Chapter 10: Greg's Dark Secret
Grissom owned a 3-story condominium in a nice quiet neighborhood in Summerlin. It was an eighteen minute drive from the crime lab and approximately 11.9 miles away from downtown Las Vegas. He figured the location was ideal since he had the best of both worlds - breathing space away from the bustle of the city and a short commute to work. He liked his home very much and can be seen in his straw hat doing yard work around the property on the weekends. He found the connection with nature to be relaxing and therapeutic for the soul.
He occupied the top floor and rented out the two lower apartments. Blessed with peaceful retired tenants who only migrated to Las Vegas during the comfortable months out of the year, Grissom had the place to himself most of the time. But there were no wild parties at Grissom's place. Quite on the contrary, he rarely invited people over. The only one who's ever actually been to Grissom's residence was Sara.
Grissom was occupied with setting the dining room table for two when a short rap on the door caught his attention. Hank, Grissom's canine companion, sprung up from his space in the corner of the room and jogged eagerly to the door to receive the visitor.
"It's open!" Grissom called across the room as he unloaded a hand full of utensils and napkins onto the table.
The knob turned and the door swung open.
"Do you always leave your door unlocked like this?" Greg said in disapproval as he appeared in the doorway. "With all the crime these days…"
"Hey Greg. Come in." Grissom greeted. "Relax, I knew it was you. I can see you on my surveillance monitor." He reminded.
As Greg took a few steps into the room, Hank flew into a frenzy of excitement. Without any warning, the tail waging, large, tri-colored brawny-necked boxer pounced onto Greg nearly knocking him over backwards. Hank had his two front paws on Greg's chest. Standing tall on its hind legs, Hank's wet leathery nose almost touched Greg's chin.
"Hank!! Down boy. Down. Heel!" Grissom shouted. He hurried over and pulled Hank off by the collar. A tongue dangling, drool dripping Hank flung himself off of Greg and stood obediently next to Grissom's feet.
Greg smoothed out his creased shirt and pretended like that didn't just scare the living daylights out of him. It was hard to disguise because his hands started trembling again. His frayed nerves always got the upper hand and the quakes became somewhat of a routine. As much as he tried to hide everything, the anxiety rendered Greg an extremely terrified and jumpy individual. Through his actions, his friends were well aware of it.
"Sorry about that." Grissom said. "Hank's just enthusiastic. We don't get company often."
"It's ok." Greg said timidly.
Grissom bent down towards Hank. "That is not how we treat guests." He scolded the dog humorously. Hank only cocked his head to one side, oblivious to what his master was saying.
Greg laughed wholeheartedly. It was a nice change to see Grissom so at ease and appear so – well, human – when he was out of the office. No one would ever figure Grissom to be the dog-talking type. Perhaps weekends had a way of transforming him into a completely different person.
Greg gave Hank a generous and forgiving rub on the top of the head before walking into Grissom's digs.
The front door opened into the living room. Grissom's home had somewhat of an old-fashioned antique feel to it. There was lot of mahogany and Georgian influences in the décor. Though not surprised, Greg was rather impressed by Grissom's taste in antiquity. He had expected Grissom's place to be filled to the ceiling with old books and papers – much like his office. But quite on the contrary, his home life was very organized and structured. There was a place for almost everything.
"Nice place you got here, Grissom." Greg said as he walked into the living room. His eyes couldn't help but wander around.
It was a medium size room with tall three windows facing the east. Each window was adorned with curtains and Venetian blinds. A Bordeaux-colored sofa set stood facing a wall unit containing a television and a DVD player. There was a large area rug on top of the wooden floorboards. A few magazines were tastefully strewn on an elegant coffee table. Off to the side of the room was a writing desk complete with multiple drawers and slots for papers. A laptop computer on the desk flashed a screen saver consisting of pictures of Hank.
Greg expected the place to reek of old books and moth balls but quite the opposite, there were no traces of staleness. However, there was an altogether familiar smell that circulated the room. It was a most unusual, yet highly recognizable scent. It was the soft aroma of cooked meat and cabbage. Greg knew that smell anywhere. Suddenly, his heart pounded with excitement.
"Uh, what's that smell?" Greg said while curiously sniffing the air.
"I'm surprised you couldn't tell. You of all people." Grissom said with a laugh. "It's mutton stew."
"No way!" Greg said.
"Your mother emailed me the recipe and I thought I'd give it a try." Grissom said. He went back to setting the table.
"So basically, I'm the guinea pig." Greg chortled. He took a seat on the sofa. Hank followed him inquisitively.
