Flashback- Chapter 38
Author's note: Huge apologies to my extended absence. Huge changes have come about in my life and major adjustments being worked through. The surgery that I had last fall made the condition in my left hand and wrist worse. Other major life changes have occurred which I won't bore you all with. I want to thank you all for your patience in waiting for the next installment. Your encouragement during my absence meant a lot. I plan to post on a regular schedule since this is the only outlet I have at the moment to keep myself somewhat sane…
Restlessly picking at the light blanket covering his lap, Sergeant Mark Petersen turned and glanced impatiently at the doctor examining the chart.
"Well, what do you think? Am I going to be released anytime soon? I feel fine,' asked Petersen.
Shaking his head, Bower replied, "Pete, it's not up to me. You suffered a wound to your side and shoulder, remember? Besides, the Las Vegas Police Department is still conducting their investigation. I'm technically not your physician. Dr. Longman is. You'll have to talk to him. I understand he wants to keep you a few more days for observation. "
" It's been two days since I was brought here. Observation for what?" asked Petersen.
Bower raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at the young man's somewhat insolent tone. Studying the Petersen, the navy doctor put the chart back in its holder near the door and said in a careful tone, "It's just routine. They want to make sure that …"
"That I'm not crazy, is that it? What about the police investigation?" Petersen burst out bitterly. The Marine crossed his arms in self-disgust.
"I'm not sure what is going to come of the investigation," confessed the doctor. "As far as I know, the only reason you're still here is because the police department would rather have you here and not in county lock- up. Be thankful for that."
The Marine shook his head. "We know…they know that I'm guilty. What in the hell do they need to process? I'm here because they think I'm crazy."
"No, you're here because I wanted you here."
Both Petersen and Bower turned around in surprise. Jim Brass stood just inside the doorway with his arms crossed in front of him.
"You sit tight here," Brass said as he stepped further into the Marine's room. "CSI is finishing processing all the evidence and then the District Attorney will decide how to handle your case."
"I know that what happened out there is my responsibility. I…I know that," said the young man haltingly.
Brass cocked his head towards Petersen and waited for him to continue. Bower took a step towards Petersen, but Brass touched his arm to stop him and shook his head.
The sergeant searched for the right words and looked at both Brass and Bower helplessly. His eyes were bleak as he confronted the enormity of his words. Bowing his head, Petersen whispered hoarsely, "I'm responsible…just me…no one else."
"So where does that leave you, Sergeant? You're a Marine, damnit. Figure it out," said Brass stiffly.
The doctor glanced at Petersen then back to Brass. "Captain, don't you think…."
Petersen pursed his lips and stared out the window, searching for words.
Brass shook his head at the doctor. "No, Doc. This is as good a time as any. I think it's a very good time."
The doctor opened his mouth to speak and then abruptly shut it after seeing Brass's determination.
"Okay, okay… have it your way," he said, holding his hands up, accepting defeat. The doctor turned on his heels and quietly left the room.
"Now that he's gone," said Petersen, "what has to be done first?"
The police captain sat down, propping his feet on the bottom rungs of Petersen's hospital bed.
"You didn't answer my question. Where does all this leave you?"
"I…I don't know where this leaves me," Petersen whispered hoarsely, frustration clearly showing in his demeanor. The young man faced the window and looked out at the Las Vegas skyline.
"Well…that's not much of an answer. You have a lot of people you need to do some explaining to ,"said Brass rather drily.
"Starting with me," rasped a gravelly voice from the doorway. Seated in a wheelchair, Grissom was slowly being pushed into the room.
Petersen's head jerked around and stared in surprise at his visitor. It was obvious the man in the wheelchair had been through a tremendous ordeal.
The police captain stood up and nodded to dismiss the nurse who had pushed Grissom in. "Thanks for bringing him. I'll take it from here," said Brass with a smile.
Patting her patient lightly on his shoulder, the young slender nurse bent down and whispered into Grissom's ear, "Behave yourself mister. I'll be back in a little while, but if the pain gets to be too much, don't hesitate to send someone to get me. I'll be close by."
The investigator gave her the barest nod of his head, choosing to concentrate his attention on the young man staring back at him from the hospital bed instead.
"You're …you…Murphy?" Then Petersen shook his head. "No…but you're not Murph, are you?"
Grissom cocked his head to one side and observed Petersen silently. Waves of emotion rolled across the young man's features as he took in the sight of the man who so resembled his former commanding officer.
"I don't think that you, Sergeant, have been formally introduced. Sergeant Mark Petersen, United States Marine Special Forces, please meet Dr. Gilbert Grissom, graveyard supervisor of the Las Vegas CSI Unit," said Brass from his relaxed position in the chair as he pointed over his shoulder.
Petersen eyed Grissom warily, unsure what to say to him. After what seemed to be an eternity, the young man spoke softly.
"Sir, I want to apologize…"
Grissom quickly cut him off with a slight wave his hand. "Sergeant, there is no need. I'm just glad that you are okay. We went through a lot together out there. As a matter of fact, I want to thank you for saving my life."
"Thank me? You want to thank me?" asked Petersen incredulously. "After I almost got you killed…how can you say that?"
Grissom studied the young man, suddenly realizing that the sergeant really had no idea what had transpired a few days before out in the Nevada desert. The investigator turned to Brass with questioning eyes.
The police captain gave his friend a slight shrug of his shoulders and replied, "I thought that we wait until you two could meet face-to-face. Bower was afraid of…a reaction."
Grissom nodded his head in understanding and then turned back to the Marine.
In a soft voice, Grissom gently asked the Marine, "What is the last thing you remember outside of this hospital?"
Petersen shut his eyes tightly and pulled at the wrist which was handcuffed to the bed rail. Flashes of his experiences in Afghanistan and the events that occurred in the Nevada desert rolled through his mind, the scenes interspersed with one another, blending together and then breaking apart.
Looking bleakly at Grissom, the sergeant replied softly, "I don't know. Everything is jumbled together. I…I can't tell what's real and what's not."
Grissom nodded in understanding. "Well, let's start with what happened in Afghanistan and we'll try to sort out what you remember and separate that from Red Rocks. Petersen start from the beginning. What was your mission? Who was under you and what was Murphy's role?"
Brass sat down and made himself comfortable. He took his notebook out and stated to take notes. Grissom listened intently and asked an occasional question to clarify details of Petersen's story. The Marine started slowly, stumbling over his words, but as he progressed with the timeline of events, a faraway look overtook him.
Through the one-way glass window, Bower listened to the Marine talk. He had heard most of what Petersen had to say before, but he listened for any omissions or additions to the Marine's previous account. All attempts to break through the emotional trauma Petersen had endured had been met with limited success. Perhaps working with Grissom, a breakthrough would come about to help Petersen cope with the emotional upheaval the mission in Afghanistan created.