The bright lights of the police cars assaulted my sore eyes. My head was
pounding, and my mind was fuzzy. I couldn't remember anything.
Warrick was kneeling over me. "Sara, are you ok?" What happened? I wracked my brain trying to remember where I was and what had happened, but the thoughts would not come to me.
"What happened?" I asked, sitting up. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I dropped my head into my hands, trying desperately to stop the pounding of my tired head. But not before catching sight of the crime scene.
In one horrible minute, all memories from the night came flooding back to me. A young woman was found stabbed in her apartment. Catherine, Warrick, and I went inside. Cath and I flipped a coin; she got the bathroom, I got the bedroom. There was a gunshot. I ran in. Catherine was lying on the floor. There was blood. Her blood. Lots of blood.
I gasped and turned me head, hot bile burning my throat. I vomited until I began dry heaving and then sat up. "Catherine?" I cried worriedly, turning to Warrick. "Is Catherine okay?"
He looked away uneasily. "They took her to the hospital. Grissom and Nick just got there. She's in a coma."
"I want to go see her," I said shakily.
He shook his head. "Grissom asked that I take you home right away. You can go see her tomorrow." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop me. "Sara, don't argue with him. You need some rest. Tomorrow, one of us will pick you up and take you to see her."
"My car," I remembered. "I left it at CSI headquarters."
He thought for a moment. "I'll have someone bring it by your apartment sometime tomorrow." He took my arm and helped me to my feet. "Now let me take you home."
When we reached my apartment, I allowed him to help me to the front door. "One of us, either Nick or myself, will pick you up tomorrow morning to take you to the hospital. If you want to go, I mean." I nodded my head in agreement and fumbled with my key in the lock.
"Will you be okay by yourself tonight?" Warrick asked worriedly.
"Yeah," I said quickly. "I'll be fine." I pushed the door open and stepped inside. "I'll see you tomorrow," I added, firmly closing the door before he could offer any more protestations. Finally feeling the exhaustion of the day's events, I passed out on the couch, still fully dressed,
The aroma of fresh coffee woke me from my fitful sleep. I sat up slowly, rubbing my pounding head. "You want some coffee?" Nick asked, thrusting a cup into my outstretched hand.
I gratefully gulped the hot liquid down, relishing the feel of it on my parched throat. When the mug was empty, I placed it on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. I ran a hand through my brown hair and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.
"Wow, Sidle, you look like shit," Nick commented.
"Gee, thanks," I muttered sarcastically.
"Why don't you shower and then we'll head on over to visit Catherine," he suggested.
"How is she?" I asked seriously.
"She's in a coma."
I nodded, tears burning my eyes. "I'm gonna go shower. Make yourself at home."
After I had cleaned myself up, Nick drove me over to the hospital. He pulled up to the front. "She's in room 324," he told me. "I have to park the car, so I'll just meet you up there."
I took a deep breathe and then entered the hospital. The stark white brightness of the hospital hallway burned my eyes as I walked through the doors. "Excuse me," I said, catching the attention of the receptionist. "My name's Sara Sidle. I'm here to visit Catherine Willows, room 324." I showed her my CSI identification.
She nodded and pointed me in the correct direction. I found the room easily. It was the only one in the hallway that was filled with the scent of fresh flowers. I was preparing to enter the room when the quiet voice of a child filled my ears.
I peered through the open doorway and saw Lindsey sitting in a chair by the hospital bed, holding Catherine's hand in her own. "Mommy," I heard her small, brittle voice whisper. "Mommy, please wake up. I need you. I already had Daddy die. I don't want to have you die too, Mommy." I watched as the tears streamed down her small face. She bent down and buried her face in Catherine's shoulder. Sobs shook her small, ten-year-old body.
I wanted so badly to rush in, to pull her into my arms and tell her that everything would be okay. But I couldn't. Because I wasn't sure if it would be. I turned away from the door, my own tears now flowing freely.
Warrick was kneeling over me. "Sara, are you ok?" What happened? I wracked my brain trying to remember where I was and what had happened, but the thoughts would not come to me.
"What happened?" I asked, sitting up. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I dropped my head into my hands, trying desperately to stop the pounding of my tired head. But not before catching sight of the crime scene.
In one horrible minute, all memories from the night came flooding back to me. A young woman was found stabbed in her apartment. Catherine, Warrick, and I went inside. Cath and I flipped a coin; she got the bathroom, I got the bedroom. There was a gunshot. I ran in. Catherine was lying on the floor. There was blood. Her blood. Lots of blood.
I gasped and turned me head, hot bile burning my throat. I vomited until I began dry heaving and then sat up. "Catherine?" I cried worriedly, turning to Warrick. "Is Catherine okay?"
He looked away uneasily. "They took her to the hospital. Grissom and Nick just got there. She's in a coma."
"I want to go see her," I said shakily.
He shook his head. "Grissom asked that I take you home right away. You can go see her tomorrow." I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop me. "Sara, don't argue with him. You need some rest. Tomorrow, one of us will pick you up and take you to see her."
"My car," I remembered. "I left it at CSI headquarters."
He thought for a moment. "I'll have someone bring it by your apartment sometime tomorrow." He took my arm and helped me to my feet. "Now let me take you home."
When we reached my apartment, I allowed him to help me to the front door. "One of us, either Nick or myself, will pick you up tomorrow morning to take you to the hospital. If you want to go, I mean." I nodded my head in agreement and fumbled with my key in the lock.
"Will you be okay by yourself tonight?" Warrick asked worriedly.
"Yeah," I said quickly. "I'll be fine." I pushed the door open and stepped inside. "I'll see you tomorrow," I added, firmly closing the door before he could offer any more protestations. Finally feeling the exhaustion of the day's events, I passed out on the couch, still fully dressed,
The aroma of fresh coffee woke me from my fitful sleep. I sat up slowly, rubbing my pounding head. "You want some coffee?" Nick asked, thrusting a cup into my outstretched hand.
I gratefully gulped the hot liquid down, relishing the feel of it on my parched throat. When the mug was empty, I placed it on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. I ran a hand through my brown hair and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.
"Wow, Sidle, you look like shit," Nick commented.
"Gee, thanks," I muttered sarcastically.
"Why don't you shower and then we'll head on over to visit Catherine," he suggested.
"How is she?" I asked seriously.
"She's in a coma."
I nodded, tears burning my eyes. "I'm gonna go shower. Make yourself at home."
After I had cleaned myself up, Nick drove me over to the hospital. He pulled up to the front. "She's in room 324," he told me. "I have to park the car, so I'll just meet you up there."
I took a deep breathe and then entered the hospital. The stark white brightness of the hospital hallway burned my eyes as I walked through the doors. "Excuse me," I said, catching the attention of the receptionist. "My name's Sara Sidle. I'm here to visit Catherine Willows, room 324." I showed her my CSI identification.
She nodded and pointed me in the correct direction. I found the room easily. It was the only one in the hallway that was filled with the scent of fresh flowers. I was preparing to enter the room when the quiet voice of a child filled my ears.
I peered through the open doorway and saw Lindsey sitting in a chair by the hospital bed, holding Catherine's hand in her own. "Mommy," I heard her small, brittle voice whisper. "Mommy, please wake up. I need you. I already had Daddy die. I don't want to have you die too, Mommy." I watched as the tears streamed down her small face. She bent down and buried her face in Catherine's shoulder. Sobs shook her small, ten-year-old body.
I wanted so badly to rush in, to pull her into my arms and tell her that everything would be okay. But I couldn't. Because I wasn't sure if it would be. I turned away from the door, my own tears now flowing freely.