Many thanks to my wonderful betas, Alison (Vigirl)
and Devanie
Part 10/?
Warrick frowned, dropping the hand holding the cell
phone into his lap. Nick drove the Tahoe with
familiar ease through the brightly lit Vegas streets.
He looked across at his dark-skinned partner and
narrowed his eyes.
"What's the prob? What'd Grissom want?"
"He needs our help on that multiple at Sunrise
Manor... and Sara's at the hospital."
"What?" Nick's head swivelled so quickly, he was
lucky not to suffer whiplash.
"Don't know why or how, but the sooner we drop
off this stuff at the lab, the quicker we'll find out."
Warrick's tone was even, despite the fact that his
concern for his colleague had set his heart racing.
They made the drive to Sunrise Manor in the least
amount of time possible without breaking the speed
limit. Nick held back on speeding, remembering
Grissom's words the last time he had sped to a crime
scene. From what he knew about Grissom,
particularly when he was concerned about Sara, it
was best to stay on his good side.
Two patrol cars guarded the crime scene and
protected the sole occupant of the house. Nick
pulled the Tahoe up beside the police cars and the
two young men jumped out. It was nearly 3.30 a.m
and the street was deserted; the neighbours
apparently favoured their warm beds in lieu of their
inquisitive nature.
As they entered the house, they found their superior
waiting for them in the hallway. Grissom's eyes
were hooded and he avoided looking at them
directly, immediately issuing instructions on what he
needed them to do.
"What's this about Sara and the hospital? What
happened?" Nick interrupted him, his curiosity and
concern demanding answers to the questions filling
his mind.
Grissom sighed and finally looked at them both,
revealling haunted smoky blue eyes. "She was
injured when avoiding a bullet."
"What?" Warrick flashed back to Holly Gribbs'
death come back to him, a time when his addiction
affected his judgement. "The perp was still here - in
the house."
"No. And we're not sure it was the perpetrator who
shot Sara. The mother of the murdered children
returned while we were analyzing the scene. Sara
was caught out the back on her own. She hurt her
arm when she hit the ground. Catherine's taken her
to the hospital. She'll be fine." The last few words
were said to not only convince the two men, but
reassure himself.
"Where's the mother now?" Nick asked.
"Dead. Shot herself point blank with a .44
magnum."
"Messy," commented Warrick.
"Right. Now we need to wrap up the collection.
Time is getting away from us. The two girls were
killed upstairs in the front bedroom. I will finish
processing the room. Nick, you process the staircase
and the landing. Warrick, the study. Make sure you
get everything, both of you. This case isn't as
straight-forward as it first appeared."
Grissom answered Warrick's questioning look with
a single raised eyebrow, his blue eyes encouraging
the younger CSI to look beyond the surface.
Grissom had a feeling about this case. There was
conflicting evidence and if he was right, the young
boy would be able to clear up some of the confusion.
Grissom sat in his chair, his fingers subconsciously
working the multi-coloured cube as he waited and
thought.
"Grissom."
He looked up and found Nick standing in the
doorway. He hadn't heard him arrive until he spoke.
"The kid's advocate is here."
Grissom put the Rubik's cube back on the desk and
accompanied Nick to the police department
interview rooms.
Brass met them in the hall. "Kid has asked that his
parents stay outside and the advocate has advised
him of his rights. Are you ready?"
"Let's do it," Grissom said, tilting his head slightly
to the right.
They walked into the room and sat down opposite
the teenage boy and his counsel. Grissom watched
the boy as Brass made the necessary introductions
and statements for the tape; the way his eyes darted
around the room warily, his hands constantly on the
move.
"James. You stated you were friends with Samantha
Ryan."
"Yeah. We've been going steady for three months."
"Now, at the scene, you said that you hadn't entered
the house."
"Yes..."
"Your footprints tell us otherwise. You were in the
house, weren't you?"
James' eyes widened as he realised that they had
found out the truth.
"Why don't you tell us what happened?"
