Title: Innocence
Disclaimers: Sadly, I do not own anything or anybody related to CSI. Nor the lines I quoted in the story
"I remember the feeling of being safe in my mother's arms. It happened more than twenty-five years ago and I still can feel her sweet scent, her soft embrace. No one loves me the way my mother loved me. My father never was fond of me. I never was his sweet, little girl. However, I tried to be his good girl; he cherished his other child more. First I felt dejected, then I got angry but later, I only felt jealous. I wished I had had another family and what surprised me the most that one the day, my wish had come true. After the murder in my family, I suddenly found myself in publicly supported foster care. My father's words echoes in my head from time to time. He told me to be a good girl and good girl meant to be silent and motionless. The whole time, living with different families, I kept my mouth sealed; I separated my soul from the outside world. I had no friends. I still have none. The other kids said I was different, the adults said that I was mentally dull. I still don't know what they meant. Mentally dull? Does that mean stupid?"
"No, you're a very good girl, the cleverest I've known," the middle-aged man said to his foster daughter.
"One thing was sure, though, no one wanted me. I was thrown from foster to foster. After going through a string of foster homes, I finally was taken in…by you. And finally, I am feeling loved."
How many times this conversation replayed in my head over and over, I did not know. I tried not to think about it. I had to live my life and it helped me to recover my composure to fight. I knew that I was good at my job, almost the best. I did it with all of my heart. I did not care what others thought about me.
I heard that every one was innocent but it also was said that people had to be careful. Some people could lose their virtues so fast they were hardly aware of their loss. I suspected I had lost my innocence when I had seen the murder so many years ago. I still could see the blood, the lifeless body, everything. All the little details. That had been the death of the innocence of my soul. But I had learned not to recall that event. Now, I was okay, I felt nothing.
Ray had told me he would give me pleasure. I had seen people doing that. I had seen the smiles of joy on their faces. I had heard the sighs of blissfulness. Ray had touched me there and it had felt good. He had told me that he would teach me how to be a big girl. He had told me he would love me. And I had wanted to be loved. I had wanted to be touched. So I had let him touch me.
"He stepped closer pushing me against the wall. He was not gentle but he told me that he knew his job. I felt my panties being pulled down to my knees. Then they were torn completely. I felt him enter me; I did not feel the pain I knew it should have come. But I could feel his smell. And I suddenly felt sick. I told him to stop but he did not listen. That odor was sickening. It woke up memories. Memories of my childhood, memories of…death. Then I saw the blood oozing from me. I could not take it anymore. My father's words came back to me again. People who did bad things needed to be punished. I come home after the horror and washed the blood off between my thighs. I would have thought that having flesh torn should hurt. I did not felt the pain in my body. I saw the bruises, the blood - fresh and dried - on my legs, still, it did not hurt. I touched myself there, I felt no pain."
It had been difficult to recall that event, and been even harder to talk about it. I knew it had been the death of my body's innocence. But that week I had lost more than my virginity. Left behind those dark memories - but never forgotten - here I was, finally working at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Only one man could fill my head and my heart now, Gil Grissom. I could watch him all day long, or night to be exact. He was absolutely dedicated to his job spending the majority of his time in the Lab. I soon learned the names of the members of his team. He trusted them with his life.
One day, I had heard them talking about me. Warrick had sounded sincere. He had said I had to be lonely and wanted attention. Nick had felt a little threatened by my ability of preciseness. Catherine had considered me a complete freak who needed help. But Grissom had been impressed. He always seemed to adore me, even though he tried very hard to conceal it. I often heard him say that my work was exceptional. He admired me for this, I could tell by the look I witnessed on his face every day. I came to his office; I was watching him now as he leaned over his desk to study the details of a case. His delicate hands were almost caressing the documents, his shirt was folding on his chest as he was moving from left to right. Just as he sensed that he was being watched, Grissom looked up and stared straight into my eyes but as always, he immediately looked away. He did not really see me. His locks looked so soft; I was longing to count the silver and brown hairs. I wondered how he would look like with a beard. I knew how many crow's-feet he had; I knew how his lips curved into a half smile. I knew when his eyes hunted for evidence and when they sought to find a certain pair of eyes. I learned to read his way of walking. I learned to read him like I learned to read a map. And finally, I worked here so close to this man, still, he seemed oblivious of me. He looked through me, hardly acknowledged me.
