Many thanks for the lovely reviews that have been
made and once again, a very big thank you to our
editor, Alison (Vigirl).
CHAPTER 3:
See Part 1 for disclaimers:
Catherine drove her small compact up the long, narrow
driveway to her condo at the rear. The building was
sheltered beneath a canopy of trees, reducing the heat
of the hot Vegas summer. Catherine parked the car in
front of a single, lock-up garage.
"Nice," Sara commented, appreciatively. She got out of
the car, the early morning Vegas air warming her
quickly after the cool, air conditioned atmosphere inside
Catherine's car. Sara looked around, slowly absorbing
the wonderful beauty of the small landscaped garden
that bordered the double storey house. Splashes of
bright colour danced vividly against a sea of green.
Fern fronds draped themselves lazily over the myriad of
small flowers, the diversity in types complimenting each
other and giving a textured feel to the garden.
"Do you do the gardening?"
"Yeah. Although, it's more a case of planting as much
as I can so that weeds can't take up residence in their
place." Catherine gave a small laugh. Gardening was a
form of release for her. After a bad day, she would
often come home and give Lindsey a big hug before
she headed off to school. It was then that Catherine
took out her anger on the green villains taking up
residence in her garden, their evil spreading at a fast
pace throughout the balanced society she had created.
Each thrust of the shovel succeeded in casting out
another blight on the landscape, and exposed the weed
to a tight, stranglehold of satisfaction before it was
tossed aside into the garbage.
"My Mom used to do the same thing." A wistful smile
played across Sara's face.
Catherine gave a small smile in return, happy to see
that whatever Sara was remembering was good. In the
last year, she had seemed to retreat a bit within herself,
her smiles fewer and farther between; her laughter that
had often filled the halls of the CSI labs came
infrequently these days. Catherine wasn't sure when
the change began. She could easily pinpoint Sara's
anger at Grissom; her application for a Leave of
Absence had been proof of that. But other than that,
Sara was very hard to read without backing her into a
corner and forcing her to open up.
"Come on inside, it's already getting hot out here."
Sara didn't disagree. Vegas in the height of summer
was not a place you wanted to be outside by choice.
She didn't think she would ever get used to the
oppressive heat, which seemed to double in intensity
when on asphalt or in the desert. It seemed such a
contrast to the cool coastal fogs of
Tomales Bay, where she had grown up. Sometimes
the longing to breathe the sharp, clean air of the sea on
those long, hot Vegas nights, would almost cause a
physical pain inside her.
Catherine put the key in the lock, opening the solid
wooden door. Cool air floated around them as they
entered, the fingers of cold air caressing their bare
arms.
"Hi Danni. Everything okay?" Catherine spoke to the
young woman who came into the hallway at the sound
of the key in the lock. Long black ringlets framed a
flawless, coffee-coloured face. Large black eyes swept
over Sara, her gaze stopping notably on the injuries to
her face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, before
returning her attention to Catherine.
"Fine. Lindsey's in the kitchen eating breakfast."
"Danni, this is Sara. She works with me. Sara, Danni."
An awkward small exchange of introductions took
place, both women unsure of the other. Catherine
walked into the kitchen, dumping her handbag onto the
coffee table to the left as she walked by.
"Hey kiddo." Catherine bent over her tow-haired child,
giving her a quick kiss and hug.
"Mommy." Lindsey cried out in delight, turning to return
the hug and almost sending her breakfast across the
table.
"Careful. What've you got for breakfast?" Catherine
asked as she rescued the errant plate from disaster.
"Cap'n Crunch with Apple Jacks."
"Interesting combination. I'm glad that you're going to
be at school today." Catherine rolled her eyes at Sara,
feeling sorry for Lindsay's teacher, Mr. Rubinstone.
She picked up the kettle and ran hot water into it.
"Hurry up and eat, Linds. It's not long before you'll have
to go to school."
Lindsey actually had over an hour before she was due
to leave, but the reminder was an age old parent thing.
"Mom, can't I stay home with you and Sara? Hi Sara."
The blonde-haired child gave a cheeky grin at Sara.
"What happened to your face?"
"I walked into a door."
"Mommy used to do that all the time," Lindsey told her
matter-of-factly. "Now, she's learned to miss them.
You'll have to learn to avoid them too."
"I'll try to remember that. I'll have to speak to your
mother about how to avoid them." Sara gave Catherine
a knowing look, reminding her of the conversation that
was promised in the locker room.
"Catherine, I'll get going home," Danni broke into the
conversation.
"Thanks again, Danni. We'll see you tonight."
"See ya, munchkin." Danni gave one of Lindsey's plaits
a small tug of affection, teasing her.
"I'm not a munchkin. Bye, Danni." Lindsey retorted and
waved goodbye.
"Bye Catherine. Nice to meet you, Sara."
Catherine saw Danni to the door, automatically locking
it and putting on the safety chain.
"Do you want some coffee?" Catherine asked as she
returned to the kitchen.
"Please."
"Cream and one sugar?" Catherine confirmed before
placing each into a coffee mug.
"Yep." Sara sat down on the bar stool beside Lindsey,
blatantly watching the child eat her breakfast with
vigour. Sara swallowed and grimaced as she thought
of the high sugar content contained in each breakfast
cereal. The combination was unthinkable.