"I couldn't believe it. The way her head blew apart
like that. It went everywhere. Why? Why did it
have to happen? It wasn't Sam's fault. She didn't
deserve to die like that. I should've done
something... but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I just
laid under the bed and watched, watched as they
both died. I did nothing to help..." With those last
choked words, James broke down crying, his head
sinking down into his folded arms on the table,
shoulders shaking visibly as the sobs racked his
entire body.
"Let's take a break," the advocate suggested.
Grissom and Brass nodded their heads, saddened by
what the boy had obviously had to witness, yet no
closer to the truth of who exactly had perpetrated the
crime. Brass noted the break in the interview for the
taped record and stopped the tape before they both
moved outside.
"That was not what I was expecting," Grissom
commented as he poured water into a plastic cup
from the bottled water container.
"No," Brass agreed, leaning back against the
smudged, yellowed wall. "But he does have the
answers we need. He witnessed everything."
"He might only know what happened in the
bedroom. I doubt he saw anything else, otherwise
why wasn't he killed as well?"
"Because the killer didn't know he was there."
"Exactly." Grissom wanted to get back in and
continue the interview, but knew that if they pushed
too far, they'd get nothing. This was too important
to push too far. "What have your interviews turned
up?"
"Husband was a psychiatrist. He had a practice
downtown and was well-respected. His wife
suffered from schizophrenia. She'd been under
psychiatric care up until three months ago with
regular fortnightly consults and was on prescribed
medication. Her former psychiatrist was unable to
state whether she was taking them. The script was
last filled four months ago."
"That doesn't mean her husband wasn't prescribing
for her."
"Husband's secretary mentioned that his wife had
gone off them a couple of months ago. Apparently,
her husband tried to convince her that she should
take them, going so far as to slip them into her food
or drink. She worked it out and started making sure
she didn't eat or drink anything that could have been
tampered with."
"What were the family dynamics?"
"Kids were apparently embarrassed by the way their
mother acted. Tended to visit friends rather than
having friends over. Relationship between husband
and wife was rocky since she'd gone off the
medication."
"Any reported physical violence in your ..." Grissom
broke off as he noticed the advocate coming towards
them.
"He's ready to continue."
Catherine looked across surreptitiously towards the
dark-haired woman in the seat beside her. Sara had
been silent ever since they left the hospital. The x-
ray had shown a scaphoid fracture and her arm was
now encased in a cast from her palm to elbow. Sara
hadn't appreciated Catherine's interference when
she queried about Sara's hearing and headache. Dr.
Langmead had insisted on running through a series
of tests which had managed to delays their stay for
another two hours.
Parking outside the CSI building, Catherine was
about to suggest that Sara wait in the car while she
grabbed both their bags. But Sara was too fast for
her, already undoing her belt and opening the door,
adapting to her single-handedness quickly.
Catherine shook her head, amazed at the pig-
headedness that her colleague currently possessed.
She could feel the way that Sara was pushing her
away and knew the cause. Sara wasn't one to let
another into her personal life, she was even less
likely to share the things that scared her. Catherine
realised that Sara was struggling to put the moment
of weakness behind her and show them all how
capable she was.
Locking the car, Catherine found Sara still in the
foyer signing in and searching for her ID.
"Looking for this?" Catherine asked, holding Sara's
ID in her hand.
"Thanks," Sara said, reaching out to get the plastic
card. She gave a puzzled frown when Catherine
didn't let it go.
"Sara, why don't you lie down in the break room
while I go see Grissom, then I'll take you home."
"Where's Grissom?"
"Interviewing the kid," Warrick informed them both
as he entered the foyer. "Sara, how's the arm?"
Before either of them could stop Sara, she was gone,
brushing by Warrick in her rush.
"Does Grissom know she's here?" Warrick asked.
"No."
"We'd better go after her."
"You know something, Rick; looking after Lindsay
is easier than keeping an eye on Sara. Kids are
forthright and you can anticipate them."
