Many, many, many thanks to Kirsten, Inc. who convinced me not to trash this.
He signed his name at
the bottom of the file that she was holding out for him. Quickly, she
snapped the file shut and presented her other hand.
"Judy asked me to give this to you," Sara said, holding out a tattered looking envelope to him, a softness in her stance. Shift had ended a short while ago and the bag slung across her chest signaled to him that she was taking off.
He wondered for a moment if he looked as tired as she did and figured that he probably looked far worse.
It was moments like this when the urge to scoop her up into his arms became nearly overwhelming. All he wanted to do was lay her head on his shoulder and hold her until she slept. Comfort was something he rarely gave outright, but there were times in which he needed to give it, to her.
Lately, he had been fulfilling that need, that desire. They'd been grabbing coffee in the break room, which morphed to coffee out at Starbucks after shift or on break which eventually became a relaxing cup of tea accompanied by easy conversation at his place.
Their smiles were gentler, more frequent. They hid things less often. And being in the light, seeing things, he realized that she had grown more beautiful all those years that he had lost sight of her.
Deliberately brushing her hand with the roughness of his, he thanked her and smiled as he watched her leave. Once she was gone, he lifted the envelope into the light, examining it like the scientist he was: from all angles.
The paper inside was heavy, expensive and tinged with an ivory hue. The stationary caught him off guard. It had been a long while since he had received something so deliberately classy; in the past few years, letters to him had been hastily scribbled on plain white Xerox paper.
Fingers stroked over the paper for a moment before he spread it open, splaying the folds under his hands.
The return address was unfamiliar to him and for a moment he toyed with the idea of slipping on a pair of gloves. No, no, he was sure he wasn't that paranoid. And besides, he'd already tampered with evidence; it didn't really matter. With his tongue caught between his teeth, he read.
Gil Grissom
Las Vegas Crime Laboratory
328 N. Tropicana
Las Vegas, NV 89044
Frank Damon
17 Cyprus Court
Des Moines, IA 50301
Mr. Grissom,
I am writing in an attempt to fully express my gratitude to you for reviewing my case. Initially, I was certain that you would refuse to help me, but I was pleasantly surprised. Even after you discovered that I had been unfaithful to my wife (God bless Jeannie, I pray for both her and my boy every day) you didn't judge me.
You, as a human being, taught me many things about myself in the few short moments I knew you. You, sir, strike me as one of the most objective people I have come across and can only hope that I can somehow learn to be as objective as you are.
This brings me to the real point of why I am writing you this.
Rachel, whom you met, passed away last month and it occurred to me how lucky I was to be able to be with her in her last years. It occurred to me that I should be thankful every day for what I have received, for the love she gave, for the daughter she gave me, and the second chance I was given.
It is due to your dedication that I was exonerated. The summer after my release, Rachel and I moved here to Iowa to begin a new life and mend some of our past mistakes. We were married in the fall.
I don't know how you must think of me Mr. Grissom and though it may seem abrasive of me to say, I don't particularly care. Somehow you looked past your bias in order to sort out the science and I truly will ever be eternally grateful.
As a free man I was able to nurture a love that I had thought I lost, I was able to nurture a heart I thought would never beat again. I was able to put my demons to rest and move on with my life. I have a new lease on life. I, Mr. Grissom, have found peace.
I can only hope that you find the same.
-Frank Damon
As if he was handling apiece of evidence, Grissom gently laid the paper out on his desk
and stared at it, expression perplexed.
'New lease on life,' Grissom thought. 'And all I had to do was get him out of prison.' A sour look passed over his face as he rebuked himself for the cynicism that he couldn't seem to help.
He read it through once more and pondered the words on the paper. A gesture to be sure, but of what motive? That was what he felt the need to ponder over.
A man he barely knew, wishing him well. A man he barely knew wishing him love and happiness…
'New lease on life…'
He wondered what exactly he was doing with his life. Surely, he was helping others with theirs, but his seemed to be on permanent pause. A hundred miles an hour on the outside, everything screaming by with him standing at the window just watching, waiting for something to collide.
He wondered how far Sara was then, now far she had gotten. He wondered where she was, home, out, sleeping, bathing… bathing…
That was almost enough to spur his fingers to grasp his phone but he held back. She was one of the ones flying by at a hundred, or so it seemed, so full of life, not having to slow down to take the time for him anymore. Somehow, she'd learned to live her life and integrate him right into it and for some reason, it just fit so perfectly.
But maybe she was slowing down and he just wasn't tuned to her subtle frequency. He could barely tell any more.
Perhaps his 'slow and steady' plan was just too slow. He felt somewhere, as his fingers passed over the paper, that there was something he was missing in her gaze. There was something that he was missing in her touch that he needed to become attuned to.
Refinement; he needed to refine his soul, fine tune his emotions. Eventually she would be able to nudge her way in and once she did, he wanted her to have a place in his heart set aside that couldn't be touched.
He had to solidify her in his being before it was too late, before all he had of love was a letter from a man extolling its many virtues. If something wasn't to change, he'd keep drifting, keep sitting at that window, drinking coffee, watching the world pass him by.
Perhaps then, Damon had sent him an invitation, inviting him to join the rest of the world in realizing what he wanted. It was simply that he needed to learn to reach out and grasp it and take it for his own.
And wherever she was, he wondered if he had missed her slowing down, wondered if she was seated with her palm up, still waiting for him to take it.
Making his decision then, he phoned her to let him know he was on his way over; he was done renting. It was time to start thinking seriously.
He left his office-left the building looking to go and sign a lease.