"Mom, I've finished my breakfast. Can I watch
cartoons?"
Sara admired the tone in which she asked the question,
a perfect balance of whine versus pleading.
"Have you got your school bag ready? Text books
packed, lunch, library bag *and* book."
Lindsey's head nodded ferociously with each
statement.
"All right. Brush your teeth first, though," Catherine
called out after the golden-haired tornado that spun out
of the room whose screams of delight that "Mom's the
best" were left to float in the air along with the high
pitched squeal of the boiling kettle.
"You've made her very happy." Sara gave a small grin.
"It makes up for all the times when I have to say no."
Catherine placed the cup of coffee in front of Sara and
pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen
bench. Catherine wasn't sure how to broach the
subject she wished to talk about with Sara. She had
just gotten the courage to jump in when Sara surprised
her with a question of her own.
"Why?"
"Pardon?" Catherine inclined her head slightly to the
right, her eyes narrowing as she sought an explanation
to the open-ended question.
"Why do you still take it? The abuse." Sara's brown
eyes met with Catherine's, the dark depths swirling with
confusion.
"I don't..." Catherine shook her head slowly, denying the
accusation.
"Don't you? I saw you with him today. You didn't fight
back." Sara shook her head, affirming her disbelief of
Catherine's attempted denial. "Lindsey's comments tell
me that his abuse was regular; regular enough for her
to remember. You separated when she was what -
four, five?"
"She never witnessed it," Catherine told her quickly, too
quickly for Sara's liking.
"Are you so sure?" Sara looked down into her coffee,
her right hand stirring the creamy substance to create a
gentle whirlpool. "Children may not see the abuse, but
they're a party to it. Locked in their bedrooms, they still
hear the sounds; the screams of anger that always
come before the sound of knuckles meeting flesh - the
cries of pain and the words 'I'm sorry' filling the air.
They can hear and they can see the results."
Catherine found herself sitting up straighter, watching
the emotions flicker across Sara's face as she detailed
a child's anguish. Not just any child, Catherine knew
intuitively. "Who was it?"
Sara whipped her head up, the words stunning her into
silence. She realised that her passionate words had
given away much more than she had intended. Now
she was caught with only one direction to go, to reveal
the truth.
"Your parents?"
"No." Sara shook her head. "My parents were children
of the sixties - free will and all that. Both of them are
passive." Sara said her last words with derision.
"Who then? Because I know you have witnessed it."
"My aunt." Sara ran her finger around the rim of her
mug, her eyes searing the murky depths hoping to find
an answer to the questions that had been torturing her
for over a decade.
Catherine let Sara's revelation hang in the air, hoping
that she would elaborate without being pushed. Her
hopes were rewarded.
"She just took it. She didn't fight back. She even
defended him. It was as if she believed it was all her
fault - that she'd asked to be hit," Sara said, shaking her
head in disbelief.
"Sara, you know as well as I do that abuse is not only
physical but emotional. Most husbands who abuse
have picked women who will be dependent upon them
and have no way of breaking free. They have had their
contacts with their family and friends reduced or
severed completely. Those women carry a hell of a lot
of guilt and don't know how to break free of the bonds
that tie them to their husband." Catherine reached out
to stopl Sara's hand from tracing yet another circle
around the mug.
Sara dropped her hand from the rim, resting it on the
table. Catherine's hand still covered it, the warmth of
friendship radiated through the small connection. "So
how did you do it? I mean, look at the women we've
both seen on this job. Those who have lived with abuse;
been shattered by it. I can't see how you were ever like
them. How could they ever get to the point where
you're at?"
"Because I had someone who cared enough to tell me
to get out." Catherine gave a small smile, remembering
the trust and faith she had placed in those words of
support, spoken at a time when she needed them
most.
"Grissom."
"Yes and no. He was part of it." Catherine pulled her
hand back from covering Sara's, taking a sip from her
coffee. "It was actually the drug rehabilitation program
that made me see what I was doing to myself, to my
family and friends. It also made me a stronger person.
Eddie's abuse wasn't anything I hadn't seen before in
my own house as a child, nor in the club scene. It was
only once I started working as a CSI that I began to
understand that I didn't have to take *any* abuse - I was
able to see clearly what Eddie was doing to me."
"But you didn't leave him immediately." Sara was trying
to reconcile the strong, independent woman before her
today with a younger Catherine who would accept being
hit by her husband. It was a hard pill to swallow.
"Sara, it's not as easy as you think." Catherine tucked
an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "You've got to
remember that I had a young child. I worked weird
hours, hours when you can't get childcare. I had to look
for someone else to look after my child. It was easier to
stay with Eddie."
"But he was in the night club scene. He would have
worked the same hours you did," Sara contradicted
quickly, unable to accept Catherine trying to validate her
acceptance of abuse.
"Not when Lindsey was a baby. My pay was much
better than his..."
"Hasn't it always been better than his?" Sara
interjected.