"Sara's Sara. I can't believe that you ever thought
anything involving her would be easy."
"Guess you're right." Catherine responded,
following Warrick out the door.
Sara watched the interview through the darkened
glass, resting her head against the cool surface while
using the wall that met the glass for support.
Despite the fact that the tablets she had been given
were beginning to take effect, Sara forced herself to
keep attuned to the interview. She needed answers
to the question that had been plaguing her ever since
she had woken from her nightmare at the hospital.
"James, why don't you tell us what happened from
the time you arrived at the house," Grissom invited,
gently.
James pulled himself up in his seat, placing his
forearms on the table in front of him. He avoided
looking at either of them, fixing his gaze on the table
surface. His fingers rubbed at a scab on his left arm;
he pushed at its surface as he began to detail what he
knew.
"Sam and I were going to the dance that night. I'd
gone to her house to walk her back to mine. My
parents were going to drive us to the dance. Sam
didn't want to be embarrassed by her mother."
"How so?" Brass interrupted.
Grissom frowned at Brass. He had wanted the boy
to tell the whole story before he asked any questions.
"She was crazy. She'd say the stupidest things. The
kids would tease Sam about her loopy Mom." James
looked up at the two of them, trying to ensure they
understood how ridiculous Sam's mother had acted
whenever she came to the school.
"What happened after you arrived?" Grissom
directed the boy back to the crime scene.
"Tom was outside playing football. I said hi and
then Sam was there on the porch. I gave Sam the
flower I'd bought her to wear."
Sara imagined James talking to his fair-haired
teenage girlfriend, handing over the single flower,
encased in its protective covering; the shyness of the
exchange, the tentative movement of their heads
coming closer together before being broken apart by
the boyish disgust of Tom behind them.
"We went inside to her bedroom. Sam had her
dress on but wanted to put on some make-up. Annie
followed us. She's Sam's sister. She wasn't a pain
in the neck like my sister. She just played in the
corner with her dolls. Everything was fine until her
mother came home. She wasn't meant to be home
that night. She'd been in hospital since earlier that
week."
James' next words took Sara right into the world
that he had experienced that night. A terrifying
moment where he didn't know whether he would be
next.
A bang rang out in the air; it sounded like a gunshot,
but most cars back-firing did. The two of them
laughed, brushing aside their initial fear. A voice
rang out in the air, strong and volatile. The sound of
several doors being slammed, one after another,
floated up the stairs.
"Shoot - your Mom's home... what're we going to
do?" James asked. Sam's mom hated him being in
the house, let alone in her daughter's bedroom. He
had to find a way out and quick.
"Under the bed."
"What?"
"Get under the bed. She won't look under there."
James did what he was told and slid under the white
iron-framed bed. The quilt hung down over each
side evenly, diminishing his view of the room. All
he could see were feet; all he could hear were
voices.
"Sam's mom was ranting about something. All the
words were jumbled and mixed. It didn't make any
sense. The next thing I know, that bang we heard
before, was in the room. Sam fell to the floor and I
could see blood. Annie was screaming. Sam was
crawling on the ground. She looked across at me;
she was so afraid. I wanted to go and help her, but I
couldn't move."
James wanted to reach out and touch Sam, reassure
her that he was there for her. Slowly, small
movements drew her closer to him. Annie stopped
screaming. He broke his fixated stare at Sam to find
the small girl slumped on the ground on the other
side of the bed, blood flowing freely and forming a
large pool around her dark hair. Another shot rang
out in the air. Sam was no more, her face blown
away by the final, fatal shot. He sank his teeth into
his crossed arm, preventing himself from crying out,
knowing that he would be next.
"I wanted to help her, I really did. Please, believe
me, but I was scared..."
"James, you had a right to be scared. There's
nothing to be ashamed about," Grissom reassured
him. "I know this is really difficult for you, but can
you tell me what happened next?"
