~8~
ONE YEAR LATER
~8~
Grissom stumbled through the door of his one-room rental. It wasn't his home persay, it was a place that he was surviving at for the moment. The dark, shabby furniture, which was sparse, was tattered and uncared for. This place had nothing in common with the home he had shared with Sara and Emily. He had left his position at the university, and he was unable to recall if the terms had been good or bad for them. He really didn't give a shit, as he had more important things to deal with. He had spent nearly all of Emily's college fund looking for his family. He had gone on talk shows, bought a billboard, and ran television ads, but to no avail. Drinking dulled the pain, but it was still there, buried deep within his gut. Every sober moment, every waking moment for that matter, brought him nothing but pain, agony, and anguish. He hadn't seen his family in a year. He didn't know how much Emily had grown, or what her first words had been. He didn't even know if she was still alive, or if her death had been quick. Noone could give him any sort of peace, and that was what drove him to the bottle, or can, again. He felt devastated, and he would've ended his own life if he knew beyond a doubt that his family were gone.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard his daughter laugh or his wife's husky voice. He would smell the tell-tale lotion that Sara used for the baby, as well as her own perfume. He would give anything to see the freckles on her skin and rub his hands along her arms. He would give his soul. He would give his life. He would give his own freedom.
"Please, God," he begged a deity he did not believe in. "just take me."
Just then he hurled an old beer bottle against a wall. Was this who he had become? What if Sara saw what had become of him? He wasn't the same man, or father, that he once was and in order to save his family he needed to be. He bent over and picked up a large, Fisher Price toy that he kept by the sofa. He turned it on and all the lights flashed brilliantly in the dark.
"This color is orange," the toy said.
~8~
Sara was awake before the alarm blasted into her ear. She stared up at the ugly, white popcorn ceiling. She hated popcorn ceilings and wished she could scrape the little bumps off with a spackeler. Her body had developed its own waking schedule and she had developed a type of routine before Emily or Simon woke up. Any moment she could have to herself was a godsend.
She slipped out of the bed, turned, and stripped of the sheets. It was washing-day, and she knew that Simon would expect no delays. She tossed the sheets into a wicker basket, and quickly stepped into the bathroom to take her shower. She had everything timed perfectly. The towels, which were a week old, were put into the laundry afterward, as well as anything that couldn't be reworn. Once all these things were done, she turned to Emily's crib.
She didn't know exactly how much time had passed exactly but she was able to assume, from what little television she saw, it had to be within 8 months to a year. Her time in Simon's dungeon blurred, and time no longer seemed like a tangible concept. She had left the house a few times, but Simon always held Emily and she couldn't attempt a run without her child in her arms.
Emily could now walk on her own. She had her own small cup and plate and she was able to use them, though messily, on her own. Her first words had come fast and she had her own small vocabulary. She had a toy chest full of toys and a bookshelf crammed with books, but worst of all was that she called Simon 'Daddy'.
~8~
After she had started the wash, she began breakfast. She sat Emily in a high chair, gave her a fistful of cheerios, and began to cook. It had taken some time, but she had learned Simon's favorite foods and she learned to feign compassion for his diet. On this particular morning, she was preparing a western omelette with peppers, mushroom and cheese. She tried to recall the days when she and Grissom would cook together. They would laugh, flirt, touch, and tease. Cooking, for a couple, was as romantic as a candlelit dinner.
"Going morning Aubry," Simon said as he walked into the kitchen, straightening his tie.
"Bree!" Emily said. "Bree… Bree!"
Simon kissed Emily's bleach-blond hair. "You are my Bree Bree," he cooed. "And who am I?"
"Daddy!" she said excitedly, throwing her hands into the air.
"No," Sara thought. "Baby, that's not daddy."
She wanted to cry, but any tear shed by here was seen as a sign as insubordination on her part, and though she had been spunky in the past, this was not the time. If it had just been her, then she would've given him a concussion with the frying pan, but she had a daughter to think about. What would Emily do without her? If they got seperated, or if Simon killed her, then Emily would never be recovered.
