Ok, I tried to make this as real as possible but I'm human and this is my
first angst fic. One more thing, I saw Sara's apartment after I wrote this
fic so, the apartment that I had imagined has nothing to do with the real
one.
************
"Do you want a drink or something?", I asked after tossing my jacket over the first piece of furniture I came across and headed to the kitchen.
"No thanks." I couldn't see him but somehow I knew what he was doing. When I got back from the kitchen I saw him studying my bookcase, pausing from time to time to scan the various portraits I had there. I sat on my couch and I glanced at my table, the stacks of cards were still there.
"This is you?", he asked in amazement, he had the portrait in his hands. He turned it towards me. I nodded. I was five years old in that picture.
"You look like you don't know if you want to cry or smile. You're almost smiling but your eyes look sad", he said. He put the younger version of me back on the top shelf of the bookcase and sat on the opposite side of my couch.
He had described the picture perfectly, "I wanted to cry actually. My mom wanted me to smile."
"I guess it was a tie."
"Yeah", I said without smiling. I stood up. How was I going to start? What was I going to say? I found myself desperately needing a Valium. I wasn't sure if I was nervous because I was going to tell him something very personal or because I was afraid of his reaction. I just couldn't imagine living my life knowing that I had disappointed him.
"Sara, breathe", he said . Oh, right, breathe. He must've been nervous too, but he didn't show it.
I rubbed my eyes wearily. Soldier on Sara.
I took a deep breath, "Ok. Dylan and I worked together in San Francisco. It was like two years ago. A woman, Susan Addison had called 911 babbling about how she'd shot her husband in self-defense and that he was bleeding, she didn't know what to do and so forth. When the paramedics arrived the guy was stone dead. Dylan and I were assigned to the case. When we arrived at the scene, she was in shock and unresponsive."
Grissom frowned, his eyes never leaving me "…and, was it self-defense?", he inquired. He always knows what to ask.
"Let me finish", I said, "She was taken to the hospital. She had some cuts, bruises, a black eye and a broken rib. From moment one Dylan thought she was lying. At first glance, the crime scene backed up her story. Dylan and I never got along well and at the time I had his ass in a sling because I'd caught him red handed 'borrowing' 12 G's from a crime scene."
Grissom eyes widened, he had to interrupt "You didn't tell your supervisor?"
I stood up and started to pace in circles around the couch "No. Somehow he convinced me not to, he said it wouldn't happen again, that he was having money problems and that he wasn't acting like himself lately. He said he intended to replace the money. I believed him. I was stupid. I mean, since when you can trust people? Anyway, he stayed at the crime scene, asking questions to the neighbors while I went to interview Susan at the hospital."
'Susan', not 'the suspect', not 'Mrs. Addison'. Grissom eyed my suspiciously, he knew then that I had done what he'd told me not to do. Get personally involved. Well…he wasn't there then.
"We talked for an hour. *She* talked for an hour, I couldn't do more than listen and ask a few questions. All the horrible things he'd done to her and her children. She had three, you know? Patrick who was seven, Clare five and Joey three.
For ten years he did nothing but humiliate her in front of the children. He took a swing at her from time to time too. They had horrible fights in front of the kids and she knew that sooner or later their fights would do permanent damage to the children. About a week prior to her 911 call, he had crossed a line by slapping Joey on the face so hard that the kid ended up on the floor. She told me that had given her the courage."
When I walked past Grissom he grabbed my right wrist and squeezed it gently, I stopped in mid-stride. His hand was so warm. He looked up at me "Sit down, you're making me dizzy." He let go of my wrist and patted the couch with his hand.
I sat down and continued "I asked her 'there are shelters you could have gone to you know?' She had been in a couple but her husband always managed to find her, 'he had a lot of cop friends' she'd told me. I checked all this of course, she could've been a skilled liar. God knows I've seen my fare share of those. But, it was all true. Before I knew it I was so emotionally involved in the case that I was having a hard time figuring out where Susan ended and I begun. The 911 call was at 11:30 pm. At 2:00 am, I think, I wasn't paying much attention to the time, I was back at the crime scene . That's where it happened."