I went to the ladies' room to do my business and looked into the mirror. I did not like what I saw in it. I looked pale and I was too slender. My hair was too thin, as well. I was less than ordinary but I did not mind. It worked for me. It helped me. I saw Catherine enter the room. She did not even look at me. I was invisible for these people. I did not mind. It worked for me. It helped me. I left the room without a word and went to my place, out of sight. I would excel in doing my job, and not in perfecting my appearance.
I knew I had to keep the distance between Grissom and me; I could not compromise him or me for that matter. And I knew if he got too close to me, he would destroy me, he already did. Gil Grissom was a dangerous man to my heart. I was alone.
I went home alone thinking about him. Always about him. Gil Grissom was the last man on my mind before I went to sleep and the first one I thought about when I woke up. My bed was not wide but it worked for me. I slept in it alone anyway.
"It could be different, Mr. Grissom," I said into the silence in my bedroom.
Others would find my home chaotic but every chaos had its own order. And I lived by rules, anyone could tell. I knew I would not have done that but I could not help but observe every single move of Grissom at the crime scene. The gentleness, yes the gentleness what I noticed the most. It defined him as a CSI and as a man, as well. Initially, I had seen the lead CSI but now, I saw the man. And this image of him kept playing in my head like an old movie. In the foster homes, most children had said I had cramped handwriting but all of them had admitted that I could draw really well. And now, I had a few drawings of him. No hearts, though. Never any hearts.
I was tired. I worked every minute I had to complete my recent work. I was excited; I wanted to know what Grissom would think about this one. I wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to see his eyes.
The next day, I left work earlier than usual. Of course, no one noticed. I was not the woman who was noticed by anyone. I had gone to Grissom's office, just to place my latest work onto his desk before I left the building. I was tempted to stay there and wait for him to see his excitement but I had to wait for him to come to me and by the way, I had to be somewhere else soon. I did not have to hurry; I knew the time I had to be there.
The parking garage had been darkened by the time I arrived there. I sat onto the curb and I had nothing else to do but wait. I could hear her being on the phone with Grissom. I knew it by her gestures. She was shining, smiling and radiating love. Love that was stolen from me.
I was told that every one was innocent but I learned otherwise. And my father had taught me one thing: people who did bad things needed to be punished. I knew their secret. It had been hard to discover a secret about him but I guessed they had worked harder to hide their love from the others. No one was innocent. No one was innocent. People who did bad things needed to be punished. And Grissom had killed the only person I had ever loved. People who did bad things needed to be punished. And he would be punished.
"Sara?" I called her name behind that silver car.
I saw the terror in her eyes. I knew that Sara Sidle recognized me. She was clever, the perfect mate for this cursed Grissom. The perfect object for me to show him what suffering meant. I had promised Ernie I would kill no one else, however, Grissom would deserve to lose his woman and then to die alone. Gil Grissom was a dangerous man to my heart; he had killed my soul and had stolen my hopes. I wanted to see his eyes losing their shine.
"I want you to listen to me. What you've done is done. I can't fix that. But I can still take care of you. I ain't going to let the police get you. But you got to promise me you won't kill nobody else. Promise me you'll be a good girl."
"Ssssssss, little doll," I told Sara knowing that after I had tased her, she had to be in pain. Much pain.
.
"Found the seat of a terrible ache,
it was a delicate task…
They tried to re-stuff her
but they didn't know how…
and this was her wail as she died."
.
I did not hate her. Really I did not. She was just the axe in the executioner's hand. And I was only the assistant of this executioner, named Gil Grissom. He should have had to stay away. He did not know shit. Those people had deserved what they had got.
"People who did bad things needed to be punished. Did you know that, Sara?"
I put Sara into my car's trunk and drove away. I had to keep the schedule. And we were a little behind my plan as the dearest Sara had had other plans with jumping out of my car. I had to admit that she was a survivor. I wondered if her energy lasted as long as it would take for her love to find her. I doubted. But that would be his fault, then. I gave him the chance to save Sara, the chance that Grissom had not given me.
