Dirty Laundry

Part 3: It's the things I shouldn't see that always catch my eye.

Bob's nightmares always began with the sickening crunch of bones under tyres. Then the weight of Carter's lifeless form straining his arms and legs as Bob dragged him across the asphalt and hauled him into the trunk. The blurred rush of scenery rocketing past the windows as he drove further and further out of town, followed by the picture in the rear-view mirror of Carter's body slumped on the verge of a blind corner, getting smaller and smaller as Bob sped away.

When he looked down at his hands, they were chapped and raw from all the bleach, soap and water he'd used to remove any evidence from your car. His chest was permanently tight with paranoia, and he was afraid the sensation might never disappear. Only holding you in his arms could make him feel right again, knowing in his heart that you had nothing to fear anymore.

Until the day the police came knocking. Carter's body had been found and the investigation led to your door, to you. As Carter 's violent ex, you were the number one suspect, accused of returning to finish your hit job. You begged, pleaded and screamed that you were innocent, because this time you were, but the authorities had a warrant to search your car. Bob hadn't been thorough enough. A blood stain was found in the trunk. You were locked up and charged with first-degree murder, and Bob didn't find out until the carrier docked and he found your home ransacked.

He raced to the police station and pounded on the doors, confessing his sins, but nobody believed him.

"I did it! - you have to believe me - I did it! She's innocent, please. Please!"

The sound of his own voice calling out in the silence startled him awake and he sat up suddenly, the top of his head crashing into the bunk above. He groaned from the pain.

"Bob? Are you OK down there?"

Mickey was peering over the edge of his bed, concern clouding his features.

Bob rubbed his head and took a deep breath.

"I'm fine. It was just a nightmare, that's all."

"Are you sure? It's been happening a lot. That's like the fifth time in 2 weeks."

"I'll talk to medical if it happens again," Bob promised, though Mickey didn't look convinced. "Let's just go back to sleep."

Bob forced himself to lie down again and face the truth: he was still on the aircraft carrier with another month left of deployment. You weren't in prison, he had video-called you only a few days ago. He hadn't killed Carter; he had only startled him by revving the engine before reversing out of the dealership and driving back to base. Washing your car three times had been an attempt to scrub his guilt away through hard labour. Because he almost did it. He'd been a split second away from murder. If Carter hadn't reacted to the noise and met Bob's eyes through the windshield, then Bob's nightmare would have been realised. He loved you so much that he almost killed for you, and he was haunted by that realisation.

-

You underestimated how hard three months without Bob would be. He had so quickly become your everything, your comfort and your lighthouse. Your sanity and your hope. When Bob was by your side, you felt tethered, grounded to normality, and like you were making progress. And all those feelings had floated away now that he was deployed on the other side of the world.

With Bob gone, your fixation with the possibility of Carter finding you only grew. You tried to push the anxiety away, but every tall, dark-haired, gaunt-faced tattooed man that ever passed you by made your heart jump and your knees buckle.

You hadn't seen your tormentor in five years. Had he changed? Had he walked past you in the street already without you noticing? Had he been keeping tabs on you all this time? Did he know you were out of prison, or had he kicked all thought of you to the dirt?