"Inside, I have a surprise for you on the second floor," Brass said . . . sarcastically . . . I was beginning to think that it was the only emotion that he had ever known, "The kid is nineteen. He was taken down by an officer fifteen minutes ago . . . dead before the medics got here."
I followed him up the stairs . . . the scene on the landing was grizzly. The white wall was spattered with crimson and particulate distinctly composed of human skin and organs. I tried to hold back my gagging . . . I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to this. The kid's body . . . lay crumpled in a neat ball . . . a semi-automatic lay next to him . . . a black, shining island in a pool of crimson blood.
"Do your thing," Brass said as he stared at the body.
I pulled out my camera . . . this part of the job was automatic. I could separate myself from the crime victim if I looked at the scene through pictures . . . bordered by rulers . . . meticulous little frames that dehumanized the victim . . . turned their body into evidence. It was harder to get lost in a case when I broke it down into little pieces . . . getting lost in hair fibers and DNA was much less risky than getting lost in the world of a nineteen year old man.
He was a gangster . . . the gun . . . the hockey jersey . . . the New Jersey Devils . . . the baggy pants . . . brand new high top sneakers . . . coated in blood. His face looked much younger than his nineteen years . . . his looked like a child.
"Sara, you want me to go with the body to the morgue?" Nick asked . . . visibly startling me.
"You can take him . . . just give me five more minutes to take some pictures," I replied . . . trying to numb myself . . . so many times, I left myself feel for the victims . . . so many times I was hurt by those feelings . . . so many times I woke up with hangovers.
Nick disappeared as quickly as he came. Sometimes, I liked to work alone . . . I could go off into my little efficient world . . . begin to build the puzzles in my head. I waved in the medical examiners . . . they quickly bagged the body. The housing project was quiet . . . they were always quiet at two in the morning.
"I'm surprise you haven't asked yet," Brass commented as he squatted next to me . . . I was intently collecting fiber evidence . . . it was easy to find evidence on the cement floor.
"I haven't asked what?" I replied . . . annoyed that I was being taken away from my thoughts.
"About the boy. He threatened to shoot the officer . . . the kid just sold cocaine to the undercover officer that shot him. He's been selling to kids at the middle schools. Sara, how much longer are you going to be?" Brass asked . . . standing up.
"Go . . . I'll be done soon. I'll call you with whatever I find," I replied as I crawled on my knees . . . trying to make sure I had gotten everything . . . I could hear his footfalls fade. I was glad that Brass was gone . . . I was praying that these next few hours would fly by a little faster. I was more than ready to go home . . . my head pounding . . . my eyelids drooping.
"Stand up," I could feel something against the back of my head . . . I stood slowly my hands on my head . . . my gun pulled from the holster . . . I was gasping for air . . . they didn't have a good policy for this in any of the procedure books that I had ever read.
"Hands down, behind your back," the man didn't yell . . . it was a harsh whisper in my ear . . . a hoarse voice . . . his breath putrid . . . making my stomach turn, "I don't like cops."
"I'm not a cop," I whispered . . . the gun still pushed into the back of my skull . . . tears crept into the corners of my eyes.
"Shut up," he pushed the gun harder into my skull, "Close your damn eyes . . . walk with me . . . I'm going to take you somewhere . . . somewhere where we can sit down and talk."
He bound my hands . . . pulled a hat over my eyes . . . dragging me along with him . . . the gun now shoved into my spine. I could see his face . . . nothing . . . no expression . . . no look of overwhelming fear. He ushered me into a black SUV . . . he opened the passenger door for me . . . pushed me in . . . it wouldn't look too out of place.
"Sara Sidle . . . you wouldn't believe how many years I waited for this," the man smiled, "Has anyone ever told you that you are beautiful?"
I began to feel sick.
"Warrick, is Sara back yet?" I asked . . . I had been waiting for her for over three hours . . . I couldn't imagine what was taking her so long . . . it was time to clock out.
"Nope, the only thing that I am going to be seeing is my bed?" Warrick said . . . as he clocked out . . . said something about having a date with his bed . . . told me he'd see me in fourteen hours . . . overtime . . . I personally hated it.
I yawned . . . dialed her cell phone . . . it rang endlessly before going to voice mail. It was out of character for her.
"Gris, have you talked to Sara since she left this morning?" I asked as I stood up from the table . . . that caught his attention . . . he walked into the breakroom.
"She isn't still out there, is she?" he asked . . . everything about Sara seemed to affect him so deeply.
"She's not answering her cell phone," I replied, "I'm going to go back to the projects."
"You want company?" Gris asked . . . fidgeting with the papers in his hands . . . it was still uncomfortable to be in the same room as him. He had written Sara and me up a few weeks ago . . . no inter-office relationships . . . it was new addition to our contract . . . it came right after the butterfly case . . . the girl that looked like Sara. It must have made him think . . . think about what he could have had . . . emotions seemed to scare him . . . he blunted him the best he knew how . . . to set guidelines preventing him from ever seeing Sara as an option. I thought Sara and I were alone . . . I kissed the back of her neck . . . rested my hands on her hips . . . she tried to shoo me off . . . turning around to face me . . . whispering something about 'big brother' always watching us . . . I kissed her . . . it had been a long day . . . emotional day . . . a child abuse case . . . struck a raw nerve with me. Kissing her was a comfort . . . going home with her every night was a bigger comfort. Grissom tended to have a different opinion.
I never intended to see Sara as nothing more than a coworker . . . it just happened. It started with breakfast one morning . . . it just blossomed with me moving into Sara's apartment. The things that Grissom couldn't control . . . the seasons, natural disasters, and Sara . . . it made him uncomfortable . . . he was used to being in control.
"No," I replied . . . probably too quickly.
"Let's go," Grissom said . . . I followed him to his Denali. The drive was uncomfortable . . . we didn't talk . . . there was nothing to talk about. I stared at the sun . . . I wanted to be at home in bed. Going home was the best part of the day . . . the way she would crawl right into bed . . . turn on the morning news . . . see if we made the morning news.
"Sara," I called out as I ran up the stairwell . . . her kit was still out . . . her gun on the floor . . . it was as though she just disappeared.