Title: Strong in Her Convictions
Author: Battus philenor
Disclaimer: I have no rights to anything CSI related. But, I am hoping for my birthday...
A/N: Thanks to CTB for her beta work on this one.
She could see the cushion give as he sat down; hear the air escape as he lay back on the institutional grey vinyl table. The guards swung the moveable table arms closer to his body; his own arms placed there with no gentleness. Those limbs resting on the bindings, she watched him close his fists, to ease the trembling in them. A guard on either side grabbed the dangling ends of the leather, raising them up, letting them fall over his wrists.
Two more worked on his feet while yet another worked on the thicker leather strap, which would hold his chest down. In perfect synchronization, the buckles were fastened and Henry Lee Okert was strapped down to the table he would die on.
Seeing the skin pucker under the wrist straps, Sara began to worry ridiculously that they were too tight. She watched his chest rising and falling rapidly as the chords stood out on his neck, straining against the restraints.
Once completely immobilized, the doctor was allowed in. The instruments were already laid out on a tray, a precise line of steel implements, used this time to take a life. The Hippocratic Oath began playing as if on a loop through her brain. Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, Sara forced herself to remember Rebecca Lynn Okert, all thirty-four previous fractures, hundreds of bruises, and the large skull fracture that was finally enough to take her life.
Opening her eyes again, she saw the needle entering the skin through the large vein standing proud. His jaw was clenched as the needle hit its mark, his arm flinching in response.
With the plastic tubes connected and dangling, the doctor stepped back into the corner, stethoscope draped around his neck, ready to pronounce. Sara wondered briefly the need for such a device with the heart monitor hooked to him, but she figured redundancy was best in these cases.
After the proclamation of the sentence to be carried out was specified, an offer of last words was given to the guilty man. With family members from both sides of that fateful marriage sitting in the row in front of Sara; she couldn't help but hope that Henry Lee would just keep his mouth shut.
Instead; the mother who had to order a closed casket for her daughter, was forced to listen to the man who had finally killed her.
Raising his head as high off the table as he could, he spoke in his southern drawl. "Becca was mine. She was my wife and I didn't do nothin to her. I loved her, I never kilt her. I don't know why ya'll are doin this to me." With his mouth shutting tightly, that was apparently all he had to say, as his head dropped back onto the cushioned table.
And as the sobs emanated from the frail form in the front row, Sara was thankful that Henry Lee wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing his mother-in-law's cries through the thick glass that separated them.
With a nod from the warden towards a small window in that glass cube, Sara could imagine a switch being turned and poison starting to run through the tubes. The skin on her arm began to itch as she envisioned his powerful young heart forcing it through his system, that fatal dose coursing through his veins.
As his eyes closed, Sara looked for another nod, but it never came, realizing the next drug in the toxic cocktail must start automatically. With a final rise of his chest she watched it go back down partially, stopping midway. Sara waited on the edge of her seat, relief washing over her when the steady beep of the flat line could be heard. A wave of nausea hitting her then as her eyes started to burn. She bit her cheek to stop any tears from forming and the bile from rising.
And as the doctor reached for his stethoscope, Sara could hear the whispers of "Thank the Lord" coming from various family members in front of her. Sara couldn't help but wonder briefly, what Lord would appreciate the taking of any life, no matter the quality.
Heading back to the San Francisco Airport, the ringing of her cell phone made her jump.
"Sidle"
"Sara, how are you?"
"Fine, Grissom why are you calling me at one in the morning? If you need me to come in, it will have to wait a couple of hours."
"No, I don't need you to come in. I know where you are... are you sure you're ok?"
And then there was silence as she sat in the cab for a full thirty seconds not uttering a sound before thinking of a suitable response.
"What do you mean you know where I am? Grissom, how do you know where I am?"
"Sara, I know that he was your first big case, and it was a big one. They used him as an example against domestic violence."
Sara found herself awed that Grissom not only knew of the case, but knew of her involvement in it.
"Look Sara, I just want to make sure you're okay. I don't think going to watch it was the best idea, but I also know there was no way I would have been able to talk you out of it either. I know how those cases affect you."
"She was his wife Grissom. He was supposed to love her and take care of her, the way she loved and took care of him, even through the beatings. She stayed with that man through all those beatings."
Hearing the break in her voice with the last sentence, Grissom grimaced, his chest tightening at hearing her pain.
"Sara, are you alright?"
"I'm fine Grissom. I'm just... tired."
"Sara I..."
"You what?"
"It's just that I know where you stand on the death penalty, at least I thought I did. But, I also know your views on domestic violence. So, I just want to make sure..."
"What? That I'm not devastated at seeing a human life; no matter how disgusting, being snuffed out? That I'm not thankful that a scumbag like that is no longer breathing the same air as I am? Or that I'm totally confused by all of these feelings rushing through me at the same time? Oh wait, confused is the best place to be right? Bull shit, it really sucks Grissom."
"Sara..."
"Look Grissom, I'm fine. I'm upset at having watched it. I would have been upset if I hadn't. I'll be at work tomorrow night as usual." With that Sara hung up the phone, sitting in the back of the cab silently, blank faced the rest of the way to the airport.
She shed no tears waiting to board her plane. She was quiet with eyes straight ahead the whole flight, but she did not cry. Driving home from McCarran airport, she kept her eyes trained on the streets of Vegas, eyes remaining dry.
Entering her home, she threw her keys on the dining table while walking to the couch, never breaking stride. She sat, staring at nothing on the wall in front of her. Unsure of whether she should cry for the victim or the system which was just as bad, she sat affected, but removed, wondering if she could do it any more.
Wondering if she could continue working in the system, helping the victims the only way she was able. Yet unable to accept the punishment for the crimes she found so hideous. Not sure if she was angry with that system for its imperfections, or with herself for her complete inability to understand her own emotions.
The hate coursing through her was directed towards Henry Lee Okert for beating his wife, for killing his wife, for getting caught, for not being able to afford better lawyers, for getting convicted, for getting the death sentence.
The sadness invading her heart was for Henry Lee Okert for being an emotionally underdeveloped human being, for not having the skills to control his anger, for being beat himself as a kid, for having to quit school to support his mother and brothers after his father died, for being killed before his time.
The knock at her door, pulled her attention from the blank wall, forced her to get up. Walking across the floor she could feel her muscles straining and see the sun peeking through her blinds. Somewhere in the back of her mind she made a connection, she'd been sitting there for hours.
Opening the door, she saw the man before her. Strong and good, a man who had control, who would never hurt another no matter the circumstances, who stood before her now with only concern for her showing in his eyes.
At that point a tear formed for the first time, starting its journey down her cheek as large arms wrapped around her, shielding her, comforting her as more tears followed. Leading her back inside the arms strengthened their hold, urging them both towards the couch.
Sitting down, he held her. No words were spoken, there was no need. He understood her dilemma, the turmoil of one with strong convictions.
End
Battus philenor