A/N: See I'm getting better at updating in a timely fashion, aren't I? I hope you like this one, it's pretty dark. Fear not, though, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I hope you all enjoy it, and thanks for reading. – Solomynne
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I live only to see you live to regret, everything that you've done.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Grissom knew better than to ask her what had happened in the bathroom.
He didn't know much when it came to Sara, he would be the first person to admit to that, but he at least knew that when it came to opening up about things, she would do it when she was ready; and not a moment sooner. And if that moment never came, so be it then. He would still be right there.
It was that quality of stoicism and independence that so attracted Grissom to her. That being said, it was also what frustrated him the most about her. He liked that despite the on-going battle with her demons, she was still able to carry herself so gracefully; she was still so strong. What he didn't like was that her stoicism often translated into hard-headedness, and that it made it hard for her to let people in; specifically him.
Especially him.
He sat in the hushed silence of the car, waiting for her to change so they could head to the Bellagio. The cars in the street rushed past him in muted fury. He spotted Sara jogging towards him, hair flying behind her. He turned on the car, watching as she approached, sliding into the seat next to him. "Did you call Brass?" she asked, reaching behind her head to grab her seat belt.
"No," he answered as he pulled out of the lot.
"No?" Her eyebrows rose as she quickly turned to look at him.
"Look, Sara, I respect that you won't tell me why we need to be at the Bellagio, or how you came upon this information. I'll go there on blind faith, simply because you say so.
Brass on the other hand, will not. "
She was quiet, looking out her window, tight lipped and rigid.
"Don't be angry," he said, taking her hand. Her fingers felt so good in his. "Just understand that I don't want to take this to Brass until we have the evidence we need to back it up. Otherwise he'll just see it as a waste of time."
She nodded, turning and giving him a tired smile. Still, it was a smile, and that would do for now. They pulled up at the Bellagio, Grissom miraculously finding a parking space along the street out front. He cut the engine and turned to the brunette beside him. "Now what?"
She looked at him a little uncertainly, the chatter of people walking by filtering into the car. It was clear that up to the point of getting to the Bellagio, she had no real plan; though she was trying her best to make it seem as though she knew what she was doing; and he loved her even more for it.
The talking outside the car turned quickly from the constant chatter of people walking the streets to something louder, something specific. A face lowered itself into view through the passenger window, just beside Sara's head. It was Nathaniel Wilson.
Grissom froze as Nathaniel tapped on the window with a slender finger, "How about a sketch of your girlfriend?" He asked through the glass.
Sara went rigid, her dark eyes widening. Her skin went pale as her eyes slid slowly towards the sound of the voice, her head turning until she was face to face with Nathaniel, only a thin pane of glass separating their faces.
Grissom expected her to shrink away, but she didn't. Instead, her face went blank, showing no signs of recognition. She reached to open the door, Nathaniel backing onto the sidewalk so she could step out. Grissom quickly got out also, walking around the car to stand beside her.
Nathaniel was taller than Sara had imagined, and lanky. His long hair had grown halfway down his back, pulled into a low ponytail. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, a clean one, and half-moon spectacles. Grissom understood why Dana Wilson had said that no one would believe him to be a killer; he looked harmless, like a retired hippy, artsy type.
Sara though could see something in Nathaniel that Grissom could not, a certain glint in his eyes that hinted at something dangerous, and unpredictable. She recognized that look, knew it like she knew her own name; she had lived by that look.
Nathaniel's eyes darted from one to the other, "So we got a deal, or what?"
"Yes," Sara answered calmly. "How much?"
"Twenty dollars," he replied, gesturing towards a fountain where she could sit. "Why don't you take a seat here, a pretty background for a pretty woman." Sara sat where he instructed, trying not to visibly shudder. Grissom stood behind Nathaniel, watching like a hawk, and at the same time texting Brass for back-up.
Nathaniel took out a sketch pad and some charcoal, the lines on his forehead crinkling as he mapped out her face with a professional eye. He paused for a moment. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.
Sara's heart stopped. "No."
"Hm," he mused, "I just have this feeling I've seen you before." Luckily he left the conversation at that, resuming his outline of her delicate jaw.
