Joan of Arc (closed)

"That fuckin asshole." Trevor growled as much to himself as Joan.

It was so typical of Simmons; always taking shortcuts. He didn't have the fortitude to earn her, so he waited until she was sedated. He hadn't thought much of Derrick before, and now he thought even less of him. It was clear that Simmons had been leery of Trevor find out the true history between the two of them. That's why he had been so dismissive and had hung around, interrupting their conversation. That also cleared up why she had ran. Trevor and Simmons were definitely going to get into this.

As he looked over at Joan, he became filled with a swirling tornado of emotions. He was angry, sorrowful, confused, and a host of others as he thought about the journey that they had both traveled to end up here, in his car, sitting beside the street, on their way to breakfast of all things.

"I'm gonna make this right Joan. I promise you that." he said reaching over to gently squeeze her forearm.

He had thought about saying more, but stopped himself. Instead, he just faced the road, put the car into gear and merged back into traffic. His focus was being diverted in every direction. He needed time to sit, and think, and digest all that he had learned in just the last hour. He was certain that once he heard from Skins, as well as the M.E., that this case was going to take off like a rocket in a whole new direction. He needed to learn more about Joan, and her "voices". He needed to see if there was a connection between this case and the other names she had given him. He needed to pour over crime scene photos, toxin reports, autopsies, as well as trace and other evidence collected. He needed to immerse himself in all of it, and find out where, if anywhere, it was all connected. But right now, he needed breakfast.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence. Ten minutes later, they arrived in front of Kay's Diner and parked the car. Trevor got out, and hurried to the passenger door to open it for her.

He extended his hand to help her out saying, "You hungry? They make the best omelets in town here."

"I don't need anyone to make things better." Joan said softly as he looked at her with a wealth of emotion on his face. "I don't even think about it anymore."

It was true. She didn't think about it anymore. What she did think about was her broken family. Her sister didn't speak to her for months afterwards. Somehow what Derrick had been doing was her fault and not because he was a sick fuck. No more presents under the Christmas tree for Joan. No more birthday cards or calls. Nothing. It was like she was forgotten when everyone else moved on.

Her sister had gotten married and had a kid. She loved little Max and wished she could see him more. It had been six months since she had last laid eyes on him and when a toddler was growing, that was an eternity. Her father had gotten remarried to a woman with two girls of her own. She stayed away from their happy little home in the suburbs, especially after her stepmother had made it clear that she didn't feel safe with Joan around and she didn't feel like her daughters were safe.

Her mother...well, her mother never willingly made the effort to see her. She had bumped into her once while she was out shopping about two years ago. She had a little boy with her, one that looked like he was about five. He had dark black hair but the same clear blue eyes that Joan and Janey had as well. Her mother had looked startled to see her and asked her how she was, but scurried away quickly before she could even turn her attentions to her half brother. That was the last time she had spoken to her mother.

She was a little startled when the car pulled to a stop again and Grimes was getting out of the car. She watched as he made his way to her side and opened the door. His hand was extended out to her as he asked if she were hungry. No one usually cared that much about her. It was a little...strange.

"Yeah, I guess." She said softly as she put her gloved hand in his, unbuckled her belt and let him help her from the car.

When she was clear of it, Trevor closed the door and then with a push of a button the horn chirped faintly and the park lights flashed, signaling that it was secure. He ushered through the entrance and pointed to a table in a secluded corner of the dining room.

"Two coffees." he called to the waitress as they walked past the row of barstools the lined the bar top that extended from the pastry case.

It seemed like all of these places were built exactly the same. It was almost as if there was a requirement that you have a bar, and a pastry case filled to the brim with cakes and pies, prominently situated near the door. He had been in hundreds of these joints and save for the color scheme, they were all carbon copies.

When they got to the table, Trevor pulled back a chair for Joan to sit. It had been quite a while since he had been accompanied by a woman to any place, yet he hadn't forgotten his manners. His mother had drilled them into him from the time he was a young boy. She had pestered him incessantly to "sit up straight" and "be polite" and "act like a gentleman."

When she was seated, he moved to a chair across the table and removed his jacket, hanging it on the back. He sat down and smiled as the waitress filled their respective cups that had been sitting on the table upside down. When the young woman had walked away after depositing menus for them to look over, Trevor decided he should try to get answers to some of his questions.