I didn't have the strength to look at him so I leaned forward, like I had done after I had finished separating the cards, my elbows on my knees.
I choked back the tears, closed my eyes and went on, "Dylan was finishing the living room. I decided to check the upstairs bedrooms to see if I could find something. I found nothing out of place in the kids bedrooms and their own bedroom was squeaky clean. It seemed almost *too* clean to me. The living room, however, was a royal mess, shattered mirror, broken lamp, furniture turned up side down. Clearly that had been where he had supposedly attacked her. I looked at the bed and I noticed the sheets were new. It occurred to me that she had changed the sheets for some reason so I checked the washing machine, they weren't there. I went outside and checked the garbage can. There they were, soaked in blood and wrapped up in nylon."
I glanced at Grissom, he looked thoughtful, probably trying to find out what had been my predicament. Seconds later, he discovered it, "Sara…what did you do with the sheets?", he asked slowly, pausing at each word.
"I-I… burnt them."
He blinked once.
"You what?!" He couldn't believe what I had just said. My heart lurched, he was mad. Strike that, he looked horrified *and* mad.
I stood up again, "She would've gone to jail! I couldn't do that to her, to her children. Neither of them had any brother's or sisters and his and her parents were dead. They kids would've ended up in foster care", I couldn't contain the tears anymore, so I let them run freely.
Grissom stood up too, we were facing each other.
"But she murdered her husband in his sleep Sara!", he said raising his voice.
This was the man I was always dying to please.
"I know! I know!", I screamed, "You think I didn't know that! But it was self-defense! She'd done everything within her reach to get away from him and she couldn't. What was she supposed to do? Get a restraining order that would eventually piss him off even more? Those aren't worth the paper they're written on anyway. How about calling the police? She'd be better off throwing herself and the kids of a 20 story building. She's not a danger to anyone except to her husband and he's dead."
I was clinging to the last bits of my self-control and all Grissom was doing now was tugging and tugging.
"He was *sleeping*, Sara! That's cold blooded murder", he retorted, "I can't believe you-*you* of all people did that. What were you thinking?!"
That's it, something inside my head snapped.
"I wasn't, Grissom! I wasn't thinking, sometimes people don't think! You- you don't understand! It *was* self-defense! She killed him while he was sleeping because she was too afraid of him when he was awake. She did it for her kids, she didn't want them to grow up listening to their fights!", I was sobbing so hard that I was having trouble breathing "You---you don't know what it's like to---to grow up listening to your father scre--- screaming at your mother that she's useless, that everything she does is wrong!", I sniffled, I thought I would stop crying but I felt a new batch of warm tears running down my cheeks, "He was always shouting and my mom always tried to calm him down! Do you know what is like to live in a house where your father is a time bomb waiting to go off at any second? He didn't respect her, or me. He only cared about his buddies at the police station. My mom-God bless her-never *once* raised her voice, she thought that was the best for me. That it would 'upset me to see her screaming'. Can you believe that?? She thought *that* would upset me. She let him walk over her without uttering a damn peep! I would never let anyone do that to me!"
"Shh, it's ok---". Grissom was overwhelmed, he didn't know what to do with all that information. I had just realized that I was talking about me and not about Susan's case.
"NO, IT'S NOT OK!! HE TOOK PICTURES!", I collapsed on the floor gasping for air. I couldn't stop the tears, all followed the same path, run slowly down my cheek, lingered on my chin for a second and then landed on my pants.
"Who? Who took---?" He was lost.
"DYLAN!! He took pictures of everything!!", I covered my face with my hands, "He took pictures of me with the bloody sheets and of me burning the freaking sheets! One single moment of weakness and that vulture took advantage of it! I never did that again, I'm different now! I wouldn't do it now! I swear!"
"Yes, I know you wouldn't…You're trying to say that he blackmailed you?", I felt his voice, soft and calming near me. He didn't sound mad anymore.
