HELLO! I've finally made it through all the hazmagah that real life throws at you to be able to post Part 35. I appreciate all the concerned notes I've been sent wondering if I would ever post again. It was very uplifting. (Please note that I will finish this story if it kills me!)
I did take time off to work on my contest entry but work interfered. See I've been laid off and Monday, 4/22, is my last time. So all the time I was going to use to write was been taken up with closing the warehouse without help, without time and, at least, 30 hrs of overtime in one pay period (2-wk). To say I was exhausted is an understatement. But tomorrow is my last day. I can hand off all of the remaining stuff to the new supervisor, say tally-ho, come home, sleep in, write, write, write then look for a new job (after a month off, of course). I got a pretty good severance and have some time to find something nice (hopefully).
So, with that all said and done, here come the thank you's: ProWriter11 (thanks for the push), onthecorner, NickyStokes72, Wiggle34, Otie1983, was spratlurid quimby, leah-audresysgramma, SevernSound, Sarafly, GSR'er, TessTrueHeart, Sonoali-aka GrissomLover, SarahmUK, Hithui, Moonstarer and, of course, NANCY1.
Onward ~
Part 35
Grissom – 2 days later
Traffic would be appreciated right about now. And if I can't get traffic then a snowstorm closing down the airport, all airports, would be greatly appreciated. Or a gas shortage so I could tell Conway 'sorry, but the car won't start and the plane is iced over, so I'll catch the next flight when it melts'. To Australia!
Flexing my right hand, finally free of its cast, I wince at the soreness, something that might always be there or so says the doctor. Gee, a constant reminder of losing my temper and the why behind it. Great. This day is turning out just great. 'A smile confuses an approaching frown' drifts through my tempermental and I snicker at the remembered smile on mom's face when she kissed my cheek and gave me a hug then gently pushed me out the door. And, once again, I thank whoever it was who decided to make mom mom and give her to me.
Things were looking up a couple of days ago even though I was on the back end of a migraine hangover. The 'slept too long and brain full of cotton' feeling resulting in slow and muzzy thoughts leaving me with the desire to turn over and go back to sleep. Most times work beckoned and I had to push that aside. But this time was different. This time I had nowhere to go except back to sleep.
"I see you have company," came Paul's voice interrupting my attempt to doze off.
Blinking steadily to clear the blur, I followed his gaze, smiling some at the on his back, tongue hanging out vision of Hank snoring away. "Where are the kids?" I asked not bothering to suppress a yawn.
"They came out covered in drool. Annie's cleaning them up."
"I hope that wasn't me," I said wiping slowly at my mouth. Hank snorted and a bit of spittle rolled onto the blanket.
"Pretty sure it wasn't," Paul answered with a grin. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a booted centipede pummeled my brain," I answered yawning again.
"Ah, is that good or should I call an ambulance?"
I gave him a quiet chuckle. "It's better than the guy with the jackhammer who came to visit earlier. What time is it?"
"8:25am."
8:25. 8:25? I was supposed . . . "Crap, I'm late," I spit out, not having much success in sitting up since Paul rested a hand on my chest and gently kept me on my back.
"I've rescheduled your appointment for later today so rest easy."
I rubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. "You think of everything."
He smiled a bit. "It's what I do. Do you need anything?"
"Don't think so."
"Okay. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll get you up in time."
"Yes, mom."
He snickered as he stood. "Ah, here come the kids, all nice and clean." It didn't take long for them to leap onto the bed, their hair sticking out in all directions, giving Hank a look as he groaned and rolled over still sound asleep. "We'll be out here if you need anything."
"'kay," I kind of answered feeling myself falling back into sleep, the kids' soft purrs lulling me away.
How much later it was when I came back to the land of the living I didn't know. All I was aware of was how much like sandpaper my tongue felt making me cough then groan just as a tail fell over my face, twitching back and forth across my mouth. Blowing on it only got me a smack not once but twice. That made me grin. Mew, mew was followed by a nudging head against my chin.
"Mornin'," I said as the other one repeated the process. "And you, too." I looked to the other side of the bed. "Where's your brother?"
Mew, mewrrl.