I wondered what this lost soul was dreaming about. Was she dreaming about her first lovemaking with Grissom?
"Was it as painful as it was to me with Raymundo?" I whispered to her. "Were you screaming for him to stop? Were you bleeding for days? I don't think so."
He had been very tender to her when he had caressed Sara's arm at the crime scene and he had been even more affectionate to her in their bed. I had witnessed their love-making once. They had been gentle and loving to each other.
Sara was in Grissom's arms again, just as every day in the last few years; and he was kissing her with such wild abandon it sucked the breath from her. He started approaching her in the kitchen but soon they found themselves in their half dark bedroom. She knew she would never remember how they got to their love-nest, but they did, nonetheless. He captured her lips as he lowered her to the king sized bed they owned and stretched on top of her. Their lips parted simultaneously and their tongues started their sensual dance, slowly, like the Rumba at first, and then more passionately like the Jive as their hands began a mirrored exploration of each other's body, both wanted to feel one another's body too much to take things slowly. They pulled each other's shirts to feel skin underneath. Unclasped bra, discarded pants and socks flew all over the bed and onto the floor of the room. And finally skin met skin. Panting, his mouth devoured her neck; his kiss-swollen lips licked a slow path from her cheek to her collar bone and then lower to the top of her breasts. Her head fell back arching her back, tangling her fingers in his curly hair as she gave him full, unlimited access to her tits. She was on the edge of dying when he closed his mouth over a hard nipple, and made love to the sensitive tip with his tongue.
"I want you!"
"I want you more," she said fire in her eyes and voice.
Moments later, he sat up pulling Sara with him. His hand, strong and as beautiful as if it was made by gods, slid down her back to her arse and pulled her up harder against him. His arousal strained between their bellies, and when it made contact with the neediest part of her, Sara's heart started burning in her chest. They were no longer aware of anything but the intertwisted bodies of them. Sara wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her core even harder against him and a small whine left her mouth.
She tore her mouth from his and looked into his foggy eyes, "No more…foreplay, make love to me, now!"
Their lovemaking had been so different from the only one I had had. No blood, no disgusting smell of bleach. At least, Sara had not indicated any disgust towards her lover. On the contrary, she had licked every single inch of his body. I did not even want to recall that again. I had not intended to peep, it had been an accident but I could not look away. I had witnessed only love there, not death, only life. Yes, I was jealous of their relationship while my one and only love was dead, cool and motionless in some freaking grave as forlornly as I felt at this moment. After leaving Sara in the desert, I went home but something was different. I felt that I had to escape. No one was innocent.
"I was innocent who was forgotten, then was given hope and again, those hopes were taken back by the fearless Mr. Grissom. I wonder if he is still as confident as he was hours ago."
I hurried down the steps, ran out into the sidewalk. It was too much for me to take. I hardly could walk straight. I never liked people, or this light or this music. Too loud. I did not know where I was anymore. I did not know where south or north was. My vision was blurred but I recognized the touches. Ah, yes, I knew these men. Warrick and Nick. No matter how much I struggled to get out of their hold, they confined me tightly. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a room alone waiting. Soon, my old friend entered the room. He looked pretty calm but I doubted he was really as collected as he wanted to look like. He told me his name as if I did not know. He told me that he was a CSI for twenty-two years now as if I did not know that already. He complimented my scale-models saying he loved them and he tried his own as if I did not know about it for ages. But it was great to hear him say that I was brilliant. And that I would be a great CSI.
.
"But you got to promise me you won't kill nobody else. Promise me you'll be a good girl."
"I promise," I said to Ernie.
.
He told me that he was impressed by the way I had killed his Sara. I searched his eyes because he did not look at me. His eyes lost his shine just as I expected. After I told him that I had not killed the woman he claimed as his love, I realized.
"This is about her. Her, her, her. It's always about her!"
"No, it's about you," he said despair evident in his voice. And that was the last I heard clearly. My head started to ache the way I had never experienced. I felt myself being shaken. I heard him shout something. And somebody in my head sang a song I knew by heart. I hated that song. It reminded me of my damn dead sister who haunted me even in her death. But no one was innocent.
"People who do bad things need to be punished!"
And suddenly everything went silent. No more shaking, no more shouting.
"That's what's the matter with me."
The End