"Mom? Will you be here when I wake up tomorrow morning?" she asked.

I stroked her reddish hair, a feather-light touch out of pure live. "Of course," I said.

"Okay," she replied reluctantly.

"See you in the morning," I said brightly, kissing her goodbye.

"See you in the morning," she sighed.

I didn't say 'I love you'. I just assumed she knew.

"Mass murder out on 28th. Three victims for sure. I'll take it." Catherine looked at Warrick. "Warrick, you'll come too."

Nick groaned. "How come he gets to do all the fun stuff?"

Catherine smiled. "Finish your processing and you'd get to do the 'fun stuff', too."

Nick rolled his eyes, but Catherine was out the door before he had time to retort.

The house on 28th street was fairly non-descript—it could have belonged to anyone. There were neatly stacked toy boxes lining one wall of the living room, two silent high chairs standing sentry against the dining room wall, drawings stuck to the refrigerator. Anyone's.

"Elizabeth and Christopher Elman," the cop said. "Christopher's a truck driver and…" he led Catherine and Warrick up to the master bedroom. "She was a daycare provider. No kids of their own." He gestured over to the bed, where Elizabeth Elman lay, bound in a pool of her own blood. Catherine swallowed. "And the other two?" The cop directed them to the second bedroom, and Catherine had to take a slow, deep breath to keep from throwing up. "Warrick," she said slowly. "I think you should call Grissom."

We were reading Little Women. She'd sit, nestled safely at my side, and we'd read aloud, trading off paragraphs. Eventually, drawn by the cadence of our voices, her little brother would climb into my lap, following the words with his eyes. I thought they were immune. I thought nothing could hurt them. I thought that loving them was enough to keep them safe.
"I'm so sorry," Catherine said softly.

Grissom nodded, slow and mechanical.

"We'll find who did this."

Nod.

"I promise."

A pause, punctuated by a soft heaving breath. "He loves those pajamas."

Catherine realized that this was the first time she'd ever seen Grissom cry. "Does Sara know?"

Grissom shook his head. "I couldn't." he shook his head again. "What do we know?" he asked, suddenly all business.

"Judging by the pattern and type of injuries, they were killed using a butcher's knife, but the killer took it with them. Elizabeth was killed first, judging by the footprints and open window. Joshua's left hand is missing and Vanessa was also…beaten. We'll know more after Doc Robbins gets back to us." Catherine looked over at Grissom. "You should go home. I'll talk to Sara."

Grissom took one long look at the crime scene. "You find whoever did this," he whispered. "And when you do, I want to see him. I want to see the bastard that did this."

Catherine touched his shoulder. "Warrick will take you home."

We always ate dinner together as a family. It might have been McDonald's in the car on the way to the babysitter's, but we always ate together. We didn't really get much time as a family otherwise. That night, we had a sit-down dinner. Spaghetti. Her favorite. "Oh mommy," she would say. "I love this food. I love it so much, just like you." She could have eaten spaghetti every day if we let her. I'm glad I made it that night. I was just going to order pizza, but I didn't. I made that food that she loved. I'm glad I did.
"Sara?" Catherine said softly. "Why don't you sit down?" She'd sent Nick down to the scene. She thought it would be best if she were the one to tell Sara. Once Sara was sitting down, Catherine took a deep breath. "Shortly after you and Greg went to the casino, we were called out to a mass murder on 28th street."

Sara sucked in a breath, held it.

"Vanessa and Joshua were involved," Catherine said gently.

"Involved?" Sara's voice threatened to crack. "As in…?"

Catherine nodded. "I'm so sorry, Sara."

"Where's Gil?"

"Warrick took him home. I can take you, if you want."

"C-can I see them first?"

Catherine hesitated.

"Catherine, I want to see my babies."

"I'll walk down with you."

They walked down the hall in silence. Fifteen feet from the morgue, Sara started to cry. "I didn't say 'I love you'," she sobbed. "What if they died thinking I didn't—don't—love them?"

Catherine reached out and pulled Sara into a hug. She didn't know what else to do.

It was possible that being at home was worse than being at the scene. At the scene, it was easy enough to pretend that those were any two children. At home, Vanessa's Barbie and Joshua's Winnie-the-Pooh plates still sat in the sink. A certificate proclaiming "Vanessa Grissom is a Super Reader!" was displayed prominently in a place of honor on the refrigerator. Worse still was the pile of laundry on the couch, a stack of Joshua's diapers still waiting to be folded. Everything was waiting, perfectly still, for reanimation when the children got home. Grissom was crying again as he went into Vanessa's room and started taking things out of the drawers. He didn't hear the door open, didn't register Sara coming into the room. "Surreal, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "Like maybe it's not really happening. Some freak nightmare."

"It should be."

She watched him take Vanessa's clothes out of the drawers. "What are you going to do with it all?" she asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Save it until they come home."