CONFESSIONS
Garrett watched his son eat. Or rather, he watched Nick as he pushed his lunch around on his plate, without actually physically putting too much of it in his mouth.
"Are you going to eat that, or play with it?"
Nick half-shrugged, "I'm not really hungry. I think I'll take it back to the lab with me and eat it later."
Silence. Not a totally uncomfortable silence like earlier; fraught with tension and anger – a different type of silence, filled with questions and recriminations and – Garrett fancied – gentle words of reconciliation and hope. Garrett heard them as clearly as if Nick was speaking to him. But Nick wouldn't ask. It was up to Garrett to start the rebuilding – and he knew it. But now that he had opened himself up, he didn't know what to say.
Sighing, he looked down at his shrimp linguine and twirled some pasta around on his fork. He could feel Nick's intent gaze on him, waiting for him to say something. "I suppose you're wondering what's changed."
Nick nodded. "The thought has crossed my mind. I'm just – I don't understand – why now? Why not when I was still in Texas? Why not last year when I was there for Thanksgiving? You're not – you're not dying or anything, are you?" The last question was a whisper, and Garrett was gratified to learn that the thought of his death disturbed Nick.
"No. I'm not dying." He took a bite of his linguine, "I'm not that cliché, Nick. You should know that." Pause. Beat. "Did you know your mother left me about five months ago?"
Nick looked at his father in shock. "She what?"
"Left me. Or rather, kicked me out. Told me to live elsewhere, and not to come back unless I was going to make an effort to change and to fix this situation I've created between us."
"I didn't know you and mom were having problems." Nick was still stunned.
"We weren't, not really. Our problem was you." When Nick flinched, Garrett sighed. "I mean that in a good way, Nick. She was getting tired of the distance between us. She wanted to know why it was there, and I wouldn't tell her. To this day, I have never told her about it – about the fact that I made you hide it.
"Remember when you called back in the spring for your mother's birthday? When you got off the phone with her, she told me you sounded sad. When I didn't say anything back, she lost it." Garrett chuckled at the memory. "Your mother doesn't lose her temper that easily, Nick. When she does, it's a sight to behold. She doesn't yell. She just gets deadly cold. She grabbed me by the arm, marched me upstairs and told me to pack. Told me to 'get the fuck out of her house'."
Garret smiled again at Nick's shocked expression, "First time I ever heard her say the word fuck, too. I knew she was serious. When I asked her what she thought she was doing, she told me she loved me, but she couldn't live with me anymore. She couldn't live with a man who couldn't be man enough to even talk to his oldest son. She told me I could come back only after I made an effort to fix the estrangement between us."
"So, you're here for her," Nick couldn't keep the slight bitterness out of his voice. Garret leaned forward, looking at his son intently.
"I'm here for you. If I had come five months ago, I would have been here for your mother. Because, you know what Nick? I realized your mother was right. I'm the one that caused this distance between us, and I'm the one that needed to fix it." He paused again, studying his hands intently, before he looked back to his son. "I'm seeing a therapist."
If Nick was shocked before, he didn't know what to think now. "A therapist? You? You've always thought they were quacks. Psycho-babblers!"
Garrett shrugged, "Your mom told me I needed to talk to someone, and if it wasn't her it better be a professional. So I went. We talked about you a lot. And I realized some big things - that night, when I made you hide the truth… I thought if no one else knew we could pretend it didn't happen. Life would go on as normal, and no one would need to know that I was a bad father. But that's not what happened, is it?
"You were always such a happy little kid, and all of a sudden you weren't anymore. You stopped talking to me. You stopped talking to your mother. You became withdrawn. Mary couldn't figure out why – but I knew. I knew what it was doing to you, and I still hid it. What happened – it wasn't your fault. You were just a kid, Nick. A little boy. I am so sorry I did that to you."
Dead silence. Nick was looking at the table. "I thought you were ashamed of me. I thought that I wasn't the perfect son anymore. When you looked at me, I could see it. The disgust. The shame. I didn't really understand what it was at the time, but I knew it meant you didn't love me anymore."
Garrett shook his head sadly, "I have always loved you, Nicholas. The shame you saw in my eyes was my own shame, for failing you. The disgust was my own. Do you understand? It was never you, Nick. Never you."
The sudden sound of Nick's beeper made both men jump. Relieved for something to do, Nick quickly grabbed his pager, "It's Grissom."
