July 14th, 2004 - - Las Vegas Police Department, Interrogation Room A/B
Dylan had been hunched over the table for forty minutes; his only movements the rhythmic shuddering of his shoulders as he sobbed into his hands.
But at the sound of the door opening, he lifted his head and blinked at the visitor through wide, tear-laden eyes.
"Well?" He sniffed.
"We found her. She's alive, sedated at Desert Palms hospital. We're still waiting for her to wake up."
Nick's response had been rushed, as if he felt like he had to give as much information as possible in order to reassure the man; as well as himself. But Dylan hadn't heard anything after 'alive'. A relieved sob stumbled out of him and he clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent any further cries from escaping.
"Thank you." He managed to whisper through his trembling fingers. "Can ... can I see her?"
Nick paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
"Maybe later, when she's stronger." He decided at last. "Anyway, I think there's someone else you ought to see first."
Dylan's reaction to the good news had been pretty much the same as his brother's. Emotional, tearful. Relieved. That much was to be expected. However, if Nick was anticipating a warm reunion between the brothers, he was going to be very disappointed.
Seth was still reeling from his elation at hearing that his sister was alive; but his expression quickly soured upon seeing Dylan. The older sibling's face, meanwhile, fell somewhere between shocked and shamefaced.
"Hey Seth," he greeted awkwardly. "Good news, huh?"
Seth's hands had balled into white-knuckled fists at his side and he narrowed his eyes sullenly in response to the comment.
"Good news?" He choked out, stalking across the small room. "She's unconscious, barely alive, all because you led them down some dead-end lie about dad's death?"
Everyone expected him to come to a stop in front of Dylan, but he kept on moving and landed a blow square on his brother's jaw. Dylan recoiled, stunned by the unprovoked assault.
"Whoa, whoa; time out." Nick gently pushed them apart, but his attempt to calm the situation was quickly dismissed by them both.
"Your arm's getting stronger." Dyl half-joked, rubbing the injured spot gingerly with his rough palm.
"Fuck off, Dylan." Seth spat. "Go back to whatever rock you crawled out from."
"Hey, I just want to see Sara." He held up his hands defensively. "I mean, she's going to need her big bro's to help her get through this, right?"
Seth scoffed bitterly, beginning to pace around the table. His golden hair was beginning to resemble Dylan's more and more with every stressed hand he dragged through it.
"She doesn't need you in her life. She's my sister; I'll take care of her."
"She's my sister, too." Dylan pointed out in a wounded voice.
"Yeah, for all the good it's done her over the years." Seth muttered. "She'd have been better off if you'd stayed lost the first time you ran away."
Dylan scowled, his pale cheeks starting to flame with anger.
"Hey, you have no fucking idea how much I went through for you two growing up!" He snarled, brandishing a finger. "I wanted to stay away; but I came back for you!"
"No one asked you to!"
Seth's embittered response was met with an unintelligible roar as Dyl launched at him and pinned the smaller man against the table. The sturdy furniture scraped across the floor, emitting a pained squeal.
"I took beatings for you, I defended you, I got my ass kicked every fucking night so you two didn't have to!" Dylan growled, repeatedly slamming his brother's back into the wood with each increasingly irate word.
"Yeah, well nice job you did there!" Seth retaliated, unfazed by the violent attack. "Have you already forgotten the nights Sara used to sneak into our beds because she was in so much pain that she couldn't sleep? Because I sure as hell haven't!"
Nick had been almost mesmerised by the evenly-matched scuffle, but the mention of his friend's name seemed to snap him back and he hurriedly lunged forwards to separate the warring boys.
"Alright, I think it's time to go." He managed to extract Dylan and practically threw him towards the door. "Seth, sit down!"
"Wait!" Dylan sniffled, wiping at his streaming nose with the stained cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Seth, I..."
"Just get lost, Dyl." Seth, having sunk miserably into the chair, answered before he could finish the thought. Though his demeanour still emanated waves of fury, his voice was low and sad. "Sara's alive. Isn't that enough for you?"
Dylan dropped his gaze, letting a lone tear creep down his cheek and drop over the bruised curve of his chin.
"Yeah," he cleared his throat hoarsely. "I guess it'll have to be."
July 14th, 2004 - - Desert Palms Hospital
"Raymond!" Brass clapped his hands together loudly, causing Ray to wince as a shot of pain coursed through his skull. "How are we feeling?"
