Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: Last update for the night. Let me know what you think. :)

Jelly--if you're wondering, I enjoy Strawberry Juliuses. Julii? ...What's the plural of Julius? :) We don't have an Orange Julius here.

So if you're my director/cameo actor... I think I'll have to have Silly and GSRCSILVR25 do my sound effects. Any one else want to volunteer to do lighting? Camera man/woman?

I think Kathy's gotta do advertising--she's already making plays on a Field of Dreams. "If you build it, they will come." "If you post, then we will read." :) I like it.

...Yeah, I enjoy reviews way more than is rational. Hehe.

Goodnight, and enjoy!


Chapter Forty Seven:

I spent the night in a casino—they're open all night, but the ones on the strip are less seedy. I took the bus to the strip, and walked up and down it, pretending I was a tourist and that my backpack wasn't holding just enough essentials to get me through the next few days until the serial killer found me and left me naked with my hair over my face. I found myself watching the Bellagio fountains and wondering if he would come with a wig since my hair was too short. It was too late for the pirate ship show at Treasure Island but I walked to the Venetian and watched the gondolas and walked around, looking at the faux renaissance art and wishing I'd talked Gil into taking me to Phantom of the Opera before now.

I ended up in a bar at the Monte Carlo—it seemed less flashy than the others… easier to blend in. I bought a beer so I could stay without loitering. True, if you were gambling, they'd give you free alcohol—but I didn't want to gamble the only money I had. I sunk into a booth and tried to think what I would do. It was nearing four in the morning… soon I could take the bus to Debbie's bank and take out enough money to get myself a hotel room for the next few days. I assumed that if this guy knew enough about me to have figured me out, he wouldn't take more than a few days to find me.

Around six I ventured out of the bar, leaving the beer untouched. Usually I enjoyed a beer, but when you've given up everything—literally two lives—to wait to be murdered… the numbness of drink doesn't really seem like it will do the trick when you're faced with that kind of reality. Maybe the waiting would eventually push me to indulge, especially when I had more money in my pocket… but for now, it just didn't seem appealing.

I wondered if Gil had gotten my note yet—if he knew, or if he was still at the lab, working on Lois and family's murders. I climbed onto the bus, sitting in a window seat in the back and turning my back to it, my feet up on the seat beside me. I didn't want company. Was he angry with me? Would he understand why I'd done such a stupid thing? …What would Wesley think, when he woke up, and I wasn't there?

I blinked the tears away. They'd never truly been mine, and so I couldn't mourn their loss. They weren't mine to lose. I rode the bus for nearly an hour before I saw the name of the bank—I got off on the next stop and walked back. I was one of the first patrons, and I was sure I looked just like I'd been up all night in a Vegas bar, but I knew all Debbie's pertinent information and my signature was close enough to validate the story. I thought about closing the account, but I didn't—it felt greedy. I would simply have to come back in a day or so, if I was still alive.

This thought brought tears to my eyes—I took out a grand and then walked back to the bus station. I stopped at the first decent looking hotel off the strip and booked a room for the next night. I thought about keeping it longer but that seemed overly optimistic. I didn't want no one to notice my decomposing corpse until I started to smell simply because my killer had had the foresight to put a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door.

I, however, put the sign up, locked the door, and crawled into bed, exhausted. You would think, with the reality of your own death bearing down upon you that sleep would be impossible—but it wasn't. I drifted off, and didn't wake for hours. I ordered room service and turned on the TV, thinking that perhaps I ought to use the complimentary hotel stationary and pen to write… I don't know, my last words? Something moving and dramatic to mark the end of a life?

I let my cry over the turkey sandwich and fries I'd had sent up and flipped channels, nearly choking when I saw my face and Debbie's, side by side, on the television… saying that I was a missing person, and that anyone who saw me was supposed to call the police. Well, I was stuck inside for a while… maybe late tonight I'd go down to the gift shop and purchase a hat and a large pair of sunglasses…

I wondered how Gil had explained this to his lab… the police… how he'd explain himself to the media. I wondered if he missed me, or if he just didn't want me to die because then he'd feel responsible. I wondered what people thought about the search for two similar-looking women who were apparently just one person, and married to the city's Crime Lab Director. …I wondered if I should call him.

I wondered if there were pay phones downstairs, or if the gift shop also sold prepaid cell phones, so I could call him without telling him where I was.

I watched the news mindlessly for hours before I thought it would be safe to venture outside the hotel room—I did buy the hat and the sunglasses, grateful the kid I purchased them from looked like he hadn't ever watched the news in his life, and I got change for two dollars as well as directions to a bank of pay phones. If I stayed on too long, they would be able to trace the call to this casino, but the gift shop hadn't had prepaid phones and I was afraid to venture out further than my little hideaway.

I had to look up the lab's number in the phone book, and I tried desperately to remember how long you had to be on the phone for them to trace a call, but in the end decided that, worst case scenario, I would stay out of my room for a few hours if they came here to look for me. I dialed, and waited, hardly breathing.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab. How may I help you?"

"Can I speak to Gil Grissom please?"

"He's out of the building at the moment. Can I take a me—"

"Can I have his cell phone number, please?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't giv—"

"This is Sara Sidle… or, Debbie Grissom. Whichever you prefer."

There was a long silence on the line. "…Is there a number I can have him call you at?"

"No." I said, getting irritated. She paused again, obviously uncertain. …And then she gave in. I repeated the numbers in my head, over and over, hanging up on her so that I could insert money and dial before I misremembered the sequence… and then it was ringing again.

"Grissom." He sounded so very tired.

"…Wes isn't in the house, is he?"

There was a pause. "De—Sara?"

I swallowed. "I, uh… I just wanted to make sure he's safe and… apologize, again."

"Where are you, Sara?"

I shook my head, tears in my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Gil. I lied, and it was wrong, but… you… you have no idea how hard it is to wake up and… and be someone else. Have… nothing left of yourself…"

"Hey… I… I'm not mad, okay? Just tell me where you are, and we'll figure everything out."

"I just loved you so much… and I loved Wes. More than I've ever loved anyone. I… wanted to have a family. …I wanted to… have Debbie's family. I envied her so much."

"Sara, honey… Listen, Wes and my mom are out of the house… they're safe and he can't hurt them or me. So… tell me where you are, and we'll come get you. You… you don't have to do this."

He only wanted to save me. The casual slip of a term of endearment made it hurt that much worse. I winced. "My life isn't worth risking yours… or his. I'm… I'm okay with it." I thought about telling him that I loved him again, or that I was sorry, again… but it didn't need to be said. I hung up the phone, found myself a newspaper, and went into one of the hotel's restaurants. I ordered coffee and a salad and I waited… because I knew that I'd stayed on too long.

It was only a matter of time until they came, but I couldn't stay in the room. I was just glad I'd kept everything with me. I'd find a different hotel, once they'd gone. …And maybe, just a tiny part of me, wanted to see his beautiful face again. Even if I couldn't go back and risk his life…I could see him, just the once.