Title: A Place Called Perfect

Authors: Megan and Sarah

Rating: NC-17

Category: DRR, case file, Reyes POV, Doggett POV

Spoilers: Seasons 8 and 9

Feedback: Hell yeah…dangerous_mind666@hotmail.com (Megan) 
bubblegum_kiss@hotmail.com (Sarah)

Summary: Doggett and Reyes are assigned to a murder case 
that involves a woman who can literally make people's 
dreams come true.

Authors' Notes: Yep…us two are totally wicked when it 
comes to fics. Our twisted minds twist together, and 
become even more twisted, thus, this fic is born! Hope 
ya'll love it! Oh and PS, Reyes is by Megan, Doggett is 
by Sarah.

Disclaimer: To CC: Doggett and Reyes and the gang are 
happier in our heads than in yours so you're just going 
to have to think of new folks!
***
Reyes
*** 
Dreams are a funny thing. You can have one about lying in 
the sand in a secluded beach with a glass of Black Cherry 
Cabernet in your hand, and wake up thinking, "I wish that 
were to come true." You can have one where you're being 
chased by a man with a .358 Magnum, and wake up thinking, 
"I hope THAT never happens." Or, you can have one where 
you're standing at the foot of stairs, and you kick 
something up it and it bounces back down, and you wake 
up thinking, "I've got to stop taking Nyquil."

But, 95.9 percent of the time, I bet, our dreams never 
come true. Of course, there is the whole déjà vu thing, 
but I suppose that isn't exactly dreaming. I believe that 
we've all lived our lives before, and that we've had all 
the same feelings that we are having right now. And that 
it has nothing to do with dreams.

The only reason I was thinking about that was because I 
was reading the report of the only witness of the murder 
of Michael Lamb. It claimed there was a woman in the 
small town of Spring Creek, a woman by the name of Enid 
Christopher. But, according to the witness, everyone 
called her the Dream Giver. 

She claimed that Enid had a psychological problem-that 
she was alright mentally, but she had some sort of weird 
imbalance that made her able to see people's dreams, 
night mares, daydreams etc. And that an even weirder 
imbalance made some of them come true. This was kind of 
hard to believe (even for me) but I wanted to talk to 
this witness in person anyways. I told this to John.

He looked at me. "Monica, this woman sounds psycho."
"Who…Enid Christopher?"
"No, Haley Bradshaw, the witness to Lamb's murder."

"I don't think so…I mean, she was his girlfriend…why 
would she lie?"
"I didn't say she was lying I said she was psycho, 
which, lying is the outcome of."

"Well we have to talk to her anyway. She's the only 
witness."

 John stopped at a light and glanced out my window. 
 Spring Creek, Nevada, was a small town. It was kind of 
 like an add on to Elko, which was about 5 miles from 
 it. Of course, it was the third most populated area in 
 Nevada, so…I guess it wasn't really small at heart. 

We passed lots of cute little country houses and some 
small shops, and a restaurant that looked like a house 
that was called "Frannie Ann's".

We passed several front yards that had young children in 
it, running through a sprinkler and having water balloon 
fights. 

Then we reached the small, but cozy looking, white one 
story house. It had a woman sitting in the front yard 
with a small child, no more than five. The child was 
playing with a furry white cat, and the woman was 
reading a novel in the grass.

We stopped there and got out. 

"Are you Haley Bradshaw?" I asked.
"Yes…" she looked up and the little girl stopped playing 
with the kitten. She stared at us.

"I'm Agent Monica Reyes and this is my partner Agent 
John Doggett. We're here to question you about the 
murder of your recent boyfriend, Michael Lamb."
***
Doggett
***
Haley Bradshaw was an attractive woman. She had fluffy, 
shoulder length blond hair and dark eyes with nice tan 
legs that went on forever.

But she seemed disturbed, like she'd seen something 
she didn't want to see.
Heard something she didn't want to hear.

At Monica's words, she dropped her book, stood up, and 
gave the little girl a weak smile. "Go on in, Becky. 
Mommy'll be in soon. Why don't you go read that book 
we've been working on, 'Poppy'?"

" 'Kay."
The little girl skipped into the house, her white 
skirt trailing behind her.

"I wrote down everything I know." Haley had a soft, 
southern accent.

"We were wondering, Miss Bradshaw-"
I knew what Monica was going to say. She was going to 
start that whole Dream Giver shit. That was why I 
interrupted her.

"-how your relationship was with Mr. Lamb." I said, 
throwing Monica "the look."
"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked, 
seemingly getting pissed.

"Well, a lot," Monica said plainly. "For insta-"
"Look, me and Michael were hot and heavy in the 
beginning. Then he started doin' things...bad 
things...to Becky."