I nodded without uncovering my face, the sobs wouldn't let me speak. He sat beside me, put his left arm around me and pulled me gently towards him. All this while he repeated, 'shhh, it's ok'.
"I couldn't say anything because I would loose my job, Susan would go to jail and her kids to foster care. I had four lives in my hand, this was never only about me. Dylan of course, found that amusing. He offered me a deal, he wouldn't show the pictures to the supervisor and I wouldn't tell him about how a CSI, level three had a taste for dead people's money."
If I had just told the supervisor about Dylan's activities earlier this would've never had happened. That 'If I had done this instead of that' thought didn't help and I started to cry again.
"Shhh, Let it all out."
I realized that I had never spoken to anyone about this before. When I came to Las Vegas I'd blocked the memory, for me it had never happened. I needed a fresh start.
Occasionally a case would make a hole in that emotional wall and I would momentarily loose my balance. Like with Scott Shelton. I'll never forget his face when he saw the walls red, the poor bastard even tried to deny it.
"I took pictures of him too", I said between sniffles "He thought I was too afraid of him to try any sort of revenge, he was always very confident. I took pictures of him stealing money from a crime scene."
Our eyes met. "You made it worst, didn't you?", he so wisely asked.
"Yeah", he wiped a fresh tear from my right cheek "He still can believe I did that", I smiled proudly, although I didn't know if I should be proud of that, "He doesn't think I'll actually use the pictures against him because he knows I love my job. If I do something, he'll do it too."
"Sara", he shook his head, "Now I understand why you practically jumped at the opportunity to work here. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No. I'll handle it myself. I've done it for two years anyway."
Nope, there was nothing he could do. He had done enough by listening.
He asked me a few more questions about Susan's case and about that pain in the neck named Dylan. He didn't say ' what you did was wrong', 'I can't believe you did that' again but I knew he had his own opinion about the subject. Well, I'll find out about that tomorrow. I answered all his questions until the lack of sleep and the emotional roller coaster I'd gone through claimed its toll and I fell asleep right there on my couch.
TBC…
*********
************
"Do you want a drink or something?", I asked after tossing my jacket over the first piece of furniture I came across and headed to the kitchen.
"No thanks." I couldn't see him but somehow I knew what he was doing. When I got back from the kitchen I saw him studying my bookcase, pausing from time to time to scan the various portraits I had there. I sat on my couch and I glanced at my table, the stacks of cards were still there.
"This is you?", he asked in amazement, he had the portrait in his hands. He turned it towards me. I nodded. I was five years old in that picture.
"You look like you don't know if you want to cry or smile. You're almost smiling but your eyes look sad", he said. He put the younger version of me back on the top shelf of the bookcase and sat on the opposite side of my couch.
He had described the picture perfectly, "I wanted to cry actually. My mom wanted me to smile."
"I guess it was a tie."
"Yeah", I said without smiling. I stood up. How was I going to start? What was I going to say? I found myself desperately needing a Valium. I wasn't sure if I was nervous because I was going to tell him something very personal or because I was afraid of his reaction. I just couldn't imagine living my life knowing that I had disappointed him.
"Sara, breathe", he said . Oh, right, breathe. He must've been nervous too, but he didn't show it.
I rubbed my eyes wearily. Soldier on Sara.
I took a deep breath, "Ok. Dylan and I worked together in San Francisco. It was like two years ago. A woman, Susan Addison had called 911 babbling about how she'd shot her husband in self-defense and that he was bleeding, she didn't know what to do and so forth. When the paramedics arrived the guy was stone dead. Dylan and I were assigned to the case. When we arrived at the scene, she was in shock and unresponsive."
Grissom frowned, his eyes never leaving me "…and, was it self-defense?", he inquired. He always knows what to ask.
"Let me finish", I said, "She was taken to the hospital. She had some cuts, bruises, a black eye and a broken rib. From moment one Dylan thought she was lying. At first glance, the crime scene backed up her story. Dylan and I never got along well and at the time I had his ass in a sling because I'd caught him red handed 'borrowing' 12 G's from a crime scene."