"I promised your mother I would do my best to look after you." Grissom called from the dining room. "So, here is my attempt at a meal. I used to be a pretty decent cook in my day. She tells me mutton stew is your favorite."
Greg found it rather awkward to have Grissom speak to him in such a jovial way. He was used to the stern, unmovable, all-work-and-no-play Grissom that he knew at the office. Something big must've influenced Grissom to turn over a new leaf. Greg guessed it was brought on as a result of the recent unfortunate chain of events.
He wasn't used to such treatment from anyone – especially not Grissom. He looked up to Grissom tremendously and applauded his intelligence. Aside from a few group gatherings, Greg never really hung out with Grissom before. This one-on-one leisure thing was very new to Greg. Though, he really wasn't sure how to act. He wondered if he should be his old quirky self.
Nonetheless, he was flattered that Grissom choose to sacrifice part of the weekend to invite him over for lunch. Greg realized that there could've been other things that Grissom could be doing instead of hosting lunch. He did find it slightly odd that Grissom only invited him. There had to be a reason.
"You know, you've become quite chummy with my mom, lately." Greg said.
"We keep in touch." Grissom said. "I really like email."
"Welcome to the 21st century." Greg congratulated in humor. "It took you a little while to catch on, but see, it's not so bad."
Hank's rubbery and damp black nose shook as he sniffed Greg's shoes and pant leg. When he finally decided that Greg neither posed a threat to him nor his owner, Hank jumped onto the sofa and made himself comfortable next to Greg. Hank lowered his head and placed his chin on Greg's lap.
"See, Hank likes you." Grissom said.
"Hank's a good dog." Greg replied and stroked the dog's neck.
"Well, most of the time. He could be very mischievous." Grissom chuckled.
A small sound emanated from the computer caught Grissom's attention. He went over and typed in something before closing the screen.
"Oh, excuse me. I had to reply to that. It was your mom. She just messaged me." Grissom explained. He went into the kitchen.
"You mean as in instant messaging?" Greg said in an astonished tone.
"Yes." Grissom said.
"She didn't tell me you guys were IM-ing." Greg suddenly felt left out.
"It's quicker than email." Grissom said.
Greg didn't know whether to laugh or be proud of Grissom finally being up to speed on the world of technology. He was still a bit stunned at the fact that his mother and Grissom were so amicable towards each other. It was established earlier as a strictly platonic relationship. And Greg believed it for the most part. He couldn't pick his mother's friends. It wasn't in his place to do that. If she wished to befriend Grissom, she had every right in doing so. In Greg's heart, he was glad it was Grissom.
"Food's on. I hope you're hungry. Your mother is worried that you're too thin and not eating enough." Grissom said. He brought over the pot containing the stew using two strawberry-colored pot holders and set it on a round coaster made of cork.
"My mom always says that. It's her motto." Greg got up and made his way to the table. He watched Grissom spoon helpings onto soup bowls with a ladle.
Hank paced vibrantly with animation between Grissom and Greg in hopes of scoring a few morsels of meat. He whimpered and panted excitedly. His pleading dark brown eyes looked up at Grissom.
"Be patient. You'll get yours, Hank." Grissom said.
Greg took a seat at the table. His eyes wandered around the room.
"What, Greg? You look like you have something to ask."
"I was just wondering…where do you keep the bugs?" Greg asked. "You have a big collection in your office. I was thinking your house must be full of that stuff."
"Not what you expected to see, huh?" Grissom spooned a few scoops of stew into Hank's bowl.
"Not many people have seen your place." Greg said. "They only know what they see in the office."
"I like to be thought of as an average guy with outlets. I'm not all about work." Grissom set Hank's bowl down.
Somehow, Greg found that last statement ironic. As far as Greg could remember, Grissom was always about work. Grissom was a workaholic. He was the first one to arrive and the last one to leave at the end of the shift. There were nights where he lingered in the office until morning. Perhaps Grissom finally found a reason to loosen up.
"The bugs are in the library." Grissom said. "I'll show you later if you like. But for now, dig in." He invited.
Like a true connoisseur, Greg took his time with his first taste. He squished a spoonful of stew around his mouth to experience the full effect of the flavors. He chewed slowly and swallowed while allowing his taste buds to savor each ingredient and spice to the fullest. Grissom watched carefully for Greg's verdict.
"It's good!" Greg finally flashed a smile. He relieved Grissom of the suspense. "You know, I'm really impressed. It tastes pretty good."
"Well, Ingrid is a great teacher." Grissom said humbly. He picked up his utensils and started eating.
