He has major issues concerning women. The act of tying a red ribbon to his victims is intimately tied to his delusional system."

"Delusional system?" I asked.

"Girls are often portrayed as wearing ribbons in their hair. Take Mary Cassatt for instance, Louis Carol's Alice in Wonderland. Minnie Mouse. Agent Booth, that wasn't meant to be funny. The point I'm trying to make is that this guy connects innocence with these ribbons. Women represent evil to him. The act of tying the ribbon represents the transformation. Child to woman. Woman to child again."

"And the rape?" Booth asked, confused.

"Another act of purification. As twisted as it is, in his mind, this purifies his victims. Most likely because he believes he himself is pure and is able to bring her to a more pure state through that act. He was most likely victimized sexually as a child."

"By his mother?"

"Sister, grandmother. A woman who was more powerful physically than he. He is rationalizing his abuse, believing that it brought about his own purification. Savior or enemy? Did this person save him or bring him to his own internal grave?"

Savior or enemy? He threw me against the red brick exterior, my face colliding with the corner of the building, the flesh bursting open on impact.

Savior or enemy? I breathed in oxygen, but wished for death. And I wondered if he knew that. And that is why he took his time.

"Where's that partner of yours?"

"Burn in hell," I hissed.

He balled up his fist and threw it at my face. The pain radiated through my cheek, making my jaw and neck throb, my head pound, my eyes bulge.

"Fiery to the bitter end."

That voice. I looked up. Past the mask. Past the sunglasses. Past the red lace of burst blood vessels that tore across my vision.

Then the black spread like ink that had been tipped onto paper, grabbing onto highways of fibers, bleeding across my sight until the blackness was all that was to be seen.

I gasped for air and opened my eyes. Reality. I had once again stepped foot into the tangible. My head had stopped throbbing, but I could tell that my fever was higher than last. If I could only stay awake long enough to contrive an escape. I watched the stars scintillate through the cracks. How much time had passed?

"What time is it?"

"Hmm?" Booth asked.

And I was glad for the hallucination. Real or manufactured, this world was so much warmer than the last. I found myself wishing I could stay there longer. Across the table from Booth. The stars twinkling overhead. And he looked so handsome, dressed down, sexy.

"Oh, nothing," I assured him.

"We should, um, go," he replied, as the script had it.

"Yeah," I agreed.

He pushed in my chair for me, then we walked down the street.

I turned the key to the ignition. It imputed my actions with a screeching cry.

"Bones! Stop turning the key."

I got out and watched him lift the hood.

"Why don't we go upstairs and I'll get my toolbox?"

A step to the right and we stood in front of his door. The keys dropped and our heads collided. A gentle touch. Eyes locked. Our lips touched and I only wanted him more. He pressed me against the door.

"I missed you, Bones."

"I missed you, too."

I let him kiss me, caress my breasts, touch my body.

The door slammed and I watched two filthy sneakers walk across the blood stained concrete I laid on.

Oh, I don't know Sarah, but you have hooked me in this fanfiction world. I love this .. very much. Its like... Like Kathy's work, partly. But your handwriting. I love it very much...
Thanks!

Cassiopeia wrote:Oh, I don't know Sarah, but you have hooked me in this fanfiction world. I love this .. very much. Its like... Like Kathy's work, partly. But your handwriting. I love it very much...
Thanks!

Thank you! That's a great compliment! And I love your avatar! So cute!

You're welcome. You know. I LOVE YOUR WORK. Thanks to you i am a huge Fanfiction fan Of bones, ofcourse

You rock, Triinu!

Omg, the suspense! It's killing me!

LOL thanks Shakari!

This is awesome--but I'm worried that if Booth is in a coma(drug-induced though it be) how will he come get her. The way your writing this kind of reminds me of a The Sound and the Fury in that your never sure exactly what time period your in. I like how your telling it as far as I can tell with her captured (by the Agent we met last chapter??) and hallucinating to the time before to get us caught up to present. Bleeding from the neck is only probably the jugular --and that's not really important right? Whose brain needs silly things like oxygen?