"You've got a good point there." Catherine ran her
tongue over her teeth, giving her colleague a small grin
of appreciation at the compliment. "Anyway, in the first
couple of years after Lindsey was born, he cared for
her while I worked. It was only as time went on that I
was able to see how detrimental our relationship was,
not only to me, but also to Lindsey. A combination of
things fell into place at the one time; my sister moved to
Vegas, I became a CSI Level 3 and Eddie chose the
exact same time to be at his worst. It all worked
towards my moving out on my own."
"But you haven't totally broken free of him."
"I'm getting there. We sold the house last year, which
was the last financial tie that kept us together. I can't
prevent him from seeing Lindsey, and frankly I don't
want to stop him." Catherine met Sara's eyes and
encouraged her to understand that it wasn't as simple
as black and white. "They love each other and he
wouldn't dare hit her. Sara, I accept that I was abused,
but it wasn't on the scale suffered by a lot of women. I
wasn't walking into work with bruises all over my body.
The occasional black eye was the worst of it."
"Abuse is abuse," Sara said emphatically.
"I agree, and that's why I got out. One thing you have to
remember is that men like Eddie and your uncle work
on the feeling of guilt and inadequacy. They create a
scenario that makes the victim believe that they have
contributed to their beating, that they have somehow
caused it. I got past that Sara. I realised that I was
never the problem, it was always Eddie. But not every
woman in an abusive situation manages to see this. "
Catherine realised that her own story was at an end, yet
she still didn't know the full extent of Sara's introduction
into the world of abusive relationships. Her eyes
quietly searched her colleague's sad face. "Sara, what
happened to your aunt?"
"She died." Sara got a faraway look in her eye,
obviously recalling a moment in the past. "One day, he
didn't stop the beating and continued until she stopped
moving, stopped begging him to stop."
"Were you there?"
"No," Sara shook her head, regret filling her eyes.
Catherine caught sight of a deep set anger as well. "My
parents stopped me visiting after a particularly bad
beating. I asked them why he did it, but they didn't have
an answer. They did nothing to stop it, nothing to help
her out of the abuse. They only protected me from
becoming a victim as well."
"Sara, how old were you?" Once again, Catherine
caught hold of Sara's hand, sensing that she was in
need of a life-line of reassurance.
"When my parents forbade me from staying with them
anymore? Ten."
"So you really don't know what your parents did to try to
stop the abuse." Catherine shook her head lightly.
"You said yourself that your aunt took the abuse,
accepted it as her due. If someone isn't ready to break
free of the constraints of abuse, you can't force them.
You can only try to help them see a way out."
"I know. But I wish I could have done something more.
All I did was stay away and let it continue." Tears filled
Sara's eyes at the admittance of what she perceived to
be her greatest error.
"Sara, you were ten years old." Catherine gripped
Sara's hand more tightly, her eyes seeking to reassure
Sara that she was not responsible for her aunt's death.
"If you had got in the way, you would have been hit too."
"I know, I know. It doesn't make it any easier though."
Sara dug into her hip pocket and pulled out a tissue,
dabbing away the unshed tears.
"It's why you feel so deeply for the women who have
been attacked, killed by their spouses. The reason you
go to bat for them every single time, isn't it?" Catherine
rubbed the back of Sara's arm.
"I need to give them closure, to make him pay for what
he's done."
"The killer or your uncle?"
"Both."
"Sara, fighting for all those women won't bring them or
your aunt back. You need to think clearly on each case
and don't cloud it with preconceived perceptions and
views."
"Grissom's already pointed that out."
"He's right."
"I know." The words came out as a low sigh.
"It will take time, but the more you talk about it, the more
you will be able to handle it."
"It's not exactly something you bring up in normal
conversation."
"Sara, you can always talk to me, Grissom, the guys.
We all understand. Each of us has our ghosts, even
Grissom."
Sara gave a half-hearted smile at that.
"How about some more coffee?"
Catherine didn't even wait for a response, putting the
kettle on again and grabbing the cream and sugar.
"Damn, I'm out of milk," Catherine said, swirling the
meager contents of the carton around. "Can you stay
with Lindsey while I go get some?"
The look of horror on Sara's face rivalled the one she
had worn when Grissom had forced her to go on that
roller coaster ride years ago.
"Sara, she's nine years old. She's been trained not to
bite."
"But I know *who* trained her." Sara smirked.
"Very funny." Catherine was secretly pleased to see
her smile. It was good to see Sara relaxed, especially
after a tense conversation like the one that has just
taken place. "I'll be back soon. It should only take
fifteen minutes."
"Okay, but I warn you, if you find your daughter hogtied
on the couch, don't come after me with a butcher
knife!"
"Can you lock the door after me?" Catherine grabbed
her handbag and walked down the hallway.
Sara locked and slipped the chain back in place. She
shook her head, wondering how she had even been
conned into coming to Catherine's house in the first
place. Somehow Catherine had managed to turn the
tables on her and she had revealled an intensely
profound moment in her life, one that helped define who
she was today.
Sara wandered into the lounge room and sat on the
couch. Lindsey lay on the floor, her chin nestled in her
cupped hands, eyes firmly fixed on the TV in front of
her. Sara didn't recognise the cartoons, the bright
flashes of colour and storyline appearing to have a very
sci-fi feel to it.