Grissom shifted impatiently from foot to foot, praying that one of Brass's canvassers were nearby. He was watching from over Nathaniel's shoulder, and from the rate that Nathaniel was drawing, he'd be done in minutes.
"Are you from here?" Sara asked him.
Good girl, Grissom thought, keep him busy.
"No, I'm not;" he answered, "just in town on business."
"You mean drawing?" Grissom asked, gesturing to the sketch.
"What this? Oh, no, I came here for something much more important. Had to tie up some loose ends."
"Loose ends?" Sara asked through a frozen smile.
"You know those things that you always mean to do, but just never find the time to get around to?" he asked, gesturing with his charcoal pencil. His mouth slowly stretched into an awful smile, a smile that never reached his eyes. "Well I finally found the time."
"And how did that turn out for you?" Sara asked, the smile on her own face fading at the edges.
He stopped for a moment, looking up at her from behind his glasses. "It was incredible."
Grissom looked at Sara's face then, and saw a flash of raw hatred skip across her features, before her face dissolved back into placidity. She really was quite the actress, and he saw in an instant how many times she must have done the same thing to him; conceal her emotions with a simple soft smile.
Before Sara had any chance to buy them more time, Nathaniel was finished and handing Sara the very impressive sketch he had done of her. Sara reached into her pocket for some money but Nathaniel just pressed the paper into her hands. "Here, take it. Consider it a gift."
"Oh, I couldn't do that," she answered quickly, taking out a crumpled bill. Her brain raced for any reason to get him to stay, anything so he would stick around long enough for the police to get there. As she brainstormed, digging in her pockets, she felt a strong hand on her wrist and she looked up to see Nathaniel Wilson's face just inches from hers.
"I said it's a gift," he said, squeezing her wrist so tightly she almost cried out, his breath hot on her face. He must have been surprised that he didn't get a squeal out of her, nor anything except a hardened look in her eyes. But then he didn't know he was dealing with a veteran; someone who was used to putting up with bullies. She knew what he wanted and she wasn't going to give it to him.
He released her and took a step back, looking unsatisfied, turning on his heel and walking away without a word.
Grissom walked over to her. "What the hell was that?"
She looked at him darkly. "I don't know. But we can't lose him, not when we're so close." She folded the picture and put it in her pocket, heading in the direction Nathaniel went.
"Sara!" Grissom quickened his pace to match hers, "We can't just follow him around all night! We're not even armed."
"Do you have a better idea?" she hissed, grabbing his hand and weaving past a couple who were walking painfully slow. "Let's just keep Brass updated on our location until he can get here!"
They were getting closer to Nathaniel, his height making him easy to spot in the crowd, the space between them just three people deep. They followed him for nearly ten minutes, dodging strollers and street performers, until the group of tourists in front of them took a sharp left, leaving them completely open and visible to Nathaniel should he have decided to turn around. Which, of course, he did.
Sara noticed his shoelace trailing behind him at about the same moment Nathaniel himself noticed, and knowing what was about to happen, she reacted - fast. As soon as Nathaniel began to slow she pushed Grissom into the path of a tourist aiming his camera at his wife posed with a showgirl, a true Kodak moment. She gripped the sides of Grissom's jacket and pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his just as Nathaniel stooped to tie his shoe, glancing at them as he knelt on the sidewalk. Grissom was as stiff as a corpse for the first few seconds, but even though he didn't really know what was going on, he certainly warmed to the moment. He ran his fingers through her dark curls until he had a tight fistful, pressing her harder against him. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her hips flush up against him, making a delicious streak of fire fly up her spine.
"Hey, do you mind!" They pulled apart, dazed, as the irritated voice of the tourist with the camera (from Brooklyn, judging by the accent,) broke the moment. "If you wanted your picture taken you might have asked first, instead of just jumping into my shot. Now, if you'll be so kind?" He waved them aside with his hand.
Sara looked down the street and saw that Nathaniel had seen their display and bought it, continuing on his way. "How about we don't charge you for the show, and we call it even?" Sara smiled, pulling Grissom along behind her.
"That was quick thinking," Grissom commented as they fought to catch up.
