THE AMBULANCE RIDE

Chapter Two

Does insomnia lead to insanity? Can it kill you? Sara might just find out From inside Sara's head. Rated: T. GSR.

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Ugh, that last cup of coffee was a mistake. My nerves are jangling. Strange word, jangling. But it fits. I can feel every branch and twig of my nervous system, with electricity burning down to my trembling fingers. Grissom is staring at my hands. If I'm very very focused, I can make that tremor stop. Ugh, now there's a tic under my eye. Too much caffeine. Muscles are clenched. The worst is my belly. Sour and burning. It's too quiet in here, and I feel a very unladylike belch coming. Whatever will he think of me?

I remember a case from my first year, the Collins case, a whole family slaughtered in their beds except for the two girls. I was home, trying to sleep, when the police scanner announced it. I got there just as a new guy taking notes turned green and had to run outside and puke. Grissom looked at me. I told him I figured he needed help. "You don't sleep, do you?" I shook my head and got to work. There was a touch of admiration in his voice. He liked my dedication. So I've been trying ever since to make him notice me, get his approval, by staying late and arriving early, working harder than anyone else. Be the best little CSI ever.

Ecklie sees me still in the lab at noon and scowls. Overtime comes out of the budget. He shoos me out of the lab. I go home. I lie down again. This time it's like a video channel starts up in my head. A constant stream of images, snatches of conversation, fragments of music, TV commercials stream unbidden. Speeded up, so fast, so fast. Do I hear voices? No, I don't hear voices exactly. (I am not my mother. I am not schizophrenic.)

It's like I'm plugged into something. I see bits of movies and real life. Sara. I don't know what to do about this. I do. Humiliation. Kick me in the gut, why don't you? Lou Grant: "You've got spunk. I hate spunk." Mary Tyler Moore tosses her hat into the air. The ocean at first light, when I was a little girl. That smell of iodine and fish and salt air. There's a little blonde girl making a sandcastle. Could I go over and ask her to be friends? Who's that girl? (Eurythmics) Terri Miller has blonde hair. Does Grissom like blondes? Blondes have more fun. Marilyn Monroe slinks down a staircase lined with men in tuxedos. Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Girls just wanna have fun, wanna, wanna have fun. (Cyndi Lauper.) The body of a girl sprawled across a bloody bed. She's been tied and raped with a foreign object and strangled. Ligature marks on her wrists. Dammit. He did it again. I turned and went back out into the hallway. Nick gazed at me, his dark eyes soft, from inside the room. Grissom followed me. He barked at me. Sara! No emotions in here. He grabbed my arm.

My father's face staring at my mother, spoiling for a fight. My mother's face when her eye was swollen and black, the eye socket broken, nose broken, and lips split. I watch Grissom stride by, his nose in a file. I will him to look up, to look at me, but nothing. Look at me! He doesn't see me. "If it makes you feel good..." (Sheryl Crow.) I wish I was like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything. I see Dave looking up at me, blinking owlishly. "Time of death was approximately four hours..." The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup! Really? That's the BEST part?

If you try to chase two rabbits, you end up losing them both. What the hell does that mean, anyway? I'm chasing one rabbit, the sick freak who raped and shot this poor woman and left her for dead, then dropped his ballcap on her as a trophy. Too tough to die. Grissom and his damn riddles. Sara. What do you do for fun? I chase rabbits. What do you like? I don't like anything! What do you want from me, Grissom? To not care?

There's Doc Robbins, calmly explaining his findings, bathed in blue light. The fragile blue of twilight, when you see the first star. Every TV show ever aired streams out into space. If another life form ever saw it, what would they think? I'm blue, so blue, blue moon...blue highway, blue jacket, bluebonnet, blue eyed boy (Grissom). Now I'm playing mental word games. This is hopeless.

My muscles are in full spasm. Every single one is balled up and tight. Body just coming out of rigor...I lie on my bed, stiff as a plank of wood. I hurt. Everything hurts. I might as well be lying on a bed of nails. Screw it. I stagger out of bed and fill the bathtub with the hottest water I can stand. It stings and makes my skin red, but then it feels good, it helps, just a little. I let the water cover my head, my face, and remember a painting of Ophelia by...Burnes-Jones, I think it was...she is lying face up in a stream, completely under water, flowers on her brown dress, a circlet of flowers in her hair, flowers in her hands (violets, those are for remembrance..) and waiting to drown. Ophelia went mad. Is it possible to drown myself in a bathtub? Just open my mouth and suck in a lungful of water? Am I going mad? Do I want to die?