"She just left the room. I didn't move because I
didn't know if she was still in the house. I waited
for ages under the bed, then there were footsteps. I
pulled myself further under the bed. It wasn't her
though. It was Mr. Atkinson. He checked both Sam
and Annie, looking for their pulses. He was crying
so hard. I'd never seen a man cry like that before.
Then, he saw me. Told me to go home and walked
out of the room."
James slid out from underneath the bed. He looked
down at the two bodies, ravaged by wounds that had
spilled their blood across the floor. Kneeling beside
Sam, he touched her tentatively; her body was still
warm. Suddenly, he felt his stomach rebel and
stumbled out of the room. In his haste, he lost his
balance. James caught himself against the wall with
a splayed hand, knocking the picture on the wall
askew. He went down the stairs two at a time, his
shaky legs only just managing to keep him upright.
The front door was within easy reach when he heard
the sound behind him. He waited for the shot, the
one that would end his life. None came. Turning
his head, James found Sam's father sitting in his
den, gun in his right hand. Their eyes met.
"I'm sorry, James. This shouldn't have happened."
James wiped away at his eyes, brushing away the
tears that had fallen quietly and freely throughout
the interview. "Then I left. I knew what he was
going to do. I was outside when I heard the shot.
They were all dead. Everyone. I called 911."
Sara slumped back against the wall, closing her
eyes. In the end, it had been a murder-suicide, just
not with the usual connotations. A whole family
wiped out in one night of terror. And, a teenager
probably scarred for life by what he had heard and
witnessed. She could easily identify the nightmares
he would experience for years to come.
"Sara, you okay?"
She jumped at the sound of Warrick's voice, not
having realised there was anyone else in the room.
"Yeah, I'm fine. A bit tired."
"Why don't you go lie down in the break room? I'm
going to finish up here and then take you home,"
Catherine informed her, pushing her hair out of her
eyes.
"I might just do that," Sara agreed. She pushed off
the wall and headed towards the door. Her two
colleagues watched her leave.
"Warrick, make sure she gets there safely. I want to
talk to Grissom."
"Sure Cath."
End Part 10/?
and Devanie
Part 10/?
Warrick frowned, dropping the hand holding the cell
phone into his lap. Nick drove the Tahoe with
familiar ease through the brightly lit Vegas streets.
He looked across at his dark-skinned partner and
narrowed his eyes.
"What's the prob? What'd Grissom want?"
"He needs our help on that multiple at Sunrise
Manor... and Sara's at the hospital."
"What?" Nick's head swivelled so quickly, he was
lucky not to suffer whiplash.
"Don't know why or how, but the sooner we drop
off this stuff at the lab, the quicker we'll find out."
Warrick's tone was even, despite the fact that his
concern for his colleague had set his heart racing.
They made the drive to Sunrise Manor in the least
amount of time possible without breaking the speed
limit. Nick held back on speeding, remembering
Grissom's words the last time he had sped to a crime
scene. From what he knew about Grissom,
particularly when he was concerned about Sara, it
was best to stay on his good side.
Two patrol cars guarded the crime scene and
protected the sole occupant of the house. Nick
pulled the Tahoe up beside the police cars and the
two young men jumped out. It was nearly 3.30 a.m
and the street was deserted; the neighbours
apparently favoured their warm beds in lieu of their
inquisitive nature.
As they entered the house, they found their superior
waiting for them in the hallway. Grissom's eyes
were hooded and he avoided looking at them
directly, immediately issuing instructions on what he
needed them to do.
"What's this about Sara and the hospital? What
happened?" Nick interrupted him, his curiosity and
concern demanding answers to the questions filling
his mind.
Grissom sighed and finally looked at them both,
revealling haunted smoky blue eyes. "She was
injured when avoiding a bullet."
"What?" Warrick flashed back to Holly Gribbs'
death come back to him, a time when his addiction
affected his judgement. "The perp was still here - in
the house."