The doorbell rang., startling her from her thoughts.
Sara checked her watch. Unfolding herself from her
comfortable position on the couch, she went to answer
the door. It was only a couple of minutes since
Catherine had left. Sara assumed that she must have
forgotten something.
"Hey, that was pretty quick driving," Sara laughed as
she opened the door, stopping abruptly as the security
chain-lock held it secure within a few inches from the
door jam. "What did you forget, keys, handbag..."
She trailed off as she noticed two large burly men in the
doorway. They were clearly up to no good - the black
ski masks over their heads gave them away. A thought
ran through her head as to the incongruous situation -
since when do burglars ring door bells before entering?
"Shit," Sara said under her breath, the word giving full
meaning to the panic she felt. She tried to slam the
door shut on the men. She only managed to move the
door slightly before an exceptionally large, handmade
black leather shoe slid strategically between the door
and the door jam.
Sara gave up trying to push against the dual weight of
the men, realising her best chance at that moment was
to call for help. She ran into the kitchen, digging into her
handbag for her cell phone.
"C'mmon, c'mmon," she whispered, pacing the room.
The phone rang once, then twice. The pounding on the
door seemed to thunder throughout the house. It was
then she remembered Lindsey in the next room. The
young girl hadn't moved from her fixed spot in front of
the TV. Sara decided it would be better to leave it that
way; there wasn't time to do anything else.
Sara searched the room, looking for something to use
to fight these guys with. Hand to hand combat against
two men, each easily being twice her size, was usually
called suicide.
Her call was finally answered, just as the front door hit
the wall with a resounding crash.
"Help." She let out the startled cry, dropping her cell
phone to the bench and leaving it connected to the
emergency service. She'd found her weapon of choice
against these thugs and it needed the element of
surprise for it to have a chance to work.
She stood in front of the refrigerator, hidden from the
passageway. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
She debated her choices of hitting the first burglar or
the second; which way would give her the better
chance to fight?
Their feet on the tiled floor sounded like a marching
band heading her way. Each step was methodically in
time with the other. If she hadn't known better, she
would have thought only one man was coming towards
her.
Sara closed her eyes for a moment, hoping to gain
strength from an inner source. She relied heavily on
her hearing to provide her with the moment to strike.
As the first man drew even with her, she threw the
boiling water from the kettle directly at his face. The ski
mask gave a small amount of protection, but the hot
liquid had the man instantly clawing at his face and
crying out in pain.
Sara used the aluminum kettle to strike at the second
man, colliding full on with the side of his face sending
him to his knees. She then used the kettle to strike him
again over the back of his head. A hand snaked out
and caught her leg, attempting to pull her off balance.
The bulky hand held her leg in a vice grip, each finger
biting painfully into the tender flesh of her thigh. The
grip tightened forcibly. Sara could imagine the look that
was on his face beneath the mask, the satisfaction at
hearing her cry out in pain.
Renewed anger flowed through her and Sara brought
the kettle down directly on the man's face, the force
snapping his head backwards. His hands flew to his
shattered nose. She followed through with another
sharp hit to the side of his head and he crumpled to the
ground.
There was no time to even catch her breath as she
was propelled across the room by a charging force, the
snort of anger reminding her of an enraged bull. "The
other guy," she thought dully as her body connected
abruptly with the solid wood of the mahogany coffee
table. Pain filtered through her shock at the surprise
attack. Her breath had been totally knocked out of her
lungs upon impact with the barrelling thug and her body
now twisted in agony at the shooting arrows of pain
from her side. She cursed both her attacker for
causing the extraordinary amount of pain and berated
herself for not keeping her eyes open for the second
guy.
She caught sight of the second guy out of the corner of
her eye, his fist flying towards her prone form. His face
was twisted in a grimace, his charcoal eyes a glittering
evil. Her training kicked in and she instinctively rolled
away from the danger. Sara dropped to the floor onto
outstretched hands, hearing rather than seeing the fist
connect with the coffee table.
"One down, one to go," she thought to herself, thinking
that her chances of winning this originally unbalanced
fight were increasing. Her training would give her an
unsuspected advantage. As she threw herself into the
battle, her opposition quickly realised that this woman
knew how to handle herself.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught sight of
Lindsay standing in the doorway, her blue eyes
enormous in a pallid face.
"Lindsey, hide!" Sara called out, her breath coming out
in short bursts. She was so intent on the child that she
forgot to duck when a fist came soaring towards her.
The little girl remained frozen to the spot. She watched
in fear as a fist caught Sara in the face, squarely on top
of the damage inflicted by Eddie earlier in the day.
Her head kicked back under the force, but it was a
surprise when the back of her head connected with
something solid, sending a shower of stars across her
vision before it dimmed and faded. Sara's feet
crumpled beneath her and as she fell to the floor. Her
head connected with the coffee table as she collapsed.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Dimly, she heard
the voice penetrate the darkness. She frowned, trying
to avoid the ebbing tide of darkness reaching out about
her and caressing her with fingers of tenderness,
saving her from the searing pain filling her head.
"Is it so difficult to get a nine year old?" With those
final words and the sound of Lindsey's scream,
consciousness eluded Sara.