I shave my legs carefully. I wash and condition my hair. I get out of the tub. I slather my body with lotion. If I'm going crazy, I might as well smell good, I think, and snort a laugh. I might as well have soft skin. I put on a bathrobe and wrap my hair in a towel and wander into the kitchen. I have a look in the fridge. My stomach twists at the thought of food. So I start another pot of coffee, get the newspaper from just outside the door and sit at the counter. Sexual assault, natural disaster, the obituaries, Dear Abby has lost her damn mind, that's the worst advice I ever heard, bombs and casualties...the funnies aren't funny but I study them like they hold deep secrets. I look at every page but couldn't tell you half of what I read. I flip on the TV to pass the time, but turn it off again. I sneak a look at the clock. Shift starts in...three hours. If I dress slowly, and drive slowly, no one will care if I'm early.

Maybe Grissom will be early too. I'll walk past his office. Seeing him behind his desk makes the world seem sane. God's in his heaven, Grissom's here. Seeing Grissom both soothes and arouses my heart. Hearing his deep voice is balm for my troubled soul.

I'm wide awake. Until I get behind the wheel of my Prius, that is. Suddenly I'm sleepy as hell. I'm weaving from side to side of the road. My eyes are starting to close. They're dry and scratchy. I just want to close my eyes. I pinch my legs, bite my lip and the inside of my cheek, and the pain is enough to get me to the lab parking lot. I pull into a spot away from the others, facing away from the glass doors, and put the seat back. Maybe I can catch forty winks. I lean back and will my body to relax, will my mind to clear and go blank...but my head lolls and hits the window, I'm tense, and my stomach hurts. That coffee went right through me...I need to get to the ladies' room. I hurry through the entrance, Judy calls out to me, I brush past the desk and her face falls. Sorry! I better go back after...and I bang into the restroom.

Five minutes later I go back to the receptionist's desk and give her a tight smile. I can't seem to smile naturally anymore. My face is impassive. (Maybe I'm around Grissom too much.)

Judy's on the phone and scribbling a complicated message. I stand there, feeling like a goof, until she acknowledges me coolly. Her phone rings again and I turn and go to the locker room. I lay my forehead against the cold metal. My head feels like a hardboiled egg. The shell is cracked. I'm holding it together by force of will, habit, and adrenaline. Robotically, I stow my bag, get my ID and handgun and clip them to my belt, put on my black mesh vest, change my street shoes to boots. And sit there on the wood bench, staring into space. I don't know how long. I don't know what I was thinking about. Until the fog clears briefly and I remember to go to the evidence locker and get the latest box.

I spread the evidence out neatly in precise little rows. I open the file and read it from beginning to end. The words vanish from the page after I look at them. I don't know what I just read. So I go back to the beginning and read it again. I can't think. I don't know who did this. I don't have a clue. Or a lead, or a theory. This poor guy. He rolled the dice and lost when I got this case. Maybe Nick will help me, or Warrick. I put everything away again tidily and go to the break room for assignments. And make more coffee.

Grissom gives me a solo case miles away. I get my kit and climb into a Denali. As soon as I pull out, the sleepiness returns. I blast the air conditioning, crank up the radio, shift around in my seat but it's really hard to drive through this darkness. The light turns red and my mind says stop! but my foot makes the SUV go right through it. Tires squeal, a horn honks, I plow on. I see headlights in my rearview mirror. He's too close! Why is he following me? I turn right, he follows, I speed up, he does too. Who is this guy? Finally I lose him at another stoplight and draw a breath. What the hell is wrong with me? No one can drive behind me? I merge onto a highway without even looking, braking just in time before I get flattened by a tractor-trailer going at least 80. I'm gonna get killed out here...should I pull over? And tell Grissom what? I couldn't make it to my scene because I was tired. I should slow down. I speed up instead.

TBC