* * * * * *
Grissom looked at his watch surreptitiously when Nick arrived back at the lab. Nick had been gone for almost an hour. It wasn't as if Grissom begrudged him any time with his father, but after the events of the past few days – on top of the obvious tension he himself had noted between the two men – he had been concerned.
Now, he wondered if that concern had merit or not. Nick looked – different – somehow. He was walking a little taller, if the truth be told. And his father was still with him. That had been a surprise.
Nick waved slightly when he saw Grissom studying him, before turning to his father and saying something to him. Before the two of them walked down the hallway towards Grissom.
"Nick. Mr. Stokes," Grissom murmured, "How was lunch?"
His question provoked an honest smile from Nick. Not the big grins of the past, but a smile nonetheless. "It was good, Griss. Uh – is it alright if my father waits in the breakroom for us to talk to Eric and Samantha? I'm assuming that I'll have a few hours this afternoon to go home and change before shift starts, and my father wants to see where I'm living."
Grissom cocked an eyebrow at this, but merely nodded. "That's fine. Just get a visitors pass for him. Ecklie isn't here today, so no one should bother him. The parents of those two kids arrived about 10 minutes ago. Brass is ready to go when we are."
* * * * *
"I'm telling you, we didn't see anything at the park," Samantha White responded to Brass' question snottily. Beside her, her mother sighed in equal exasperation and rolled her eyes.
"But you were in the park?" Brass replied.
"Yeah. I already told you that. Can I go now?"
"What time would you say you were there?" Grissom inserted.
The teen looked at him with barely concealed hostility, "I already told you we were there from around 9:30 to 10:30. Just Eric and I. No one else."
Nick leaned forwards, hands on his knees, and smiled grimly when the girl looked at him. "That's interesting, Samantha. Because Eric says you weren't at the park at all. He says you weren't anywhere near the park."
That shut the girl up – for all of ten seconds. Nick could see her mind frantically racing before she widened her eyes at him in confusion, "You did say two nights ago? Tuesday?"
Samantha's mother interrupted, "Sam, honey – Tuesday was three nights ago."
"Oh – well then – there's the confusion. I thought two nights ago was Tuesday. We were in the park Tuesday night."
Nick cocked an eyebrow at Grissom and Brass, mouth tightening. "Eric told us you haven't been in that park for a few weeks, Samantha."
Dead silence. The girl looked at Nick, before turning to Grissom and Brass and back to Nick again. "Okay. So what?"
"So what? A kid is dead, Samantha. And we have a reliable witness who saw you and Eric at the bus stop near the park a little while after we estimate this kid died. If you know something – if you saw someone – tell us."
Samantha's mother looked shocked, "Is this about that Steeply kid? My daughter doesn't know anything about that! I'm surprised you're not talking to that Letch girl – she's the one that was looking after him."
"Slut," Samantha muttered.
"If anyone's to blame for what happened to that boy, it's her!" Samantha's mother agreed bitterly. "She's just like her mother – no morals."
Nick looked at Mrs. White contemplatively. "Why would you say that? Do you know the family?"
"Know them? We were neighbors for years. The girls used to be best friends in elementary school. We went on vacations together."
"So what happened?" Brass asked.
"What happened? Her mother ran off with my husband – that's what happened. Upped and moved to California with him two years ago."
* * * * * *
Eric Minet was sitting nervously beside his father in the other interview room. Nick stood to the side of the table, arms crossed without saying anything, as Brass took a seat across from the kid. Beside him, Grissom opened the case file and started casually flipping through the reports.
"So. Eric." Brass began, "We seem to have a discrepancy of statements here."
"How – what do you mean?"
"Well, Samantha says you were at the park the night Nick Steeply was murdered," Brass replied. Beside his son, Mr. Minet sat up a little straighter.
"She – she did?" Eric gulped.
"Yeah. She did. We want to show you some pictures, see if they might jog your memory," Grissom replied, sliding a couple of the less graphic 8 x 10s across the table top.
"Jesus," Mr. Minet muttered, blanching as he glanced at the flayed chest of the little boy, "Jesus."
"We know you were there, Eric," Nick muttered. "And from what Samantha White has said, you were there the same time Nick Steeply was murdered. So, if you didn't see anyone else at the park that must mean you did it."
Eric was looking up at the ceiling, away from the pictures, breathing deeply. "I didn't. I didn't. It wasn't me."
"Who then?" Nick whispered.
"Samantha. She did it. She killed him."
"Why?"
