Whirlpool
In time, the floodwaters reach the plains, gathering together to form a large river meandering slowly across the land. Bubbling brooks cascading down from above occasionally swell the current with the purity of the mountain springs, refreshing the languid flow. Debris and sediment slowly filter out, settling in the pools and backwaters. Yet remnants remain suspended in the flow, submerged beneath the smooth surface, reminders of its past course, occasionally surfacing through the churning rapids and in the whirlpools beneath the falls. These swirling waters catch the unwary; refuge in the backwaters brief before being lost again to the vortex.
Sara dove into her forensic training, soaking up the new information with overflowing enthusiasm. While she was surrounded by the dark depths of humanity, she was often able to bring peace and resolution to the families affected. She would plunge into each new case, immersing herself in the evidence until she extracted the truth. Some cases would dredge up memories of the past, but she always managed to push them back beneath the surface by spending several hours relaxing by the ocean shore.
Then one year, a chance meeting at a forensic conference hosted by the San Francisco crime lab altered her course yet again. She attended a seminar given by a young but well-known forensic scientist and admired the way his enthusiasm bubbled out of him as he leaped from idea to idea. He seemed to sparkle, his energy pure and clear. She wanted nothing more than for her life to merge with his, to allow his purity to cleanse her of the specters of her past experiences with men.
Though unable to summon up the courage to invite him out for dinner after the seminar, she found herself drawn to him again when the conference hosted a barbeque the following afternoon at the newly opened Baker Beach. They chatted and joked over an early dinner, posed for a souvenir photograph in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, then wandered away from the large group of conference goers to explore the rocky shores and overgrown dunes surrounding the narrow stretch of sand.
They began with talk of forensics, until she asked about some of the literary references in his presentation. Then they spoke of books and art as they strolled along the paths running across the high bluffs. The breeze off the ocean crossed over the exposed rocky shore and through the blooming fields, gathering a mixed bouquet of scents before passing gently over them. The crashing surf breaking against the shore provided an undertone to their conversation. And occasionally they would fall into silence, simply enjoying the beauty around them.
As they descended from the bluffs to explore the rocky tidal pools, he would occasionally take her hand in a steadying grasp as the rocks grew slippery underfoot.
He held her spellbound as he detailed the lives of the creatures they saw, occasionally pulling one from its watery home to place it in her trusting hand. The tiny islands of water among the rocks teamed with life, and she found herself amazed by the vastness of his knowledge, by the care with which he handled the delicate creatures, and by the unbridled enthusiasm that constantly flowed from him.
They sat on the rocks near the edge of the sea and allowed the waves pushed by the incoming tide to crash over them, laughing freely as they experienced a small portion of the violence in the lives of the tidal creatures. Finally, drenched, they returned to the sandy beach, where they allowed the roaring bonfire to dry their clothes. Then they sat in the sand to watch the sun set behind the golden bridge, its orange light shimmering across the harbor and creeping up the shore.
All too soon it was time to leave, but they promised to keep in touch. Unbelievably, he kept this promise and they spent the next two years chatting by phone or emailing about some of their odder cases. Then one autumn he called with a desperate request for help, and despite the distance from her beloved ocean she was only too willing to hoist anchor and join his team.
Though it did not happen all at once, or all for one reason, it was there in Las Vegas that her love of water began to run dry. Soon she found herself with no refuge from the memories of her past.
It was not just that there was no longer an ocean for her to visit. There were other places she could go, other ways of spending her time that could have brought her mind back into harmony. No, her slow descent into depression was tied to her ebbing love for water, but it was not caused by a lack of water.
When she first arrived in Vegas she was brimming with enthusiasm, eager to prove herself to everyone in her new team but most of all to him. She poured her heart into every new case, draining her reserves, but she was still able to rebound with time. She drew new energy through her interactions with him. His mind roused hers, and they melded into a comfortable working relationship with an undercurrent of something deeper.
