DISCLAIMER: Original story. Don't expect the usual stuff.

PATRIOTS: After all my years of unconditional love, I would be remiss if I did not state my profound disappointment in the coach and team. It is not their one loss I regret. It is the prospect that they are not the best team New England ever field but, instead, the best cheaters in the NFL has ever encountered. They left themselves wide open to such allegations by employing Matt Walsh to do whatever it was he was doing for them. And, I thought I was so over grieving the broken clay feet of heroes.

RED SOX: It looks like another edge of our seat season.

Post Traumatic Treat
By
phair

Part 3

"WAKE UP!"

Dakota and her band of slumbering bedmates snapped into action at the command. Arms, legs, vibrators, and assorted contraband flailed and floundered in a futile effort to quickly comply with the intruder's demand. Dakota managed to struggle to her feet first and came face to face with her uninvited guest. Her drug fogged brain tried to reason the image before her into words.

"Kierce?" Dakota asked. "I thought you went back to…well, wherever the FBI keeps you."

A short round of gasps and curses buzzed at the dreaded initials muttered so casually. The assorted group of leftover lovers, strangers all, quickly broke up and hurried past the pair in an effort to escape whatever trouble had once again made its way to Dakota's door.

"We need to talk," Kierce spoke with authority. "Meet me in ten minutes at the restaurant on the corner Fairmount and Lonsdale." Without another word, Kierce turned away and pushed through the muddle of people heading for the stairwell.

* * *

Kierce focused her attention over the rim of her coffee mug and studied the woman entering the eatery. Her hair was stringy and snarled with braids, beads, and leather ties. The sleeveless t-shirt she pulled on came to just above her navel and did more to reveal her pierced, rock hard nipples than cover them. Her leather pants were permanently creased to the natural folds of her body. Apparently, Dakota spent a great deal of time on her knees. Her general appearance suggested she had not bathed in the two weeks since Kierce had last seen her. Once she sat heavily on the opposite bench of the booth, the smell confirmed Dakota's lack of a clearly established hygiene routine.

"Friendly's?" Dakota seemed stunned at the choice of meeting places. "Don't you guys usually do interrogations in some dark, cold underground cell with a bare light bulb swinging over a naked suspect chained to a hard wood straight back chair?"

Kierce took a sip of coffee before replying, "It's being used at the moment so this will have to do."

"Too bad," Dakota smirked. "I was hoping you'd being doing my strip search personally."

"Oh," Kierce was unfazed by Dakota's husky tone. "That could still happen."

"I have just one request, Officer. Don't use latex gloves during my body cavity search…"

"MORE COFFEE!" The waitress shouted as she rushed over to the table to interrupt. She used a much softer voice when she leaned down to fill Kierce's cup, "Look, I'm no prude but you better keep this freak leashed and muzzled in here or I'll call 911 to haul your asses out the door so fast your heads'll spin. There are descent customers trying to eat in peace that don't need to be listening to her running her mouth."

Kierce reached into her back pocket and produced her badge. "No worries, I'll keep her quiet. She'll behave. She'll act like a civilized adult, won't you?

"Only if you buy my breakfast," Dakota bargained with a big grin and blood shot eyes.

"Whatever you want." Kierce quickly thought better of the offer, "Anything on the menu, that is."

Dakota feigned disappointment, "Okay, then I'll just have a double hot fudge sundae with extra hot fudge but," Dakota winked at the matronly waitress, "screw the cherry. I had my fill of those last night."

The waitress tossed a warning look at Kierce. The Agent gave a nod of agreement and the waitress stormed away. Her hissing condemnations were unintelligible as she went behind the counter.

"Thanks for not making a scene. And, thanks for covering up your expletive."

Dakota shrugged and fingered the studded dog collar fastened around her throat covering the brand as she spoke, "Don't want to shock the descent folk stuffing themselves with piggies snuggled up in brown blankets of starch drowning in tree sap, now do we?"

Kierce finally allowed a genuine smile to cross her lips. Dakota couldn't tell if it was from relief or if the woman was actually enjoying herself. Dakota desperately wanted not to care.

"So, you ready to tell me why you broke up yet another one of my…book club meetings?" Dakota tried to sound annoyed as she asked.

"Oh, you have my deepest apologies. What book were y'all reading in bed?"

"A Confederacy of Dunces," she snapped her reply. "Are you going to tell me why I'm here?"

"Should have guessed," Kierce stopped in mid sentence when the waitress plopped the overflowing ice cream goblet in front of Dakota. "You do have a certain 'Ignatian' air about you."