"That's a good idea," I answered slowly sitting up with another groan.
I hadn't had a migraine like that in forever and what an awful time for it to strike. But it wasn't like I couldn't feel it coming. I should've stopped things, should've gone home, but I couldn't. Walking away in the middle of all that . . .
Rising slowly, I dragged myself to the bathroom, trying not to notice my bed hair as I washed my face then peed and wrapped a robe about me, thinking that a glass of milk might just settle my stomach.
Mew, meow.
"Come on then."
I grinned as they raced down the hall ahead of me, hearing Mom speaking to them a few moments later. It wasn't until I made it to the living room that I found her and Paul at the kitchen table playing Scrabble, neither bothering to look my way. Odd. I'd been expecting a barrage of questions the minute they knew I was ambulatory but there's nothing, not even a look.
Hmm.
"Mornin'," I said walking past them to open the fridge.
"Can I fix you anything?" Mom asked.
Glancing over, I held up the milk for her to see. "This'll do me for now."
"Okay," is all she said then returned to the game.
I frowned when nothing else came my way. "Ah, you guys don't have any questions?"
"What was that?" Paul asked without looking up.
My frown deepened. "You don't have any questions?"
"About what?"
Eyes narrowed and lips pursed as I moved toward the table, tapping Mom on the shoulder. She glanced up. "You don't have any questions about the session?"
"Ah . . ."
"Or that Sara brought me home."
"That was very nice of her," Paul interjected, "since you were in pretty bad shape."
"It was wasn't it?" Mom said. "Triple score," she said with a smile as Paul reached for the dictionary. "It's a word."
"I've played with you before, Annie Grissom," was all he said scanning through the pages.
They were playing with me, deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room, and I didn't know if I should've hugged them, spilled the beans or kept mum about all of it because I didn't really want to relive it just then. I didn't know if it would come to anything or solve everything and I was in no shape to delve deeper into all that. So I decided to let them play their games (with me and the Scrabble board), leaned over, rearranged the tiles in Paul's holder then sauntered back down the hall.
"Gonna take a shower," I called out. I could play their game, too.
As the bathroom door was closing, I heard Paul call out "I don't think that's an acceptable word!" Smiling, I turned on the shower, stripped and stepped in.
Perhaps it was the hot water pelting my skin that let me think perhaps my luck was changing. I'd been completely honest with Sara. It took a lot out of me but it also freed me somehow. At least a little. She now knows what her leaving did to me. I'd not minced a word of anger or fear. She got it all and didn't run away. That's what made me pause. She'd taken every word and, when I dropped to the floor in the casino, she took my arm and drove me home, holding me close when we walked to the door. I was surrounded by a feeling of comfort and surrendered to it. It was like coming home, that feeling, and that's when I knew Philip had been right – talking does help no matter how leery I was about it.
I need to thank him. I need to stop by his office right now, take him to lunch, talk to him about his wife and kids, go over what went on and wonder what's to happen next. I need to go grocery shopping, clean the kitchen, take Hank to the dog park. I need to do a lot of things except I can't because I'm driving to the fucking airport in order to put myself at risk so a punk ass murderer stays behind bars!
Why the hell did I answer the phone?!
The yelp that escapes me when I slam my right hand, of course, against the steering wheel does nothing for the sharp bits of pain lancing along newly freed joints. But it does help clear my head a little and I take in a deep breath. Why am I railing against whatever keeps Roberts in jail? He killed Simon's sister. Simon, my touchstone, a little boy who should never have to deal with something as heinous as that yet has. His worries should consist of what's for dinner and what will happen in the next Harry Potter book not on never seeing his sister again.
God, I'm so selfish. This isn't about me but about Allie Corrs and April Remington and a murderer who needs to stay behind bars so he can't commit another crime ever. I sigh. I can't even be mad at me for answering the phone last night since I've always been incapable of bypassing a ringing phone. I've always done it, always the first one to answer.
I shake my head remembering being sound asleep on the couch only to hear a distant ringing. Sitting up before my eyes were even open, the sounds of Oompa Loompas singing about bad children in the background, I searched for my cell soon to realize it was the landline ringing. Stumbling to my feet, I barely passed a glance over Paul stretched out in the comfy chair, his lap full of the kids, as I headed to the phone, grabbing at the receiver twice before it made it into my hand.