Greg did not hold back in devouring his food. A real meal was hard to come by and he took it readily. His hunger showed and Grissom was pleased to see Greg with such a healthy appetite. Greg dabbled at ease touching on array of subjects – including his favorite, numismatics. He tried to steer away from work-related areas but it was hard to avoid sometimes.
Hank finished his portion of stew and was now licking his chops in satisfaction. He left his empty dog bowl and crawled under the table. Hank lay sprawled in a lazy manner leaning on top of Greg's shoes. The sixty-five pound boxer didn't think Greg would mind.
"Uh, I think Hank approves of your cooking." Greg said as he took a glimpse of Hank's empty bowl. "He's found a comfortable place to digest. He's lying on my feet."
Grissom lifted the table cloth and found Hank playing with Greg's shoe laces. Hank gave his owner an innocent stare.
After generously soaking up stew sauce with a slice of Italian bread, Greg sunk his teeth into it and chewed feverishly. Greg marveled at the very thought of how envious Hodges would be if he should ever find out about this get-together. He had the bragging rights and the idea did tickle his brain but he decided to be humble about it.
Once the food was depleted, Greg leaned back with a satisfied sigh. He praised and thanked Grissom for the fabulous meal once again. Grissom, in turn, modestly thanked Greg for being able to join him for this little lunch.
Greg diverted his attention to a remarkably beautiful mahogany round game table with a leather top and golden-inlay, which was placed near the exit to the veranda. Brass lions clenching rings in its mouth served as drawer pulls. About twenty-four inches in diameter, the table stood on a single stilt, which separated into four small legs at the bottom. Two equally elegant matching chairs stood facing each other proudly like refined old ladies. On the table was a black and tan marble chess set with a black chess board.
"You once said you were the captain of your high school chess team." Grissom said when he noticed Greg looking at the chess set.
"Yea, we held the national title." Greg said reminiscing of old times. "Champions for four years in a row. It was like taking candy from a baby."
"Would you like to see if you still got it in you?" Grissom challenged. "Champ." He added in a near mocking tone.
"Do I still got it? That's an understatement." Greg joked boldly. "In fact, I'm on top of my game right now."
"Alright then. Let's see what you got, hot shot." Grissom got up and motioned for Greg to follow him to a game of chess.
"You are SO on." Greg huffed. He walked over to the table.
"Do you want dark or light?" Grissom asked.
"Light." Greg answered as he took a seat. "You know, we had a name for our team."
"What's that?"
"Greg's Gambits."
"Catchy." Grissom said amusingly and hospitably allowed Greg to make the first move.
Greg had lost some of his bouncy attitude and impish cheerfulness as a result of his recent misfortunes. He was no longer the optimistic, exuberant, highly energetic individual that everyone was used to. He tried very hard to resume his past status as a smart but nutty office clown but it just wasn't the same. Greg became withdrawn and passive like as if he didn't have a taste for being the chirpy one anymore. Getting shot took away more than just his peace of mind. It robbed him of his character.
Underneath the spiteful audacity, Greg was truly touched that Grissom cared. His own father wouldn't have cared half as much. While growing up, Greg never had many people to look up to. There was Superman, but that was kind of silly and didn't really count. He denied his loneliness and found ways to replace the need for friends and a father figure. Things changed when he joined the crime lab.
In the old lab days, Greg often hid the hurt under his eccentricity. There was no doubt in the minds of his colleagues that, although he had an unusual sense of humor, he proved to be extremely efficient in getting things done. But Greg always felt the need to impress. He wasn't aiming to move mountains. He just wanted to be liked.
Greg idolized Grissom and had immense respect for him and his work. For the first time in his life, he had a role model. He could never bring himself to admitting his sentiment to the one person who never gave up on him. If Grissom were to cast him aside now, he would probably never recover from the blow. Grissom was the closest thing to a father he will ever have.
"Greg, there's a specific reason why I invited you over." Grissom said midway through the game. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Sure." Greg looked quizzically at Grissom. Suddenly, his mind was no longer pondering the next strategic move. Greg figured it had to be something big if he couldn't tell whatever it was during working hours. The suspense left Greg's weak heart pounding so furiously that he could hear it in his ears.
"It's about what's going on with you at work." Grissom said. "You're going to have to talk about it sooner or later."
Greg turned his eyes away and focused at a rook piece on B4 on the chessboard. "I was hoping we wouldn't have to go into that."
"I know everything that goes on in my lab." Grissom said. "I hope you won't have any bitter feelings towards your friends. They did not betray you. They were only following orders."
Greg remained silent.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Grissom asked patiently.
