Grissom still couldn't work. Nick's reaction had done nothing except increase his angst over what was going on. He also knew he'd been horrible to Sara and he should probably apologise. The combination got him out of his chair and into his car.
He reached Sara's apartment block with little trouble. He found her place almost as easily. He knock on the door and waited. There was no answer so he knocked again.
"Sara! Sara!" he called as he knocked again.
"You can't go in there," a voice behind him said.
Grissom jumped and turned around. He was being stared down by a girl; she looked about 19.
"You can't go in there," she repeated.
"I… I'm not going… Who are you?" he asked.
"Names are confusing. You're not allowed to go in there."
"No, you don't understand," Grissom said, trying to be reasonable, "I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to make sure she's okay. I work with her, she knows me."
"I know. You're not allowed in there."
"What on earth?"
It was the girl's turn to be patient. "She showed me a photo when we first moved in here. It was of all the people she worked with. She told me who was allowed in and who wasn't and under what circumstances. You're not allowed in."
"When am I allowed in?" Grissom asked. Trying to come to terms with the strangeness of the conversation.
"You're not allowed in, at all. The blond woman and the guy with dark hair are allowed in. The black guy's allowed in if you have to take evidence. The police officer is allowed in if you need her for questioning. You and the young one aren't allowed in."
"Why not?"
"She didn't give reasons. Those people are only allowed in in extreme circumstances. She'd keep everyone she knew out if she could."
"Why are you guarding her door in the middle of the night?" If he couldn't talk to Sara, Grissom was going to keep her gargoyle occupied.
"It's only two am, I'm working too."
"What are doing?"
"I'm a writer. I'm writing. Aunt Anna's gone. She left a note on the kitchen table, but Jenny hasn't found it yet. She had to check on the sheep because the dam's low and they can't see the mud. They get stuck, see, and they die."
Grissom looked at her blankly.
"My story," she explained.
"I'm not going to hurt her."
"How do you know that?" the girl asked.
"What do you mean?" Grissom was quite confused.
"Your presence may very well be more than she wants. There may be things in her apartment, or things about her that she really doesn't want you to see or know."
Grissom felt a chill, "What do you know?"
"I don't know anything. But I'm a writer. I understand things. I know that she doesn't want you in there, for whatever reason, and it's my prerogative to stop you."
"Why you?" Grissom was beginning to feel out of his depth. Which, he reasoned, meant he had been out there for a while.
"Because she showed me the photo."
"I'm worried about her," he admitted, "I did something wrong, I don't know what, and I want to apologise."
"Noble sentiments. But going where she doesn't want you is hardly going to make for a real mistake to begin with, now isn't?"
"No. Where are you from?"
"Fitzroy, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, Southern Hemisphere."
"Are you allowed in? I mean can you check on her for me?"
The girl nodded. She disappeared back into her own apartment. She came out again with a set of keys. She opened the door, slipped through and closed it again before Grissom could get more than the barest glimpse of the inside.
Once inside the girl walked softly, but confidently to Sara's bedroom.
"Sara, Sara, it's Michelle. How are you?"
Sara was wrapped up in her blanket in her flannel pyjamas. There was an open bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. Michelle had seen enough movies, and done enough research. She found Sara's pulse in her neck and counted slowly. It was slow, but strong and steady. With an ear to Sara's chest and one hand on her abdomen, Michelle found that Sara's breathing was also deep and steady.
Michelle opened the door and closed it behind her quickly again.
"She's fine," she told Grissom, "She sleeping. I'll tell her you stopped by."
"Thanks," Grissom said, finally giving control to the young woman in front of him. "My name's—"
"No names," she cut him off, "Names only confuse things. I know who you are."
"Okay. One more question?"
"That's one," she said, "You can have two more."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," she answered.
"Really?"
"Do you really want that to be your last question?" she asked smugly.
"What are you doing in Las Vegas?" Grissom asked instead.
"I'm with my father. I'm travelling as much as I can while I write."
"Okay," Grissom said. The girl's stance said she was waiting for him to leave. He realised that he had well and truly used up his questions. He turned around sadly and walked back to his car.