"So Joan, tell me more about these voices." Trevor said. "You said that you weren't a psychic, and that you had been committed. Do you have a mental issue or are you a medium that was just understood? I don't usually believe in psychics or mediums, but if the information that you gave me checks out, I wouldn't know how else to explain it."

He tried to search her face trying to glean anything about what she was thinking.

"I don't want you to feel like I'm being judgmental, that's not it at all. I'm just trying to understand."

Joan followed Trevor into the diner, her head tucked down as he seemed at ease in the place. It must have been somewhere that he came pretty regularly. The desserts in the pastry case looked amazing, she had to admit. It had been a long time since she had been anywhere that served cherry pie that looked like that.

When he stopped at a table, she was surprised that he pulled out her chair for her. Not even Michael pulled out her chair from the table when they went out to eat...which was hardly ever. Most nights, she cooked dinner at home for the two of them. He worked late into the evening, so she would eat alone and he would eat when he came in.

As the waitress poured their coffee, Joan pulled off her gloves, placing them and her satchel on the chair beside her. Her red scarf and hat soon followed before she unbuttoned and shrugged out of her coat. Her hair was slightly wild and wind tossed and she did nothing to try and tame it. The white sweater and dark jeans were the ones that she had worn the day before, too busy that morning with Mary's insistence that she leave to bother to change.

She reached for a packet of sugar and some creamer as Grimes asked her about her voices. She didn't even pause as if that were normal conversation. She popped the lid on the creamer, pouring it into her cup until it was a tan color before she added the sugar and stirred with the spoon sitting beside her.

"Psychics talk to dead people. As far as I know, the voices in my head have never been living." She said with a slight shrug of her shoulders as she finally forced herself to look at him. "They've always been there. They don't belong to people that I've ever met or known."

A long sigh issued from her lips as she sized up the detective and he did the same for her. "Look, I can't explain how I know the things I do. The main voice is a woman named Mary. She's nice. She pesters me, but she never wants to do me any harm. She has all of the information. This morning, she knew the address and she knew that two people were inside. She knew that the woman's hair had been cut just like the others. I know that she was in the kitchen hallway and I know that the man was in the bedroom. I could draw you a map of that house."

"The other voices aren't so nice. There's one that won't tell me his name. He just growls all the time. I hate him. He wants me to do bad things to myself." She mentioned softly.

Trevor's years as a cop and then a detective had trained him to absorb multiple streams of data at the same time. He could make quick notes of the sights, smells, and sounds of his surroundings as a witness would give a statement. His greater number of years as a man had trained him to steal glances at a beautiful woman, while still appearing attentive.

It was impossible to ignore her figure, even covered by a thick white sweater. Her long blonde hair was a bit mussed, probably from wearing the hat. However the neck and wrists of her sweater were stretched lightly, even more so than one would expect after wearing a garment all day. Since it was still morning, he guessed that she had either grabbed something out of the laundry to thrown on and head down to the scene, or she hadn't taken it off last night. For a brief second, images of what she might look like running through her apartment or house, in just her undergarments and looking for clothes flashed into his head. he blinked rapidly to refocus himself, and listened attentively as she gave her explanation. She seemed so matter-of-fact about it all and he wondered how many times she had had this same conversation.

"What kind of things?" Trevor said narrowing his eyes a bit.

He hoped that he wasn't going to have to worry about her hurting herself or even worse.

"Most of the time he just calls me names and tells me that people will put me back in a psych ward." She said as she brought the steaming coffee to her lips. "One time he told me take a bunch of pills. That wasn't one of my brightest moments. I never want to have my stomach pumped again."

She looked at the detective for a long moment as she placed the coffee mug back on the table. "Right now he's telling me that you will haul me back in for evaluation if I keep talking to you. He would also like me to know that everything in here is poison. If I eat, I'll die."

The voice finished growling as she said that, a soft buzzing taking back over her brain as he faded into the background. She worked hard to keep him there and out of her thoughts. It wasn't pleasant having him around all of the time.

"Look, I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. Even on my good days it's still sometimes hard to remember that the world isn't out to get me. What more do you need to know?" Joan asked him as the waitress made her way back to the table with her pad of paper in her hands, ready to take their order.

"Ham and cheese omelette with a side of sausage and a glass of orange juice, please." Joan said, switching her conversation midstream as if it were perfectly normal for her.

