Morning – Cashman Field
Sometimes, time is running by so fast you don´t even know what struck you – when hours turn into minutes, and minutes into seconds. And then, there are times, when everything just stops – when the hands of the clock are moving in slow motion and you´re not sure if they will stop altogether in that moment, that next second. And you cling to that instant like it´s your saviour. Embracing it with your body, mind and soul.
For Sarah Johnson it were those agonizing, sheer endless seconds, when her world ceased to exist as she knew it. Because, soon, she would know no more.
Do you know what it feels like when your body doesn´t obey the commands your brain sends? When it´s a struggle to draw in a single breath. What an effort it takes to open your eyes when they shut themselves ´cause they´re so heavy? When you know that there won´t be a tomorrow?
No more holding your loved ones in your arms, your safe haven in times of trouble. No more running to school because you just missed your bus, again. No more feeling the summer rain on your face or watching the stars at night. No more laughing.
No more. Never more.
Because you just won´t be there. Never again.
Sarah knew. And that was perhaps the hardest thing. When you know you´re dying and you´re not able to change anything about it. When you fight a war you can´t possibly win and still put all your effort in it because you think that there´s still that tiny chance that you will win.
But you won´t.
As the struggles in her body stopped, she turned her face upwards looking into the seemingly endless sky. And, as everything else ceased, a tear slid out of the corner of her eye, making it´s path across her face like a hand caressing it a last time. A final goodbye, maybe. A little comfort.
Rays of golden sunlight were beginning to catch glances of her prone form, making her pallor shine, hugging her.
He leaned over her, studying her expressionless face. Her blank stare seemed to bore right into him, accusing him of the crimes that she knew him to have done. His hand hovered near her face seeking contact which he would not give. He traced her facial contours still avoiding to touch her. Afraid, but also strangely relieved. The pressure that had so long been building, was gone. The weight had shifted. And his mind that had screamed so long, was quiet.
He stood up and with one last glance, walked away.
Night – Lab
The lab was quiet except for the incessant humming of some of the machines. Greg was studying a sample of the unknown liquid Grissom had given him earlier. But he wasn´t really into it, swirling thoughts of the dead girl occupied his mind.
Dead at 16? She hadn´t even lived, yet. Hadn´t known what life was all about. All the fun and sorrows, all the fights and make-ups afterwards. Parties. The list was endless of things she would never have a chance to witness or to experience.
What was he like at 16, again? Well, he sure had fun, used every opportunity to flirt, had some girlfriends as well. Good friends and great parties to celebrate. And he was kind of goofy. Sometimes the nerd.
Greg sighed, what use did it have to ponder about things long gone? He couldn´t change them. Not anymore. He could only try to live with the consequences caused by his actions.
But the girl, she wouldn´t see the devastating effect her death would have on her family or friends.
She wouldn´t be the bearer of the bad news, when the police would knock on the door and say those shattering words to her family. Cries would be heard, denials, breakdown. But she wouldn´t be there, she wouldn´t come back. Nothing would ever be the same again for her family.
Damn. He didn´t want to have to relive the whole thing again. It was bad enough as it was without having to think about "him" again.
But why did people kill themselves, at that age no less? You´re not supposed to think about death at 16. More like the opposite. You´re supposed to be out, having fun with your friends, go to the movies. You´re supposed to live. To breathe. To be.
The beeping of a machine erased the next thought as if it never had existed. The results of the analysis were printed out neatly on the white paper. Black on white. Just like life. No gray.
The liquid was identified as pentobarbital.
Greg scanned the paper quickly, then paged Grissom. He sat back and waited.
A couple of minutes later, he saw Grissom heading towards his lab.
"What have you got for me?"
"The liquid is Nembutal aka pentobarbital."
"A barbiturate." It wasn´t a question.
Greg nodded. "It´s commonly used to produce calmness and relax muscles. Also, with barbiturates there is less difference between the amount that produces sleep and the amount that kills."
"Yes, but how did she get that much, in liquid form no less?"
"If she went to the right person in school or stole someones prescription or the stuff itself, who knows?"
"Maybe but it still doesn´t explain why she did it."
"You mentioned earlier that something didn´t add up. What was that?"
"Well, the first thing is that she did it at a fairly public place. Suicide victims tend to kill themselves in familiar but very secluded places. They know that they will be found eventually but they don´t risk themselves being disturbed when they do it." Greg nodded absently, he knew all that already.
"The second thing is that we found several footprints near her body although it seems that if she has known the person she didn´t fight him."
"Why do you think it´s a "him"?"
"The footprints would only match a man´s shoes. They were a size ten."
"What if it was a "she" who was only wearing them to mess with us?"
"Then the pattern on the ground wouldn´t match. The shoes would be too wide for her feet and the pressure with which the imprint was done wouldn´t be as intense. Also, there would be some shuffling marks if the shoes were too big, which we didn´t find. No, it was definitely a man." Grissom concluded and continued, "Furthermore, we didn´t find a note. Most victims leave one to explain themselves and their actions."
"But not all of them."
"No." A disturbing bout of silence followed.
"Were there any other finger-prints on the bottle?" Greg asked.
"No."
Greg sighed, they weren´t getting anywhere. Sometimes he hated this part of the job when you were stuck and didn´t have any direction to go. Times when the figuring out wasn´t getting the desired results. He was a person who didn´t have a lot of patience, he wanted the cases solved with the bad guys going to jail. Where justice was served. But life wasn´t as easy. Unfortunately.
Someone in the hall called Grissom and he left, breaking Greg out of his thoughts.
"You´re welcome." Greg mumbled under his breath as he watched Grissom´s retreating back.
