Summary: Sara remembers her past. What really happened to her father?
Disclaimer: Yeah I own a car...and its only 1/4th mine...aka I dont own CSI...
A/N: This is my first fic...it sucks but yeah...I dont care!
When I remember my dad a ball field always comes into mind. Whether it was from one of my games or that of my older brother I really couldn't care less. All in all it was a ball field. The only thing my dad loved more than softball or baseball was alcohol. If the lord was willing he was able to drink himself into oblivion.
I remember the night it happened. It was after my brothers Varsity high school baseballteam won regionals. After,my dad and mom went to one of their friend's house to eat and as I so eloquently put it now, to get plastered. My brother and one of his friends went out to do god-knows-what and I sat at home. Alone. Always alone. Thinking back now I don't think I was ever lonely but I was always alone.
I sat outside on the back porch with a half finished cigarette in my hand and watched the backyard. I saw the first firefly of the season that night. With each light of it hind parts I remember thinking something was going to happen, what I wasn't quite sure yet. I still can smell the smoke and see the lights of the tiny creature. God how I wish I was back in that rusty chair listening to the birds and the grasshoppers singing their songs. At 14 I was very much grown up and very much amused at the way people could care less about the people they loved. Not like any of that matters now.
I remember sitting upstairs in my room reading and writing. I wrote the most ridiculous things but at the time those words in black ink meant everything to me. Around 11 my parents came bobbling in, and yes it was a bobble, a slip and a fall, one crash after another. I didn't really care because they had left me alone, in a place to big to be called a house and to empty to call a home.
Next thing I knew I was up out of bed and down the stairs. I loved to watch my parents when they were drunk. (Still even today when I see someone drinking I laugh and watch like a voyeur waiting to pounce.) When I got downstairs dad was out back smoking in the same place I was only a couple of hours earlier and mom was in the kitchen making herself yet another drink the contents were something along the lines of vodka (a pint to be exact) and a splash of lemon why the hell she would put lemon in vodka I may never know. None the less they were there and so was I. I sat at the same spot in the kitchen I always sat right in front of the radio; I loved listening to the radio as I made my dinner. This wasn't dinner though, it was much more.
Mom started singing some stupid song and gave me a big sloppy kiss on my cheek I can still feel the wet spit on my face, it truly was the worst thing ever, my face smelt like lemon and vodka. As I soon found out it was a deadly combination.
Dad came in looking for another beer which wasn't there; I knew it wasn't because I saw Jason get it out of the fridge before he left, trying to be the sneaky bastard he was. The next thing I knew dad was yelling at mom to go to the store to get him yet another case of whatever beer he drank, god he was a dirty drunk. Mom refused and the next thing that happened will remain the most horrifying thing that I have ever seen. Even in my time of being a CSI I have yet to find something more disturbing.
Mom said no. That was it, she told him no and he hit her. Hard. It was a hit like the one at the end of Pretty Woman were Julia Robert's character was hit by Jason Alexander's character. It was worse than that really, because in that moment everything stopped. The world stopped spinning and all the troubles of my life seemed to become worse tenfold.
Then something happened, a glimmer of hope shone in mom's eye. Right then I knew nothing would ever be the same, how incredibly right I was. Mom knew she finally had the dirt on dad she needed and she could divorce his sorry ass. By the look on dads face I knew he saw that little twinkle there as well. He lunged at her punching and hitting and mom did the only thing she knew to do, she stood in front of me (I guess to shield me from the next events to take place) and grabbed a knife from the rack by the table and she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until blood covered everything. Andby everythingI mean everything, from the floors the the radio to thedirty dishes in the sink.What in the fuck was I supposed to do? I mean was I supposed to sit there or run? I tried to run but my knees wouldn't allow it. They wouldn't let me bend, my feet wouldn't hold my body, I felt completely useless as I sat there and watched my mom butcher my father.
Next thing I know everything issilent and the cops are there and someone takes my hand that's covered in my father's blood and leads me away.
People couldn't understand what happened, a middle class family, both parents owned businesses, both Church-going Christians, on the outside we were the perfect family, and in one moment it was all taken away. The earth finally started spinning again and people moved on and forgot. I never did though. I never forgot the lemon-vodka kiss, the smell of smoke and beer, the feeling of horror and serenity all in one. I was happy it was over, my family, my "life" with them, my unhappiness, my happiness, I'm not really sure yet. But to sum it all up it was over.
I got placed with a foster family, they were cool but they weren't my mom and dad. They didn't drink or smoke so I didn't get another cigarette until I was offered one by Bobby Brank in the back of his car when I was 16. God how I savored the taste of that cigarette, that was right before I got wasted and told everyone what happened. That was the last I ever saw of Bobby Brank or any of my "friends" I was moved to another foster home.
And that's how life was for a while, stay in one place until I got to happy and then I did something outrageous and then I left. That is until I turned 18 and got offered a scholarship to Harvard.
I met Gil Grissom soon after at a convention at Berkley. He made me so happy that I wanted to return to the ways of my youth and run from the happiness for sure it was be snatched from me one way or another.
I went to work for Grissom in Las Vegas in late 2000. I was content, that's all I ever wanted to be. I wouldn't let myself be happy; I didn't want to be happy. I couldn't be happy.
And that's how I've come to this. Sitting on the balcony over looking Vegas smoking a Marlboro Mild and watching the cars drive by, those cars are my fireflies. The headlights are the sign of the unknown happiness or terror that most certainly lie ahead. I think this year I might allow myself to be happy, maybe…just…maybe.
A/N: R&R if you want. I dont care either way but a review would be nice. I didnt know how old Sara was when the incident happened so I made her 14 because it made her a bit more mature...anyway R&R!