Chapter 6 – Broken

Lance had been sitting casually on the couch when she came into the apartment. Expecting her to speak, he was surprised when she only threw her bag down to the floor and ran to the bathroom immediately.

When he heard her throwing up seconds later, just as he had expected, he stood up and walked to the bathroom, leaning against the doorway.

“I guess that's a 'yes' to the question of whether you'd catch it from me, then,” he said.

She only groaned in response, still feeling her stomach lurch.

He had spent the whole night before getting sick, only sleeping on and off through the night. It had been a miserable night for him, and he suspected it hadn't been pleasant for her either, being woken up every hour or so by him. He had taken the day away from the station to recover and had slept a good part of the morning. She had left him alone to run errands and do her own business, but he had been out of bed for a couple hours, even feeling good enough to keep a little food down.

“You okay?” he asked after she threw up once more.

“A little tip,” she said, finally lifting her head up and wiping her mouth with a tissue. “When you know you're probably going to catch the stomach flu and you're choosing your 'last meal', it's not a good idea to throw caution to the wind at lunch and choose Mexican.”

He grimaced. “Thanks. You just turned me off of burritos forever.”

“I suffer, you suffer,” she said as she flushed.

“Well,” he said, “the good news is, it looks like you won't suffer long. I'm feeling better and even keeping food down – despite the lovely visual you painted for me. Looks like it's only a twenty-four hour thing.”

“Thank God,” she said, turning off the light and walking out of the bathroom with him walking behind her. “I can't afford to be sick for more than a day. I have too much stuff to do and I'm already too exhausted to do most of it. I can't be down for the count like this.”

“Maybe this is why we've been so tired,” he said. “I wonder how we caught it.”

“Who knows.” She fell to the couch in the living room and adjusted a throw pillow to lay on it. “It could be anything. We were on a long flight a couple of weeks ago – and you know how riddled with germs airports and planes have to be. I've been several different places since we've been back. Maybe someone at the station was sick and you caught it there.”

She sighed; the comfort of having a moment to lie down and do nothing, even if she felt horrible, was welcome.

“You were right, it is more comfortable to die on the couch,” she said.

“Well, at least you're finally getting a chance to rest,” he said with a laugh. He walked over to her side and as she had done for him the evening before, placed his hand on her forehead.

“You don't have a fever,” he said. “That's weird. Mine came with a fever.”

“Maybe that's good,” she mumbled. “Maybe it's not what you had.”

“If it's not what I had, what would it be?”

“Could be food poisoning. Like I said, I had Mexican for lunch. I think that was a bad idea all around.”

“You should go lay down in bed,” he said. “Whether it's the flu like I had or food poisoning, you'll be up again in about an hour, throwing up more. I promise you, it won't be pretty.”

Although she didn't even want to move, she knew he was probably right. Without any acknowledgment, she slowly moved off the couch and into their bedroom. When she reached it, she stripped her work clothes and changed into her sleeping clothes, a more comfortable t-shirt and pajama pants combo.

It felt like the minute she laid down and her head hit the pillow, she fell into a peaceful rest. She heard some moving around and clanging coming from the kitchen, but after only a few minutes, she fell into peaceful, silent sleep.

But the next thing she knew, she felt herself walking down a hallway. Like so many other times before, with each and every step, she felt the presence of someone behind her. She heard no footsteps; but upon stopping and turning her head, she knew that whoever – or whatever – it was, they were silently sneaking up behind her. Not looking back again, she resumed walking, speeding up her footsteps. The door was only feet ahead of her; she knew if she stayed calm, walked quickly enough, and reached it in time, she would be safe.

By the time she reached the door, she felt as if she was almost running. Despite knowing there was no one behind her, goosebumps formed on the back of her neck, as if someone was breathing directly on her. She quickly grabbed the handle of the door and as soon as she turned it, the goosebumps dissipated, her heart stopped racing and her breathing fell back to normal.

The bright light blinded her the moment the door opened, and she knew her feet were still moving but she couldn't see where she was walking. When the light diminished, she turned to look behind her expecting to see the door, but her jaw dropped when all she could see in front of her was a bright, open field of color.