"Two eggs over medium with hash browns and bacon and a glass of sweet iced tea please." Trevor said with a smile.

The woman scribbled on her order pad and then turned and left them, saying that it should be up shortly.

"Well, unfortunately, I'm probably going to know everything. See, no matter how correct your information is, my superiors are going to want to know where I got it from. I can protect you some by saying you are a confidential informant, but unfortunately sooner or later someone else is going to want to talk to you."

He leaned forward in his chair and rested his hands on the table.

"Your history with Simmons complicates things, but I will be able to control him once he knows that I know what a scumbag he really is. Still, if this thing turns out to be what you say it is, I don't want to run into any surprises if I or we end up under the microscope. Honestly, I really don't know that much about your...illness. It doesn't matter to me either way. You give me a lead, and I'll run it down, especially if and when these first ones check out. But others, especially defense attorneys will try to use it against us to dismiss any evidence that I can't substantiate as the ramblings of a mad woman."

He sat back after he had finished. He hoped that she understood the position that he was in. Convictions were hard enough to get sometimes even when things seemed cut and dry.

"It's alright. People not believing me is pretty normal." Joan said with a small shrug of her shoulders as he explained the situation. "It'll be clear though when you start looking at the files how everything is connected. I don't think it should be hard to convince anyone else that you're right."

Things went quiet between them for a long moment as she idly sipped her coffee, glancing from him towards the front door as the bell rang each time it opened. She didn't like being in public places. It was one of the things that made her nervous. She would try to figure out if each sound was real or in her head. If she were on her meds, she wouldn't care about those sounds but she would also be dead to the world around her. It was a harsh trade off and one that she struggled with each and every day.

"I have alibis for the nights of all the murders. Just so...you know, you don't think that I did them." Joan commented, finally turning her attentions back towards Grimes. "I don't know any of these people. I wish I knew who was doing them but I can't answer that either. They'll do this again, though. These murders are far from over."

"It's not that I don't believe you Joan. I want to, honestly. Your information could send the investigation in the right direction and help us solve it...before anyone else gets hurt."

He was trying to reassure her, but he had to admit even to himself that he was having trouble wrapping his head around all of it.

"So, where were you last night if you don't mind me asking? Is there anyone else that can verify your whereabouts for the entire night?"

He was trying to remain professional, but there was a small part of him that just wanted to know for himself. Where was she? What did she do when she wasn't helping the police? Was there someone else in her life? Did they spend the night together? What did they do all night?

He chastised himself again for letting his mind wander outside of the scope of the case. But as he looked into those clear blue eyes, he found himself wanting know more about Joan the woman, not just the informant.

"I was with my boyfriend, Michael, all night. He had a night off work. I made dinner. We watched a movie in my apartment. He went to bed about midnight while I was working on some homework. I think I fell asleep sometime after that." She said as she thought about the night before.

Joan loved Michael. He treated her well, but she always had a problem making a connection with people. He was easy going, he loved her, and he was always there when she needed him. She had trouble telling him that she loved him in return. She had trouble being intimate with him when they had sex. Most of the time, she was faking her orgasm to not make him feel bad. He was a great guy otherwise, studying business in hopes of starting his own little company one day.

"I don't work. I can't handle working." She said softly, as he watched her so intently. "I do some free lance writing for the local newspaper and that pays the bills, but being out and about in public...it's not something that I do very often. Especially when I'm off my meds."

Trevor hoped that she didn't see that slight pang if disappointment in his eyes when she mentioned that she had a boyfriend. It only made sense, that a young and beautiful woman like her would have, but still, he had been a tad bit hopeful. He retrieved his small notepad and created a quick timeline of the events as she relayed them to him. He had no idea that once he got an official time of death from the coroner, that they would check out, but he wasn't one to presume too much.

"What about class? I am assuming that you are skipping them today. Do you have a full schedule at school as well?"

These were more for himself than the file, but the information that she gave him would go into the time line along with everything else.

Just then the waitress came to the table with their food and Trevor sat back in his chair. Everything looked and smelled so good that for a moment he forgot that he was still interviewing Joan. It felt more like that two of them were just having breakfast. He liked that, and he couldn't help but smile a bit as the waitress refilled their coffee cups before heading away from them again.