"I try," she laughed, still high on their kiss. "Where the hell is Brass, anyway?"
"Not with his phone, I'd venture. I'll try calling dispatch."
"Grissom, wait, look he's turning!" Sara dashed across the street before they lost sight of him, splashing through puddles that reflected the neon street signs surrounding them, sending sparkles of light glittering behind her. Grissom chased along after her as he spoke with dispatch for back-up, following her several blocks to a seedy motel parking lot in a dank side street. Nathaniel's silhouette was the sole figure walking through the bleak night, the glowing ember of a cigarette marking his position like a homing beacon. He stopped, taking a last long drag on his smoke. He looked behind him as he inhaled, Grissom pulling Sara behind a sparse grove of trees growing along the edge of the lot.
The two CSIs stood motionless, pressed against each other in the silence. Grissom pulled Sara up against him so tightly he could feel her heartbeat in his own chest, and her belly pressing up against his abdomen with each breath. Nathaniel stamped out his cigarette and headed for a bar stationed next to the motel. It was a sad looking little place, a red neon sign glowing sinister in the night, calling the lonely and the lost. They waited until he entered the bar, the door swinging shut behind him, before they felt safe to speak again.
"What did dispatch say?" Sara asked in a hushed voice, reluctantly stepping out of Grissom's arms.
"Their ETA is about five more minutes. Until then we wait."
"You don't think we should check the motel?" Sara asked, looking at him. The harsh glow of the streetlamps stained their skin a ghostly orange. "Let's go see if he's registered so we can get a head start on a warrant."
"I doubt he'd have used his real name Sara, besides what if we go in and he decides to leave the bar?"
"Alright well then I'll go into the motel and you wait out here."
He exhaled, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'll go in and talk to the front desk and see if I can figure out what name he's registered under. You wait here – right here – for backup. I don't want any theatrics Sara, don't try and be a hero, don't approach Nathaniel."
"What do you take me for?" She hissed. "I know better than that."
"Alright then," he whispered. "Call me when the police get here. Stay as hidden as you can in these trees." He turned on his heel, then stopped, his face softening. "Be careful. Call me if anything goes wrong."
She nodded, flashing him a crooked smile. Sara watched him walk across the parking lot before turning her attention to the bar. She hadn't seen anyone come or go since Nathaniel had entered, and she was hoping it stayed that way until Brass finally managed to get there. Sara shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as she shifted impatiently from foot to foot. Her senses felt heightened somehow, she was extremely aware of every noise and movement around her. The trees above her rustled in the wind, their branches creaking mournfully. Cars drove past several streets over, the loud thrumming beat of rap music making her sternum rattle.
She felt rather than heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, each one sending a shock of panic zipping up her spine. She wheeled around to see Nathaniel Wilson standing several feet behind her, his arms crossed in amusement. "Are you waiting for something?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Her heart beat wildly against her ribcage, so loud it made it hard to think. "Yes," she said, in the calmest voice possible. "My boyfriend is just checking out the rooms here. We haven't found a place to stay yet."
"And you figured D street would be the best place for people like you?"
"D street?" She asked, blinking innocently. "Is that bad?"
"Oh, yes; it's quite dangerous around here," he answered, taking a step closer. She instinctually took a step back, stumbling over tree roots before regaining her balance. "You just never know what kind of person you might run into in this area. It's not safe for a beautiful woman like you."
"Well then, I should probably go and tell him to find someplace else," she turned to walk away, but felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder.
"Why are you following me?" he asked the back of her head.
"I told you I'm not!" she insisted through gritted teeth.
His hand slid lightening-fast from her shoulder to her throat, pulling her back and slamming her into one of the trees. His fingers were tight around her neck, allowing her just enough breath to stay conscious. She looked up at him with a burning hatred in her eyes, her hands tight on his wrists; but she didn't beg, and she didn't cry. She knew better than that. Her childhood may not have been picture perfect, but it had taught her how to survive.
"Are you a cop?" he hissed at her.
"No, I told you, I –"
"Shut up!" he shouted, shaking her so hard her teeth chattered. "Tell me the truth you bitch or I swear to God it will be the last thing you do."