"Ho mal di testa." The man declared grumpily, slinking further down his bed as if the thin blankets could protect him from the detective's harsh voice.
"Yeah, that's too bad?" Brass shrugged heartlessly. He didn't know what Raymond had said, but he could take a reasonable guess. "But hey, good news. The doctors fixed you up real good, so you can go to trial."
Raymond turned slowly to face his two visitors. His eyes were like slits, but whether it was because of anger or pain was anyone's guess.
Grissom still hadn't spoken, but he cocked his head to the side and examined the patient from a distance. He was less threatening than Gil had imagined; small and pale with a world-weary expression that mapped a lifetime of heartache and acrimony.
Then again, he was wearing a paper-thin hospital gown and Gil wasn't chained to a wall acting as a human ransom, so who was he to judge?
"Yeah, see, we know about your little scam." Brass continued with a dry chuckle, resting his hands on the bed rails. The intrusion to Ray's personal space earned the detective a petulant scowl, not that he noticed. "That was pretty clever, using Bobby's family business to hide the evidence. After all, it worked for Bobby Senior, right? Using a legitimate funeral business to launder his money and get rid of his enemies through legal funerals. I mean, if you think about it, it's genius."
"Genius." Raymond repeated, a husky chuckle dying in the midst of a violent coughing fit.
"Yeah. Except, this isn't New York; and it's not the 1970s. So what happened, Ray? The desert get full?"
There was a long pause while Raymond mulled over this like it was a complicated puzzle.
"For the sins of the father, the children shall pay the ultimate price." He decided at last.
"Huh." That had not been the answer Brass expected, but he rolled with it. "Or the grandchildren, in Sara's case, right?"
Grissom, who until now had been silently scrutinising their suspect from afar, stepped up to the bottom of the bed.
"You spent your whole life paying for your father's sins." He guessed, raising a solitary eyebrow in question. "He died before you were born, and your mother had to struggle to raise you alone. So, when you went to prison and found out what had really happened to him, you decided to get revenge."
Raymond appeared marginally more intrigued by the scientist than he had been by the police officer. His piercing eyes searched Grissom from head to toe before he decided on his reply.
"La vendetta è l'ultimo rifugio per l'uomo che non può lasciare andare il passato." He nodded slowly, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. "Revenge is the last refuge for the man who cannot let go of the past."
"That's very true." Grissom conceded. "But that's not going to help you in court. You're still a murderer."
"Murder?" Ray enquired, peculiarly composed despite the heinous accusation. "I understood it that the girl survived?"
"Oh, Sara's alive." Jim confirmed, his tone dropping an octave. "But I've been looking into some of your past acquaintances; and some of them are proving difficult to get hold of. Then again, I suppose it's hard to answer the phone when you're buried in a graveyard in the desert."
"No bodies, no murder." Raymond pointed out, a hint of smugness beginning to creep through the weak and injured facade he was so brazenly putting across.
"Usually." Brass pursed his lips, leaning so close that Ray could practically feel each word cutting through his skin. "But don't worry, because we're going to dig up every grave in Las Vegas if we have to; and then you're going to spend the rest of your life in a small, cramped box."
To their surprise, Raymond laughed; throwing his head back into the mound of pillows propping him up.
"È uno spreco di tempo. I've played this game before. You can't tie me to any murder."
"Maybe you're right." Grissom shrugged, his persistent calmness beginning to unsettle the gangster. "But it doesn't matter. We've still got you for kidnapping and attempted murder. That's enough to get you a life sentence without parole in Nevada."
For the first time, Raymond seemed worried by the prospect that he might be returning to a cell; but he hid it behind a coy grin.
"Well, gentlemen." He crooned, starting to stretch and suddenly thinking better of it when arrows of pain began darting down his arm from his shattered shoulder. "This has been fun, but if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest now. Being shot is not all it's cracked up to be, you know."
"No." Jim agreed idly, trailing behind the CSI towards the door. "Neither is getting your throat cut."
Outside, they closed the door with an unnecessarily loud slam and turned to sigh at each other. They had been friends long enough that neither really needed to say a word; but Brass voiced his dissatisfaction anyway.
"Well, that was helpful."
"It was a long shot." Grissom shrugged. "You didn't really expect him to tell you where he'd buried all his victims right off the bat, did you?"
"No, but it would have been nice." Brass chuckled, shaking his head.
"We've got all the evidence we need to put him away for what he did to Sara." Gil continued. "That's all I really care about right now."