End Part 3/?
made and once again, a very big thank you to our
editor, Alison (Vigirl).
CHAPTER 3:
See Part 1 for disclaimers:
Catherine drove her small compact up the long, narrow
driveway to her condo at the rear. The building was
sheltered beneath a canopy of trees, reducing the heat
of the hot Vegas summer. Catherine parked the car in
front of a single, lock-up garage.
"Nice," Sara commented, appreciatively. She got out of
the car, the early morning Vegas air warming her
quickly after the cool, air conditioned atmosphere inside
Catherine's car. Sara looked around, slowly absorbing
the wonderful beauty of the small landscaped garden
that bordered the double storey house. Splashes of
bright colour danced vividly against a sea of green.
Fern fronds draped themselves lazily over the myriad of
small flowers, the diversity in types complimenting each
other and giving a textured feel to the garden.
"Do you do the gardening?"
"Yeah. Although, it's more a case of planting as much
as I can so that weeds can't take up residence in their
place." Catherine gave a small laugh. Gardening was a
form of release for her. After a bad day, she would
often come home and give Lindsey a big hug before
she headed off to school. It was then that Catherine
took out her anger on the green villains taking up
residence in her garden, their evil spreading at a fast
pace throughout the balanced society she had created.
Each thrust of the shovel succeeded in casting out
another blight on the landscape, and exposed the weed
to a tight, stranglehold of satisfaction before it was
tossed aside into the garbage.
"My Mom used to do the same thing." A wistful smile
played across Sara's face.
Catherine gave a small smile in return, happy to see
that whatever Sara was remembering was good. In the
last year, she had seemed to retreat a bit within herself,
her smiles fewer and farther between; her laughter that
had often filled the halls of the CSI labs came
infrequently these days. Catherine wasn't sure when
the change began. She could easily pinpoint Sara's
anger at Grissom; her application for a Leave of
Absence had been proof of that. But other than that,
Sara was very hard to read without backing her into a
corner and forcing her to open up.
"Come on inside, it's already getting hot out here."
Sara didn't disagree. Vegas in the height of summer
was not a place you wanted to be outside by choice.
She didn't think she would ever get used to the
oppressive heat, which seemed to double in intensity
when on asphalt or in the desert. It seemed such a
contrast to the cool coastal fogs of
Tomales Bay, where she had grown up. Sometimes
the longing to breathe the sharp, clean air of the sea on
those long, hot Vegas nights, would almost cause a
physical pain inside her.
Catherine put the key in the lock, opening the solid
wooden door. Cool air floated around them as they
entered, the fingers of cold air caressing their bare
arms.
"Hi Danni. Everything okay?" Catherine spoke to the
young woman who came into the hallway at the sound
of the key in the lock. Long black ringlets framed a
flawless, coffee-coloured face. Large black eyes swept
over Sara, her gaze stopping notably on the injuries to
her face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, before
returning her attention to Catherine.
"Fine. Lindsey's in the kitchen eating breakfast."
"Danni, this is Sara. She works with me. Sara, Danni."
An awkward small exchange of introductions took
place, both women unsure of the other. Catherine
walked into the kitchen, dumping her handbag onto the
coffee table to the left as she walked by.
"Hey kiddo." Catherine bent over her tow-haired child,
giving her a quick kiss and hug.
"Mommy." Lindsey cried out in delight, turning to return
the hug and almost sending her breakfast across the
table.
"Careful. What've you got for breakfast?" Catherine
asked as she rescued the errant plate from disaster.
"Cap'n Crunch with Apple Jacks."
"Interesting combination. I'm glad that you're going to
be at school today." Catherine rolled her eyes at Sara,
feeling sorry for Lindsay's teacher, Mr. Rubinstone.
She picked up the kettle and ran hot water into it.
"Hurry up and eat, Linds. It's not long before you'll have
to go to school."
Lindsey actually had over an hour before she was due
to leave, but the reminder was an age old parent thing.
"Mom, can't I stay home with you and Sara? Hi Sara."
The blonde-haired child gave a cheeky grin at Sara.
"What happened to your face?"
"I walked into a door."
"Mommy used to do that all the time," Lindsey told her
matter-of-factly. "Now, she's learned to miss them.
You'll have to learn to avoid them too."
"I'll try to remember that. I'll have to speak to your
mother about how to avoid them." Sara gave Catherine
a knowing look, reminding her of the conversation that
was promised in the locker room.
"Catherine, I'll get going home," Danni broke into the
conversation.
"Thanks again, Danni. We'll see you tonight."
"See ya, munchkin." Danni gave one of Lindsey's plaits
a small tug of affection, teasing her.
"I'm not a munchkin. Bye, Danni." Lindsey retorted and
waved goodbye.
"Bye Catherine. Nice to meet you, Sara."
Catherine saw Danni to the door, automatically locking
it and putting on the safety chain.
"Do you want some coffee?" Catherine asked as she
returned to the kitchen.
"Please."
"Cream and one sugar?" Catherine confirmed before
placing each into a coffee mug.
"Yep." Sara sat down on the bar stool beside Lindsey,
blatantly watching the child eat her breakfast with
vigour. Sara swallowed and grimaced as she thought
of the high sugar content contained in each breakfast
cereal. The combination was unthinkable.
