Summary: Every person is supposed to have an exact double somewhere in the world. When asked about it once, Grissom said, "Never been proved." Until now.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. No silver has crossed my palm, either.
A/N: Special thanks to my friends csishewolf, vrtrakowski, smacky30, scifijoan and mingsmommy who have given me invaluable feedback on this story and supported me throughout this process. Special thanks to The Ming for support above and beyond the call this chapter.
This story is a crossover between CSI and Manhunter (Red Dragon). William Petersen created an enigmatic and tortured character in FBI Agent Will Graham. Some say he reprised the character when creating Gil Grissom. Dead Ringer throws Gil Grissom and Will Graham together as they try to sort out a series of murders so horrible they rival the crimes of Hannibal Lecter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Monday, January 8, 2007 – 6:00 am – Quantico
The Academy security officer stopped the cruiser in front of the dorm. Grissom exited the back seat and held out his hand to help Sara from the car.
"Thanks for the lift, Officer Portine." She tried to smile her gratitude, but only managed a grimace.
Maurice Portine twisted in the front seat to see his passengers. "The emergency numbers are programmed into your phones. Call if you see anything out of the ordinary."
One arm around Sara, Grissom bent slightly into the still open door. "We will…and thanks again."
Door shut, the big car moved a few feet forward along the curb and stopped. The two tired CSIs watched for a moment, puzzled, until they realized the guard wouldn't leave until Sara was safely inside the building.
"I can't believe they gave us our phones back…" Sara exhaled noisily, not wanting to go inside. The dorm meant packing to leave and defeat. She'd rather face a meeting with Justice Lark than go meekly into exile.
"Crawford is taking the threat to your safety very seriously…" Grissom felt Sara tense beside him. "I know you don't agree, but he's right…this is for your own goo…"
The minute those words passed his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. She impaled him with a look of betrayal and pulled away, slamming through the double sets of glass doors into the dormitory foyer. Gil sighed and let her go, then turned and waved to Officer Portine. Maurice sounded his horn once and drove off into the darkness.
Inside, the guard at the ID station was immediately on alert when he saw that Sara was agitated and alone. He jumped up from the desk, hand on his gun.
"Are you all right, Miss?" Barely looking at her, Officer Phil Fender placed himself between her and the door with weapon drawn just as Grissom pushed through the double doors.
"Hands above your head!"
Stunned silence followed. It took a few moments for Gil to understand what was happening. Images flashed across his brain rapid fire: the yawning barrel of the gun, the officer's pupils wide from an adrenaline rush, a look of horror on Sara's face…
"I say again…hands above your head!"
Slowly, Grissom's hands rose as if by themselves. The gloves he'd been pulling off dropped to the floor at his feet.
In another few seconds, Fender recognized Grissom. Shoulders slumping he carefully lowered his weapon. "Geez…Dr. Grissom…I'm sorry…" He reholstered the gun and stood panting and red faced trying to calm himself down.
Sara had watched the scenario unfold, frozen in place. Grissom was the first to recover. He bent to retrieve his gloves.
"That's okay Officer…Fender," he paused as he read the man's name badge. "Ms. Sidle's safety is paramount…she came in by herself…that could easily have meant she was in danger." Straightening, he offered the flustered guard his hand.
While the men were making peace, Sara went to Gil's side, relieved and embarrassed her annoyance had caused such a dangerous scene. "Are you all right?"
Grissom nodded and the guard backed away toward the ID station.
"I'm sorry, Officer Fender…I didn't think…" She started to speak, but trailed off, not sure what to say.
Still embarrassed, the guard shuffled papers at his desk. "Just doing my job, ma'am."
She stammered, "Well, um…thank you…"
The words hung in the air for a moment until Grissom propelled them toward the bank of elevators. Thankfully a car was available immediately and they disappeared inside.
Officer Fender shook his head and made a notation in his log.
Monday, January 8, 2007 – 6:00 am – Quantico
Will Graham looked up as Crawford came into his Academy office with two cups of coffee. He accepted one gratefully. "Who are you going to send to interview Culpepper?"
Jack opened a drawer and pulled out a small cardboard box filled with packets of powdered creamer and sugar. "Do you want to do it?" He extracted the items he wanted and shoved the box toward Graham.