"I forgot how hungry I was. It's been a long time since lunch yesterday."

'He wants to fuck you.' The dark voice growled, Joan's hand shaking as she placed the coffee cup back down on the table.

Her mind was filled with all sort of obscene images then, from being handcuffed in the back of his car while being fucked hard to being taken in her bed. She closed her eyes tightly against the images, finally succeeding in shaking them free from her brain. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed that he had pulled out his notepad to write down what she was telling him. She knew it was important that she lay the ground work for a successful partnership. She needed Grimes to trust her when she was telling him about the murders and not be suspicious that she had been the one to commit them.

"A few morning classes. I have a journalism class this afternoon that I guess I'll try to go to." She commented as he asked her about her schedule. "I have classes all week long. You can check with my professors. I was actually there this week."

The waitress came back after she said that, placing the food down in front of both of them. The omelette looked delicious, but all she could hear was a choking sound in the back of her head. The dark voice was ruthless today, telling her that the food was poisoned. She'd die if she ate it. It was enough to not make her move as Grimes commented about his hunger.

'Workaholic...alcoholic...no wedding ring...he's single, drinking himself into oblivion...' Mary murmured through the dark haze and Joan took notice for the first time just how tired and beat the detective looked.

"Did you even go home last night?" Joan asked softly, pushing her plate towards him. "And would you try this first?"

Trevor tried to keep the smile as her first question hit him like a fist in the chest. He thought about the last three mornings; waking up in Flannigan's parking lot, hung over, disheveled, stinking of the previous evenings outing. He wasn't sure how to answer her. He wanted to be honest, but he couldn't think of any way to put it that wouldn't sound despicable and pathetic.

Just as he was reeling from her query, she confused him by sliding her plate to the center of the table toward him.

"...and would you try this first?"

He looked down at the omelet and sausage, then back to her. He reached for the rolled up napkin that contained his silverware and unrolled it. This was such a strange request, but he couldn't help but fulfill it. He wondered what was going on in that pretty head of hers. Was there a voice in there telling her to have him taste her food? Was she afraid of it? The whole situation somehow seemed silly to him but still, he was compelled to do as she asked.

He cut small bites of both the omelet and sausage. He poked both onto his fork and then lifted them to his mouth. His eyes were glued to hers. He searched for any clue of what she was thinking as he slid the food from the utensil and started chewing. It was delightful. The saltiness of the ham as well as the American cheese, paired with the flavors of the eggs and butter combined in a fluffy texture made him almost audibly groan with pleasure. He could taste the sage and fennel of the sausage, adding even more depth to this perfect bite. He wasn't sure if it was because he was so hungry or if the food was just that good, but in that moment it didn't matter.

He wiped his lips with his napkin, and took a sip of his tea. "It's delicious... and no, I didn't go home last night."

Trevor picked one of the slices of bacon on his plate. and took a small bite. A small mischievous grin crept over his lips as he chewed and swallowed. He leaned forward in his chair, still gripping the small strip of pork between his fingers, and offered it to her.

"Would you like to try some of mine?" he asked playfully.

Joan watched him closely as his looked turned quizzical for a moment before he reached for his silverware. If he had asked her why, she would have embarrassingly told him the reason, but to his credit, he didn't say a word as he helped himself to a bite of the sausage and then a bite of the omelette. He never once looked away from her either as he chewed thoughtfully and declared that it was delicious.

That was enough for her. She pulled the plate back towards her and pulled out her own knife and fork. She cut into the fluffy pocket of eggs and ham before bringing the fork to her lips and taking a bite. He was right, it was absolutely delicious. She barely even heard him as he admitted that he hadn't gone home the night before.

There was a look of mischief in his eyes as he leaned across the table, a piece of bacon captured between his fingers as he offered it to her. He had a handsome grin, she thought to herself as he asked her if she wanted a bite of his food. No one had ever been playful with her about her condition. It was always so serious and dark.

Joan shook her head no at his offer, but she couldn't help the smallest of smiled from creeping onto her face. The corners of her full lips tipped upwards as she looked into the detective's eyes. The voices were gone and for the briefest of moments, there was just the two of them having breakfast together like normal, regular people.

"So...there's no one at home that misses you when you're gone?" Joan asked him as she pulled a bite of sausage to her lips.