She stopped to take a breath. Seconds before she had been in a dull, gray hallway feeling fear in her heart; and suddenly, she was staring at the most beautiful garden she had ever seen. Miles of clear, blue skies could be seen over her head while she could feel lush, bright green grass under her feet. Weeping willow trees stood tall among more flowers than she had ever seen – a wide array of daisies, violets, foxgloves, daffodils, snowdrops...in fact, she saw more flowers than she could name.

She knew it was a dream; it had to be a dream, not only because the door had mysteriously disappeared into thin air, but because she didn't think that anything that existed in nature could be this beautiful. She knew she had to be asleep, but she didn't want to wake up from this dream, unlike her others. Never had any of her dreams been this peaceful, clear, or calming.

She whipped around quickly when she heard a giggle from behind her, only to see the back side of a small girl running away from her. Before Addy could look twice, the girl skipped and disappeared behind the trunk of a tree. Seconds later, the girl quickly and playfully peeked her head out from behind the tree, as Addy's attention was ripped away by another small figure shooting across the field on her other side.

“Hello?”

Subconsciously, since she knew it was a dream, she didn't expect an answer. So she wasn't surprised when instead of hearing a response, she only heard the echoing of her voice seconds before the echoes of the giggles resumed and both figures darted out from behind their trees to run in front of her.

The girl couldn't be more than six years old; the boy, two or three at her best guess. Energetic, spunky, and playful, both of them laughed and frolicked as if neither one saw her standing there; as if she didn't inhibit their fun in the least. They moved so fast that she couldn't see either of their faces right away, but her eyes fixated on the young girl's curly, light caramel-colored hair.

She had hoped and dreamed that one day, she would have a daughter with a full head of caramel-colored curls.

The boy disappeared before Addy could find him, and she was surprised when the girl slowed down to walk up to her, letting a final chuckle escape her lips before she looked up.

“Hi,” she said. She smiled shyly, but there was nothing shy about her.

“Hi,” Addy said, smiling. It surprised her to hear the words come out of her so easily and child-like, since speaking with children hadn't come naturally to her. “What's your name?”

“What's your name?” the girl said with another giggle.

Adeline couldn't help but chuckle. “I'm Adeline.”

“Adeline.” She pronounced each syllable of the name carefully, thinking it over. “That's a pretty name.”

“I'm sure you have a pretty name, too,” Addy responded.

“Here, we don't have names,” the girl replied.

“But, how do you call each other?” Addy asked. “How do you know who's who?”

The girl broke into a fit of child-like laughter. “We don't need names to know each other. We just know.”

“Well what do your friends call you?”

“Nothing,” she said, still giggling.

“You know what you sound like to me?” Addy asked, smiling. She couldn't help it; the little girl's laughter and cheeriness was contagious. “You sound like a giggle-box to me.”

“Princess Giggle-box,” she said with a laugh.

“Princess Giggle-box it is, then,” Addy said, laughing a little herself. “Where's your mommy, Miss Princess Giggle-box?”

“I don't need one here.”

She said it with no sadness, no grief. A motherless child – something that Addy could understand all too well, since she had lost her mother as a child as well, when she had needed her the most. At the same time, there was a childless mother out there, somewhere, missing her little golden-haired girl – also something Addy could understand, more than she wanted to.

She didn't have time to grieve on it, though, as the girl grabbed her hand and gave it a small tug.

“Let's go over here,” she said, smiling brightly.

Adeline was surprised at the force, laughing when the girl yanked with all her might and started pulling her away from the middle of the field. She moved lightly on her feet, with grace around the flowers and trees, as if she knew this place well. As sad of an idea as it was to Addy that this child lived here, without a mother around her, she could see the beauty in it as well. It was whimsical and calm, serene and safe.

She was starting to think she knew where she was. And in her eyes, it was the most beautiful place a child could end up – where they could run and play all day without a care in the world.

The girl led her to a spot near a tree where wild flowers bloomed in a patch of colorful blues, purples, whites, and reds. They both sat down and the girl proceeded to pick a white daisy from the patch and place it carefully in Addy's hair, behind her ear. Neither of them spoke; Addy had so many questions, but the girl had only given vague answers so far, so she didn't bother. She knew eventually, she would wake up from the dream and she wanted to enjoy every moment she had.

Adeline had almost forgotten about the little boy until he came up to them, standing next to the girl warily, looking down at Adeline. She looked up and noticed the same big, brown eyes and caramel-colored hair.