Graham held up a hand and shook his head. "Oh, no…Culpepper hates my ass." He blew on the hot coffee before taking a sip. "Grissom should do it…he's already established rapport…"
Crawford dumped creamer and sugar into his coffee, failing in his attempts to blend it in with a slim red plastic straw. Irritated, he tossed it on the desk and rifled through a drawer until he found a spoon. He glanced at Graham as he stirred. "Very funny…"
"Well, Jesus, Jack…Culpepper despises everybody under the best circumstances…according to Willy, he's not any better in jail…" Graham tilted his head waiting for Crawford to respond. He'd never understood Jack's willingness to tolerate the abrasive young agent. As he watched Crawford grimly stir his coffee, he tried a softer tack. "Maybe you should go…you know, to tell him about his mother…"
The Director sat back in his chair remembering the last two meetings he'd had with Rick…both were loud and very, very ugly. "How could I have been so wrong about Culpepper? People kept trying to tell me but I just wouldn't listen…"
Graham's antennae twitched. "You can't blame yourself, Jack…"
Crawford's face froze. Only his eyes shifted to take in his friend, then shut quickly against the truth. "Don't do that, Will…that thing you do. Just don't."
Will sighed and drank the last of the coffee. He leaned forward in his chair to set the empty cup on the edge of Jack's desk. With one elbow resting on a knee, he massaged his forehead wearily. "Sorry…I'm tired." He looked up and waited until Crawford opened his eyes again. "But it really isn't your fault."
"I heard you the first time…" Crawford plucked Will's cup from the edge of the desk and dropped it in the trash can. "OK, I agree that Dr. Grissom should talk with Rick…first, to tell him about the kidnapping…and then find out why he didn't mention his connection to Emily Harper."
Graham smiled slightly. Subject closed…moving on. "CSI Sidle has picked up a number of vital clues in her short time here…that's just the latest. It'll be a shame to lose her…"
The Director frowned, shooting Graham a withering look. "Don't tell me you think she's better off here?"
"Actually, I do…" Graham held up his hands as Jack's face went beet red. "Hold on a minute…"
Crawford exploded out of his chair and stalked around the room, waving his arms. "You, of all people, know how dangerous these nuts can be…look at what happened to you…" He started to meet Will's eyes, but couldn't.
Will sat where he was, raising his voice to be heard. "That's right…I had my gut ruined by one nut and my face rearranged by another…"
Wind knocked out of his sails, Jack stood head down, one fist on his hip. As Graham spoke, the Director's jaw muscles knotted and released repeatedly.
"…and those aren't your fault, either, Jack." Will's voice softened. "I was mad as Hell at you for sending me in the last time…I hated you for making me go one on one with my fear, but I went under my own steam." Unconsciously his fingers traced now-invisible wounds on his cheeks. "Molly?…well, I screwed things up with her on my own, too." He choked out a bitter laugh. "So, you're off the hook."
"Swell…" The regret in Crawford's eyes was at odds with the buttoned up façade he presented in his work.
"Look, all I'm saying is CSI Sidle will be vulnerable during transport…no matter how careful you are. I think that outweighs the danger of keeping her here, but you'll do what you think is best…you always do." Graham stood and walked over to his old friend, laying a hand lightly on his bicep. "Just make sure you're really sending her away for her own safety and not because it'll make you feel better about the times you rolled the dice and lost."
Will walked out of the office and closed the door softly behind himself.
Crawford sat behind his desk, thoughtful. Eventually he shook his head. No, it was all too tempting…Sara Sidle would be safer in Montana, far away from Justice Lark. He told himself that feeling of dread banging around in his gut was just nerves that would pass when Sara was safely in the air.
He was wrong.
Monday, January 8, 2007 – 6:00 am – CNN News Network – Washington, DC
Lisa King did not usually hit the studio quite so early, but she had good reason today. She was determined to scoop the other networks on the Dorothy Culpepper kidnapping. The minute she had another source, she was going to break the story no matter what Alan said.
"Him and his little dispatcher…'Call of the Wild Woman'…stupid cunt, you have no idea…"
Grumbling to herself, she nearly ran down her cameraman, Chandler Harris.
King exploded, "Watch where you're going! I'm walking here!" She gave him one of her deadly glares and barreled on toward her office.
Harris trailed behind her. "Miss King…Lisa…wait…"
The little woman could cover ground when motivated: Harris finally caught her upstairs as she was unlocking her office door. "Lisa…I'm glad I caught you…"
Lisa struggled briefly with the lock, barely sparing her colleague a look. "Sorry about that, Chan…I'm in a hurry today…I'll buy you lunch, OK?" Once the door was open, she tried to slip in and close it, leaving Harris on the other side, but he wedged himself in the doorway.
"Jesus, Lisa…this is not about you almost running me down…but lunch would be nice…I'm thinking pizza."
King, who had made it to her desk, gave him a narrow eyed stare and said nothing.
Harris swallowed hastily. "OK, OK…no pizza…"
"What is it, Chan…I'm busy."
"Did you know the FBI is getting ready to FedEx somebody to Montana?" He grinned triumphantly as he shared his news.
Lisa paused, confused. Seeing no connection to anything she was interested in, she tried to dismiss the young man. "How nice for the FBI…really, Chan…I'm trying to tie up…"
"Fine…I'll just mosey on over to Lahiri's office…he'll be along soon and I'm sure he'll be interested." Harris backed out of the room and closed the door softly.