"I wish I knew." Greg's voice cracked. He sounded truly distressed. "It – it's like I've become a different person after getting shot." He seemed to have something else to say but he hesitated.
"Look, I'm talking to you as a friend. Whatever we discuss stays within this room. You have my word." Grissom said. "The only one you gotta worry about is Hank. He's not good at keeping secrets." He added with a laugh to ease the tension.
Greg couldn't help but chuckle. He eyed Hank, who was now lying on the floor dozing off sporadically.
"Everyone's been telling me I should see Murphy. But I just can't. I can't sit there and tell a complete stranger my story. It's too weird." Greg said.
"Well then, talk to me Greg." Grissom offered.
Greg gave a short troubled sigh. He put his forefinger on a chess piece and traced the rim of the bishop's miter. He didn't know where to start or how far to take things.
"Why don't we put this game on hold for a little while?" Grissom suggested. "It's a beautiful day. Let's go out onto the veranda. Some fresh air will be good for both of us."
Greg got up and followed Grissom through the sliding doors that led out onto the veranda.
The desert sun was producing a warm and pleasant afternoon. There was a light breeze coming from the north. From the veranda, they had a fantastic airy view of the mountains. In the distance, they could see the shiny roofs of houses and a highway dotted with moving cars. The condominium was built on the top of a slope and overlooked the rest of the town. Greg could see why Grissom chose this prime piece of real estate.
Greg stood there with his hands tightly grasped on the floral wrought iron railing. He raised his face to meet the sun's warm rays. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. It felt really good and his lungs thanked him.
"Ever feel like things are so bad that you don't want to deal with them anymore? You know, how easy it'd be to put an end to everything?" Greg's voice was calm and steady. Still with eyes closed, he hoped Grissom would understand his deepest, darkest thought and be cool about it.
"How do you mean?" Grissom said carefully. He was surprised by Greg's sudden raw choice of words. Greg did a great job at concealing his feelings. He seemed more or less fine one minute and when brought to that dark place, he became someone else.
"It's not a crime to want the pain and torment to stop." Greg opened his eyes. Grissom could've sworn he saw tears brewing in Greg's hazel eyes.
"You have every right to feel displaced." Grissom said gently.
"This is a nice view." Greg sucked the tears back in and changed the subject. "You like high places. Yea, well me too. You can almost see the strip from here." He turned his head to the left and squinted into the distance.
"Greg, where are we going with this conversation?" Grissom asked.
"It's complicated." Greg sighed after a pause.
"What is?" Grissom pressed.
"My life." Greg answered with a laugh. "Do you really want to hear me bitch about my problems?"
"Well, whatever I can do to help." Grissom said.
"Look, I'm sorry about what happened at the correctional facility. I really don't know what came over me. When I saw him, I just froze and my mind played back all the details." Greg said. "I get these images floating in my head."
"What are in these images?" Grissom said.
"Getting shot." Greg said. "It plays over and over like some sort of sick movie." He paused. "The man in the hooded sweatshirt, the gun pointed at me, the flicker of light from the barrel as he pulls the trigger, the bullet hitting me in the chest, then me falling to the ground."
Grissom noticed Greg involuntarily rub the old wound on his chest.
"What triggers these images?" Grissom asked.
"I don't know. But when it happens, I get all tensed up and my ability to move and speak goes out the window." Greg looked down and spotted a speckled cat running across the street. "Something tells me that I'm going crazy."
"It sure feels like it, but you're not going crazy. You've been traumatized." Grissom said.
"I can't stop shaking." Greg admitted. "Most of the time, it's my hands. When it gets really bad, it's my whole body. And you know what the worst part is? The fear. I don't know how to get over the fear."
"I understand." Grissom said.
"No, I don't think you do." Greg replied sincerely. "You don't know what it's like to be in constant fear all the time – thinkin' that someone out there could've killed you. People keep telling me that the bad guy's put away and I have nothing to worry about so I should just forget about it and go on with life as if it never happened. It's not as simple as that. He may be locked up but he lives inside my head."
"You're right, maybe I don't completely understand." Grissom decided. "But I would really like to." He added.
"Sometimes," Greg began but hesitated before continuing. "Sometimes, I feel like the fear is eating me alive. I question my sanity all the time. I'm afraid that one day, I won't be able to handle it anymore and I'll – I'll lose it."
"You won't. I won't let that happen." Grissom said.
"The pills help a little." Greg said. "But it'll go only so far. I – I'm tired of being scared. I just want it all to go away. I would like to convince myself that things will go back to the way it used to be, but then I'd only be lying to myself. Nothing's gonna be the same."