Dakota ignored Kierse to snarl at the back of the retreating waitress, "I thought I said extra hot fudge."

Kierce watched in silence while Dakota slopped several huge bites of the hot cold treat into her mouth. She was waiting for the orifice to be filled to capacity before explaining the reason for their meeting.

"Your shadowy little friend has not stopped misbehaving," Kierce announced.

Dakota snapped her attention from her ice cream to the FBI agent. She swallowed several times. Her brow furrowed with a sudden headache.

"That's not funny."

Kierce sipped a bit of coffee. Dakota was still staring at her. The dark woman's eyes seemed to blacken with each minute Kierce remained silent. It struck Kierce in those few seconds that Dakota's eyes only glinted with life when the woman was in the grasp of a furious anger.

"It wasn't meant to be. A workman from the cleaning crew was attacked by a three foot shadow at Brewster's Standish Way crime scene last night. He was slashed up a bit but he'll recover."

"I'm five, eleven and have a half dozen witnesses to my whereabouts last night," Dakota smirked.

"You're not a suspect."

"Then what the fuck am I doing here?"

Kierce grinned, "You seem to be eating ice cream."

Dakota nearly growled, "Look, I got nothing to do with this shit. More to the point, I don't want nothing to do with this shit. So, why don't you stop riding my ass!"

"Trust me," Kierce reassured the woman, "if I was riding your ass you'd have spur marks on your thighs."

Dakota slapped her palms down on the table in total frustration. Before she could shout, Kierce raised her hand to stop the tirade.

"I need you to help me recapture your lost innocence before she kills again," Kierce said softly. "Tonight, I'm going to the house on Standish. Deidre needs to know her work is done. She's safe again."

Dakota glared at the agent as she waited for what was certain to come next.

"And, I want you to go with me to tell her she survived. That you survived. You endured…"

The shattering of the ice cream goblet against the counter where Dakota hurled it ended Kierce's speech.

"No fucking way!"

Part 4

Dakota slammed the gate of the elevator closed. Slapping at the button for the loft and missing only fueled her fury. She punched and smacked the panel until the face piece snapped into a thousand shards of splintered plastic. Her knuckles bled but she didn't stop her tirade until the elevated thudded into place at her floor. Grabbing the gate with throbbing fingers she shoved it back with a sickening shriek of metal sheering off its treed.

"Fucking piece of shitty junk," she shouted as she kicked the gate out of her way. "Fucking fucker…,"

Her breath was coming in short gasps from her violent efforts. Feeling strangled, she reached up and fumbled with the buckle of the collar. Succeeding only in loosening it, Dakota gripped the worn leather and tore it free. She hurled the pieces across the room with the last of her strength and fell to the floor in a wretched heap.

The sobbing came then. It emerged from her with each exhalation. Softly at first but growing steadily stronger, it was worse than any infant's famished cry. Her grief came from deep within her. From the pit in her belly that she tried to fill with excess; sex, booze, drugs, pain. Somehow, though, that pit only sunk further down in an endless internal collapse of her own self esteem.

"When will it end?" Dakota weakly muttered to the empty space around her. "When will I forget?"

She lay still then on the floor. Her chest heaved with that familiar ache. Her only friend through her entire miserable existence. She cried the same bitter tears she shed the day he violated her. Nothing had changed in the last twenty years. She still hurt inside from the memory just as much as with the act. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks until she finally cried herself to sleep.

* * *

"WAKE UP!"

Dakota bolted upright from the noisy shout in her dream. She was all alone. Still laying on the floor of her loft. Her head pounded with a relentless post cry hammering.

"Aspirin," she muttered as she rolled to her knees. "Need aspirin and whiskey…," the sight before her stopped her mumbles in mid sentence.

The painting was finished. The sunset was the same. The calm blue sea was the same. But, the burning cross was now occupied by the man with the flowing robes. And, the naked little girl was missing from the scene.

Dakota crossed the room to stand before the art. She reached out a shaky hand and touched the surface.

"Dry."

Her mind raced with impossible thoughts. The canvas could not be dry if she had made the changes in some catatonic haze brought on by her grief. It took days for it to dry after her last attempt to complete it.

"This is not possible…,"

Dakota shook her head and rubbed her eyes but the painting remained unchanged. Stepping up for a closer look, she was startled to realize the crucified man was not yet dead. His body was in the throws of trying to pull up for a breath.

"She doesn't know he's dead," Dakota whispered. "Deidre thinks he's still alive."