A minute passed. Then two. Completely unable to ignore the bait, Lisa King stormed away from her desk and flung open the door. She ran right into Chandler Harris who was waiting on the other side. "Curious?"
King gasped and clutched her chest. "Dammit, Chan…I hate it when you do that!"
"If you'd listen to me, it would never happen again…" Chan gauged the frown on the reporter's face and decided to quit while he was ahead. "Look, my girlfriend works in the security office at FedEx…" Harris followed King back into her office. "Something is going on over there because they are doing security sweeps of the facility for some important person who'll be taken out of there tonight as a passenger."
Lisa chewed her lip. "On FedEx?"
"Yep."
"That's it? I mean, that could be anybody…OK, I admit, it's odd…" Lisa leaned back in her chair, thinking. "What makes you think it's connected to anything I'm working on?"
Chandler's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, Stacey overheard the assistant to the facility manager talking to her boss. This all has to do with a whole string of murders and this person may be a target…that's why the weird transport…oh, and they're not Federal…it's a civilian."
Monday, January 8, 2007 – 6:15 am – Somewhere in Washington, DC
Gun oil was bitter on his tongue. Cold at first, the barrel warmed quickly in his mouth and the steel clattered hard against his teeth as he tried to find a comfortable position…
He just couldn't do it.
He'd stared at that pistol for two hours but when it came down to it, he couldn't pull the trigger. Pulling the muzzle from between his lips, he flung it across the room. The safety was off and the weapon discharged when it hit the wall. The upper left panel of the video wall exploded, spitting sparks and shards of glass everywhere.
In the next room, The Mistake wailed in fear.
Overcome with self loathing, he pounded his fits on the arms of the command chair, accidentally striking the keyboard he'd pushed aside earlier.
The 15 remaining screens sprang to life at full volume. Music, almost unrecognizable at peak intensity, resonated in his chest.
Justice Lark scrambled to retrieve the keyboard where it had fallen next to the chair, frantically pushing the key combination to back off the volume.
Gratefully the sound receded. Tendrils of smoke from the gunshot still hung in the air around him, coating him with the smell of cordite…making him cough.
It took a few moments for Justice to take in the images dancing across the wall, but as soon as he did, he was entranced.
Sidle.
Beautiful Sidle…
Each screen played a different film loop from the Mission Hill site. On the periphery were pristine snow scenes with some part of the Messenger in the shot: hair curling over a shoulder, pale breasts, The Message, frost sprinkled pubic hair with the word Sidle just visible on the thigh.
In the center, four screens combined to show a single image. Sidle in the snow, frozen breath wreathed around her head. Much like Wallace Stevens' anecdotal jar in Tennessee that "took dominion every where," the landscape was forever refocused and changed by her presence.
The new center around which his world revolved.
Gooseflesh rose on his body, followed immediately by heat.
Doubt niggled at him. What of The Mission?
The Mistake cried out piteously from the bedroom.
He tried to drown out the noise. "Screw your Mission, Papa…I have one of my own. Do you hear me?!?"
Justice paused to listen. Nothing.
On screen, everything was white. Snow covered branches trimmed the site like lace. Sidle moved carefully, turning her head this way and that…looking for something.
"I'm here…I'm right here…oh, God, see me…notice me…"
As if she'd heard his prayer, Sidle turned slightly, breath rising like a self-made halo, watch cap dark against the pristine snow. One delicate hand reached for him, beckoning. He couldn't hear her voice but could easily read her lips, "Come here."
His heart and his cock jumped at once. A sign. She had given him a sign. He was to come to her...
But how? How could he find her? How could he join her as she'd commanded? Absently, his hand slipped inside his robe to caress himself as he watched her standing and waiting. One of the Iron Greys joined her and they spoke, heads so close they were almost touching. Justice growled, nostrils flaring as he quickly hit the keys to rewind the scene, "No! Mine! This one is mine..."
The scene settled back to Sidle alone. Sidle standing, Sidle bending, Sidle squatting, Sidle breathing. His excitement grew with every movement, every breath...his strokes became faster, firmer. He cupped his scrotum with his left hand imagining her hands on him, her hands pleasuring him. He fought the urge to close his eyes against the intense wave of heat at the idea of those fingers around him, that mouth on him...the breath...her breath. His pleasure hit its peak just as she mouthed the words "Come here." And Justice obeyed, ejaculating in a forceful arc, covering one of the video monitors, splattering Sidle's face.
"I want to," he half panted, half whimpered. "I want to come to you...but I don't know how to find you...tell me how to find you."
The telephone began to ring.