"Mom, I've finished my breakfast. Can I watch
cartoons?"
Sara admired the tone in which she asked the question,
a perfect balance of whine versus pleading.
"Have you got your school bag ready? Text books
packed, lunch, library bag *and* book."
Lindsey's head nodded ferociously with each
statement.
"All right. Brush your teeth first, though," Catherine
called out after the golden-haired tornado that spun out
of the room whose screams of delight that "Mom's the
best" were left to float in the air along with the high
pitched squeal of the boiling kettle.
"You've made her very happy." Sara gave a small grin.
"It makes up for all the times when I have to say no."
Catherine placed the cup of coffee in front of Sara and
pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen
bench. Catherine wasn't sure how to broach the
subject she wished to talk about with Sara. She had
just gotten the courage to jump in when Sara surprised
her with a question of her own.
"Why?"
"Pardon?" Catherine inclined her head slightly to the
right, her eyes narrowing as she sought an explanation
to the open-ended question.
"Why do you still take it? The abuse." Sara's brown
eyes met with Catherine's, the dark depths swirling with
confusion.
"I don't..." Catherine shook her head slowly, denying the
accusation.
"Don't you? I saw you with him today. You didn't fight
back." Sara shook her head, affirming her disbelief of
Catherine's attempted denial. "Lindsey's comments tell
me that his abuse was regular; regular enough for her
to remember. You separated when she was what -
four, five?"
"She never witnessed it," Catherine told her quickly, too
quickly for Sara's liking.
"Are you so sure?" Sara looked down into her coffee,
her right hand stirring the creamy substance to create a
gentle whirlpool. "Children may not see the abuse, but
they're a party to it. Locked in their bedrooms, they still
hear the sounds; the screams of anger that always
come before the sound of knuckles meeting flesh - the
cries of pain and the words 'I'm sorry' filling the air.
They can hear and they can see the results."
Catherine found herself sitting up straighter, watching
the emotions flicker across Sara's face as she detailed
a child's anguish. Not just any child, Catherine knew
intuitively. "Who was it?"
Sara whipped her head up, the words stunning her into
silence. She realised that her passionate words had
given away much more than she had intended. Now
she was caught with only one direction to go, to reveal
the truth.
"Your parents?"
"No." Sara shook her head. "My parents were children
of the sixties - free will and all that. Both of them are
passive." Sara said her last words with derision.
"Who then? Because I know you have witnessed it."
"My aunt." Sara ran her finger around the rim of her
mug, her eyes searing the murky depths hoping to find
an answer to the questions that had been torturing her
for over a decade.
Catherine let Sara's revelation hang in the air, hoping
that she would elaborate without being pushed. Her
hopes were rewarded.
"She just took it. She didn't fight back. She even
defended him. It was as if she believed it was all her
fault - that she'd asked to be hit," Sara said, shaking her
head in disbelief.
"Sara, you know as well as I do that abuse is not only
physical but emotional. Most husbands who abuse
have picked women who will be dependent upon them
and have no way of breaking free. They have had their
contacts with their family and friends reduced or
severed completely. Those women carry a hell of a lot
of guilt and don't know how to break free of the bonds
that tie them to their husband." Catherine reached out
to stopl Sara's hand from tracing yet another circle
around the mug.
Sara dropped her hand from the rim, resting it on the
table. Catherine's hand still covered it, the warmth of
friendship radiated through the small connection. "So
how did you do it? I mean, look at the women we've
both seen on this job. Those who have lived with abuse;
been shattered by it. I can't see how you were ever like
them. How could they ever get to the point where
you're at?"
"Because I had someone who cared enough to tell me
to get out." Catherine gave a small smile, remembering
the trust and faith she had placed in those words of
support, spoken at a time when she needed them
most.
"Grissom."
"Yes and no. He was part of it." Catherine pulled her
hand back from covering Sara's, taking a sip from her
coffee. "It was actually the drug rehabilitation program
that made me see what I was doing to myself, to my
family and friends. It also made me a stronger person.
Eddie's abuse wasn't anything I hadn't seen before in
my own house as a child, nor in the club scene. It was
only once I started working as a CSI that I began to
understand that I didn't have to take *any* abuse - I was
able to see clearly what Eddie was doing to me."
"But you didn't leave him immediately." Sara was trying
to reconcile the strong, independent woman before her
today with a younger Catherine who would accept being
hit by her husband. It was a hard pill to swallow.
"Sara, it's not as easy as you think." Catherine tucked
an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "You've got to
remember that I had a young child. I worked weird
hours, hours when you can't get childcare. I had to look
for someone else to look after my child. It was easier to
stay with Eddie."
"But he was in the night club scene. He would have
worked the same hours you did," Sara contradicted
quickly, unable to accept Catherine trying to validate her
acceptance of abuse.
"Not when Lindsey was a baby. My pay was much
better than his..."
"Hasn't it always been better than his?" Sara
interjected.
