Unfinished
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I'm gonna die in here, I just know I am. What a way to go; to die in a 6x2x2 plexi-glass coffin. There are so many things left unfinished. I never got married. I never had children, a family. I never got the chance to tell my parents and colleagues the truth about everything, the truth about me, how I feel about them. A life unfinished is what this is. So many things left unsaid and undone, and its now, as I lay slowly suffocating in this box that it all hits me.
What would I tell Grissom? Would I tell him that all I ever wanted to do was have him proud of me? That all I ever wanted was for him to stand up and take notice of me? Though I don't believe he knows it, I always thought of him as a sort of father figure. And whether or not he knows it, he's been acting as one. He's always been there when I've needed him, for a chat or pep talk, but I don't ever recall him ever actually saying that he was proud of me.
There were the odd "Good Job" and "Keep It Up", but never an "I'm proud of you.". Maybe I was just wanting too much.
What would I tell Warrick? I think I'd have to say that he was my best friend and favourite colleague to work with. We'd be on a scene and not even have to talk to know what the other was thinking. We were synched like that. We had a kind of brotherly relationship in that we were close, had each other's back and would do just about anything for the other. Whenever I had a problem I'd come to him for advice and he'd readily oblige. He's the greatest.
Sara? She's like the sister I never had. She'd always jibe me and give me a hard time about stuff, but in a friendly sort of way. There was love there, but not THAT sort of love. More like "You mess with me, you mess with my family" love. And that's exactly what all these guys were, my family. But now this family is going to be one short.
I confided in Catherine about my rape when I was 9yrs old and thank God, she kept it to herself. She and Lindsay were so good to me. Knowing that I had no family nearby, they'd always invite me over for Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. Now I'll never see her grow up. She's smart as a whip, Lindsay is, but in my opinion she needs a it of guidance that, maybe, Catherine can't give her. But all in all I would have to say that Catherine is doing the best she can with the resources she's got.
Though annoying at times, Greg is always good for a laugh or random comment. I love the tales he tells about his Papa Olaf. Leggo my Greggo, I'd say when someone would gripe about him or give him grief. Though he is still relatively young, he's wise beyond his years. He'll make an excellent CSI one day.
All of these things, if I had the chance, I'd say. I'd say that I love them all and was glad to have been a part of their lives, for even these brief past five plus years. They were my family in every sense of the word.
I wonder what they're doing and thinking right now. Are they trying to find me? Are they following cul-de-sac clues? If I know Grissom, he's probably sitting in his office either pouring over his lap top or reports trying to figure out where I am. That's one thing about him...he NEVER gives up.
I can tell by my watch that I've been in here for a few hours and this leaves me with two options (1) rack my brain, reflecting on my life and the things I never did, or (2) do the unthinkable. Reaching down, I pull up my sidearm and examine it closely. Removing the cartridge, I can see that there's only one round. At this point I'm seriously considering the latter. Though I'd hate for whoever finds me to see me that way, with a gaping hole in my head, but it'd be an immense relief...instantaneous. I don't know if I'd be able to say sane enough while my oxygen slowly depletes, but at least I got rid of those damned lights. But now there's the problem of these damned ants. Damn, if Griss were here he'd know what kind they are and why they hurt do friggin' much when they bite...maybe they're fire ants.
I can feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, flashbacks from my childhood and younger years. Most of them are good, but some bad. I see tire swings, family barbeques, sitting on the front porch of my Grandparent's house with Pop-Pop listening as he told me stories about WWII and his buddies and such. I also see myself in my first year as CSI, sitting Brass's office listening to his speech about this being the number one lab in the country and blah, blah, blah. Though he can be abrasive at times, I like Brass a lot. He's honest, brilliant and crafty. It was a shame about the whole demotion thing, but I think he's accepted it and I feel that he's doing more for the lab where he is now than he was when he was supervisor.
Damn, these ants are really pissing me off in a big way. They're everywhere. Hmmmm, will I did from the bites before I suffocate or blow my brains out? I guess there's only one way to find out. Right now I'm seriously considering my sidearm and as I raise it to my chin I can feel movement, but that might just be wishful thinking on my part because I want out of here so damn bad.
Cocking the hammer back and closing my eyes, I can still feel movement, but for all I know it could be voles or something. Saying one last Hail Mary and an Our Father, I summon up all my reserve and feel my finger grip the trigger.
There's banging, now. I open my eyes and see the most beautiful sight in the world. I never thought of Grissom as a good looking man, a little on the plump side and that whole Grizzly Adams thing working for him with the beard and all, but right now as I prepare to coat the inside of this plastic sarcophagus with my grey matter I see his bright eyes and hand pressed on the other side of the glass. Then I hear him, he calls me something I've not heard since childhood; Poncho.
Not sure if he's real or just some figment of my imagination, I keep the gun pressed to my chin. Then I hear it again, he calls me Poncho. He's real...he's real and he's here. I see his hand again and I hear him call to me. Raising my hand to the glass to touch his, so to speak, it hits me. I drop my gun and wait...I wait for the one man who's never failed me in the whole time I've known him.
I suppose somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he'd come through and as I look around, still encased in this box, I can see everyone. I see Warrick standing over me. I see Brass, Catherine, Greg and Sara. I even see Ecklie. God, I've never been so happy to see Conrad Ecklie in my whole life, but from this moment on my life has changed,
hasn't it?