"Finished?" Simon barked at her, pulling back a chair.
Sara pasted on a thick, cheesy smile as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Almost," she said.
"Hurry," he said shortly. "I have a job. Someone has to put food on this table, and it isn't you. Move."
Smoothly she slid the omelete onto the plate, poured a glass of orange juice, and set it gently in front of him, though it took everything in her power not to shove the meal into his face.
After a bite he nodded. "Okay, you can eat," he said.
It was typical of Simon to eat first. If he was unimpressed by the food she gave him, then he would deny her food. She didn't mind though. As long as Emily was safe and had food, she didn't care. What she did care about though was that Emily referred to him as her father. Emily had forgotten Grissom. She had forgotten how he would toss her into the air, and the most heartbreaking thing of all was how easy it had been for Simon to brainwash the child.
"Laundry going, Six?" he asked.
"Yes, dear," she said, though it made bile rise in her throat.
"And what are your plans today?" he asked.
"Oh, give Aubry a bath. Her favorite television program comes on soon," she said nonchalantly.
"I don't want our daughter watching too much television," he said.
"Oh it's only thirty minuets," she replied calmly.
Simon gave a curt nod. "It better be,' he said. "I have to go. Clean this up."
Sara nodded and removed everything from the table with the grace of an experienced waitress. That was what she felt like: a slave, a waitress, a prisoner. The only thing that kept her grounded was the feeling of motherhood and memories of Grissom. They were still clear and vivid in her mind, but Emily's had faded.
~8~
"We have to dig deeper," a red-eyed and disheveled Grissom said. "Please, Conrad. We missed something. Something big."
Conrad Ecklie tented his fingers and looked at Grissom sympathetically. "I don't know where I can start, Gi," he said. "There was no camera footage, not footprints."
Grissom looked at his colleague. Eclie had not treated him unfairly and to this day was giving him all the leeway he was able to. But it just simply wasn't enough. Grissom knew he needed to do things his way, illegally if possible.
"I'll do whatever I can," he said.
~8~
Sara waved stiffly to Simon as he closed the front door, but as soon as she was free of his presence, she dropped her hand and gave the front door her middle finger.
"Don't give the finger, baby," she said, looking at Emily who was busy with a sippy-cup full of juice.
Sara quickly turned on the television, felt under the sofa, and produced a butter knife. Simon usually kept count of the silverware in the house, but as soon as his habit tapered off, she hid one with the purpose of using it as a television antenna. Luckily, Simon was a cheap bastard and the set still had a coaxial connection. She didn't know what she was hoping to see? Anything regarding her, Grissom, and an ongoing search for Emily.
"Finished," she said cheerfully to the child.
"Yes," Emily said clearly, as she wiped her hands together, a movement she had learned from her mother.
Sara unlocked the high chair, set Emily on her feet, and went to assemble her antenna. Emily scampered off to her toy chest and immediately pulled out a large Fisher Price toy that flashed bright colors. When Simon had brought it "home", Sara was struck with the memory of Grissom purchasing the same toy at the mall.
"This color is red," the toy said as it began to blink furiously and play a song.
"Red!" Emily mimicked before slapping her hand on another color.
She unscrewed the cord from the wall, and began to concentrate on finding a news broadcast. At around this time, and on the the television's default station, she was sometimes able to pick up a local news channel. The channels that Simon, The Doctor, had programmed into the receiver box were mainly children's channels.
"A year ago this week… mother… Gris…." she heard through bursts of static.
Her heart leaped at the sound of the partial words. "Come on," she said, licking her lips.
"The case went cold after months of searching. The father of Emily Grissom, still searching for his wife and daughter."
That was all she heard before static took over the television once again. As she stared into the fuzzy, white noise, all she could think was "he's still looking for us."
"Rabbit," Emily said from her toy chest, holding out her favorite doll.
"Time to watch Rabbit," Sara said, as she returned the cord to its original place.
It was time to do or die. She needed to plan.