"Grissom," came out rather hoarsely, a yawn overtaking me.
"I'm sorry to call so late, Gil," came Catherine's voice, "but it can't wait."
That made me wake up a bit. "Is everyone all right?" I asked, visions of death and destruction running through my head.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, everyone's fine. It's something else."
"Okay." I waited a bit but nothing came. "I suppose I could stand here all night . . ."
"Sorry, I just . . . I don't know how to say this so I'll just say it."
"I'm all ears."
"Conway called." The hair on my arms stood on end. "He was looking for you and he's, well, he's expecting you in L.A. on Friday. I've got your flight information. You leave tomorrow morning."
My mouth dried up about the same time my heart nearly stopped. "And he wants me there because?"
She sighed. It wasn't a good sigh. "Jeremy Roberts' attorney is calling for a special hearing." Oh, God. "He's questioning your . . . competence." I kept silent. What do you say to that? "Oh, Gil, this is a bunch of crap." Yeah. "Gil? Aren't you going to say anything?"
I rubbed my forehead. "I, ah, I was expecting something like this," is all I could come up with.
"It's not fair, Gil. You got him fair and square."
I tried not to notice Paul sitting up and watching me. "I found some evidence that tied him to what was eventually found. It was Officer Vanner who actually got him."
"By accident."
"A fortuitous accident that got a murderer off the street."
"And now some righteous prick attorney might put him back on the street."
"I can't do anything about that, Catherine."
"Gil!"
"Well, I can't!" came out more harshly than intended. I turned from Paul's worried eyes. "I'm the one who asked a man to kill me. I'm the one who has to face that every day," I whispered.
"But not on display for all to see."
"But that's already happened, Catherine, the minute that video hit the internet. I'll never be able to leave it behind. My whole life, from this day forward, will be predicated on that damn video and I've no one to blame but myself."
"There were extenuating circumstances."
"And I bet they'll take that under consideration." She was quiet. I wasn't mad at her. I was mad at me, at my inability to cope. And I was ticked at Sara for making me aware of that particular foible.
"I'm sorry, Gil."
"So am I." Rubbing at my neck, it was my turn to sigh. "Let me have the flight details."
Scribbling them down, I stared at the information, then snapped the pencil in two.
"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked. "I do a mean glower."
Oh, yes, I wanted her to go with me. I wanted anyone to go with me since I was feeling tendrils of fear seeping back in, dread over how I might react when the tape was played in an open room, a room I couldn't run from leaving me to do or say anything that could screw me over more than I always was.
Dropping the pencil pieces, I took a deep breath. "Thank you but I've made my bed. I need to learn how to lie in it."
"You don't have to do this alone."
"I'm not. Mom's here. But I may need your shoulder when she goes home."
"It's always here for you."
"Thank you, Catherine."
I hung up before she could say anything else since I was fighting the idea of hurling the phone across the room and thinking on all types of words I could couple shit with. But it was late and I was tired and I figured focusing on the photo of Simon covered in butterflies right above the phone might help ease the tension grabbing at my nerves. Maybe a little.
"What's happened?" came Paul's voice.
I opened my mouth then closed it. Why speak of it? Voicing it would make it real, make the idea that it was slowly being put behind me disappear.
"Gil?"
But Paul was waiting and would continue to wait and he deserved more than being ignored, so I turned and leaned against the table, crossing my arms over my chest and holding on tight.
"Conway wants me back in L.A."
"A new case?"
I shook my head. "I wish it were so."
He waited a few seconds. "It's the store isn't it?" he finally asked. I looked up then, not surprised he'd figured it out and nodded. "Why is that important?"
"Because I found the evidence that traced Roberts back to April Remington."
He looked confused. "But you said evidence of other crimes were found at his house. How can the store figure into that?"
Walking slowly back to the couch, I settled heavily upon it, eyes locking on Willy Wonka getting covered in foam. "An attorney's job is to discredit any and all witnesses, to exploit any disadvantage that that witness may have in order to sway a jury or judge."
