He waited a minute, and soon a familiar sound filled the speakers. Static. "Listen again..." he thought as he remembered his dream. He then replayed the message, closed his eyes, and focused all of his attention on the message. Trying to catch anything around the static, he was determined to do. He could hear something; or someone, rather. He couldn't distinguish any words in particular, but there was someone talking, that was for sure. He replayed the message yet again, and tried to tell what was being said, then he heard one word that made his heart flutter. "...Gil..." It was definitely Sara's voice that every so gently said his name and caused him to sit up straight in his bed. Eyes wide open, ears focusing on every part of the message, head pounding. Listening intently to the message, the next phrase he was not able to fully understand, yet the one after that gave him chills. "... help. Well. Hurt..." Either he was still dreaming, or something was wrong. It was like de ja vu. Though despite this shock to him, he was still set on deciphering the rest of the message. More static filled his ears as well as more words he could not understand. "... I need..." "... love..." those were the only other three words that Grissom could understand within the recording. Quickly closing his phone, he retrieved a notepad and pen from the drawer in the nightstand and wrote down the words that he had just listened to. He reticed them as he wrote,

"Gil. Help well hurt. I need. Love." he read it over and over again as his mind raced, Is something wrong? "help well hurt," what does that even mean? What am I supposed to do now? Stopping his thoughts, he realized that he needed to calm down in order to think properly, or even to reason with himself. There was a lot of static, and I might be misinterpreting whatever it is she said. And I might have missed some key parts of it with those words I couldn't understand. Thinking more optimistically, Grissom soon began to slowly calm down a little at a time. But there was two things that he knew for sure. He was either freaking out over nothing, or trying to convince himself that everything was okay, when in reality, it wasn't. Looking at the alarm clock to the left of him, it read a bright red 11:49 AM; almost noon. He slept in a bit late. I can always just call her and check up on her. he thought to himself. Taking a few minutes to compose himself he dialed her number and waited.
He then found himself smiling as he listened to, not the normal ringing noise that usually accompanies one during the wait of a call, but a song on the other end play. He never knew why, but Sara always had the undying need to have music play when he called as well as special ring tones for the different people she knew. He remembered asking her about what if someone from work would call her and hear that, how unprofessional it would seem. But she would always reassure him with a smile, "I made it special, so only you can hear it." Grissom never really knew how she did it, but she did. When he called from any other phone besides his cell phone, he would only hear the typical ringing, but on his cell, he heard a song. He didn't know the name of it, but he would always catch Sara walking around the house singing it. She would call it "their song", which he never fully understood as to why it was "their" song, even to this day. Interrupting the memory came her voice, but much to Grissom's chagrin, it was only the recording. He then decided to leave a message of his own.

"Hey Sara. I--um, just called to check up on you. Uh, just to see how you're doing. Please call me back when you get this... please. I love you."
Hanging up, he placed his phone down, and headed to his closet in search for clothes for his day. With his migraine still with him, work that night was going to be very, very long. Though in the back of his head, he still held the feeling that something was wrong.


She was walking along a busy road on a sidewalk of a small part of town. Passing the various little shops and restaurants that took up most of the space on either side of her. People were walking in and out of the doors of the shops and boutiques; bags in hand. Sitting down on a bench, she watched the people as they passed. Some of them with smiles on their face, laughing. Others looked plain-faced, like they had either had a bad day at work, or they were just tired. She looked to the sky and at the birds flying above her; it was clear out today, only a cloud or two floating above. It was also warm with a slight breeze, which relieved her when she felt it. Everything was calm, unphased, like nothing had happened. No matter what would happen today, the world would keep on spinning and other people would keep on living. She placed her hands on the bench at each side of her and felt it's rough, bumpy texture. The wooden bench was covered with a beige colored paint, which was slowly chipping away. She could smell the recent cooking of fast food which eminated from a young girl skipping along with her mother, presumably. She had a small box of french fries in her hand as she told her mother about something which had to do with school the day before, she guessed. She listened to the soft hum of the cars as they passed. There was no beeping or screeching of tires or any obnoxious noises of the sort. It was all very, peaceful. An old woman soon found her way to the bench and sat beside her, she was looking around as if trying to find someone. Meeting a friend, maybe.

"So this is what it's like to be dead." Sara said to the woman while looking back up to the sky at an airplane slowly making it's way across and out of her view. The woman then waved to a young man approaching, her son possibly, and left her seat on the bench. Everything was so peaceful.
Maybe this is what it's like to be dead. Sounds become sharper, and world becomes more clear. But what if she just had been moving to fast to be able to stop and take a deep breath away from everything. Maybe that's what she had needed to do instead of runaway from her life. She was moving at warp speed and needed to slow down. I could have definitely tried doing that before, she thought to herself. Not that it really mattered anymore. When Sara had left the airport, she ran. Into a car, actually. Or, it had run into her at least. But it didn't stop, it just kept on going. Like it was before. It didn't matter, she was dead after all. Wasn't she? That's where she became confused, she could hear things and see things, and even smell and feel things. Which was not exactly what she was expecting. Well, she wasn't expecting anything really. Dying wasn't exactly on her list of things to do that day. Aren't ghosts supposed to be floating and see-through? she thought to herself. Looking down at herself (solid and non-floating) sitting on the bench she erased that thought from her mind. "Nope, definitely not." But she could feel things. That's what confused her the most. When she was nailed by the car, she felt it. There was no pain, which freaked her out a little, but still, she had felt it.
Which could not be easily said for the truck, or it's driver. She felt her side where she had been hit, and felt no bumps, bruises, or breaks. Even her clothes seemed to be in perfectly fine condition. They appeared as they did when she had put them on earlier, or the day before, or maybe it could've been two days before for all she knew. "Not that it matters." she gloomily told herself. But-- how long had she been dead, was the next thought intruding her mind. But quickly blocking out that question she had to ask another, more important one. Had they even found her body?
Did they even know that she was dead?! Sara then picked herself up and began the walk back to her mother's house. She needed to get out of her own little world and needed to know what was going on in the rest of the world.