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VEGAS
Sara and Gil quietly made lunch side-by-side. The routine seemed second nature, based on two years of habit. He would prepare the lettuce, while she chopped the vegetables. It was all so… normal.
"She talked to me about that night," Sara said.
"Rose?"
"Yes," she responded. "I asked her to tell me about it."
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SAN FRANCISCO
"It was the middle of the night," Rose said. "It always seemed to be the middle of the night when we got the worst ones."
Rose sighed and poured them each another glass of iced tea.
She continued, "To tell you the truth, I don't know a lot about what happened in your house. But I know that you were covered in bruises and limping."
Sara sat back before speaking, trying to organize her thoughts.
"I remember pieces. Flashes. I vaguely recall the hospital. What I really remember is this young cop," Sara said. "He threw up on the crime scene."
Rose smiled at Sara and said, "It was his first murder scene, and it hit him hard… he was ashamed of how he'd reacted."
Sara shook her head and said, "I wish I could remember his name. I'd hoped to talk to him about what he remembered."
She wasn't expecting Rose to smile at her or respond with, "Oh, that's easy enough. His name is Mark Elliott. He's my son."
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VEGAS
"I spent a few hours with Rose," Sara told Gil as they finished their salads. "When I left, she told me where I could find her son and promised she'd call him to let him know I was on my way."
"Is he still a police officer?" Gil asked.
"Yes. He transferred into the San Francisco Police Department's homicide unit five years ago," Sara replied.
"It's too bad he hadn't transferred while I was still there," Sara said regrettably. "It might have forced me to deal with this a long time ago, if I'd had to work cases with him."
"No regrets, Sara," Gil stated emphatically, "or you will always be asking 'What if?'."
Gil stood, picked up their plates, and put them in the sink. Sara walked up behind him, laid her cheek on his shoulder, and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"Is it your day off?" she asked.
"I've taken a few days off to be with you," he softly replied, and turned into her arms, hugging her close.
"Let's go for a walk," she suggested.
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SAN FRANCISCO
Sara parked in the SFPD Visitor's lot. Taking a deep breath, she pushed on – through the front door and to the information desk.
"Can I help you?" a young officer asked.
"Yes," she replied, "I'd like to speak to Mark Elliott – he's expecting me."
The officer made a note, and picked up the phone. When Mark strolled into the lobby, Sara didn't see the middle-aged man he was. In place of his gray suit, she saw the new blue uniform. Instead of gray around his temples, she saw shiny cropped brown hair. She sucked in a breath as he approached.
"Sara Sidle?" he asked.
"Yes," she breathed out.
He smiled, and she saw the similarities between mother and son. The laugh lines were there – the same as Rose.
Sara extended her hand, and he shook it – holding onto it for an extra moment.
"I appreciate you meeting with me," Sara said.
"I'm happy to do so," he replied. "Would you like to go get some coffee? Mom said you have some questions."
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VEGAS
Stopping in a small community park, Gil and Sara sat on a nearby bench, holding hands quietly.
"He told me what remembered," Sara said.
"It was a long time ago," Gil remarked. "Did he remember much?"
"Actually," she replied, "he remembered a lot of scene details. Someone had called in a domestic dispute – probably a neighbor. Mark and his partner were dispatched. His partner had been a cop for several years. Mark had only been on the streets for a matter of weeks."
"It must have been rough for him," Gil sympathized.
He continued, "You've seen young cops on their first DB. I've even see veteran cops lose it at bad scenes."
"Yeah," she replied, "and most remember their first."
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SAN FRANCISCO
"I checked your credentials," Mark said as the waitress delivered their coffee.
After taking a sip, he continued, "You've got an impressive background. According to Conrad Ecklie, you've got one of the highest solve rates in the lab."
Mark noticed when Sara flinched at Ecklie's name, and said, "He also said you can be a self-destructive wild card."
Sara leaned back in her chair and considered her response. She eventually decided there was really only one honest reply.
"He's right," she said. When Mark looked like he was about to speak, she held her hand up.
"Please, Mark, let me say this… I've lived through nightmares – some of my own and many belonging to others. Every time that old anger started burning, I got really good at pitting myself against everyone. I would either lash out or withdraw from the people who cared about me. And it's made my world small, sad, and lonely."
Sara paused for a moment, took a sip of coffee, and continued, "I've spent the last couple of years trying to move beyond this. But I never addressed the core of it. I never looked back, because when I look back I'm still that scared little girl."
She continued, "In Vegas, I've made… friends, but then I was kidnapped, buried under a car, and ended up wandering the desert until I nearly died. And in the end, it all came back to my anger. It came back to holding everyone at arm's length."
On a deep sigh, Sara said, "I guess you could say Ecklie's right. I can be self-destructive."
"Will knowing all of this help?" Mark asked.
Sara exhaled slowly before saying, "I think if I don't know everything, I'm never going to move forward. I may end up sliding back. I need to see the whole picture before I'll be able to let it go."
Mark took a drink of his coffee and watched Sara for several long minutes. She nervously tapped her finger on the table, knowing he was making a decision. Diverting her tapping hand, she lifted her cup, and took a sip, willing her tense shoulders to relax. She waited, though, praying for patience.
"Your mother answered the door," Mark said quietly. "As soon as we saw all the blood on her, we pushed our way in."
"I was hiding in my closet," Sara whispered.
Watching her eyes darken – nearly black, Mark grabbed onto Sara's hand.
"He's in my room," she whimpered.
Mark grasped her hand tight, seeing in those eyes the horror of a child. In a soothing voice, he said, "Yes, Sara. He was there. He died in that room."
He squeezed her hand – hard – when he said, "Over twenty years ago he was in your room. Sara, he's not in your room anymore."
Sara lifted her eyes to his, searched, recognized, and watched the dark closet in which she sat transform back into the coffee shop.
"Yes, it was over twenty years ago," she said.
Tears welled in her eyes, she sniffed, and heaved out a breath.
"And some days – in flashes like that – it was last night."
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VEGAS
"Would you like an ice cream, dear?" Gil asked, hoping to divert her from the memory if only for a moment.
He grinned when he laughed, "I hear the ice cream truck!"
Laughing, Sara grabbed Gil by the hand and raced with him toward the tinkling music. They ran across the park, giggling like kids.
The playground was empty, so they sat on the swings, gently rocking and licking ice cream.
"My memories of that night have always been so fuzzy – it's hard to feel… complete… when so many pieces are missing," Sara explained.
Taking a lick of her ice cream, she continued, "Mark told me what he remembered – the clinical aspects of the crime scene. He described the spatter pattern on my pink wall and the knife in his chest. But what he remembered most was what I was wearing, what my mother was wearing, and that I wouldn't come out of the closet. He remembered trying to talk me out, but I wouldn't or couldn't move."
"I never really talked to the homicide detective," Sara said, "and to tell you the truth, he's not really a part of the flashes or my past. But the young cop – he has always been a vivid part of it."
Sara shook her head, "There's so much I still don't remember. My years of training and experience have helped me fill in some gaps, but not all."
Ice cream finished, Sara stood from the swing, grasped Gil's hand, and pulled him to her. For several minutes, she simply held – absorbed his heat.
He ran his hand through her hair, felt her shiver, and pulled her tighter and deeper into his embrace.
"Let's go home, honey," he suggested. "It's getting chilly."
Sara smiled up at Gil when she said, "And on the way, let me tell you about the copy of the case file Mark gave me."