"Isn't that illegal?"
I chuckled. "No. That's the court system."
"Has it happened to you before?" he asked leaning forward in his chair.
I nodded. "It was a high profile case. My old mentor was on their team and knew about my hearing problems. He had their attorney question me in a low voice. I caught a word here and there but that was it. But I beat them at their own game and the judge was none the wiser."
"You read their lips," he commented.
"I did and the killer was convicted."
"But this is different."
"Unfortunately." I clasped my hands together. "What I did is on tape. I can't fake my way out of that."
"But surely there won't be many people there. Maybe it'll be in the Judge's chambers."
"Where's the spectacle in that?" I asked leaning back to stare at the ceiling. "Attorneys tossing out dramatic soliloquies, edging ever so closely to a full blown lie just to make a point all because court is theatre - a place to make or break a career."
"Or a witness."
"Or a witness."
Paul was quiet for a moment. "When do you have to be there?"
"Friday. I fly out tomorrow morning."
"I'll go with you."
"No." It was a flat statement with no space for deliberation.
"You shouldn't go by yourself, Gil."
"Maybe not, but I'd . . . well, I'd like you to stay here with mom if that's okay," I asked, flashing him a look.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"No," I answered with a slight laugh. "But, I don't want mom to be worried and alone and . . . and I need a pet sitter." I gave him a slight smirk that quickly faded. "There's not enough time to schedule anything and Sara . . ." I stopped and looked at my hands. "I can't ask . . ."
"I'll stay," he said patting my hands. "You know we're here for you, Gil. You want to talk, yell, curse to high heaven call us. We'll answer."
We'll answer.
Man, I'm so ever thankful for that promise because lately I've needed someone to answer. And they have – mom, Paul, Jim and Catherine. They've all been there when I needed them without me even asking. I'll never be able to fully repay them for how can you repay someone for saving you? A thank you doesn't seem enough.
And promises don't carry much weight with me because they're so hard to keep even under the best circumstances, Sara being just the latest in a string of broken ones. But, after all that's happened, after all I've been through, I find I'm actually making promises to mom and Paul and to myself. They are promises to try and let them in, to let them help and let myself accept it as a good thing. And it was working. I was feeling like I could return to work, to solving puzzles, doing a job I love. But now . . . now it's going to be brought up all over again. And the Remingtons will know. God, they'll know what I tried to do and I'll probably lose Simon because what parent in their right mind would want me around their son.
Geez, I have to pry my hands off the steering wheel. I'm a mess and I haven't even gotten on the plane. I should've let Paul come with me. Or Catherine. She would've kicked me in the butt and told me to suck it up. I close my eyes. I don't really want to do this alone. I don't know why I have to go all tough guy over things like this. I guess it boils down to the whole point of all this - I asked a man to kill me.
Hmph.
Pulling into a parking space at McCarran, a big plane takes off and I take slow, deep breaths as a thought percolates. It's not Friday yet. I could see Simon today. He's usually home about 1:30pm. I'll just show up with everything on my body crossed that Clara and Mitch will let me see him. That's what I'll do. I'll take the coward's way out one more time because I have to see him. I need his insight, his courage, to face what's coming, to face admitting to a room full of people that a woman's love brought me to my knees when she took it away which led to doing something stupid.
Well, I've admitted that before. What's one more time.
Brass
I've either made a really bad decision or . . .
I can't second guess myself now. I'm here and I'm not leaving even if he pitches a fit. I could always arrest him for disturbing the peace or something. Oh, he'd never let me forget that.
This is a good thing. It's what he needs, a friend to be here. He's done it for me a time or two and I've always appreciated it more than I've probably said. The last time, well, the last time I was glad he was there because he had impeccable timing which resulted in my being hit by a chunk of wood instead of the bullet that plowed into it. He wrenched his shoulder and had a shiner for a week. Got lots of pats on the back for that one and not one joke. Seemed his stature rose out of nerd status and I believe he was secretly pleased by it all. It still makes me smile to think on it.
