The Wrong Note

Mr. Monk Agrees to Dinner (and Allison Dubois Meets Trudy)

For reference (mostly relevant to this chapter and next week's): Ariel is the oldest (about 14/15), Bridgette is the middle child (probably 9/10), and Marie is the youngest (around 4/5); I'm approximating with these ages because this story isn't set in a specific year, lmao, #justtimelinethings. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

xXx

"Is that you? Hello?"

A blonde woman doubled and tripled her pace until she was practically sprinting through the desolate parking garage to get to her car. The key ring nearly slipped through her fingers as she jammed the correct one into the lock. Hands still shaking, she yanked the car door open and climbed inside, shoving the same key into the ignition. She allowed herself a single deep breath before she twisted the key—

An explosion rocked the parking garage, the entire bottom floor flooded with white-hot flames as the woman's scream was soon devoured with the rest of the air.

Then, an ambulance.

The same woman, or what remained of her scorched body, lay on her back across a deep blue stretcher. A man—Adrian Monk—sat at her side, her hand clasped tightly in his.

"It's going to be okay, Trudy," he said through tears. "It's going to be okay." He squeezed her hand. "You're—You're my everything. You know that."

The woman's lips parted. A sound so faint escaped that it was nearly swallowed by the blaring sirens and bustling paramedics around them. "Adrian..."

"Shh, don't speak," he hushed her. "Please, Trudy. You'll only be in more pain."

The woman stared at him. Her body was weakly, painfully splayed across the stretcher, but there was a vitality—an adoration—to her eyes that defied all logic. Somehow, she squeezed his hand and breathed three final words.

"Bread and butter."

When her hand fell from his, Adrian Monk shattered.

"No!" Allison screamed as she sat bolt upright, the covers falling from her upper body as silent tears trickled down her face. With shaking hands, she reached up to touch her cheeks, unsurprised by the streaks newly decorating them.

"Al? Al, are you okay?"

Joe's bleary, mumbled question penetrated Allison's dream-induced haze of heartbreak, and she quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Really, she needed to get a grip.

"I'm fine, honey," Allison tried to reassure him, though her voice came out far softer—weaker—than intended.

Joe evidently recognized something was off, as a frown pulled at his lips when he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Al?" He placed a hand on her leg even after Allison turned her head away from him. "Hey, what's going on?"

Allison relented, closing her eyes and allowing her final distraught tears to slip out. "I'm okay," she promised, wiping her cheeks with her other sleeve. "Just a really, really sad dream."

Joe's frown deepened. He sat up, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her left ear. "Want to talk about it?"

Allison winced as the image of that woman's hand falling limp flashed through her mind. It might as well have been burned into her retinas. "Not right now."

She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and steeling herself to leave the warm comfort of her bed. "I'm gonna get some water. You go back to sleep, okay?"

Joe didn't appear convinced, but Allison gave him no time to argue, sliding off their bed and slipping out the room in a matter of seconds. Her bare feet padded down the hall and into the kitchen, and it wasn't until she'd reached the edge of the tile counter that she allowed herself to truly exhale.