Brass turned to glance down the corridor the mention of the brunette's name.
"Is Catherine still standing guard?" He enquired, jerking his head in the direction of the ICU.
"No, Greg's with Sara." Grissom corrected. "Cath said she had something she needed to do."
Brass nodded, a contemplative look crossing his face. A small smile twitched at Gil's lips, as he realised what was coming next.
"Maybe I'll pop my head in and see how she's doing, just for a minute." Jim said, right on cue. "I'll meet you at the car?"
Grissom was already moving towards the exit, rolling his eyes knowingly.
"I'll get a cab."
He turned at the end of the ward and the two shared a familiar smile.
As soon as Jim set eyes on Sara's fragile, wounded body, he wouldn't be able to drag himself from her side.
July 14th, 2004 - -Sara Sidle's apartment
There was a knock at the door, but she was so submerged in her actions that she never noticed until the vacuum cleaner whirred to a slow stop and she glanced up to find a tall figure dangling the plug in the air.
"Hey." Warrick greeted hoarsely.
"Oh, hi." She breathed, relieved to realise who the intruder was. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you that." He pointed out, gesturing to the apartment. She mimicked his actions, frowning at the apparent absurdity of the question.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning."
"Why?"
"Because." She shrugged, beginning to wind the vacuum cleaner cable back up. "Because I want her to feel comfortable when she comes home." Warrick strode across the room and stopped her, his large hands blanketing her own.
"Cath," he chastised softly. "You know that she might not be coming back here for a while, right?"
Catherine stilled, dropping her shoulders. After a few seconds, she sank heavily onto the nearest chair.
"I know." She admitted sadly. "I just felt so helpless at the hospital, staring at that damn ventilator. I needed to feel like I was actually doing something."
Warrick nodded in understanding, perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of her.
"I just feel like all of this could have been avoided." She sighed. "Dylan was living in such fear because of his father's death that he almost got his sister killed. And Raymond was so obsessed with his father's death that he tried to kill her. And all because of what? Some mobster vendetta from forty years ago?"
"What's your point?" Warrick pressed.
"Oh, I don't know." She breathed, tipping her head back. "I just think it's pretty sad that it came to this. And Sara ... she probably didn't know anything about this, yet she's the one who's paying the price for it."
"No she's not." Warrick squeezed her knee gently. "She's going to get over this. Raymond's going to pay the price."
"Maybe." She agreed, largely unconvinced. An increasingly frequent thought began making its way back to the forefront of her mind, but thankfully she was saved from voicing it by the distinctive sound of scratching.
They both turned towards the glass doors, where Sara's squirrel was doing an impatient little dance on the balcony. Cath chuckled, standing up to let him in.
"Hey buddy." She greeted as he scuttled inside, his sharp claws clicking across the wooden floor.
"Greg wasn't kidding about this little guy." Warrick laughed as the tiny animal bounced in circles around him, sniffing the new stranger with curiosity.
"She's certainly got him tamed." Cath mused, sinking onto the couch and throwing her head back against the cushions.
Warrick abandoned his teasing of the animal and carefully stepped over him to join her on the seat.
"God Rick, what are we going to do if she doesn't pull through this?"
Warrick wanted to answer that. He wanted to say that it wasn't something they needed to worry about, because Sara would pull through. But he just couldn't.
Instead, realising that nothing he could say was going to appease his downcast colleague anyway, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her into an unwilling hug.
"Look, why don't you leave this for now." He suggested, pressing a kiss into her hair. "It's not like she's going to be coming out of hospital tomorrow, you know."
"I know. I just want to feel like I'm doing something useful."
"So, go stay with her." He pushed. "Sara needs our support right now, more than anything else. You'll do more good for her at the hospital then you will here dusting her bookshelves."
Catherine laughed, a sound which took them both by surprise. It was something neither had heard for far too long.
"Yeah," she agreed softly, wiping away her tear tracks. "I guess you're right."
She sat forward and clicked her tongue at the squirrel, who was currently examining the vacuum cleaner with great intrigue.
"That means you're going to have to go back outside, little pal." She hummed. "But don't worry; she'll be back real soon."
"Yeah, of course she will." Warrick grinned, extending a tentative finger to scratch the creature's furry head. "Especially when she finds out someone's been in here cleaning without her permission." He shot Catherine a sideways glance, glad to see that familiar cocky grin back in place on her lips.