Monday, January 8, 2007 – 6:15 am – Quantico
The sound of the closing door and deadbolt sliding into place should have been soft, ordinary sounds, but they seemed far too loud in air weighed down by unspoken fears.
Sara tensed briefly at Grissom's hands on her shoulders, then relaxed as he helped her out of her coat. She slumped on the bed feeling defeated, watching him gently put her coat on a hanger in the closet next to his own. His hand trailed over the sleeve in a gesture so tender she could almost feel his tender caress; her eyes burned with the sting of tears.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, a little too loudly.
He turned to her with a soft but puzzled expression on his face. "Sorry? For what?"
Sara impatiently wiped the back of her hand across her face. "For what? How about for almost getting you killed? Or for being careless with my own safety when I know you worry about me?" She sucked in a trembling breath, "How about for generally being an unreasonable, disagreeable brat about this whole thing?"
"Sara," he sat down beside her and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together; it never ceased to amaze him how well they fit, how she was his missing piece. "Sweetheart, I don't want you to leave any more than you want to go."
She relaxed against him with a sigh. "I know." They sat in silence for a few minutes soaking up each other's warmth. "Griss?"
"Hmmm?" He pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"Come with me," her voice was both hesitant and hopeful.
"Oh, Honey," he wrapped his arm around her and hugged her tightly. "I am so tempted…but, I can't...I need to be here...if I thought you needed my protection, nothing could keep me from going with you, you know that, right?" He felt her nod against him. "The best protection I can give you is to stay here and work to find Justice Lark…before he mutilates someone else or God forbid, finds you." He drew back and leaned his head down to meet her eyes. "Tell me you believe me…"
Brown eyes sad and wide, she nodded her acceptance and snuggled back against him. "How long…" she gave an ironic bark of laughter. "I know there's no way you can answer this, but I have to ask…how long will it take? To catch him?"
Grissom shrugged, helplessly. "I don't know, Honey." He felt her sag against him and hurried on. "But the financial stuff Will and Miranda found? That's huge…you know that. The money will give us a lot of clues. We can track him…where he's been might tell us where he's going." He pulled her closer and rubbed his cheek against her hair. "But, Sara…I'm not here indefinitely on a manhunt going nowhere. I'll give it two weeks and if he's not in custody…" he shrugged, "I don't know what the Crime Lab in Toston, Montana is like, but I bet they'd love to have a resident entomologist."
Her chuckle made him smile. "What? You don't think Toston has its own Crime Lab?"
Sara raised her head, "I talked with William. The population of Toston is less than 200…"
"Oh….well…not a hot bed of crime, I guess…" Grissom squeezed her hand. "Lots of bugs, though…"
Her snort was muffled by his neck. "Horse flies, anyway."
"Tabanus linnaeus…aren't active in winter but you'll probably find Musca autumnalis…the face fly…they have…"
Before he could finish, she sat up straight, lips pursed in equal parts amusement and annoyance. "I do not need a lecture on the wonders of Montana fly species, Grissom."
He got the message and switched gears. "Right…um…make sure you get some insect repellent."
The reality of her leaving hung heavily between them and conversation died. Sara melted back into his shoulder, wishing for a miracle…any excuse, however flimsy, to stay where she was.
She had no way of knowing how close he was to going with her…it was completely illogical and not the right thing to do at all, but he wanted it anyway.
He raised his hands and gently grasped her shoulders. She looked into his troubled eyes. "You know I'm going to miss you? I'm only staying because it's the best way to catch him, not because I want to be apart from you."
She nodded and gazed down at her fingers twisted together in her lap. "I know."
"Good." He kissed one eyelid, then the other. "Because I am going to miss you." He kissed her right cheek, then her left, then the tip of her nose. "I miss you when you're not in the same room with me, I don't know how I'll manage with a continent between us."
She leaned her forehead against his. "You're going to be too busy tracking that maniac to miss me too much."
It was his turn to snort. "Then you really have no concept of how much I love you." He slid his arm around her back, caressing her hip with his fingers. "I fought so hard not to let you into my life and now…I can't imagine life without you in it." He leaned down and softly, delicately ran the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips.
With a soft moan, Sara opened her mouth to him. Tongues brushed against each other in a warm, wet dance. Lips met and caressed, leaking small sighs.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and molded herself against his body. "I love you," she breathed into his ear.
"I love you, too." His lips skimmed her neck. "So much, Sara, so much." He clutched her to his chest fiercely. "And I am going to miss you so much."
She kissed along his jaw. "I'm here, now…you don't have to miss me." She pressed her lips against his again. "Right now, you have me."
"And you have me." He used his body to press her back onto the bed, "And you always will."
To Be Continued...Chaper 30 to follow shortly.
Author's Note:
The Wallace Stevens poem mentioned in this chapter is Annecdote of the Jar.