The normal standalone thing he does isn't going to work here. Gil's tough when he knows what's coming but to sideswipe him, well, that just makes his eyes wobble and his face contorts into a puzzled frown that takes a long time to leave. That's how he looked through that whole Sara thing and I don't care to have a repeat performance. I didn't do enough last time but this time, this time I'm stepping up like a friend should.
My watch buzzes and I glance at it. He should be here soon. Hmm. I think I'll practice my nonchalant face (not that I need much practice) and make up stories about the people who pass by. Like this guy with the loud striped pants and bright blue shirt. Tourist from a color blind planet obvioiusly. Next . . .
Grissom
"Coincidences are a lot like organized religion. I don't believe in either."
Jim smirks, gives me a yawn and stands. "An airport is the best place to watch people.""
"So that's what you do when you get off work."
"Well, yeah. I get a kick out of the planes taking off, too. When's your flight?"
He's sidestepping. I grin. "I still have about an hour."
"Then let's have breakfast. My treat."
"Oh, there's a McDonald's here?"
"Ha-ha," he says with a straight face, moving ahead of me. "It's right over there," he points and I gamely follow.
"I'm serious. Shouldn't you be asleep or something?" I ask when I finally catch up.
"Are you saying I'm not getting enough beauty sleep?" he tosses back at me.
"Well, I didn't want to say anything." I can do the straight face, too, you know.
"I still have another four hours before I have to go to bed," he explains as he stops at the counter. "The Big Breakfast with pancakes and coffee," he says to the teenager behind the counter. "Gil?"
"Oatmeal, please, and chocolate milk." Jim looks at me. "I've a nervous stomach," I comment to which he nods then pays the kid. "I'll get us a seat."
Okay, Jim is here. Who told him? Catherine. It had to be. I guess mom could've called him but I'm not sure if she's talked to him since the last time they met. Conway could've . . .
"Before you ask," comes Jim's voice, "I was with Catherine when Conway called." I just look at him. "You had that look." He shrugs and sets the food down then takes a seat.
"I wasn't going to ask," I say, sipping my chocolate milk. He eyes me then digs into his eggs.
"Yeah, you were." I try not to smile and stir my oatmeal instead. "I think this is shitty, Gil. You're the most competent person I know."
"Well . . ."
He points at me with his spork. "I've seen you work sicker than a dog and get it right. I've seen you blind with a migraine and still see things no one else can. You are not only the smartest man I know but the most detailed."
"And yet I asked a man to kill me." Well, that falls with a splat to the table like the syrup from Jim's pancakes. He hastily cleans it up.
"That doesn't take anything away from your smarts and you know it," he states, glaring at me slightly until I nod. "So, Conway couldn't get this kicked?"
"I didn't ask him to."
"Why not?"
"The thought didn't occur," I answer with a shrug.
"Gil, when are you going to learn to take advantage of your friends?" I smirk. "He is your friend right?"
"Yes, but brown nosing a sheriff isn't exclusive to Vegas." Jim nods then scoops up his egg and sausage onto a biscuit. "I'm more worried about Simon's parents."
"His parents?" he asks around the biscuit.
I study the half eaten oatmeal then let loose of my spoon. "If they find out what I did in the store, I'm afraid . . . I don't think they'll let me see Simon anymore." Ah, my greatest fear is now out in the open.
"And that's very important to you isn't it?"
I give him a sad smile. "Simon is a tonic for a nervous man. He's helped me find my feet again. I don't want to lose that." Jim's quiet and so am I. My oatmeal has lost its allure so I nurse my chocolate milk instead and sit back in the chair.
"So, how's the head?" comes next and I appreciate him even more.
"Much better."
"Sara was worried," he throws in and I choke on my milk. He grins at me.
"What, ah, else did she say?" I manage nerves suddenly taut.
He chuckles. "Gil, Sara's as tight lipped as you so don't sweat it. As much as the gang is salivating to know where you guys stand nobody would dare ask."
"Oh, um, good." He's smiling again. I should be wary.
"Soooo . . . how are you guys?"
"Jim!"
"What? I love you two and want to know if you're going to be okay. I may act tough and all that but I worry, too, you know." I raise a brow. "Well, I do."