Stumbling back from the work, Dakota panicked when she realized the natural light from the skylight above her head was dimming. It would be dusk soon. Shadows would be cast.

"Oh no," Dakota ran toward the stairwell, "Kierce is alone at his house. Deidre's gonna kill her."

Part 5

Kierce sat at Bishop Brewster's desk spinning a jack. It had twinkled in the sunlight when she first began to toy with it. However, now the sun, which had been pouring in the west window all afternoon, was dwindling to twilight. It would be dark soon.

Then the only source of light to brighten the heavy brown wooded room would be from a battery powered camping lantern Kierce brought with her. The workmen who were hired to clean the house after the initial investigation finished were unable to get the electricity functioning again. A hulking electrician stormed out of the basement some hours earlier complaining there was no reason for the power to still be out. He and his crew left in complete frustration vowing to hit the Archdiocese up for more money before returning in the morning.

"Wonder what they'll find when they get back here tomorrow," Kierce mumbled to herself.

"Tricks then treats."

The jack spun out of control off the desk. Kierce remained perfectly still. It seemed to be getting darker with every beat of her heart. She was hesitant to reach for the lantern which sat on the corner of the desk no more than a foot or two from her left hand.

"Deidre," Kierce spoke in a hushed voice, "listen to me. I'm not here to hurt you."

Girlish giggling filled the empty room. It seemed to surround Kierce. The walls and desk and chair vibrated in sympathy with the chilling but childish laughter.

"Too bad 'cause I'm gonna hurt you," the voice peeled off into a fit of near hysterical amusement.

Kierce felt her heart raced. In a panic, she reached out to turn on the lantern. Inches from the switch, her hand disappeared into a shadow. The pain was sudden and sharp. A slice opened across the back of her hand. She tried to pull away but the shadow held onto her.

"Tricks first then you get the treats," the shadow sang it like a nursery rhyme.

"No, stop, please don't hurt me," Kierce shouted as the shadow dragged her out of her chair and head first into the abyss of blackness before her.

The tug of war stopped but a firm grip held Kierce half bent across the desk top. Kierce gasped as her assailant's features emerged from the brooding darkness. Hauntingly familiar pale gray eyes and a sinister grin peered back out at Kierce.

"You don't get to cry. No crying," the face and voice pouted. "I never got to cry. Neither do you."

The little shadow's free hand moved. Kierce screamed at the razor sharp pain piercing her hand as it was nailed it to the desk.

"OH GOD!"

Kierce shuddered in agony. The struggle was brief when shadow grabbed her right hand. Kierce was in too much pain to put up much of a battle.

"Tricks then…"

"DEIDRE ROIS BREWSTER!"

The voice from the front door startled both the shadow and the FBI agent. The shadow released her hand and Kierce fell to the floor like a forgotten toy cradling her injury. Then the shadow turned to face the woman emerging from the gloomy hallway.

"Mommy?" the little shadow asked.

Dakota stopped a few feet away from her former self.

The shadow cocked her head and put her balled fists on her hips, "Hey, you're not Mommy!"

"No, I'm not," Dakota answered as she knelt down. "I'm…I mean, it's me. I'm Deidre. I'm you all grown up now."

The little shadow took two steps forward with her arms open but stopped dead and drew away.

"No, no!" She waved her finger. "You left me! You forgot all about me. How could you leave me behind?"

Dakota shook her head and swallowed back her tears, "I didn't leave you. You left me. I lost you."

"Uh un," the little form disagreed, "You ran away from me. Left me with him all by myself!"

Dakota's tears could no longer be held back, "I'm sorry. I thought he took you away from me. I'm sorry; I didn't know where you were or how to get you back."

The shadow took a tiny step forward. As her foot hit the floor, her darkness dimmed.

"Will you hold on to me this time?" The shadow questioned.

Dakota nodded and smiled, "I'll never leave you again. I'll hold onto you forever this time."

The shadow stepped forward again. Her image lightened.

"Come back home, Deidre. Please, come back to me. Please, stay with me," Dakota spread her arms wide.

The little lost innocent skipped the last three steps into Dakota's waiting embrace. Kierce watched the shadow fade to gray in Dakota's tight hold. The gray softened to white as it melted into Dakota. The woman was left kneeling on the floor hugging her own self.

"You okay?" Dakota managed to ask once she realized she was whole again.

Kierce did not utter a sound. Instead, she gestured feebly to Dakota's throat. The woman traced her fingers along the now smooth and unmarked flesh.

"You were right," Kierce finally spoke. "Deidre really is a good little girl."

The End

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