She glared at him, and his grip on her throat tightened. Even as he looked down at her, if it weren't for the unbridled fury blazing behind his half-moon glasses, she would never have suspected him capable of doing what he was doing. She never would have believed him capable of doing what he did.
"Well," he growled. "who are you?"
She continued to look at him, her vision starting to swim from the lack of oxygen. Her body felt strange, like it was full of helium and light. He watched, hands still on her throat, as – instead of answering – she passed out. Her eyes glazed over, eyelids falling shut, and her body went limp. He caught her in his arms, leaning her up against the tree and releasing her throat.
"Shit," he whispered, obviously weighing his options. Before he had time to make a decision however, she started to speak.
"Daddy?" she muttered, her head still bowed, hair covering her face. Her voice was higher, different. He didn't answer, hoping she would come to so he could finish his interrogation.
"Daddy?" she asked again, her voice wavering. She sounded familiar, he couldn't make the connection, but he knew that what was happening disturbed him. She slowly began to lift her head, looking at him from behind the curtain of her hair. "Daddy, why did you do it?" She let her head fall back against the tree, her face now unobstructed.
He jumped back, his mouth opening in a stunned terror. Her eyes, which he had been so sure were brown, now glinted a brilliant green. He knew only one other person with green eyes like that, he'd watched the light go out of them himself. "Daddy," she whimpered, reaching for him, "don't you love me anymore?"
He staggered backwards from her, knocking into something behind him. He screamed, wheeling around and finding himself face to face with Brass, who he grabbed by the forearms. Brass pulled free of his grasp, "Whoa buddy, take it easy, we just met." He looked over his shoulder and waved to some fellow officers who stepped forward and took Nathaniel into custody.
He glanced over in the direction Wilson had been running from and saw Sara leaning against a tree. He jogged over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Sara are you okay?"
She looked at him dazedly, her brown eyes glinting with tears. "I'll be alright," she answered hoarsely.
"What happened?" he asked, lifting her chin to see her neck, raw and bruised.
"He snuck up on me, while I was waiting for Grissom. He started to choke me, and I guess I passed out."
"Alright, we're getting you to the hospital, where's Grissom?"
"No! No, I'm fine, really. Please, no hospitals," she begged.
"But Sara your neck –"
"Will heal," she finished. "And there's nothing any hospital can do to make that happen faster. Please, Brass. I want to carry the ball over the line, here."
He grunted, and she smiled. They heard a crunching noise and saw Grissom jogging towards them, his feet crushing the leaves on the ground. "Sara, I told you to call me when Brass got here!" he panted.
"Sorry Griss, I guess she was a little too busy being strangled to make any phone calls," Brass answered. Grissom's face slackened in disbelief, turning to Sara to see the purple bruises already appearing on her delicate throat. "Maybe next time you won't leave her standing alone on D Street," he chided, "and maybe you will leave the trailing of suspects to the police."
"Well maybe if it didn't take you a full forty-five minutes to get here, I wouldn't have had to." Grissom replied coldly as he walked over to Sara. He knew Brass was right, and he would later apologize for speaking to him in such a way, but at the moment he was so angry with himself he couldn't control his emotions. He tilted Sara's chin so he could see the damage to her neck. As soon as he recognized the finger marks ringing her throat, he had to look away. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her.
"It's not your fault," she whispered back. "Look, I'm alive; we don't need to worry about me right now. But there's a little boy out there somewhere that does need us, and we have to find him."
Grissom nodded at her, she was right. He looked for Brass, who had made his way back to the group of policemen. He could see Nathaniel sitting in the back of the cop car, looking white as a ghost. He put his hand on Sara's back and they walked towards the flashing lights of the police car, their faces being washed alternately blue and red. "Have you questioned him?" Sara asked, putting her hand on Brass's shoulder.
He turned, "Guy says he has no idea what we're talking about, surprise. Doesn't have any kids, never been married. I told him his ex wife identified him, but that didn't seem to phase him. I think he might be high or something, he keeps rambling about somebody's eyes. We'll probably have to wait until he sobers up before we get anything out of him."