"Because she hates Jen. Nick said Jen kicked him out of the house because her boyfriend was coming over, and Samantha just snapped. We'd all just been sitting on the swings talking, but when Nick said Clay Peters was there, Jen went berserk. She started screaming at Nick, about first her father, now Clay. She just started hitting him." Eric looked at his dad, eyes pleading, "I'm sorry dad. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want her to hurt him. He was a nice kid."
"Did she mean to kill him?" Brass asked.
Eric shook his head dumbly, "I don't know. She kicked him in the stomach, really hard. He started choking. And then he was dead. We didn't know what to do."
Nick reached over and grabbed the case file from Grissom, tossing the rest of the crime scene photos on the table. "Who did that?" he demanded, pointing to the top photo of Nick Steeply, his skin ripped open across his chest from the switch.
Eric was crying now, silent tears of remorse and shame rolling down his face. "She told me we would both be blamed for it if we were caught. Said we had to make it look like he was attacked by a pedophile. So we carried him into the crawl pipes and took off his clothes. She got a branch from a tree in the park and whipped him with it. She used it to -"
"Sexually assault him." Nick's voice was deadly. "Well – she was right about one thing. You're both responsible for this. Where are his clothes now?"
"She took them. I don't know what she did with them." Eric turned to his father again, "I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
His father just looked at him, his face ravaged with grief and disbelief. "I can't believe it," he kept muttering, "Tell me you didn't do this, Eric."
Brass stood, "Believe it, Mr. Minet. I suggest you get a good lawyer for your son. Eric Minet, you're under arrest for the murder of Nick Steeply."
* * * * *
It was late afternoon before Nick was finally able to leave the lab. Samantha White and Eric Minet had both been arrested for the murder of Nick Steeply. Brass had been working on a search warrant for the White home to see if they could locate the boys' clothes when Grissom had told Nick to go home.
"Your father is still waiting for you in the break room," he had said. They were both in Grissom's office, waiting for Brass. "Jim and I can handle the search. You doing okay?"
Nick nodded, "I'm just glad we found them. And I'm glad he was dead before he was assaulted. Somehow, it makes me feel better. The poor kid suffered enough without having to go through that too."
Nick's voice was so matter-of-fact that Grissom paused and looked at him. "No one should have to suffer sexual assault – especially not children. It's heinous. But you know that, don't you Nicky?"
Nick's troubled gaze shot to Grissom's concerned blue, before he nodded weakly, "I guess I do." The admission was shocking in its simplicity and horror. Grissom swallowed thickly.
"That explains a lot." His voice was so gentle, Nick felt as if he was going to cry.
"I never told anyone about it. Just my father," Nick whispered. "He told me to forget about it – pretend it never happened. Not to tell my mother. I was nine. It was my babysitter."
"Oh, Nicky."
Nick looked up and sighed, "That was easier to say than I thought it would be," he admitted. "How did you know?"
Grissom shrugged, "I knew there was something more going on than just what you told me about Pete and Marsha. I've never seen you react so strongly to a case before – the comments you made about the victim being cursed because his name was Nick. What you said to the babysitter. You threw up in the morgue when Al said he'd been raped. It all adds up. And if you told your dad and he tried to pretend it never happened – I can understand why you have problems."
"He's seeing a therapist, you know," Nick replied. "He wants to make things right between us."
"Can he?"
"Maybe," Nick nodded, "People aren't perfect. We all make mistakes. At least he's willing to try to make things right. I'd like to be part of a family again."
"You're already part of a family here," Grissom responded.
Nick rubbed a fist across his eyes and smiled at Grissom, "Thanks, Grissom. I know that."
"If you ever want to really talk about it, I'm there for you Nick. Anytime you need me." Grissom cleared his throat, his own eyes suspiciously moist as he smiled at the younger man. "Now – you're father's waiting for you. And didn't Marsha say she was going to wait for you at your place when you re-plugged your phones earlier?"
Nick nodded, "Yeah. I forgot she was there, actually. I better get going. I'll see you in a couple of hours, Grissom."
Grissom shook his head, "No. Take your pager. If I need you, I'll page you. Otherwise, consider this a night off. It's been a long day."
"I thought we were short staffed tonight," Nick half-smiled.
"We were – as long as you needed an excuse to avoid your father."
__________________________________________
Author's Note: This story is obviously winding down. What happens with Marsha? What happens with Nick and his dad? What did Pete's letter say? All will be revealed in the next two chapters. I'm serious about this – I know I said back at the beginning this story would only be three chapters long, and I know I lied. But this time, I'm serious. Only two chapters left. Please R&R – let me know what you think.