Greg sighed deeply and watched a triangular formation of honking wild geese fly overhead. "Everyone in the office expects me to be as this chipper, upbeat, smart aleck CSI rookie who always has a joke up his sleeve. I don't think I can be that person anymore. A lot has changed. I have a lot going on in my head."
A short pause.
"When I get into my dark place, it's really hard to find a way out. I feel everything - the emotions, the pain, everything comes out at the same time. It is very bad. I have no sense of what's real when that happens. All I want at that moment is relief." Greg spoke. Grissom detected a sense of desperateness in Greg's voice.
"Greg, are you having suicidal thoughts?" Grissom finally asked his question. Perhaps the seriousness in Grissom's voice scared Greg.
"I'm not saying I would actually do it, but sometimes, it seems like a solution." Greg muttered.
A chill ran down Grissom's spine as the words echoed in his head. He knew Greg had post traumatic issues but he had no idea it was this deep. His heart pounded madly but he managed to keep his cool appearance. The emptiness in Greg's tone made him increasingly concerned. It was out of Greg's character to be saying such things. On the other hand, he was glad that Greg was reaching out to him before he made any foolish mistakes.
"It's the hopelessness in me speaking." Greg said.
"Do you have these thoughts a lot?" Grissom pried.
"No." Greg answered. "It pops into my head when things get bad. It's a desperate measure – an easy way out, I guess."
"Suicide is hardly the solution to anything." Grissom said.
"Probably not." Greg muttered. "Grissom, please don't think of me as some psycho freak." He rushed. "I don't easily admit my problems to anyone – not even to mom. You're the only person I've ever talked to about this. If this should ever get out, what would people think?!"
"Calm down, Greg. It's ok. This conversation is confidential." Grissom interrupted. "I'm glad we're having this talk."
Greg was stunned to see how incredibly mellow Grissom appeared. This made it that much easier for Greg to open up. He never realized how much he needed to talk until now. Keeping these sorts of things to himself was like sharpening a knife. He was thankful for Grissom's persistence.
"I know I'm messed up but I'm not a psychotic nut job." Greg said.
"I didn't say you were." Grissom said. "Suicide is a pretty serious subject." He wondered how far Greg would go if he was pushed to it.
"Just because I have a few occasional thoughts about suicide, it doesn't mean that I would do it." Greg said hoping to sound convincing enough. He looked at Grissom, who was reading into his eyes. "I – I'm not just saying all this to get attention." Greg stammered.
"No, I don't think you are. And I believe every word you say." Grissom said. He softened up. "You took a big step today, Greg, by telling me what's going on. Getting all this out into the open was very difficult for you. I'm proud of you for doing that. This is definitely a start."
The words comforted Greg and made him feel better. He was glad Grissom was receptive to what he had to say.
"Whenever you have these bad thoughts, I want you to talk to me. Doesn't matter what time of the day it is. If you need to talk – about anything. You have my number. Call me." Grissom instructed. "Ok?"
Glassy eyed, Greg looked at Grissom. He was touched by Grissom's kindness. "I don't wanna inconvenience you though." Greg said softly.
"How could you think it to be an inconvenience? I'm here for my team. I'm here for you." Grissom said. "You're gonna be ok." He put a hand on Greg's shoulder.
Greg managed a short smile.
"Ok, how about we finish that chess game? Come on, I'm not going to let you off that easy. Champ." Grissom joked wholeheartedly as he motioned for Greg to follow him inside.
"Grissom?" Greg called from behind.
Grissom turned around to find Greg's bony frame standing a few feet away.
"Just thanks." Greg said with his fists in his pants pockets.
Grissom smiled and they stepped through the sliding doors.
Grissom had a way of always appearing cool and composed in all situations. He believed that for every problem, there was a plausible solution. His work taught him to trust his instincts and go with gut feelings. At this moment, his gut was full of mixed emotions, which revolved around what should be done about the youngest member of his team. He couldn't possibly follow Greg around all the time to make sure he didn't do something regretful. Greg contemplating suicide was an extreme that Grissom was not prepared for.
Greg had become exceedingly frightened and nervous. Trust seemed to be a big issue with Greg these days and Grissom saw this clearly. Grissom felt Greg did in fact trust him, otherwise he would not have told him anything at all. For this, he felt relieved.
One thing was for sure, Grissom was not going to sit by and watch Greg self-destruct. Grissom needed to keep a watchful eye on him. He cared too much to let Greg slip through his fingers…again.
End of Chapter 10
Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! Amidst all the seriousness and drama, I thought it'd be fun to give Hank a brief moment in the spotlight. Don't forget to sign a review!