"You've got a good point there." Catherine ran her
tongue over her teeth, giving her colleague a small grin
of appreciation at the compliment. "Anyway, in the first
couple of years after Lindsey was born, he cared for
her while I worked. It was only as time went on that I
was able to see how detrimental our relationship was,
not only to me, but also to Lindsey. A combination of
things fell into place at the one time; my sister moved to
Vegas, I became a CSI Level 3 and Eddie chose the
exact same time to be at his worst. It all worked
towards my moving out on my own."
"But you haven't totally broken free of him."
"I'm getting there. We sold the house last year, which
was the last financial tie that kept us together. I can't
prevent him from seeing Lindsey, and frankly I don't
want to stop him." Catherine met Sara's eyes and
encouraged her to understand that it wasn't as simple
as black and white. "They love each other and he
wouldn't dare hit her. Sara, I accept that I was abused,
but it wasn't on the scale suffered by a lot of women. I
wasn't walking into work with bruises all over my body.
The occasional black eye was the worst of it."
"Abuse is abuse," Sara said emphatically.
"I agree, and that's why I got out. One thing you have to
remember is that men like Eddie and your uncle work
on the feeling of guilt and inadequacy. They create a
scenario that makes the victim believe that they have
contributed to their beating, that they have somehow
caused it. I got past that Sara. I realised that I was
never the problem, it was always Eddie. But not every
woman in an abusive situation manages to see this. "
Catherine realised that her own story was at an end, yet
she still didn't know the full extent of Sara's introduction
into the world of abusive relationships. Her eyes
quietly searched her colleague's sad face. "Sara, what
happened to your aunt?"
"She died." Sara got a faraway look in her eye,
obviously recalling a moment in the past. "One day, he
didn't stop the beating and continued until she stopped
moving, stopped begging him to stop."
"Were you there?"
"No," Sara shook her head, regret filling her eyes.
Catherine caught sight of a deep set anger as well. "My
parents stopped me visiting after a particularly bad
beating. I asked them why he did it, but they didn't have
an answer. They did nothing to stop it, nothing to help
her out of the abuse. They only protected me from
becoming a victim as well."
"Sara, how old were you?" Once again, Catherine
caught hold of Sara's hand, sensing that she was in
need of a life-line of reassurance.
"When my parents forbade me from staying with them
anymore? Ten."
"So you really don't know what your parents did to try to
stop the abuse." Catherine shook her head lightly.
"You said yourself that your aunt took the abuse,
accepted it as her due. If someone isn't ready to break
free of the constraints of abuse, you can't force them.
You can only try to help them see a way out."
"I know. But I wish I could have done something more.
All I did was stay away and let it continue." Tears filled
Sara's eyes at the admittance of what she perceived to
be her greatest error.
"Sara, you were ten years old." Catherine gripped
Sara's hand more tightly, her eyes seeking to reassure
Sara that she was not responsible for her aunt's death.
"If you had got in the way, you would have been hit too."
"I know, I know. It doesn't make it any easier though."
Sara dug into her hip pocket and pulled out a tissue,
dabbing away the unshed tears.
"It's why you feel so deeply for the women who have
been attacked, killed by their spouses. The reason you
go to bat for them every single time, isn't it?" Catherine
rubbed the back of Sara's arm.
"I need to give them closure, to make him pay for what
he's done."
"The killer or your uncle?"
"Both."
"Sara, fighting for all those women won't bring them or
your aunt back. You need to think clearly on each case
and don't cloud it with preconceived perceptions and
views."
"Grissom's already pointed that out."
"He's right."
"I know." The words came out as a low sigh.
"It will take time, but the more you talk about it, the more
you will be able to handle it."
"It's not exactly something you bring up in normal
conversation."
"Sara, you can always talk to me, Grissom, the guys.
We all understand. Each of us has our ghosts, even
Grissom."
Sara gave a half-hearted smile at that.
"How about some more coffee?"
Catherine didn't even wait for a response, putting the
kettle on again and grabbing the cream and sugar.
"Damn, I'm out of milk," Catherine said, swirling the
meager contents of the carton around. "Can you stay
with Lindsey while I go get some?"
The look of horror on Sara's face rivalled the one she
had worn when Grissom had forced her to go on that
roller coaster ride years ago.
"Sara, she's nine years old. She's been trained not to
bite."
"But I know *who* trained her." Sara smirked.
"Very funny." Catherine was secretly pleased to see
her smile. It was good to see Sara relaxed, especially
after a tense conversation like the one that has just
taken place. "I'll be back soon. It should only take
fifteen minutes."
"Okay, but I warn you, if you find your daughter hogtied
on the couch, don't come after me with a butcher
knife!"
"Can you lock the door after me?" Catherine grabbed
her handbag and walked down the hallway.
Sara locked and slipped the chain back in place. She
shook her head, wondering how she had even been
conned into coming to Catherine's house in the first
place. Somehow Catherine had managed to turn the
tables on her and she had revealled an intensely
profound moment in her life, one that helped define who
she was today.
Sara wandered into the lounge room and sat on the
couch. Lindsey lay on the floor, her chin nestled in her
cupped hands, eyes firmly fixed on the TV in front of
her. Sara didn't recognise the cartoons, the bright
flashes of colour and storyline appearing to have a very
sci-fi feel to it.
The doorbell rang., startling her from her thoughts.
