I should have said no.

I shouldn't be here, not tonight.

But I owe him this, right? I don't have a choice.

Michelle's car is the only one in the Bauer driveway and the house is dark. I can see a very faint glow from Michelle's window.

A lamp.

My lamp.

I get out of the car and keep my eyes on that light as I make my way to the front door.

It's unlocked, which doesn't really surprise me.

I've never been to the Bauer home, but I find Michelle's room easily. All I have to do is follow that soft glow and the soft music that accompanies its tiny ballerina.

Her door is open and I walk in to find her sitting on her bed, naked.

Her eyes are soft and sad as she looks up at me and smiles. "I knew you'd come."

I want to bolt from the room. I want to run downstairs and get into my car and drive far away until Michelle Bauer Santos is a distant memory, a vision from a dream nearly forgotten.

But I can't do that.

And when she opens her arms to me, I cross the room in two strides and fall into them.

This time, for the first time, there's no rush: no mindless,desperate passion. It was always easier like that. Michelle once said that if we slowed down, if we took our time, she'd have to face what she was doing. She'd actually have to think about it and acknowledge it.

I kiss her softly, slowly, and for the first time let myself truly savor the feel and taste of her lips beneath my own. When I pull away, I ask her "Why? Why now?"

She understands. "I want to know what I'm doing tonight, Ray. I don't just want to face it, I want to be part of it."

She kisses me again. "Part of you."

Her skin is soft and takes on a satiny glow in the lamplight and I touch every inch of it reverently. I kiss her cheeks and her closed eyes and her collarbone, delighting in the feel of these new places, new territories I've never conquered.

I discover that kissing the back of her knee makes her giggle and that kissing that spot just below her navel makes her moan.

And when I enter her, it's better than it ever has been.

I kiss her temple as we move together and as she comes, she gives a broken sigh and murmurs, "I love you."

I clutch her tightly and damn the tears that are already starting to pool in my eyes.

I hold her for the longest time, watching the twirling shadows the lamp casts on her bare walls.

"This room looks so empty," I comment at last and she laughs a little.

"It's a reflection of its inhabitant."

I shake my head and pull away slightly so that I can look in her eyes. "No, Michelle. It's a reflection of who you think you are. Of who I am."

She doesn't protest. She just reaches a hand up and strokes the hair away from my forehead. "I meant it when I said I love you, Ray."

I take her hand and press a kiss against her fingertips. "You only think you do."

She shakes her head slowly and says, in a voice that's barely a whisper,"I do love you. And I know what it's cost me. All being with you has ever brought me is unhappiness. But it made me real. For the first time in my life, everything I held dear was peeled away and I found there was nothing really there. But that nothing is who I am and I never would have known that without you."

I am shaking now, shaking like a child afraid of the dark.

I think of Michelle as a little girl, snuggled in this very bed, watching her ballerina dance, watching its light keep back the shadows.

What will I do when my lamp goes out?

Michelle pulls away and goes to her dresser where she pulls out a pretty nightgown of soft pink flannel. It covers her ankles and has long sleeves and a slightly scooped neck, decorated with tiny yellow flowers.

Then she pulls a box out of her closet and begins, slowly, methodically, to repair her room.

Posters of flower arrangements that had been ripped to shreds are now somewhat mended with scotch tape and Michelle slowly tacks each one up. Then, battered trophies are put back in their former places of honor and pitiful stuffed animals are arranged in neat little groups and framed photographs of Michelle with her family and friends resume their home of her desk, her nightstand.

The sheets on her bed, simple white cotton, are ripped off and stuffed in the closet. Another set, these pale blue with bright yellow suns and fluffy white clouds soon cover her tiny mattress. She covers those with a comforter done in a swirl of pastel shades and stacks a myriad of soft colored throw pillows on top before sitting gingerly in the center of the bed.

Her eyes are steady as she looks at me. "I'm ready now."

There's so much I still have to say to her. There are so many thing I still have to know. And my hands still ache to touch her just once more.

She sees my thoughts and shakes her head slightly.

"Danny sent you here to do a job, Ray. Now do it."

I don't even try to hold back the tears now. I let them flow down my cheeks and for the first time in my life, I'm not ashamed of them.The music from that damn lamp keeps playing, keeps swirling around me and I try to remember the lyrics. Something about dancing in a dream.

I should have told him no. I should have disobeyed this order.

But I've never disobeyed. Danny knew that. What a fitting way to punish Michelle and I all at once.

And I won't disobey now.

"Say you forgive me," I say tightly as I pull the 9 mm., complete with silencer, from my coat.

Her eyes are shining when she looks at me and she actually smiles, a dazzling, blinding smile. "I forgive you, Ray."

She's dead before she even slumps back against the pillows.

I walk over to her and close her eyes. They still look happy.The wound was tiny and deadly. Not very much blood. I've always known just where to hit. The ballerina continues to dance atop her lighted perch, her shadow falling on the trappings of Michelle Bauer. Trappings now spotted with her blood.

And when her family finds her, they'll find her as they knew her: Pastel. A softer, muted version of the vibrant color she really was.

I can't waste anymore time here. Father Tomas is waiting for me to help him with Sunday's sermon and I need to call Danny and tell him it's done. He already hates himself for it. He was sobbing into a bottle of Jack Daniels when I left the house. But he was angry and, worse that that, he felt betrayed. So he did what he thought was necessary. I hated him so much as I watched his misery. Sure he loved her. But so did I, in my way.

I take a deep breath and inhale as much of Michelle's scent as I can.

Then I turn off the lamp.

THE END

You know, I've read fics that have made me laugh and I've read fics that have made me cry. This is the only fic I've ever read that left me sitting in a shaken little heap after it was over. Erin, you truly do have a gift...thanks for sharing it.  <-That was Elizabeth, this is Heather.  I didn't have to heart to change this, but cause it is so very true.  I just have to add my thanks to Erin.

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