Trevor sat back in his chair after she declined the bacon. The small smile that formed on her full cherry lips seemed to illuminate the secluded corner of the diner. It radiated with warmth and contentment, which soon spread throughout him, and in that moment, he lost sight of the nature of their relationship. He couldn't imagine a more perfect morning, or breakfast companion. Any thoughts of the case, victims, or possible serial killer vanished as well as his desire to learn about anything else other than Joan.

"So...there's no one at home that misses you when you're gone?" she asked taking another bite.

Was she flirting with him? He wanted to believe that she was, but dismissed it quickly. He surmised that she was probably just curious. After all, much of the conversation had been her so he figured it was only natural that she would ask him about himself.

"Sadly no." Trevor said dismissively before taking a sip of his tea. "This is the type of profession that is brutal on relationships. I can be out at all hours, my cell phone rings constantly, and then there is the chance that I may not make it home one night."

He thought about the last part of his statement. He thought about some of the men and women that he had went through the academy with that had fallen at the hands of some scumbag.

"It takes a certain amount of dedication to be good at this gig. I guess I always figured that if I the department wanted me to have a wife, they would issue me one." he said chuckling at that last bit. "It's hard to not to bring home what I do. I see some of the most horrific things that one could imagine, and most of it I am prohibited form talking about, not that anyone would really want to hear it."

He took another couple of bites as he looked at her. She really was beautiful and it was amazing how comfortable he felt around her.

"Still, I like the thought of having someone. Who knows, maybe there is someone out there for me...and I just haven't found her yet."

"I see things that no other human should see too." Joan said softly.

Of course, she hadn't seen them in person. They were just in her mind, shown to her by horrible creatures that she was imagining. It was hard to talk about with others without seeming like she was entirely out of her mind. It seemed that this seasoned homicide detective could commiserate though. He had seen horrors that she could never imagine.

"Having someone isn't all that it's cracked up to be." She said with a shrug of her shoulders as she took another bite off her plate. "All of the looks, all of the questions, all of the feelings...it's too much to handle sometimes. I like peace and quiet. I like things being in order. Uncertainty makes me nervous and anxious."

She let things go quiet for a long moment as they simply ate. They didn't need to talk and they were still comfortable around each other. The buzzing in her head was quiet as she looked across the table to Grimes. She wondered why he of all people was the one that could make it all stop. What kind of power did he possess?

"I've seen people like me over medicate because they can't handle the world. I've seen people like me commit suicide because the voices tell them to. I guess out there in the world it's just as easy to wipe away your memories and your demons with a drink or two." She said softly, no accusation in her voice as her clear eyes looked into his. "Still, I would think being able to go home every night would be an even better reward than a drink in a seedy bar."

"It's not a reward." Trevor responded a little quicker than he had intended.

As soon as the words crossed his lips, he chastised himself for saying them. He didn't think she was judging him, but it was hard for him not to revert back to his usual guarded state. He had heard all of the snickers and whispering behind his back at the station, but had usually dismissed it as being misunderstood. He felt that few of the other detectives he worked with worked as hard or as diligently as he did to bring justice to the families whose relative was a victim of a horrendous crime. The alcohol was his way of medicating. It was his way of numbing the memories of what he sees on a weekly basis and find a few hours of peace, even if he couldn't remember it.

"We all medicate ourselves in one way or another I suppose." Trevor began after taking another long pull of his tea. "You told me that the pills they gave you left you numb to the world. That although the voices would become silent, so would the rest of you. That's what...that's what I use the alcohol for. When I drink enough, I can drift off, and for just a little while I don't seeing a mother weeping over her child as I bring them down for identification. I don't hear the panicked cries of the person I just delivered the worst news of their life to. I don't see the seemingly endless stream of lifeless eyes that look back at me as I try to glean the smallest of clues from them."

He was talking lower now. he had stopped looking at her, and was looking at his plate as he mindlessly drew imaginary figure eights with his fork.

"And if I drink in a seedy bar somewhere..." his eyes met hers again. "I don't have to go home, where only my memories and demons are there to keep me company."

Trevor nervously picked up his tea and finished the last bit. He wondered what she would think of him. He had never told anything like that to anyone, but for some reason he could help but believe that she would understand.

"You mentioned all of the looks and questions you get from having someone. He...your boyfriend, doesn't understand you illness?"