When she first arrived she spent some time exploring her new world, enjoying some of the sights, laughing at the gaudiness of others. There were two places to which she often returned after particularly stressful cases, the Bellagio fountain and the Mandalay Bay aquarium. Though she always went alone, she often wondered how the experience would be enhanced if he were there.
If the temperature was moderate and the crowds small she would stand outside by the fountain, watching the sparkling arcs of water cutting through the air, allowing the rhythmic changing of the pattern to hypnotize her. Occasional sprays of mist would drift over her, chilling her skin slightly as it evaporated. She would stare at the fountain until the world drifted away behind her and it was as if she were living within the swirling water. In the peace of the fountain, she would regain her balance, and set forth again with renewed determination.
If it weather did not allow her to comfortably remain outside for extended times, or if there was a particularly large group of tourists at the fountain, she would explore the aquarium at Mandalay Bay. When she had energy to burn, she would walk for hours through the many tunnels and around the large tanks, watching the colorful fish dart in and out of the rocks searching for food. When she was completely exhausted by her days work, she would grab a drink and a seat near the large shark tank, watching the predators swimming almost effortlessly through the water. Their constant gliding movements lulled her mind, allowing her a moment of rest.
As time went by, however, she found herself returning to these retreats less and less often. Instead she began throwing herself into new cases, drawing in on herself more and more. Perhaps it was the constant presence of gawking tourists, or the loud ringing of slot machines in the background, but as time went by the early fascination she felt receded until the calming influence was lost.
Her relationship with Grissom also began to abate as he became bogged down in the burdens of leadership. She sought to renew his interest through increased dedication to her work, constantly trying to impress him and taking their disagreements to heart. She thought of leaving but she could not escape his pull. Deep down she knew she would never find another man to compare to him, even as a friend. And so she remained.
As he seemed unwilling to expand their relationship outside of the working environment she reluctantly tried to find another way to reduce her loneliness. She found a friend in a man who could understand the job but not remind her constantly of it. She eventually allowed herself to think of him as more than just a friend.
Hank seemed interested in her enjoyment and took her places she never would have explored on her own, the local vineyards and the hills of the surrounding desert. Sometimes, they would drive away from the city and its blinding lights to gaze at the stars. On one such trip, after an especially trying case, instead of a sky full of stars they came across an unexpected thunderstorm. He suggested they head back into town, but she asked that they stay to watch the storm unfold, and so they sat in his truck and watched as nature unleashed her fury.
Her love of rain had been dampened slightly through the loss of valuable evidence at rain washed crime scenes. When not on the job, however, she still found pleasure in the sounds and smells associated with the monsoonal thunderstorms that regularly burst on summer afternoons.
Rain in the desert city was very different from what she remembered of the coastal rains. Storms were patchy; often a torrential downpour in one neighborhood would only sprinkle a little in the surrounding areas, perhaps even leaving them dry and untouched. But up in the hills as they were that night, they were inside the storm.
The wind roared around the car, rain drummed on the roof, and thunder cracked and rumbled, making conversation impossible, for which Sara was grateful. They sat silently as the world exploded around them, watching as the rain sheeted down the windows, the trees whipped against the flickering night sky, and the occasional streak of lightning forked down from the sky.
As the rain slowed to a drizzle then stopped all together, they finally began to stir. He started the car, and she lowered her window. She drank in the freshly washed smell of the air, and listened to the quiet drips of rain falling from the trees. They drove quietly back to the city, and no words were spoken until they reached her apartment. The awe of the evening still fresh in her mind, she invited him inside.
Their relationship also ended in the rain. As she stood under an umbrella trying to determine sun angles, half of her mind was swirling in confusion as she mulled over the significance of his dinner companion. Even before seeing confirmation in a photograph, she knew it was over. And though she was not conscious of the connection, she never again spent time simply appreciating the rain.
As she recovered her equilibrium, she realized that Hank was a poor substitute for the man with whom she truly wished to enjoy life, and she determined to persuade him into a more personal relationship. Unaware of his own deepening problems and the abysmal timing of her question, she was crushed by his abrupt and repeated rejection. Her spirits plummeted in a swirling press of past memories and she wondered why she was not good enough for him.