Sara glanced towards the police car, making eye contact with Nathaniel. He shrank away from the window, yelling something. The cop standing guard next to the car called to Brass. "Detective? He wants to speak to Ms. Sidle."
Sara and Grissom exchanged looks of surprise. "You don't have to," Grissom whispered.
"I know," she whispered back, heading for the car.
The uniform had rolled down the window, allowing Nathaniel to speak. He did not look well. "How did you do it?" He asked as Sara approached, his voice shrill.
"Do what?" Sara asked.
"You were her!" he hissed.
"Who?" Sara questioned, thoroughly confused.
"See? I told you guys, he's a junkie, we're wasting our time," Brass interrupted.
"He seemed completely lucid before," Sara argued.
"What, when he was strangling you?" Brass remarked, eyebrows raised. Sara pursed her lips characteristically.
"No!" Nathaniel screamed, kicking the seat in front of him. All three investigators jumped in surprise. Nathaniel shimmied as close to the window as he could, his eyes wild. His hair had come loose from its ponytail, and Sara wondered how she could have ever thought this man at least had the appearance of innocence. "You were her," he whispered.
Sara looked into his eyes, knowing that something had changed within him. As to what it was, she had no idea. And she didn't really care. She turned away from Nathaniel, to Grissom. "Did you find out what room he's staying in?"
Grissom nodded, "He's under an alias, Reggie Black." Brass snorted at that, but Grissom continued. "The receptionist was able to make a positive ID from the description I gave. He said he didn't remember ever seeing a little boy, but he only works there three days a week."
"How fast can you get a warrant?" Sara asked, turning to Brass.
"You let me deal with that, right now this boy is the priority. Besides if we can talk this guy behind the counter into letting us in, we won't need one."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
It didn't take long to break the receptionist, Brass threatening to have the entire place searched for drugs. The young man handed them the keys to room 408, simultaneously sliding his backpack under the front desk and out of sight. Brass rolled his eyes at that, muttering, "Subtle," and walked away.
He handed Sara the keys and they made their way to the room, everyone stopping outside the worn looking red door. Sara took a deep breath, her palms started to get clammy. She felt a strange energy coming from all around her, the collective anticipation and dread of what might be behind this door. She could see light flickering out under the from under it, the cold, blue light of a television set. Sara put the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door.
There was a collective gasp as it swung open, everyone's eyes falling to the floor in the center of the room. The small body of a boy, perhaps six or seven, lay curled in the fetal position in front of a blaring television set; Ren and Stimpy bouncing around eerily in the background. He did not look alive.
His scrawny frame was swimming in a pair of overalls that were two sizes too big for him, his pale arms and chest bare beneath the denim. It was clear, even from the doorway, that his tiny limbs and face bore the evidence of abuse, several bruises in different stages of healing marking his flesh. Blood had dried in rust-colored clumps beneath his nose, and gathered around his neck. His eyelids, so thin and pale they were almost blue, were closed beneath a shock of brilliant red hair.
No one wanted to be the first to move, or speak. No one wanted to make the scene before them real; but of the three police officers, two crime scene techs, and one detective, it was Sara who stepped into the room and walked slowly towards the boy. As she got closer, she noticed the tiny toes peeking out from the cuffs of his jeans, and it took all her strength to keep it together. She bit her lip and knelt beside him; noticing the sticky peanut butter that was stuck to his tiny fingers, balled up into fists.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, all thoughts of evidence contamination pushed aside; she reached a hand out to him and placed it on his neck. His skin was cold; she felt no life in it. Grissom, watching her, knew that from that time forward, he would never be able to hear the silly sounds of a children's cartoon show without thinking of this moment; of innocence lost.
He watched Sara put her hand out to the child, and then her face became contorted with emotion. It didn't last long. She let her head fall, her hair covering her face, and when she looked up again her face was hardened. She put one hand under the crook of the child's knees, and the other around his back, picking him up and cradling him to her chest. Though it broke nearly every rule for the proper collection of a dead body, Sara simply looked at them all with an "I dare you" glint in her eyes, and walked past.
Nobody stopped her.
Nobody moved.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Thanks so much for reading, comments are love!