Joan listened intently as Grimes spilled his guts to her in a way that was both defensive and cathartic. He was expecting judgement. He was expecting her to chastise him or make him feel like less of a man for the way that he coped with his stressful job. She said nothing as he talked and she said nothing when he finished. It was none of her business and she of all people couldn't pass judgement on him when she had her own issues.

She simply continued to eat as he spoke, her clear eyes never really leaving his as he talked about how the alcohol numbed him even if it was briefly. Everyone had a vice and everyone had their demons. Sometimes they were stronger and more destructive than others. While she worried that the man across from her would end up in an early grave, she wasn't the one that could tell him to stop. She had no right to do that.

"He doesn't know about my illness." Joan said casually as he asked her about what she had meant when referring to her boyfriend. "It's not the greatest thing to try and start a relationship on."

She slowly placed her fork down next to her half eaten omelette and sat back in her seat to regard the detective. It was strange to see that he of all people might understand. He was an alcoholic who was married to his job. She was a girl with a mental illness who was simply adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

"Say you like this girl. She checks off all the boxes of what the perfect girl should be. You see her looks, her smarts, she can sometimes make you laugh. Now, imagine if that girl told you that she had a serious mental illness that caused her to hear voices and be paranoid of everything. Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't give up right then and there? Who has time to deal with that when you're just starting out?" Joan asked him, the pain of previous rejection written on her face as clear as day despite her best efforts to hide it from the world.

"I never wanted this. No one does." Joan said with a bitter tone, impatiently brushing her blonde hair out of her face. "I never wanted to be a freak and I never wanted to tear my family apart. I never wanted to see gruesome murders in my sleep. I guess I'm just lucky though."

Trevor waited for the her to begin yet another long and informative lecture about the dangers of his lifestyle. He had heard them many times from others that he had tried to connect with in his earlier years. This was usually the point where he would mentally check out. He would listen politely, smile sincerely, say something to the effect of "I suppose you're right." and then pay the check and take them home.

He had no desire to be with anyone that either judged him for how he coped with the harsh realities of his work or even worse, thought that they could be his salvation. He didn't have what he considered to be a plausible notion of the kind of woman that could be with him. He wasn't even sure that one could or did exist. He did however have one prerequisite, that had to accept him for who he was. He didn't need another mother. He didn't need a therapist, or even worse, someone who was so vain as to think they could change him. He needed someone that could accept the troubled, driven, often emotionally unavailable wreck of a man that he was, and just be the one light in the dark world he often saw around him.After while he had just given up on searching for this mysterious woman and focused on his work. If there was one thing he could always count on, his work would always be there. There was no shortage of evil in this city and he could fill every waking moment of his time trying to dispel it.

Instead though, she simply answered him. She vaguely outlined the parameters of her relationship and the reasons it had to be so. He watched her radiantly smiling face slowly sadden as she recounted all of the reasons why she had kept one of the more important facets of herself hidden from her boyfriend. Her voice became embittered and sad and he could see that that stoic demeanor, were years of hurt and torment brought upon her by her illness. He honestly hurt for her as he listened. When she finished he thought about what she had said. He felt guilty for making it sound like he had had things so tough, when clearly there was no means of escape from her illness for her. To lose the voices, she had to lose herself as well.

"I learned a long time ago, that any preconceived notions that I had about what comprised the perfect woman...were utter bullshit." Trevor said reaching across the table to cover her hand with his.

"I honestly can't tell you what I would do if I met someone like that. In my younger days..." he paused as he thought about it for a second. "I probably would have bailed. But now, I dunno. I guess I would have questions...lots of questions. No lie, like the first one would probably be whether or not I had anything to fear as we lie together and I slept. But honestly, who am I to judge?"

He thought about what he had said. He had referred to the situation in the present, instead of the hypothetical future.

"Still though, like you said..." he said trying to keep going. "...you didn't ask for this, you were born with. I wouldn't be able to blame someone for something that was beyond their control."

He leaned forward, keeping his hand on hers and gently squeezing it without realizing it.

"I think that if I met someone beautiful, and smart; someone who has made peace with herself, and tries to go on living in spite of life's difficulties. If I met someone who can accept others for their shortcomings and wants to make a go of sharing a life with someone else. Well, I can't help but think that I would hold onto that person with everything I had. And maybe, just maybe, the two of us would find a way to help each other."