Sara checked her watch. Unfolding herself from her
comfortable position on the couch, she went to answer
the door. It was only a couple of minutes since
Catherine had left. Sara assumed that she must have
forgotten something.
"Hey, that was pretty quick driving," Sara laughed as
she opened the door, stopping abruptly as the security
chain-lock held it secure within a few inches from the
door jam. "What did you forget, keys, handbag..."
She trailed off as she noticed two large burly men in the
doorway. They were clearly up to no good - the black
ski masks over their heads gave them away. A thought
ran through her head as to the incongruous situation -
since when do burglars ring door bells before entering?
"Shit," Sara said under her breath, the word giving full
meaning to the panic she felt. She tried to slam the
door shut on the men. She only managed to move the
door slightly before an exceptionally large, handmade
black leather shoe slid strategically between the door
and the door jam.
Sara gave up trying to push against the dual weight of
the men, realising her best chance at that moment was
to call for help. She ran into the kitchen, digging into her
handbag for her cell phone.
"C'mmon, c'mmon," she whispered, pacing the room.
The phone rang once, then twice. The pounding on the
door seemed to thunder throughout the house. It was
then she remembered Lindsey in the next room. The
young girl hadn't moved from her fixed spot in front of
the TV. Sara decided it would be better to leave it that
way; there wasn't time to do anything else.
Sara searched the room, looking for something to use
to fight these guys with. Hand to hand combat against
two men, each easily being twice her size, was usually
called suicide.
Her call was finally answered, just as the front door hit
the wall with a resounding crash.
"Help." She let out the startled cry, dropping her cell
phone to the bench and leaving it connected to the
emergency service. She'd found her weapon of choice
against these thugs and it needed the element of
surprise for it to have a chance to work.
She stood in front of the refrigerator, hidden from the
passageway. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
She debated her choices of hitting the first burglar or
the second; which way would give her the better
chance to fight?
Their feet on the tiled floor sounded like a marching
band heading her way. Each step was methodically in
time with the other. If she hadn't known better, she
would have thought only one man was coming towards
her.
Sara closed her eyes for a moment, hoping to gain
strength from an inner source. She relied heavily on
her hearing to provide her with the moment to strike.
As the first man drew even with her, she threw the
boiling water from the kettle directly at his face. The ski
mask gave a small amount of protection, but the hot
liquid had the man instantly clawing at his face and
crying out in pain.
Sara used the aluminum kettle to strike at the second
man, colliding full on with the side of his face sending
him to his knees. She then used the kettle to strike him
again over the back of his head. A hand snaked out
and caught her leg, attempting to pull her off balance.
The bulky hand held her leg in a vice grip, each finger
biting painfully into the tender flesh of her thigh. The
grip tightened forcibly. Sara could imagine the look that
was on his face beneath the mask, the satisfaction at
hearing her cry out in pain.
Renewed anger flowed through her and Sara brought
the kettle down directly on the man's face, the force
snapping his head backwards. His hands flew to his
shattered nose. She followed through with another
sharp hit to the side of his head and he crumpled to the
ground.
There was no time to even catch her breath as she
was propelled across the room by a charging force, the
snort of anger reminding her of an enraged bull. "The
other guy," she thought dully as her body connected
abruptly with the solid wood of the mahogany coffee
table. Pain filtered through her shock at the surprise
attack. Her breath had been totally knocked out of her
lungs upon impact with the barrelling thug and her body
now twisted in agony at the shooting arrows of pain
from her side. She cursed both her attacker for
causing the extraordinary amount of pain and berated
herself for not keeping her eyes open for the second
guy.
She caught sight of the second guy out of the corner of
her eye, his fist flying towards her prone form. His face
was twisted in a grimace, his charcoal eyes a glittering
evil. Her training kicked in and she instinctively rolled
away from the danger. Sara dropped to the floor onto
outstretched hands, hearing rather than seeing the fist
connect with the coffee table.
"One down, one to go," she thought to herself, thinking
that her chances of winning this originally unbalanced
fight were increasing. Her training would give her an
unsuspected advantage. As she threw herself into the
battle, her opposition quickly realised that this woman
knew how to handle herself.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught sight of
Lindsay standing in the doorway, her blue eyes
enormous in a pallid face.
"Lindsey, hide!" Sara called out, her breath coming out
in short bursts. She was so intent on the child that she
forgot to duck when a fist came soaring towards her.
The little girl remained frozen to the spot. She watched
in fear as a fist caught Sara in the face, squarely on top
of the damage inflicted by Eddie earlier in the day.
Her head kicked back under the force, but it was a
surprise when the back of her head connected with
something solid, sending a shower of stars across her
vision before it dimmed and faded. Sara's feet
crumpled beneath her and as she fell to the floor. Her
head connected with the coffee table as she collapsed.
"What the hell is going on in here?" Dimly, she heard
the voice penetrate the darkness. She frowned, trying
to avoid the ebbing tide of darkness reaching out about
her and caressing her with fingers of tenderness,
saving her from the searing pain filling her head.
"Is it so difficult to get a nine year old?" With those
final words and the sound of Lindsey's scream,
consciousness eluded Sara.
End Part 3/?