"No. And we're not sure it was the perpetrator who
shot Sara. The mother of the murdered children
returned while we were analyzing the scene. Sara
was caught out the back on her own. She hurt her
arm when she hit the ground. Catherine's taken her
to the hospital. She'll be fine." The last few words
were said to not only convince the two men, but
reassure himself.
"Where's the mother now?" Nick asked.
"Dead. Shot herself point blank with a .44
magnum."
"Messy," commented Warrick.
"Right. Now we need to wrap up the collection.
Time is getting away from us. The two girls were
killed upstairs in the front bedroom. I will finish
processing the room. Nick, you process the staircase
and the landing. Warrick, the study. Make sure you
get everything, both of you. This case isn't as
straight-forward as it first appeared."
Grissom answered Warrick's questioning look with
a single raised eyebrow, his blue eyes encouraging
the younger CSI to look beyond the surface.
Grissom had a feeling about this case. There was
conflicting evidence and if he was right, the young
boy would be able to clear up some of the confusion.
Grissom sat in his chair, his fingers subconsciously
working the multi-coloured cube as he waited and
thought.
"Grissom."
He looked up and found Nick standing in the
doorway. He hadn't heard him arrive until he spoke.
"The kid's advocate is here."
Grissom put the Rubik's cube back on the desk and
accompanied Nick to the police department
interview rooms.
Brass met them in the hall. "Kid has asked that his
parents stay outside and the advocate has advised
him of his rights. Are you ready?"
"Let's do it," Grissom said, tilting his head slightly
to the right.
They walked into the room and sat down opposite
the teenage boy and his counsel. Grissom watched
the boy as Brass made the necessary introductions
and statements for the tape; the way his eyes darted
around the room warily, his hands constantly on the
move.
"James. You stated you were friends with Samantha
Ryan."
"Yeah. We've been going steady for three months."
"Now, at the scene, you said that you hadn't entered
the house."
"Yes..."
"Your footprints tell us otherwise. You were in the
house, weren't you?"
James' eyes widened as he realised that they had
found out the truth.
"Why don't you tell us what happened?"
"I couldn't believe it. The way her head blew apart
like that. It went everywhere. Why? Why did it
have to happen? It wasn't Sam's fault. She didn't
deserve to die like that. I should've done
something... but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I just
laid under the bed and watched, watched as they
both died. I did nothing to help..." With those last
choked words, James broke down crying, his head
sinking down into his folded arms on the table,
shoulders shaking visibly as the sobs racked his
entire body.
"Let's take a break," the advocate suggested.
Grissom and Brass nodded their heads, saddened by
what the boy had obviously had to witness, yet no
closer to the truth of who exactly had perpetrated the
crime. Brass noted the break in the interview for the
taped record and stopped the tape before they both
moved outside.
"That was not what I was expecting," Grissom
commented as he poured water into a plastic cup
from the bottled water container.
"No," Brass agreed, leaning back against the
smudged, yellowed wall. "But he does have the
answers we need. He witnessed everything."
"He might only know what happened in the
bedroom. I doubt he saw anything else, otherwise
why wasn't he killed as well?"
"Because the killer didn't know he was there."
"Exactly." Grissom wanted to get back in and
continue the interview, but knew that if they pushed
too far, they'd get nothing. This was too important
to push too far. "What have your interviews turned
up?"
"Husband was a psychiatrist. He had a practice
downtown and was well-respected. His wife
suffered from schizophrenia. She'd been under
psychiatric care up until three months ago with
regular fortnightly consults and was on prescribed
medication. Her former psychiatrist was unable to
state whether she was taking them. The script was
last filled four months ago."
"That doesn't mean her husband wasn't prescribing
for her."
"Husband's secretary mentioned that his wife had
gone off them a couple of months ago. Apparently,
her husband tried to convince her that she should
take them, going so far as to slip them into her food
or drink. She worked it out and started making sure
she didn't eat or drink anything that could have been
tampered with."
"What were the family dynamics?"
"Kids were apparently embarrassed by the way their
mother acted. Tended to visit friends rather than
having friends over. Relationship between husband
and wife was rocky since she'd gone off the
medication."
