Twenty Four Hours Earlier
Gil Grissom woke before the alarm clock. He had a strange habit of doing that on most nights. It was almost as if his body was so in tune to his circadian rhythm that he no longer needed that bone jarring beeping to rouse him from his rest. He slowly popped open one eyelid and looked at the glaring red numerals. 6:52. The PM dot was illuminated. He turned off the alarm and rolled back onto his back. He sighed heavily and closed his eyelid. Grabbing the comforter with his right hand, he yanked it over his head and sank further down into the bed. Since Sara's departure he had lingered longer and longer each night before finally getting out of bed. The sadness and misery of her absence almost caused his bones to ache. As he snuggled down into the bed he could still smell her on the blankets. He knew it seemed disgusting, but he hadn't washed the blankets since she left. That way he could smell her each night and imagine that she was lying beside him with her head on his shoulder. Sometimes he swore that he could feel a little drool puddle on his arm. Sara sometimes slept with her mouth slightly open and many mornings he had awoken to a wet shirt sleeve. She was embarrassed. He found it endearing.
He smiled at the memory and decided to remove the comforter from his face. Opening both eyes this time he looked at the clock. 7:12 PM. He let loose another long sigh and slowly sat up on the side of the bed. His back muscles were tight and he felt a little twinge of pain when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. He plodded barefoot to the bathroom. Stripping off his clothes he gazed into the mirror above the sink. He looked haggard and tired. He rubbed his face and turned away from his reflection. He stepped into the shower and tried to let the sadness wash down the drain with the soap suds.
A while later he was perched on a barstool in the kitchen waiting on the coffee to finish percolating. He munched absentmindedly on a half stale bagel with garlic cream cheese and read the daily paper. He was so engrossed in the article about the new arachnid exhibit at the museum that he never heard the patio door slowly slide open. As he began to pour a cup of the now finished coffee, something hard crashed down onto the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was the heat of the coffee as the carafe hit the ceramic floor tiles and shattered splashing his legs.