She struggled to maintain her footing as a series of cases further eroded her defenses, highlighting her inadequacy to her mind. Her downward spiral began when a young girl's life was ended because Sara could not provide her with the strength needed to identify her attacker. Sara strove to overcome this resurgence of her past, but was hindered as a series of disagreements arose with Grissom, and she took his professional decisions personally. She decided to apply for the promotion, feeling that he would at least recognize her dedication and the quality of her work, but found herself failing even in this.
As gloom descended, she could no longer find pleasure in the small things. A shower at home was once a time to reflect and come to terms with the important events of the day. She would allow the warm water to wash away both the physical and emotional grime of the day, sluicing it down the drain. The rhythmic sound of water falling on and around her blocked out the garish sounds of the city, the pounding force of the high pressure stream massaged the tension from her shoulders and neck, and the gentle fruity smell of her shampoo would refresh her.
Now, she no longer distinguished between the impersonal showers at the lab and the comfort of her own home. All too often, her showers were marred with the sour tang of lemon, the sting of the acid as it found unknown yet innumerable small cuts and cracks in her skin. While the scent had once seemed fresh and clean, the slight pain invigorating, now it was just a reminder of the death she faced every day.
Then a young nurse who bore a remarkable resemblance to Sara was found murdered in her shower, the room decorated for a soothing night of romance. Though Sara never saw the scene, she heard the talk, saw the photos, and wondered about the girl's loss of innocence.
She watched Grissom's descent into his own confused emotions. In his pain and exhaustion, she heard him confess the truth that she had convinced herself he did not feel. And for a moment, she saw through her pain to his. Afterward, though they still did not often work together, when they did there were again moments of shared enlightenment and intellectual banter.
While she greedily soaked up each of these moments, they were not enough to revive her joy, her love of life, her belief in what she was doing. He could not offer her what she most needed, and she was caught in the pain of loneliness each night as she left for home. And while she never drank herself into a stupor, the simple joy of a cleansing shower was replaced by the drugging power of an after work drink or two or three.
Then, it all came pouring in at once. Over the course of two weeks, she found that she was not recommended for the promotion, another young woman died when they failed to hold her attacker, and finally the flashing lights in her rearview mirror warned her that she could not continue on this course.
Suddenly, his hand was warm and firm in hers, and through her shame, she could feel him pulling her free from the depths of her pain, and he took her home. From his quiet support that night, she regained belief in her ability to find the strength to begin again.
In the shower after he left, she rediscovered the cleansing power of water. First, a gentle spray and aromatic soaps washed the day's reminders from her skin and hair. Then, a pounding stream massaged the tension from her muscles and joints. Finally, a long soak in an oil laden bath lulled the tumult of her mind. And then she slept.
After an enforced but relaxing vacation and several appointments with a professional councilor, she felt ready to face work again, though she was less certain of her ability to face him again. It was a constant struggle, but she was determined to rise above her past.
Each time a case threatened to pull her back under, she would repeat the cleansing ritual of gentle spray, massaging stream, and relaxing soak. Though she emerged refreshed for a time, events seemed determined to drown her again. Swinging couples whose lives were broken in jealousy brought to mind the constant fighting that defined her youth; a young girl exploited all her life and young brothers left in neglect and starvation brought back memories of undeserving foster homes; and the division of the team seemed like the breaking of her family.
As painful recollections surfaced again and again, she struggled to overcome them, but each recurrence pulled her back closer to the abyss. Until a final case and the wrong company snapped her remaining anchor against the storm raging within her.
She was not surprised when he arrived at her door, but she was still hesitant to allow him access to the full depths of her past. When he refused to be deterred by her usual defenses, she begged him to let it pass, but he persisted and eventually she allowed him a glimpse. As she told him of her history, she finally allowed it to engulf her completely, and she surrendered to the flood.
And this time as he took her hand, she clung to the lifeline through the turbulence of her memories and did not let go.
TBC