"Any reported physical violence in your ..." Grissom
broke off as he noticed the advocate coming towards
them.
"He's ready to continue."
Catherine looked across surreptitiously towards the
dark-haired woman in the seat beside her. Sara had
been silent ever since they left the hospital. The x-
ray had shown a scaphoid fracture and her arm was
now encased in a cast from her palm to elbow. Sara
hadn't appreciated Catherine's interference when
she queried about Sara's hearing and headache. Dr.
Langmead had insisted on running through a series
of tests which had managed to delays their stay for
another two hours.
Parking outside the CSI building, Catherine was
about to suggest that Sara wait in the car while she
grabbed both their bags. But Sara was too fast for
her, already undoing her belt and opening the door,
adapting to her single-handedness quickly.
Catherine shook her head, amazed at the pig-
headedness that her colleague currently possessed.
She could feel the way that Sara was pushing her
away and knew the cause. Sara wasn't one to let
another into her personal life, she was even less
likely to share the things that scared her. Catherine
realised that Sara was struggling to put the moment
of weakness behind her and show them all how
capable she was.
Locking the car, Catherine found Sara still in the
foyer signing in and searching for her ID.
"Looking for this?" Catherine asked, holding Sara's
ID in her hand.
"Thanks," Sara said, reaching out to get the plastic
card. She gave a puzzled frown when Catherine
didn't let it go.
"Sara, why don't you lie down in the break room
while I go see Grissom, then I'll take you home."
"Where's Grissom?"
"Interviewing the kid," Warrick informed them both
as he entered the foyer. "Sara, how's the arm?"
Before either of them could stop Sara, she was gone,
brushing by Warrick in her rush.
"Does Grissom know she's here?" Warrick asked.
"No."
"We'd better go after her."
"You know something, Rick; looking after Lindsay
is easier than keeping an eye on Sara. Kids are
forthright and you can anticipate them."
"Sara's Sara. I can't believe that you ever thought
anything involving her would be easy."
"Guess you're right." Catherine responded,
following Warrick out the door.
Sara watched the interview through the darkened
glass, resting her head against the cool surface while
using the wall that met the glass for support.
Despite the fact that the tablets she had been given
were beginning to take effect, Sara forced herself to
keep attuned to the interview. She needed answers
to the question that had been plaguing her ever since
she had woken from her nightmare at the hospital.
"James, why don't you tell us what happened from
the time you arrived at the house," Grissom invited,
gently.
James pulled himself up in his seat, placing his
forearms on the table in front of him. He avoided
looking at either of them, fixing his gaze on the table
surface. His fingers rubbed at a scab on his left arm;
he pushed at its surface as he began to detail what he
knew.
"Sam and I were going to the dance that night. I'd
gone to her house to walk her back to mine. My
parents were going to drive us to the dance. Sam
didn't want to be embarrassed by her mother."
"How so?" Brass interrupted.
Grissom frowned at Brass. He had wanted the boy
to tell the whole story before he asked any questions.
"She was crazy. She'd say the stupidest things. The
kids would tease Sam about her loopy Mom." James
looked up at the two of them, trying to ensure they
understood how ridiculous Sam's mother had acted
whenever she came to the school.
"What happened after you arrived?" Grissom
directed the boy back to the crime scene.
"Tom was outside playing football. I said hi and
then Sam was there on the porch. I gave Sam the
flower I'd bought her to wear."
Sara imagined James talking to his fair-haired
teenage girlfriend, handing over the single flower,
encased in its protective covering; the shyness of the
exchange, the tentative movement of their heads
coming closer together before being broken apart by
the boyish disgust of Tom behind them.
"We went inside to her bedroom. Sam had her
dress on but wanted to put on some make-up. Annie
followed us. She's Sam's sister. She wasn't a pain
in the neck like my sister. She just played in the
corner with her dolls. Everything was fine until her
mother came home. She wasn't meant to be home
that night. She'd been in hospital since earlier that
week."
