Torn
By: Manigault
Rating: R
Disclaimer: They are not mine. They belong to CBS, Atlantic-Alliance and Anthony Zuiker.
Grissoms Tahoe
7:00 pm
Sara was quiet as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot and onto the street. They drove in silence for the first fifteen minutes, Grissom casting furtive glances towards Sara who was staring stoically out of the passenger side window. He couldn't help but wonder if she was back in that hospital room with the victim, or if some other emotion was tying up her thoughts. Several times he opened his mouth with the notion of broaching the subject with her, but quickly shut it again when the right words failed to reveal themselves to him. He felt her stir beside him when they pulled onto Interstate 15, then tense before turning troubled eyes to him.
"Why was he so precise in taking the babies, but careless in leaving the women?"
Grissom shook his head. The question had often perplexed him. "It is the mans nature? He is careful not to harm the babies, but once free of their vessels he no longer cares what happens to the women."
The term 'vessels' made Sara cringe, but she knew what he inferred and shook her head. "There is so much information that doesn't add up with these women. He left Erin Monroe on the side of the road where he knew she would be found. Why not wait until he knew she wasn't going to survive?" If the perp only wanted the babies then the women were irrelevant, so why did he leave this one alive. "Did he know her?"
Grissom thought of the first victim and how her image still haunted him. She had been given no such chance to be found by a passerby, nor had the other victims. It was one point in this case that troubled him. Erin Monroe was not only lucky to be alive, she was lucky to have been in a position to have been found. He released a heavy sigh and risked another look over at Sara, who was now leaning her head back against the seat, eyes shut, although he knew she wasn't planning a nap. He waited for the inevitable question, tensing even as it arrived.
"Tell me about that first case, Gris." Sara said with reluctant curiosity.
An unwelcome image of Brynna Thompson worked its way into his conscious and he pressed his lips together. He had no desire to recount that image with Sara, or with anyone else for that matter.
"Come on, Gris." Sara kept her eyes closed as she encouraged him to indulge her curiosity. "We have another good 45 minutes to reach Mallory Simmons residence, so share with me."
Grissom caught the slight smile in that last request, but chose to ignore it. "You've seen the file, Sara, everything was in there."
"Not your personal impressions." Sara persisted.
"Of course not," Grissom scowled slightly. "Those of us who feel nothing don't exactly express personal impressions."
Sara's eyes flew open and she swiveled around in her seat to face him. "That was-." Her voice faltered, gathered strength, "I was in a lot of pain, Gris, I was wrong to say what I did. It's just that you know how to lock away your emotions and I haven't learned that trick yet."
He listened to Sara as she tried to apologize by re-emphasizing his lack of emotion, and could not repress the smile that had been building during her explanation.
Sara's eyes narrowed and she reached over to punch him lightly on the arm. "Diversion, Gris? Change the subject and you are off the hook?"
"Did it work?"
"No." Sara turned back to the side window and gazed out at the desolate landscape. She resolved that she wouldn't press him anymore to tell her about that case.
He sighed again, and stared through the front windshield as an image floated back to his minds eye. It wasn't the worst crime scene he had ever been on, but it was memorable. Although, if he could think of one that wasn't memorable then he really would not have any emotions.
"A group of hikers found the victim in the desert, not far from where Monroe was found." Grissom chose his words carefully, not letting those emotions ease into his voice. "By the time we arrived at the scene there wasn't much that hadn't been compromised."
"You couldn't tell at the scene that a cesarean section was performed on her?" Sara asked him, turning back so that she could see him.
"It was estimated that she had been in the desert for three weeks. There wasn't much we could discern at that point."
Sara knew what the daytime heat could do to a body, not to mention the rain. Animals were another story altogether. "You identified her as Brynna Thompson," She said finally. "Then you interviewed her friends."
"We interviewed her neighbors, who barely knew her, or anything about her." Grissom shook his head, recalling the futile search. "She worked all the time according to the information we did gather and rarely socialized."
"No family." Sara frowned and tried to remember the details of the files on each victim.
"She was from South Carolina, raised by a great-aunt when the parents abandoned her as an infant. When she graduated from high school she left for California where she went to school to become a chef." Grissom felt the information flowing back to him like it was yesterday. "No contact with either parents. One brother. Twin. We couldn't locate him."
"No other family." Sara repeated with a bleakness that concerned him.
"No." Grissom recalled the frustration that lack of evidence brought him on that particular case. No footprints. No threads. No weapons found and no clues for him to take to the lab and have analyzed. Only the victim herself and the knowledge of the baby that was stolen from her. The FBI had come in on the case and attempted to track recent adoptions. "The FBI made attempts to find the baby, but the tracks were cold and they did not succeed."
"Now we have a live witness." Sara mused.
"We're not detectives, Sara, you realize that don't you? Brass is giving us some line but he can only go so far before this is handed back over to the FBI." When she didn't respond, he continued. "We let it go when it's time, Sara, okay?"
"I don't know if I can." Sara whispered.
He didn't know
what to say to this confession, and so the last fifteen minutes elapsed as the
first, in silence.