Grissom eyes widened, he had to interrupt "You didn't tell your supervisor?"
I stood up and started to pace in circles around the couch "No. Somehow he convinced me not to, he said it wouldn't happen again, that he was having money problems and that he wasn't acting like himself lately. He said he intended to replace the money. I believed him. I was stupid. I mean, since when you can trust people? Anyway, he stayed at the crime scene, asking questions to the neighbors while I went to interview Susan at the hospital."
'Susan', not 'the suspect', not 'Mrs. Addison'. Grissom eyed my suspiciously, he knew then that I had done what he'd told me not to do. Get personally involved. Well…he wasn't there then.
"We talked for an hour. *She* talked for an hour, I couldn't do more than listen and ask a few questions. All the horrible things he'd done to her and her children. She had three, you know? Patrick who was seven, Clare five and Joey three.
For ten years he did nothing but humiliate her in front of the children. He took a swing at her from time to time too. They had horrible fights in front of the kids and she knew that sooner or later their fights would do permanent damage to the children. About a week prior to her 911 call, he had crossed a line by slapping Joey on the face so hard that the kid ended up on the floor. She told me that had given her the courage."
When I walked past Grissom he grabbed my right wrist and squeezed it gently, I stopped in mid-stride. His hand was so warm. He looked up at me "Sit down, you're making me dizzy." He let go of my wrist and patted the couch with his hand.
I sat down and continued "I asked her 'there are shelters you could have gone to you know?' She had been in a couple but her husband always managed to find her, 'he had a lot of cop friends' she'd told me. I checked all this of course, she could've been a skilled liar. God knows I've seen my fare share of those. But, it was all true. Before I knew it I was so emotionally involved in the case that I was having a hard time figuring out where Susan ended and I begun. The 911 call was at 11:30 pm. At 2:00 am, I think, I wasn't paying much attention to the time, I was back at the crime scene . That's where it happened."
I didn't have the strength to look at him so I leaned forward, like I had done after I had finished separating the cards, my elbows on my knees.
I choked back the tears, closed my eyes and went on, "Dylan was finishing the living room. I decided to check the upstairs bedrooms to see if I could find something. I found nothing out of place in the kids bedrooms and their own bedroom was squeaky clean. It seemed almost *too* clean to me. The living room, however, was a royal mess, shattered mirror, broken lamp, furniture turned up side down. Clearly that had been where he had supposedly attacked her. I looked at the bed and I noticed the sheets were new. It occurred to me that she had changed the sheets for some reason so I checked the washing machine, they weren't there. I went outside and checked the garbage can. There they were, soaked in blood and wrapped up in nylon."
I glanced at Grissom, he looked thoughtful, probably trying to find out what had been my predicament. Seconds later, he discovered it, "Sara…what did you do with the sheets?", he asked slowly, pausing at each word.
"I-I… burnt them."
He blinked once.
"You what?!" He couldn't believe what I had just said. My heart lurched, he was mad. Strike that, he looked horrified *and* mad.
I stood up again, "She would've gone to jail! I couldn't do that to her, to her children. Neither of them had any brother's or sisters and his and her parents were dead. They kids would've ended up in foster care", I couldn't contain the tears anymore, so I let them run freely.
Grissom stood up too, we were facing each other.
"But she murdered her husband in his sleep Sara!", he said raising his voice.
This was the man I was always dying to please.
"I know! I know!", I screamed, "You think I didn't know that! But it was self-defense! She'd done everything within her reach to get away from him and she couldn't. What was she supposed to do? Get a restraining order that would eventually piss him off even more? Those aren't worth the paper they're written on anyway. How about calling the police? She'd be better off throwing herself and the kids of a 20 story building. She's not a danger to anyone except to her husband and he's dead."
I was clinging to the last bits of my self-control and all Grissom was doing now was tugging and tugging.