“And who are you, sweetie?” Addy asked the little boy.

He looked away and down at the little girl shyly, and after connecting eyes with him, she looked back at Addy.

“That's my little brother,” she said. “But he can't stay here. He has to go away soon.”

“Where does he have to go?” Addy asked, confused.

She noticed that the little girl opened her mouth as if to answer, but instead smiled when Addy felt herself being pulled away from the patch of grass, not of her own will.

She jumped when she felt the arms wrap around her in the bed.

“It's okay, it's me,” Lance whispered, tightening his grip.

He had become accustomed to the dreams – sometimes more like night terrors – that she had been experiencing the past year. While they had waned as the divorce and the stress came to an end, they had picked back up recently, another factor contributing to her not getting enough sleep.

“Another nightmare?” he asked when she released a breath of air, hoping to calm her racing heart.

“A dream,” she said, still in a hazy post-sleep fog. “Just a weird dream.”

“Not like the others?”

He didn't need to ask any further when he noticed she immediately broke down into tears.

“I think it was her,” she said.

He knew her well enough to know exactly what she meant. She sometimes had dreams of her daughter – what had happened, what could have happened, and what could have been. She held on to anything she could manage these days, to keep something close to her. It seemed to him that the more time passed, the worse she felt about it. When most people would grieve and eventually come to terms with a loss, there was no coming to terms with this. She felt that the farther she moved away from it meant she was only forgetting her daughter's memory.

“Tell me about it,” he said softly.

She tearfully recounted the dream, from the moments of being followed in the hallway right down to the two children in the field and picking wild flowers with them.

“Well, it sounds beautiful,” he said.

“It was,” she said, wiping away a few tears. “It was just weird. You should have seen her hair and her face – she looked nothing like Marc. She looked more like you than anything.”

He paused, wishing he could see with his own eyes.

“Well, you know,” he said, “I think when we lose someone we love, they show themselves to us the way they think we want to see them. They want to reassure us that they're happy and perfect. She knows that you're happy now, and she wants to show you that she's happy, too.”

“Do you think so?” she asked.

“Yeah. If she were here, you and I would be raising her. Since she'd still be so young, it's only natural to think she'd probably take after me in some ways. She wouldn't know any other life than the one you and I would give her. Maybe this is her way of showing you that because you're happy, she's happy.”

She nodded. More than once, she thought about how life would be different if her daughter were in the picture. She knew she would rather see certain characteristics of Lance's in her daughter's personality, and had dreamed about it. In most of her dreams, it had been subtle; never shockingly obvious, like it had been in this one.

“If she was here, there's nothing I wouldn't give her,” he said, moving closer to her. “She would be treated like she were my own, because she would be my own in my eyes. You know that, right?”

She nodded again, feeling more tears in her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

He had secrets that he kept from her, things that she didn't know. She didn't know that every time she cried over her daughter, it hurt him more. As he had grown closer to her, the pain grew. Going to the cemetery twice a year, on Memorial Day and the anniversary of her death, got harder each year for him. She had always been a part of Addy – but as time went by and Addy became a bigger part of his life, so did her daughter.

“I'm sorry,” she finally said, laughing a little as she wiped away her tears with the heel of her hand. “That dream was a shock – it was one of the best things I've ever experienced.”

“I wish I could have a dream like that,” he said honestly.

“I wish I could go back,” she admitted. “Maybe it was a feverish, flu-induced hallucination – but even if it was...I don't know.” She paused, looking him in the eyes. “I feel like I was given a gift. A really great gift. I wish I could give that gift to every single person that is walking this same path in my shoes right now.”

“I wish I could give it back to you. I wish I could take all the bad away from you and give you more of the good. I wish I could stop the crying for you.”

He reached up to wipe the last stray tears away from her cheeks and eyes.

“I wish I could do a lot of things for you,” he said.

“I don't know,” she said with a slight smile. “I think you've done pretty good so far.”

He smiled.

“You gave me my life back,” she said. “When I came to work for you, I had all but given up. I had no purpose other than my job. That was the only thing that gave me the sense that I was worth something. I like my job, I like my needy clients; people think I'm crazy for it, but someone depends on me for something. If I weren't here, someone would miss me.”

“I'm not needy,” he said, then narrowed an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“You're a shining example of needy,” she said. “Not the 'Addy, bring me my coffee, Addy, press my suit' kind of needy maybe – you needed me in a different way.”

