The darkness was so heavy it felt as if she was wearing it as a coat. Her head throbbed fiercely, counting to a beat of its own and there were red hot iron rods dancing around inside her leg, trying to break free. She tried to concentrate on something else; there was a possibility that her left index finger moved but a lead weight slammed into her ribs opening up starbursts of pain in her side, blotting out all other sensory receptions. She didn't even notice when the coat covered her again, blocking everything out.
…
It was late when Kaia was wheeled out of surgery and into recovery, and then almost another two hours before the supervising nurses where happy enough to move her again. Sara stirred from a light nap; despite her best intentions to stay awake she had nodded off, her body desperate for the rest. She sighed in relief when she saw Gil walk in holding Kaia's hand as orderlies wheeled the bed. Kaia was sound asleep and didn't notice a thing about the activity surrounding her. Sara rolled cautiously onto her side as they parked the bed; she studied Kaia carefully, relieved to find she looked almost normal.
She had an oxygen mask, various monitors and a complicated splint bracing and immobilizing her right shoulder. Bits of bright white dressing were just visible underneath the straps of the brace, the black fabric of which was stark in contrast with the slightly pale tinge of her skin and the light blue blankets and hospital gown. Despite this, her face was serene as she slept, easing Sara's worries a little, even as her heart twisted at the sight of her tiny, four foot six inch daughter cocooned in the comparatively enormous bed.
Grissom moved over to Sara as activity slowed and the room fell quiet again.
"She woke up pretty easily," he said softly, sliding onto the bed again. "She won't remember it though; she's pretty high on morphine. The nurse said she'll be that way for a day or so; lung injuries are apparently not pleasant." There was a knock at the door and two doctors entered after showing their hospital identification to the two officers posted there. They introduced themselves as Joseph Daniels and Gordon Harris, explaining about the surgery and Kaia's care.
"I'm sorry it took so long," said Doctor Daniels apologetically, "Video surgery is a fiddly business." Sara held up a hand, palm out.
"Don't apologize," she said softly. "Our concern is Kaia's health, not how long we have to wait." Daniels' nodded, understanding.
"It went very well," he told them. Using a sheet of paper and a rough diagram he traced the path of the bullet through the chest and then drew several marks to show where he and his team had made small incisions to repair the damage. "It will take about three to five weeks for the lung to heal, but it could be several months after before full capacity is restored. I'm optimistic about recovery, at the moment infection is the biggest concern but we have her on a broad spectrum antibiotic as a precaution because we really don't know where the bullet was before it entered her body."
"What about scarring?" asked Sara.
"There will be some," he nodded, "but they will fade with time. Sunscreen will help reduce the risk whenever she goes outside." Sara shook her head.
"I meant scarring on her lungs; will that be an issue?"
"Oh," the doctor was a little taken aback, but he recovered himself quickly. "There will be some, but only a small part of one lung was affected. Aside from the bronchus, where the bullet stopped, I doubt it will make much difference to her. I think she will recover well."
"And the bronchus?" asked Gil.
"I don't foresee complications, but it is always a possibility," admitted Daniels. "We can tackle it if it happens." With that discussion over, Doctor Harris took his turn; a tall burly man, he looked like the college football player he had been, who had chosen to specialize in orthopedics after a complex ankle fracture his senior year had ended any hope of a pro career instead of medical school. He too drew a diagram for visual reference.
"The bullet made a mess of the shoulder," he said bluntly, showing them where it had entered and ricocheted. He drew more lines and hashes, indicating implants to steady the bones. "These marks show fractures to the scapula, clavicle and the end of the humerus, and these" he tapped a series with his pencil, "are pins I used to hold the fractures steady. Most will come out when the bones have healed." Doctor Daniels cleared his throat and looked at Grissom and Sara.
"My surgical assistant recognized your daughter while we were operating," he said. Sara frowned and Grissom glanced over at Kaia, and then back at the doctor, confused. Daniels shrugged, "Apparently she likes to attend gymnastic competitions as a spectator now she no longer competes."
"Ok," shrugged Gil, not really sure why they were having this discussion.
"The point of me bringing this up, is she was able to show us YouTube clips of Kaia and what she would normally expect her body to be able to do," continued the doctor. "I'm not an orthopedic specialist, which I why I call Doctor Harris in to help."
"The videos were a useful tool," nodded Doctor Harris. "I've worked with many athletes before, but never a gymnast." He folded the paper covered in his scribbles as he thought. "The bones are not the only injury; there is a substantial amount of damage to the tendons, ligaments and muscle."
"Will she recover full use of her arm?" asked Sara directly.
"I can't say for certain," said Harris. "I can tell you recovery will take many months, and she will need another operation to remove the hardware at some point. I believe that with physiotherapy and time she will recover fully to normal standards. I also believe she will be able to do many of the skills I saw in the video clips."
"But not all?" asked Grissom. Doctor Harris shook his head.