"He was *sleeping*, Sara! That's cold blooded murder", he retorted, "I can't believe you-*you* of all people did that. What were you thinking?!"
That's it, something inside my head snapped.
"I wasn't, Grissom! I wasn't thinking, sometimes people don't think! You- you don't understand! It *was* self-defense! She killed him while he was sleeping because she was too afraid of him when he was awake. She did it for her kids, she didn't want them to grow up listening to their fights!", I was sobbing so hard that I was having trouble breathing "You---you don't know what it's like to---to grow up listening to your father scre--- screaming at your mother that she's useless, that everything she does is wrong!", I sniffled, I thought I would stop crying but I felt a new batch of warm tears running down my cheeks, "He was always shouting and my mom always tried to calm him down! Do you know what is like to live in a house where your father is a time bomb waiting to go off at any second? He didn't respect her, or me. He only cared about his buddies at the police station. My mom-God bless her-never *once* raised her voice, she thought that was the best for me. That it would 'upset me to see her screaming'. Can you believe that?? She thought *that* would upset me. She let him walk over her without uttering a damn peep! I would never let anyone do that to me!"
"Shh, it's ok---". Grissom was overwhelmed, he didn't know what to do with all that information. I had just realized that I was talking about me and not about Susan's case.
"NO, IT'S NOT OK!! HE TOOK PICTURES!", I collapsed on the floor gasping for air. I couldn't stop the tears, all followed the same path, run slowly down my cheek, lingered on my chin for a second and then landed on my pants.
"Who? Who took---?" He was lost.
"DYLAN!! He took pictures of everything!!", I covered my face with my hands, "He took pictures of me with the bloody sheets and of me burning the freaking sheets! One single moment of weakness and that vulture took advantage of it! I never did that again, I'm different now! I wouldn't do it now! I swear!"
"Yes, I know you wouldn't…You're trying to say that he blackmailed you?", I felt his voice, soft and calming near me. He didn't sound mad anymore.
I nodded without uncovering my face, the sobs wouldn't let me speak. He sat beside me, put his left arm around me and pulled me gently towards him. All this while he repeated, 'shhh, it's ok'.
"I couldn't say anything because I would loose my job, Susan would go to jail and her kids to foster care. I had four lives in my hand, this was never only about me. Dylan of course, found that amusing. He offered me a deal, he wouldn't show the pictures to the supervisor and I wouldn't tell him about how a CSI, level three had a taste for dead people's money."
If I had just told the supervisor about Dylan's activities earlier this would've never had happened. That 'If I had done this instead of that' thought didn't help and I started to cry again.
"Shhh, Let it all out."
I realized that I had never spoken to anyone about this before. When I came to Las Vegas I'd blocked the memory, for me it had never happened. I needed a fresh start.
Occasionally a case would make a hole in that emotional wall and I would momentarily loose my balance. Like with Scott Shelton. I'll never forget his face when he saw the walls red, the poor bastard even tried to deny it.
"I took pictures of him too", I said between sniffles "He thought I was too afraid of him to try any sort of revenge, he was always very confident. I took pictures of him stealing money from a crime scene."
Our eyes met. "You made it worst, didn't you?", he so wisely asked.
"Yeah", he wiped a fresh tear from my right cheek "He still can believe I did that", I smiled proudly, although I didn't know if I should be proud of that, "He doesn't think I'll actually use the pictures against him because he knows I love my job. If I do something, he'll do it too."
"Sara", he shook his head, "Now I understand why you practically jumped at the opportunity to work here. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No. I'll handle it myself. I've done it for two years anyway."
Nope, there was nothing he could do. He had done enough by listening.
He asked me a few more questions about Susan's case and about that pain in the neck named Dylan. He didn't say ' what you did was wrong', 'I can't believe you did that' again but I knew he had his own opinion about the subject. Well, I'll find out about that tomorrow. I answered all his questions until the lack of sleep and the emotional roller coaster I'd gone through claimed its toll and I fell asleep right there on my couch.
TBC…
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