“Yeah, I was kind of a mess,” he admitted.

“You were a wreck,” she said. “But that was okay because so was I. Stephanie was right – we needed each other.”

“I'm sorry that's the first side of me you got to see,” he said. “I'm sorry for everything I did to make your life miserable at first, for everything I put you through.”

“Is that what that note and the rose was all about the other day?”

As she ran a finger through the side of his hair, he looked at her.

“What note?” he asked.

“The note, silly,” she said. When he stared into her eyes with the same confused look, she lowered her arm back down to her side. “The note you left on the counter, in the apartment, the other day when you went out to get wine for dinner. You left, I got in the bath, and I was about to fall asleep when I heard the front door shut. I thought you had come back because you forgot your wallet again, but when I came out all I found was a note on the kitchen counter that said 'I'm sorry for everything I put you through'. You left a pink rose on top of it. Don't you remember?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about, baby. Maybe you are having fever-induced hallucinations.”

As he brought his hand up to her forehead, she gently pushed it away with a laugh.

“It's not a hallucination,” she said. “I still have the note, in my bag. You came back when I was in the bath to leave it for me. How can you not remember?”

“Addy,” he said, with the most serious expression she had ever seen on his face. “I didn't leave that note.”

“You didn't leave a pink rose on top of that note on the counter?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn't.”

“Well, if you didn't leave it...” she said, letting her voice trail in confusion.

“Who did?” he finished.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Seeing the concern on her face, he lifted his head slightly.

“I'll bet it was that weirdo security guard that likes you so much,” he said, smiling.

“Carlos?” she asked, the pitch in her voice raising. “Why would he leave me a pink rose like that?”

“Because he's got the hots for you.”

She noticed the small roll of his eyes, and the way his smile fell a little.

“Oh, come on.”

“He does. The way he says your name – 'oh Miss Addy',” he mocked. “Not that I'm jealous or anything.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling and rolling her eyes as he looked on.

As much as he had tried to bring some humor back to the conversation, she couldn't help but feel a little concerned. The way the note had been worded sounded nothing like her friend Carlos. What could he possibly have to be sorry for 'putting her through'? Not only that, but none of the security staff had keys to any of the residents' apartments – how would he manage to get in? What business would he have in their apartment, anyway?

“I wouldn't worry about it,” he said, shifting his body away from her to stand up out of the bed. “I'm going to get a drink before I come back to bed. You want anything?”

“Just some water,” she said, trying to shake off her concern. He was right; it was probably nothing to worry about. “I'm too tired to eat anything, I think I want to watch some TV in here tonight and fall back to sleep.”

He smiled at her and turned out the light before he walked out of the room, watching her grab the remote and turn the television on as he closed the door. He walked through the hallway and into the living room, turning off all their lights as he passed the switches. When he reached the kitchen, he turned on the light and headed straight to the cabinet, pulling out two glasses.

As he filled both of them with water to take back to bed for them, he thought of how her facial expression had changed when he told her that he hadn't left the note she had found. Obviously, she had thought he had written it for her, as some sort of romantic gesture. He had done a lot of those – but it wasn't his style to sneak back into his own apartment and leave a random note and a flower for her to find later.

As he walked back through the kitchen with the glasses, he sat them down on the counter and picked up the mail he had brought in earlier, remembering that he hadn't even glanced through it. He flipped through each one, mentally filing bills from junk, until he came to a small postcard-sized card in the middle of the pile. It was plain, with no shipping addresses or even a stamp on the front of it.

Turning it over on its side, he noticed only a few sentences; typed, not handwritten. Putting the rest of the mail back down on the counter, he focused his eyes only on the card.

Have you ever wondered what lies she's told you? What she's doing when you're not looking?

He raised an eyebrow. With no postage, he knew the card must have been slipped through their mailbox along with the other envelopes, not sent through the postage system. He wondered if it was anything like the note that Addy had told him about – and he felt his instinct about the guard being the author was right.

“What a weirdo,” he said to himself.

He flipped the card back over to its plain side once before tossing it right into the trash at his side. He grabbed the glasses from the counter and tucked one into the crook of his elbow to bring his hand up to the light switch.

“Carlos, I've got my eye on you,” he said, looking back at the trash can before flipping off the light.