"No, in particular the swinging motion," he demonstrated, holding his arms above his head and grasping an imaginary bar. "I think she will recover some of that ability, but not all of it. The flying moves and swinging around in circles will be difficult, if not impossible." He lowered his hands and sighed. "I'm sorry I can't be more definitive. It may be that with time we can go back into the shoulder and try and restore more function, but as of right now swinging on the bar is going to be difficult at best."
…
Sara lay in bed and closed her eyes as the two surgeons left, wondering if she could possibly just wake up and start the day over again; she would bolt the front door so no one could come in or go out. She heard Gil's footsteps as he moved over to the corner of the room when Leah, Kati and Lindsey were asleep on cots a nurse had found; just before they had brought Kaia in, the empty bed had been rolled out to make room for the one coming in.
She hated the word surreal, preferring to see reality and accept it, but right now she would give anything to change the disbelief, confusion and bizarre turn of events of the last twelve hours. She curled carefully on her side, her gaze falling on Sophie and abruptly she felt as though a hole had just been punched through her chest. In the chaos of everyone being treated, talking to doctor's right, left and center and trying to remember the details for the police, she had pushed the gravity of what had happened away.
Sara had never had much of a tolerance for painkillers; they left her drowsy and unable to focus clearly. All day she had been struggling to maintain the façade that she was calm, understanding and in control of everything while her mind whirled and wavered, clinging desperately to the threads of so many different issues. Now she clenched the edge of her pillow in a fist that trembled, longing to lash out and hit something, anything, in order to let go of the tension. A headache had begun to lodge itself behind her eyes hours ago, now it wrapped its iron fingers around her neurons and began to squeeze viciously.
Across the room, Kati woke abruptly from a dream and began to cry. Grissom scooped her up before she could move and wake Leah; he held her tightly against his chest, rocking her and trying to calm her tears. His efforts came to nothing as Kati worked herself into a fit of hysterical cries and half screaming sobs. He carried her toward Sara, who sat up and reached for her, tucking Kati into her lap, to no avail. Despite napping during the day, Kati was exhausted and traumatized beyond the point of being soothed. Grissom picked her up again, rubbing her back gently.
"Take her home," said Sara finally, her head pounding.
"What?" Gil was stunned.
"Take her home," repeated Sara, searching for any practicality within reach. "Put her to bed, feed the animals- someone needs to. Let her sleep it off. Call the lab."
"Sara," he implored, searching for words, "but what about,"
Sara waved a hand, cutting him off.
"There are police outside the door and your mother is over there. We're not going anywhere Gil. Please, take her home, let her sleep and then bring her back in the morning. She's four, she's had a long, frightening day and she doesn't know what's going on. A little normality will go a long way with her right now."
He glared at her for a long time, knowing she was right and hating it, before finally giving in. He hugged her tightly for a moment before asking one of the officers to take him home.
Sara slumped back against her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut wishing she could shoot the machines surrounding her that let out a cacophony of sounds. Ignoring her leg, she rolled until she was lying face down, pulled the pillow over the top of her head and let go of everything she had been holding on to all day. Tears soaked the sheet under her face as her chest heaved and her body shook with the effort of sobbing her heart out. She clutched handfuls of the blanket until her knuckles were white and her fingers numb from the iron grip but it did nothing to stop the tumbling thoughts and heavy guilt rattling through her mind. Why had she ever moved to this hellhole of a city?
At the nurses' station down the hall Kelly was watching the monitors when she noted the change in Sara's vitals. She knew immediately what the problem was and made her way to the room where officers were still standing guard outside. Sofia had spoken to the hospital staff earlier and explained that while the threat was still unknown, the entire family was under protective custody. She had ensured the medical professionals that the officers would cooperate and not obstruct their work, but that they were there to do a job.
Kelly approached Sara's bed with a sigh, wondering how the poor woman hadn't cracked before now. Quietly and efficiently she injected a mild sleeping agent into the IV to help the woman doze off and then stood beside the bed, gently rubbing her back while it took hold. Slowly Sara calmed, sliding into slumber, exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Gently Kelly rolled her over, straightened the sheets and washed her face with a cool cloth. As much as she wanted to stay and help this woman and her family, she couldn't wait to get home to her little boy and remind herself of just how much she had to be thankful for.
…
Grissom expertly changed the finally sleeping Kati into her pajamas and settled her in bed, tucking the covers around her with extra care. Stepping back from the bed he slid down the wall and sat, watching her as she wandered through dreamland. Hank ambled in and lay down at the foot of the bed, yawning widely as he stretched and then sprawled unceremoniously across the floor. Grissom shut his eyes and tried to clear his mind, failing miserably; instead he turned the bits and pieces of information Catherine had given him an hour ago over and over, trying to fit them together and make sense of it all.
His back cramped suddenly and horribly and he realized he had been sitting on the floor for hours, his mind failing him for the first time in a long time. With a growl of pain, he lurched to his feet, one hand on the wall to steady himself as he waited for his balance to adjust and the throbbing to subside. He kissed Kati's forehead, muttered for the dog to stay put when Hank raised his head, and staggered out the door, lurching downstairs to find something to do. When all else failed, working inane tasks sometimes helped him solve a problem.