I try to keep a straight face but can't hold it in and start laughing. I don't even try to stop because this feels good and I need to take advantage of it since this could be the last time it happens for a while.
"That's good to hear," Jim says spearing a sausage.
"What?" I get out, holding my side as I attempt to catch my breath.
"You. Laughing," he answers as I wipe at my eyes. "I missed it. We've all missed it."
That kind of sobers me up. "Yeah, I've missed it, too."
"Anything I can do to help you know I'll do," he quips.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"Southwest Flight 154 is now boarding at Gate 12."
"That's my flight," I say glancing at my watch. "Damn, I thought I had more time."
"You were preoccupied," Jim tries as he crams in the last of his breakfast and is out of his chair before I can pick up my milk. He grabs my tray then his and heads toward the trash a few steps away.
"Are you that eager to be rid of me?"
"Nope," he answers then pulls the milk from my hand and dumps that as well. "Come on. You know how fast these short flights fill up. Gotta get a good seat."
Fortunately, my eyebrows are part of my face or they might fly off somewhere. Jim is acting oddly weird, much more than any other time he's acted weird, and it's off-putting to say the least. But he's waiting so I gather up my things and follow after him; tag after him again is more like it.
"Hey, Sheree," he calls out to the older woman at the check-in desk. She leans over and pulls out a duffle.
"Here ya go, Jim."
He smiles. "Thanks for keeping watch."
"Any time."
Grabbing up the bag, he turns back to me. "Come on. Seats remember."
My mouth is hanging open. I'm . . . gob smacked, bewildered. Confused, at least. Rolling his eyes, Jim takes my arm and pulls me past Sheree and onto the boarding ramp. Carefully easing me through the door of the plane, he takes my bag and his and stuffs them into the overhead as I sit, not taking my eyes from him as he moves into the seat next to me.
He takes his time getting settled and my brain finally catches up. He's doing what Paul wanted to do and Catherine offered – be my back up. He'll be the one that shoots daggers at that attorney until he withers away so I won't have to and I really need to tell him how much I appreciate what he's doing. But I know my voice will quiver if I were to express myself at this very moment but I can't remain silent, not after all this.
"Do they still hand out those stale peanuts?" he asks before I can get my tongue to work. "Or did they stop that because of all the food allergies? I just love those. Like hot dogs at a movie theater. They're just so rubbery. You can't find that texture anywhere else. Although I've . . ."
"Thank you," I quietly interrupt looking directly at him.
He returns my look then gives me a grin. "You've nothing to thank me for, Gil. It's what friends do for each other. Besides, I've been wanting to meet this Captain Polza. Sounds like a long lost cousin."
"Twin is more like it," I answer after clearing my throat. "I believe the two of you will hit it off."
"And Simon. I'd like to meet him, too. Do you think I could?" He looks hopeful.
"Um, why?" I ask genuinely interested.
"That's easy. Anyone who's figured out how to deal with a 'Grissom' needs to be listened to. They are a rare breed." He smiles then so do I.
"I'd actually planned on coming to see him this weekend until Conway called." I look out the window. "But that might be too late so I'm making a surprise visit this afternoon."
"Will you take me? Will ya? Will ya?"
I give him a short laugh. "All right. Geez, you're so pushy."
"Good," he says with a smile. "And, for the record, if what you've told me about the Remingtons is true then I'm pretty sure they'll want to see more of you after tomorrow. They seem like the kind of people who care about making sure their boy gets what he needs. And you, my friend, are what he needs."
I shrug. "We sort of benefit each other."
"Whatever works."
Yeah. Whatever works. Ever since 'everything' that phrase has almost become a mantra for me, something I can cling to when need be.
"So what do you think about those peanuts?"
I shake my head and find I can't stop grinning.
That is a good thing.
I hope this was worth the wait. I'm so glad Brass was willing to step in because I love writing him. And, once I get him and Carmine Polza together, well, that should be fun.
I also hope to get back to a more regular posting schedule now that I'll have ALL this time on my hands so you guys don't have to wait so long. Again I appreciate all of you for hanging in there.
Happy Mother's Day for everyone who qualifies. (Do I qualify? I have a cat?)
Have a great week! :-D