James' next words took Sara right into the world
that he had experienced that night. A terrifying
moment where he didn't know whether he would be
next.
A bang rang out in the air; it sounded like a gunshot,
but most cars back-firing did. The two of them
laughed, brushing aside their initial fear. A voice
rang out in the air, strong and volatile. The sound of
several doors being slammed, one after another,
floated up the stairs.
"Shoot - your Mom's home... what're we going to
do?" James asked. Sam's mom hated him being in
the house, let alone in her daughter's bedroom. He
had to find a way out and quick.
"Under the bed."
"What?"
"Get under the bed. She won't look under there."
James did what he was told and slid under the white
iron-framed bed. The quilt hung down over each
side evenly, diminishing his view of the room. All
he could see were feet; all he could hear were
voices.
"Sam's mom was ranting about something. All the
words were jumbled and mixed. It didn't make any
sense. The next thing I know, that bang we heard
before, was in the room. Sam fell to the floor and I
could see blood. Annie was screaming. Sam was
crawling on the ground. She looked across at me;
she was so afraid. I wanted to go and help her, but I
couldn't move."
James wanted to reach out and touch Sam, reassure
her that he was there for her. Slowly, small
movements drew her closer to him. Annie stopped
screaming. He broke his fixated stare at Sam to find
the small girl slumped on the ground on the other
side of the bed, blood flowing freely and forming a
large pool around her dark hair. Another shot rang
out in the air. Sam was no more, her face blown
away by the final, fatal shot. He sank his teeth into
his crossed arm, preventing himself from crying out,
knowing that he would be next.
"I wanted to help her, I really did. Please, believe
me, but I was scared..."
"James, you had a right to be scared. There's
nothing to be ashamed about," Grissom reassured
him. "I know this is really difficult for you, but can
you tell me what happened next?"
"She just left the room. I didn't move because I
didn't know if she was still in the house. I waited
for ages under the bed, then there were footsteps. I
pulled myself further under the bed. It wasn't her
though. It was Mr. Atkinson. He checked both Sam
and Annie, looking for their pulses. He was crying
so hard. I'd never seen a man cry like that before.
Then, he saw me. Told me to go home and walked
out of the room."
James slid out from underneath the bed. He looked
down at the two bodies, ravaged by wounds that had
spilled their blood across the floor. Kneeling beside
Sam, he touched her tentatively; her body was still
warm. Suddenly, he felt his stomach rebel and
stumbled out of the room. In his haste, he lost his
balance. James caught himself against the wall with
a splayed hand, knocking the picture on the wall
askew. He went down the stairs two at a time, his
shaky legs only just managing to keep him upright.
The front door was within easy reach when he heard
the sound behind him. He waited for the shot, the
one that would end his life. None came. Turning
his head, James found Sam's father sitting in his
den, gun in his right hand. Their eyes met.
"I'm sorry, James. This shouldn't have happened."
James wiped away at his eyes, brushing away the
tears that had fallen quietly and freely throughout
the interview. "Then I left. I knew what he was
going to do. I was outside when I heard the shot.
They were all dead. Everyone. I called 911."
Sara slumped back against the wall, closing her
eyes. In the end, it had been a murder-suicide, just
not with the usual connotations. A whole family
wiped out in one night of terror. And, a teenager
probably scarred for life by what he had heard and
witnessed. She could easily identify the nightmares
he would experience for years to come.
"Sara, you okay?"
She jumped at the sound of Warrick's voice, not
having realised there was anyone else in the room.
"Yeah, I'm fine. A bit tired."
"Why don't you go lie down in the break room? I'm
going to finish up here and then take you home,"
Catherine informed her, pushing her hair out of her
eyes.
"I might just do that," Sara agreed. She pushed off
the wall and headed towards the door. Her two
colleagues watched her leave.
"Warrick, make sure she gets there safely. I want to
talk to Grissom."
"Sure Cath."
End Part 10/?