With a slight final squeeze of her and, he cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He felt awkward at having revealed what he felt was so much of himself; to relative stranger no less.

Joan wasn't prepared for him to reach across the table to take her hand. He was trying to make her feel better and that somehow made her feel worse. She didn't need someone explaining to her how a man's mind worked. It made her feel like crap when he admitted that when he was younger he would have bailed on her too, but then he squeezed her hand and told her that now that he was older he wasn't sure that he would have walked away so easily.

"I've never hurt anyone in my life besides myself." She said softly as he questioned whether she might hurt someone while they were sleeping. "I may want to knock Derrick's teeth out the next time I see him, but that doesn't mean that I actually would."

Then his hand was gone, pulled away as he settled back into his seat. The moment was over all too soon, she thought to herself. This man that she had just met knew more about her than anyone else in her life. He was a stranger, a police detective that was suppose to be working a homicide. She was a potential witness to these murders. Yet, there they were in the middle of a cafe, eating breakfast as if they had been in a relationship for years. It didn't make any sense to her.

She quietly turned towards her satchel, pulling out first an old scuffed up flip phone which she placed on the table and then her red leather journal. Her flip phone she always carried instead of the modern smart phones because somewhere in her mind she had decided that it would be more difficult to fuck with old technology. No one would spy on her through it, her father couldn't get a hold of it, and it held nothing but the few phone numbers that she had bothered to save. It was another safety net that made her world feel just a little bit safer.

She looked at the beat up cover of the journal for a long moment, letting out a small sigh with a slight look of distress in her eyes before she turned back towards Grimes. She couldn't believe what she was about to do, but she knew that she had to make his time with her worth it in some way.

"I've...I''ve kept a journal since I was 13. I had a therapist tell me once that it would help get all of my thoughts down on paper and out of my head. It hasn't done a bit of good." She murmured as she forced herself to hand it across the table to the detective, her fingers gripping it so hard that her knuckles were nearly white.

"Everything that I've seen, every murder and crime that I've been shown, is written down in here. I have a few more filled up at home, but there's nothing important in them. This is the one that you need to look at." She said, still holding out the journal to him. "And if you don't take it now, I'm going to lose my nerve and put it back away."

Trevor laughed at her admission that she wouldn't mind harming Simmons. He had conjured the very same thoughts many times since she had told him about his despicable treatment of her. Once again he promised himself the he would make him pay for what he had done.

He had contemplated trying to say something that would put her at ease, but didn't have the chance as she turned in her chair and reached into the worn bag that she had carried with her so tightly. She retrieved and old flip phone from inside and lay it on the table, He smiled slightly at seeing it. It was comforting in a way to see that someone hadn't jumped on the technology bandwagon and upgraded to the new smart phones. He surmised that she probably didn't spend a lot of texting or tweeting. He figured that she did the bulk of her communicating face to face, which for reasons he couldn't quite explained, made him happy.

The next item that she retrieved was the worn leather bound book that she had been holding so tightly when they first met at the crime scene. He listened intently as she explained that this was just one of many journals that she had kept, and that it contained everything that she could offer about the case. He could see the turmoil and fear in her face as she handed it to him, saying that he had better take it now before she changed her mind.

Trevor was surprised and for a brief moment he hesitated, deciding what he should do. There was no doubt that there would be details in there that would help him, but he could see how hard it was for her to trust him with her journal. There would also be thoughts and feelings in there that would give him even more insight into Joan, the woman. As he looked into those now troubled eyes, he was wracking his brain for a solution that would be helpful for both of them. Then an idea came to him. He slid his chair back and stood. He moved to his left and pulled out the chair that was adjacent to her seat and sat down. He extended his hand, and wrapped it around hers that clutched at the journal.

"How about you show me the things that I need to see? We could look at it together." he said softly. "That way, I'll only see what you need me to, or want me to."

Joan was startled when he stood from his chair. Had she done something wrong? Was he done with her?

'He's getting ready to haul you off.' The dark voice hissed and she shuddered visibly. 'This time will be forever and ever and ever...'

Suddenly, Grimes was pulling another chair up next to her, settling at her side. When his hand wrapped around her own, the dark voice disappeared into the distance, nothing more than a soft whisper in the back of her head. She listened as he explained that she could show him what she wanted and keep the journal.

