Disclaimer: see chapter one
He was gone. At least that's how it would seem. No one heard from Grissom. No one knew where he and his bugs had gone. He had vanished without a trace. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and still no one had heard from him.
Four months after he had left, Sara came home and grabbed the mail out of the box on the curb as was her daily routine. She absent-mindedly flipped through the mail on her way into the house. She froze when she came across the plain brown envelope labeled simply with her name on it. The rest of the mail fell to the ground. She didn't immediately open it. Instead she kept walking toward the front door and sat down on the stoop. There was no postage or postage mark. There was no return address. There was only her name—Sara Sidle—written in a hauntingly familiar and distinct script.
CSI Sidle returned. An otherwise nondescript envelope bearing nothing other than my name. I shouldn't open this. But the only way to find out what's inside is to open it. Do you remember a guy called the Unibomber? Who would send me a letter bomb? You should call Catherine. Why would I bother her with something like this? Because she's still a CSI. What difference does that make? She could make sure it is safe to open before you get blown to smithereens. I'm not going to get blown up—it's just a letter. How do you know that? I just do. You're going to do whatever you want to do anyway. Would you just shut up? Certainly, I can do that.
With the warring voices in her head now silent, Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she flipped the brown envelope over and opened it. She turned it upside down and dumped its contents into her lap.
There was no note—only a single photograph. Sara's breath hitched as she realized what she was seeing. The photograph was taken in Gibson's room. That's his crib. That's Gibson in his crib. He's been in our house. Oh shit!