Most of the mess from breakfast had been cleared before disaster unfolded, but there were glasses and mugs spread throughout the family room and kitchen; he gathered them up and unloaded the clean items in the dishwasher before refilling it and pressing the start button. He scrubbed the counters, mopped the floor and restored the kitchen to its full working order. He ate a bowl of cereal without really realizing he was doing it, his mind still chewing through the facts. That done, he moved to the family room again; he straighten cushions, returned extra chairs to their homes and picked up the odd discarded and forgotten napkin, working steadily on autopilot.
Finally, he gathered the assortment of guitars, carrying them back to the music room and settling them in the appropriate cases. He returned for the last item and flinched when his fingers wrapped around the smooth neck and pressed over the strings of Sydney's cello as he lifted it, the bow in his other hand. Isis, who had been curled beside the beautiful instrument, hissed at him and raked her claws over the leg of the coveralls he was still wearing. He stared at her, his expression for a moment completely blank as if he'd never seen the prickly Siamese before, and then she attacked his sock clad toes, biting down hard. He yanked his foot back and the cat stalked away, tail in the air and all the fur on her back sticking straight up.
Shivering, he trudged back to the music room and opened the hard black case that rested on the heavy duty racking beside the bookshelf. He slid the cello inside, fingers trailing over the curves of the wood as he let go. Raising the bow he twisted the end in one smooth motion, as he had seen so many times before, loosening the hair before tucking it into its slot and closing the lid, sliding the latches into place. Turning his gaze fell on the wall to the left of the storage area and he stopped, rooted to the spot.
Three walls of the room were covered in whiteboards marked out with permanent staff lines. Sometime in the last few days since the concert Sydney had cleaned away what the band had been working on; now they were covered in a complex tapestry of notes, markings and lines. He was used to seeing a masterpiece in the works scrawled upon the walls though he could rarely follow it, not being very adept at reading music. What caught his attention this time though was the title scrawled untidily in the very top left hand corner. In a hand eerily similar to Sara's almost illegible scribbling, Syd had written 'The Family, Suite for Solo Cello in D major, Prelude' followed by her initials, SLSG. His eyes wandered around the room, following the notes as they rose and fell across the boards. He saw patterns emerge here and there, and wild tangles in other places. His heart soared for an instant as he wondered what it would sound like and if she would play it for him.
If she would play it for him. He stopped cold at that thought, abruptly snapped out of his wonderings as a mixture of jarring despair and overwhelming nausea built up inside him. The room was suddenly claustrophobic and he hurried out, shutting the door tightly behind him. He fled upstairs before everything he had eaten came up in a rush, leaving him gasping for breath and fighting for control.
…
Brass jerked awake as the deputy driving the car hit a pothole, jolting him violently back in his seat. He massaged his neck and glowered at the young man, who pointed wordlessly at the building in front of them as he parked the car. In the back Warrick rubbed his eyes, also having been thrust abruptly out of his nap as the car bounced. The three men got out and walked briskly inside the convenience store, avoiding the motorists coming and going around them. Brass walked up to the counter, held up his badge and uttered a single word.
"Manager?" The clerk nodded and rang a bell to summon his superior. An old, irritable man walked out of the back room, a box of magazines under one arm.
"What Anthony?" he demanded. The clerk jerked his thumb at Brass; the old man looked at the three men and sighed, raising his free arm to indicate the privacy of the office. The deputy entered first, scanning the room as the manager, Brass and Warrick followed.
"Kevin Miller," the manager introduced himself without the bother of pleasantries. "How can I help?"
"Captain Brass, Las Vegas PD," said Jim, glancing around and noticing a small TV mounted on the wall. "You watch the news recently?" Miller nodded.
"The missing kid?" he guessed.
"Indeed," replied Brass, trying not to take the generalization to heart. He might know the victim, but he needed to work this as a case if he was going to succeed. "There was a receipt in the getaway vehicle from this store. We need your tapes."
"Sure," nodded Miller, walking over to the computer. "Look around, do whatever you need to. People who hurt innocent kids deserve to be shot." Brass glanced up from the desk he was looking at. Miller shrugged. "I got three of my own, and six grandbabies; a man has his priorities."
"You see anything suspicious?" asked Warrick as he scrolled quickly through the electronic footage, "around seven this morning?"
"Wasn't here," replied Miller. "Workin' nights this week; my night manager's on vacation. I left at five. Johnny and Mila were here though, I'll get their numbers." He opened the filing cabinet, flicking through the papers. "I don't like workin' nights," he said suddenly, as though offering an apology for his earlier grumpiness. He handed two pages to Brass and nodded, then shuffled back out into the store to refill his shelves. The deputy moved to stand at the door, hands at his belt.
"Anything?" asked Brass, peering over Warrick's shoulder.
"This is whoever bought the coffee; you can't see the face that well, but I can hopefully get prints off the coffee machine and the snack counter. Hopefully Archie can do better with this." Warrick bagged the tapes and grabbed his kit, heading back into the store to hunt down some fingerprints.
An hour later there was nothing more to be found and they bid Mr. Miller farewell.
"Hope you find her soon," he said as they left.
"We will," promised Brass darkly.