Cameomum wrote:This is awesome--but I'm worried that if Booth is in a coma(drug-induced though it be) how will he come get her. The way your writing this kind of reminds me of a The Sound and the Fury in that your never sure exactly what time period your in. I like how your telling it as far as I can tell with her captured (by the Agent we met last chapter??) and hallucinating to the time before to get us caught up to present. Bleeding from the neck is only probably the jugular --and that's not really important right? Whose brain needs silly things like oxygen?

Wow. Thanks for the great compliment. Especially comparing my writing to The Sound and the Fury. Faulkner is amazing! Thanks for everything! I will be continuing this in a day or two, hopefully sooner. Sooner is always better!

Okay mama,

What a wonderfully interesting concept and you definitely have me hooked! Wicked story, and it is a little confusing, but so interesting, that I can't help but read more!

Please post as soon as possible, you rock!!

Bella

Wow! Thank you Bella!!!

You're Welcome!! NOW POST!!!

Bella

Love it, you have me on the edge of my seat.

Thanks for the replies, ladies!

Between Sleep and Awake

Part IV: Last Call

The soft rubber padded on the floor. Chunks of concrete ground beneath the worn heels.

I tried to keep my eyes open long enough to try to piece together what he was doing. Bending down, reaching for my ankle, unlocking the padlock. The man lifted me and we were walking. In all honesty, I was stumbling, but he bore my weight as I was transferred to a smaller room.

I watched the single bulb swing in the distance, the light bouncing around, illuminating the obscured objects in the room.

The basement floor grew soft, then crumbled and grew beneath our feet. The gray flat ceiling became an open window to the world and gray autumn clouds rolled overhead.

My feet kicked the leaves. Left, right. The soil beneath becoming visible as I walked. Then I stumbled, my ankle twisting at a painful angle. The slope was steep, making it difficult for me to slow my descent.

I landed. Then I sat up slowly. Millions of red ribbons, moist with mud and blood obscured the face of the person who I had landed on.

Tentatively, I reached out and pulled a few aside. That face. Those eyes, though opaque with the mask of death, were familiar. I pulled them aside faster, quicker until he was more visible. My heart thudded in my throat, my head pounded.

"Booth. Oh, G-d, Booth." He was beneath me in the pit of death.

"What the hell is going on here?" He asked, but his lips didn't move.

I scrambled backward.

"It's not possible. I'm hallucinating. It's not possible!" The muck and mire sunk beneath my nails and fingers as I struggled up the embankment, my heels slipping in the mud, my hands grasping for anything and everything that would lend me aid.

And I was running. The trees whizzed past on either side of my head as I ran. The rain-moist leaves making my feet slip with every third stride.

The gun shot rang through the quiet afternoon. Bark fragmented an inch from my head. I turned to the left, down a path that seemed familiar. The sound of waves crashing against a shore grew louder as I ran. The boards of the ancient bridge pounded beneath my feet.

And there was only one direction to go. Down.

"Cold?" He asked as we walked into his building. I didn't have to reply. His jacket was across my shoulders before a word had even escaped.

We stopped in the stairwell. I could tell he had something to say. Frankly, I am not good at reading people, but I would have had to have been a fool not to see that he wanted to say something to me.

"Bones, I..." He started hesitantly, "It wasn't the same without you."

"You missed me?" I smiled.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"I... missed you, too."

We were at the door, then inside his apartment. He touched my face gently. "This isn't just sex with me, Bones."

"I know."

"I want to make love to you."

I leaned forward and kissed his lips. They grew cold in that moment and I pulled back as a tracheal intubator grew from the gap and oxygen pumped through it.

Without a word, Cam came into the hospital room and took a seat beside me. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. You?"

She smiled sadly and handed me a report, "Ballistic fingerprinting connected the firearm that shot Booth with a December 2002 bank robbery."

I reached for the report. "And it's not Clarence Voigt?"

"He was in Europe at the time of the bank robbery."

"Was anybody arrested?"

"No, but the detective in charge of the case said that they believed it was an inside job."

"From inside the bank?" I thumbed through the report farther, "The Centura Bank? They stole more than 500,000 dollars."

"I have a feeling someone went to the Bahamas for Christmas."