"Was he abusing her?" Monica asked. "Was he abusing 
you?"
"Not me...but Becky, yeah. Sexually, I mean. But I 
knew that if I were to leave him, I'd be askin' 
for trouble 'round here. He'd hurt me...even kill 
me."

I threw Monica a knowing look.

She didn't even glance at me. "Could you tell us more 
about this Enid Christopher?"
"Enid's a good friend of mine," Haley started picking 
absentmindedly at the grass. "Her daughter, Kat, she 
sometimes babysits Becky. A couple weeks ago, Enid 
told me somethin'. She told me that she could literally 
make folks' dreams come true. Even nightmares. That...
that she don't do it on purpose, but sometimes somethin' 
just goes on in her pretty little head that makes them 
happen...it's so weird..."

"Could you give us her address?" Monica asked, getting 
excited.
"I don't think Enid would-"
"We won't tell her where we got it from."
This was so against protocol. 

"Alright...she lives down the road, in that peach 
colored house over yonder."
"Miss Bradshaw-"
"Mommy, I need help with this word."
We all looked up to see little Becky standing there with 
a book in her hands, called "Poppy". It had an owl on 
the cover.

"That's 'perfect' honey...let's go."
Without a simple word, she took her daughter into the 
house.


***
Reyes
***
The peach colored house loomed before us. It was bigger 
than every other house on this block. There were large 
rose bushes in front, with roses on them to match the 
house. It probably had about ten bedrooms, of course, 
not counting bathrooms or closets or rooms like the 
kitchen and family room.

A white colored Shetland pony lie in the sun out back 
in a corral, and in a different fence, a small goat 
baaed at us and three kittens stood on a haystack, 
meowing our arrival.

I glanced at John, amused by the atmosphere. He was 
glancing around, a look on his face that was for lack 
of a better word--priceless. 

It was some kind of odd mix between confused and a 
smile. I knew what he was thinking-a woman that they call 
the "dream giver" lives on a farm?

I stepped out of the rented Durango, thinking to myself 
how cute John was sometimes…whoa…did that just enter my 
thoughts? John being cute? Not again.

He followed me as I knocked on the door.

As we waited for someone to answer, John said, "What are 
we doing, Monica?"
"She could be a suspect, John."

A girl looking about 16 answered the door. She didn't 
look in the happiest of moods, but nonetheless, she was 
pretty. Her blond hair to her shoulders in a pony tail 
and her wide, green hazel eyes looked up at me from 
behind purple tinted glasses. She had on a painting 
smock and ratty, torn up jeans.

I figured this was Kat.

"Hi is your mom there?"
The girl looked me up and down, and shifted her eyes to 
John. They sort of widened as they hit him.

"Yeah…hold on."
She disappeared and a moment later, a woman that looked 
exactly like the girl came to the door. 

"May I help you?" she, too, was wearing a smock and old 
jeans. 
"Are you Enid Christopher?" I asked.
She nodded. "What's this about?"
"I'm Agent Doggett with the FBI, this is Agent Reyes. 
We're here to talk to you about the murder of Michael
Lamb." John spit that out pretty quickly.

A few moments later she said, "Um…come in."

A feeling that was indescribable entered me as I 
entered the house.

It was positively spooky.

Each wall was painted a different color, with a different 
pattern. There'd be one that was blue with a big rainbow 
going across it, there'd be another that was black with 
little stars all over it, there'd be another that just 
had paint flung on it…it looked like a day care center.

It wasn't the walls that creeped me out. It was what was 
hanging on the walls. Every photograph that had Kat and 
or Enid in it, they weren't smiling. And every painting 
on the wall was of drab, dark things. Spiders, ghosts, 
etc. It was just…odd. They were so dark against the 
different colored walls.

"Have a seat." Enid said.
We sat on a powder blue couch across from Enid, who sat 
on a dark green La-Z Boy (I told you…the house was 
weird)

I could see tears building up in her eyes. 

"I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "I really didn't. I 
can't help it. It's happened before…I mean, I've never 
killed anyone, but people have been seriously hurt 
and...please don't put me in prison! I have a daughter 
and-"
"Miss Christopher," I placed a hand on her shoulder, 
meaning for it to be comforting, but it just felt 
awkward. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is!"
"Then explain how it happened."

"When I meet a person and they have some sort of 
affect on me, I go into their dreams. I have their 
dreams. And then when I wake up, the dreams or 
nightmares have happened, or are happening."

I looked at John.

"Could you tell us the dream of Mr. Lamb?"
"It was dark…there were shadows everywhere and 
I-or Michael-was running. Then something hit me in 
the back and I fell over, and a big giant hairy s
pider bit me. I died and woke up."

"Mr. Lamb was stabbed twice with a knife in the neck, 
Miss Christopher."
"Were the stabs right next to each other?"

I didn't know. I'd have to look.

***