Numbly, she felt herself nod and place the journal on the table, pushing the remnants of her eggs out of her way. She carefully opened the front cover of the journal and stared at the words and images that she had sketched on that page. Her handwriting was heavy and dark, depending who was talking to her when she was writing. That page that she had turned to was just after her bike had been stolen from in front of her apartment. She didn't drive and that bike had been her transportation. She never bothered to file a report or get a new one. It was outside of her budget and would take her a long time to save up for a new one.

She flipped the pages, showing him the different styles of handwriting. Some were her normal cursive. Sometimes the letters were sharp and pointed. Sometimes they were all slanted. Finally she turned to the page with the first case. The handwriting there was hurried and dark, heavy letters and dark sketches of the woman who had been murdered and a sketching of the place that she had been found.

"It starts here." She said softly, turning the journal until he could get a better look.

Trevor switched between looking at Joan and scanning the pages of the journal as she turned them. There were several different styles of handwriting, and he guessed that they were representative of all of the different voices she would hear. It was almost as if some of them were different personalities, guiding her hands as they penned the words. Some were dark and angry looking. He could see the indentions in the pages as she turned them. Others though, were flowing, and wistful. He tried not to focus too much on the content of pages, he was more interested in her reactions to showing them to him.

He reached for his notepad and jotted down the information on the page she had indicated. There were drawings as well, but he was no artist, so he retrieved his smart phone, and took pictures of the images.


'Did you draw all of this?" he asked hovering his finger over the images of the victims and the scene. "They are very good. I think you may have missed your calling studying journalism." he finished with a smile.

He could tell that she was still uneasy about him seeing all of this, but wasn't sure how to reassure her. He kept looking from the journal to her and with each glance, he seemed to care less and less about the case information within its pages. The always focused detective brain he had relied on started paying more attention to the details of her pretty face and long blonde hair, than the details of the crime. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered what she thought of him. He wondered what it must be like to feel those full cheery lips of hers pressed to his. His mind wandered further and further as he imagined what it must be like to taste her, and to feel her warmth surround him. He imagined what she must look like, covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing beneath his touch.

As if waking. startled from a dream, he cleared his throat and reached for his tea. After a short cool sip he sat the glass back down and tried to regain his focus. A short while later they had covered all of the information she had to share. Trevor had everything that he needed to get started, but he didn't want their time together to end.

"So what made you come to the crime scene today? You've seen other crimes, but you never acted on what you saw. What made today any different?" he said, trying anything to start conversation again.

"Mary drew them." Joan said absently as she watched Grimes writing down everything that was in her journal before taking photos of the drawings.

Well, Mary didn't really draw them. Joan had, of course, with her guidance. Joan had always used drawing as a means of escape. She never showed anyone what she was drawing and usually tore up the sketches when she was done. Sometimes they were normal scenes of lakes and tress and animals and sometimes they were horrible things like that sketches in her journal.

'He likes you. I can tell by the way he looks at you.' Mary murmured, Joan's eyes never straying from the book open in front of both of them. 'Take a look and you'll see.'

She glanced up finally as he cleared his throat and reached nervously for his tea, taking a drink before he turned his attention back towards her. She tilted her head to one side, listening to him ask the very question that she wished she had an answer for. She didn't know why she had suddenly decided to go to that crime scene that day. It was a compulsion that she couldn't ignore, she guessed.

"I don't know." She said softly as she gently closed the cover on her journal. "Something told me that today was going to be different. If I had known Derrick was going to be there, I would have never come, but I guess, in a way, I'm glad that I did."

Trevor smiled. He wasn't even exactly sure why, but it seemed to be becoming more of a habit around her.

"Really? Why is that?" he asked half hoping that meeting him was the answer. "It's my job and I hate going to them." he finished jokingly.

The sad fact was, that he liked examining the scene. Not the bodies or the blood, but the surroundings. He would look at everything. He would study the family photos that were displayed, art that hung on the wall, the style and colors that the room was decorated with. He absorbed everything trying to get a sense of who the victims were. He used the context of their living space, their inner sanctum, to draw conclusions about what kind of people they were. He felt you only truly knew someone when you saw the inside of their home where they are free to be themselves.

"Then again, I have never met a breakfast date at one either."