Fic: Deep Sleep - Prentiss

[shamir-26.livejournal.com]

Title: Deep Sleep – Part 5

Author: Sara Nublas

Character: Emily Prentiss

Rating: FRT

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters of the show Criminal Minds. No infringement intended

Warning: Spoilers for 6x18 ‘ Lauren’

Summary: sleep is the only moment when profilers expose their troubles and fears without being able to control them, so I decided to try and dig into their minds to see what’s most frightening or bugging them. There will be one shot for each profiler, all the stories are completely independent from each other and take place in different moments, the only common theme being sleep

Notes: Beta’d by the amazing freddlerabbit

 

 

 

 

Prentiss: Believe the Lie

There’s a storm outside and raindrops are heavily pelting Emily’s windows. Violent wind gusts are pounding infuriatingly against some unlocked door, relentlessly beating against its frame in an irritating, irregular rhythm. All of a sudden, a shard of light throws white shadows on the carpet of her bedroom, justly followed by a deafening thunder. After that a suspended silence descends on everything; the rain is just a whisper and she hopes someone has finally secured that door.

She closes her eyes, ready to embark toward the much-needed sleep, but within a couple of minutes the damn door is slamming again; her face twitches in a nervous grimace as she realizes that the sounds outside are reinforced and stronger than before.

The heavy raindrops, the beating door, the water loudly splashing out of some broken gutter, they’re all there, performing an unnerving concert much to her distress.

She tosses and turns in her bed. One moment she’s hot, one moment she’s cold; one moment her blanket has shrunk and leaves her feet exposed, so she adjusts it, but then the pillow gives her a pain in the neck. Exhausted, she remembers of some ear plugs she bought sometime ago and never used; she picks them out of a drawer and wears them.

Better. The storm is now tenderly humming to her at a much more bearable volume. She thinks this seems a lot like the sound of distant memories. Slow, muffled and faded around the edges.

She finally relaxes and the last thing she sees is her dress hanging on her door handle and reflecting in a mirror. In a distant place of her mind an observation arises, that they look a lot alike, the real one and the reflection, but they’re not the same thing…

 

It’s pouring outside and it’s freezing. She’s wet through, soaked to the bone and she’s going to catch a cold unless she finds something dry to put on soon.

She’s walking alone under the relentless rain; a stranger in a black dress, facing the night in a huge, deserted city. Finally she finds shelter in a tunnel, probably some old water transportation system. She leaves the flooded streets behind and ventures into an underground corridor.

At regular distances the water is raining down from some circular grates on the ceiling; the dim light filtering through in sieved patterns. The deeper she walks the less light and water there is.

Here there’s silence and quiet, and she feels less cold.

She walks into a wide room; near the door there’s a mirror only half exposed to the dim light.

She proceeds slowly, her heels echoing in the room, until she gets close enough to catch a glimpse of her own reflection. It feels like she’s doing something inappropriate or forbidden, so the closer she gets, the more silent her steps are. She leans forward and takes a look, and she unwillingly takes a sudden step back as she comes face to face with her reflection.

The woman standing across from her is soaked, her face tired and her features hardened. Her gaze is ruthless, and she’s covered with mud. Mud on her shoes, mud on her legs, on her arms, her hands; her fingers and knuckles are bleeding with cuts and scratches. This woman is hiding a terrible secret, and it’s consuming her. She can’t stand this image, but she can’t even stop looking at it.

‘Is this me?’ she wonders in disbelief.

The more she looks at it, the more alien her reflection becomes to her; dirty, evil, miserable.

As she feels filled with disbelief, sorrow and contempt, the other woman arches an eyebrow, defiant, her lips curled in a vicious smile.

Emily takes another step back and the other folds her arms on her chest, cocking her head to one side. She’s challenging her with that mocking expression ‘Really, do you think you can get rid of me that easy?’ It seems she’s warning.

 

Emily tries to control her reaction; her chest rising and falling frantically, her feet moving backward. Then when the fear takes over her need to rationalize and understand, she runs like hell.

She doesn’t know where she’s going, but at some point finds herself out in the open.

The chill of the night and the freezing rain are lashing her face. She falls on her knees, gasping for air; just then she realizes she’s in a meadow, the soil has been recently turned and she’s covered with mud.

It’s almost with fear that she reluctantly raises her gaze and freezes, staring at her gravestone. A sudden frenzy gets into her; she has to dig her coffin out, she has to be sure it’s not her, down there. She has to verify that she’s still alive, still the same person, because if she doesn’t believe the lie, then the lie doesn’t exist.

She’s cold and sore, her hands are full of cuts and scratches and there’s mud everywhere; only then she notices that she’s not alone.

The other is leaning on a nearby gravestone, looking at her with pity “I feel for you. You know?” she finally speaks, and her own voice coming out of that thing, that is something other than her, feels so true, but also so wrong and creepy.

“What do you want from me?” Emily hisses out, her voice a raucous, rabid whisper.

“I just want you to understand and to find peace” the thing carries on calm, almost sweet.

“To understand what?” she screams with rage against this shadow haunting her.

“That you are gone. And even if you come back, you won’t be the same anymore.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” Emily growls back.

“That’s where you’re mistaken” She carries on, with that crooked grin, “You must stop making a fool of yourself. Everybody else accepted it: You. Are. Dead.” She spells the words with great care, and she enjoys the mask of horror they draw on Emily’s face.

“I’m not dead!” she screams out.

 

Her words get to her muffled because of the earplugs and, as soon as she realizes it, she takes them off, opens the window and runs out on the balcony under the rain.

Emily lets the cold night sting her skin like thousands of needles, she lets the rain drops run down her face, her arms, her hands and legs. She grabs the handrail until her knuckles turn white and her fingers ache. If she can feel this, it means that she’s alive, she’s real.

Eventually she goes back in, exhausted and drained of all energy.

She stops few steps away from the mirror. It would take just few paces to get close and see who’s right. She falters and bits her lip, hesitatingly. Then moves toward with a resolute gesture and stares at her reflection.

Drenched, torn, lonely and desperate. Emily Prentiss is really in bad shape and doesn’t know how long she can hold on, but it’s definitely her hanging in there.

She lets a tear of relief and desperation run down her cheek and tiredly goes back to bed.

Comments

[zamboni12.livejournal.com]

Sorry for the belated comment.
Have I already told you how much I like this series? You´re wonderful, very talented writer and the plot is amazing! Thanks for sharing this with us.

[shamir-26.livejournal.com]

Thanks a lot! You're too kind.
Even though this story is getting little feedback, I'm enjoying a lot in writing it. So every time a nice comment as yours comes along, it truly makes my day!

Thank you for reading!