"Wait a second... wasn't the Centura Bank purchased by the Royal Bank of Canada?" I stood up abruptly and walked toward the exit.

"Where are you going?" Cam asked, bewildered by my unexpected change of direction.

"Nowhere. It's pure conjecture. I'll be right back."

Snow began to fall as I walked through the underbrush. A short red brick building grew from the ground as if it had been there for years. Firewood was stacked neatly on the outside of the building and a blue tarp had been placed on top with one chunk of wood weighing down the whole contraption.

I stood on the cutting block and peeked through a tall window, darkened with age and time. Through the greasy film, I watched as a man's figure walked slowly past. He stood by a distant window for a minute. What was he doing? What or who was he watching for out that window?

My scalp felt like it was being ripped apart as a strong hand grasped my pony tail and yanked me from to the ground. He must have been over six feet tall as he overpowered me easily. I scrambled in the snow, skittering backward until I could stand again.

He quickly yanked me back to my feet muttering something in his mother tongue before throwing me head-first into the corner of the building, my face splitting open like a ripe cantaloupe. Hot blood burst from the wound and slipped beneath my collar, soaking my shirt within seconds.

The shock of the blow caused me to falter and gasp for breath. Then he swung at me. I ducked and tripped him before running through the forest, the trees passing on either side of me like I was being sucked into a vortex, being drawn to the water, to freedom.

Icy water. A plunge to freedom, only to be drawn back into the world by a strong hand.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Purify you."

I fell into the dark basement. I felt cold, my face throbbed with searing pain that seemed to tear at my throat. The whole side of my face felt like it was afire.

"Purify you," he said in accented syllables. Yet I couldn't fill in the missing pieces. French Canadian, but the voice did not belong to Prideaux. Was it coincidence? It just did not make sense in my fevered mind.

His toe dug into my ribs, the oxygen was drawn from my lungs as the blinding pain spread.

"Where is your partner now?"

"Last call for flight 1197 to Toronto. Last call for the 1197 for Toronto. We are now boarding all aisles. Thank you."

Exhausted travelers walked past me and I felt like the stone on the shore. The tide went out, but I stood still. Booth. Always there. And this time, he stood with a bouquet of flowers and a familiar grin.

"Flowers?"

"I know that you like daffodils, but roses were the only thing they had."

"Sure." I burned my nose in them. The luscious perfume filled my lungs, bringing me back to a thousand memories.

"Let me get your bag." He reached for it and we walked through the airport together. I saw him look my way several times. And I did the same, glancing over at him, taking in his familiar presence.

"I thought Ange was picking me up?"

"I may have bribed her."

"Let me guess. A gift certificate to Macy's? Shoes? You got her a day off? You didn't kiss her, did you?"

He just laughed and opened the door for me. "As it turns out, Angela is a lot easier to bribe than that."

"What did it take?"

"I just asked," he grinned.

I shook my head and held back my laughter. "That's not the definition of bribery, you know?"

I watched as he loaded my luggage, admiring his form. Then he came around and opened my door for me.

He blocked me with an arm and closed the door again slowly, "Mind if I bribe you now?" He leaned in close to me.

The heat rose to my cheeks, "Sure."

"Go out to dinner with me, Bones."

"Booth--"

"Not a date. You can take your car and I'll take mine. Meet at that Italian place?"

"OK," I replied, then I sat in the SUV.

Booth's cell rang as we got on the road. He answered it then turned to me, "Are you too tired to do some crime-fighting with me?"

"I'm never too tired for that."

"I'm never too tired for that," I heard my voice echo against the walls. My eyes flickered open. Even that small movement took every last bit of energy I had. Even if I wanted to escape, I wouldn't be able to get farther than the doorway before passing out again. The room I was now in was small. Six feet by six feet. Windowless. No vents. The smell of mold hung even thicker in the air, most likely from the lack of circulating air. A fan hung several feet above my head, but it was turned off, leaving the room feeling muggy and stale.

Why was I moved? To make way for another victim? Was this the next stage? Was this where I would be raped? Murdered? Left to die? Purified?

At that point, I only wanted to cry, but dehydration made that an impossible feat.

Darkness.

Another great chapter. It's finally starting to come together...a bit. Loving it!