Author's Note: I apologize for all the ellipses. I'm a student of Hemmingway and Jack Kerouac; a patron of stream of thought.


"He's sleeping in the break room. Gil, he's refusing to leave. You should say something . . . Gil, this is Nick . . . well, fine never mind," Catherine said as she drummed her fingers on the table. She had called Lindsey to make sure she was okay . . . the little things . . . the small things to be grateful for.

I had been sleeping when Catherine called me. She said that I needed to come to the lab . . . I had been sleeping for three hours . . . I wasn't about to get out of bed any time soon. Catherine said that it was Sara . . . the coolness in her voice . . . the slight tremble as she said Sara's name. I had heard that once before . . . Holly. Nick said that it was curse . . . I was beginning to believe him. I didn't believe in voodoo . . . the evil eye . . . that was my grandmother. I found such things silly . . . to believe without proof was foreign to me.

Nick moved like a zombie. He watched all the evidence being processed . . . refused to leave. Threw a coffee cup against the wall when I suggested that he go home for a while . . . I hadn't seen him this angry or lost since Kristy. I watched my friend pace the room . . . looking for something to occupy his hands. I knew why he couldn't go home . . . home was with Sara. I was one of the few that was privy to the secret . . . every one knew, but I had been let in on their secret romance. I watched Nick soften . . . the demons that he carried with him seemed to fade a little bit when they were together. Sara . . . Sara relaxed . . . she became this amazing funny woman when she was with Nick.

Grissom was the only person completely oblivious to the romance brewing in the lab. When he did begin to suspect the possibility of Sara finding comfort in another man, he began to change the rules of the universe. He wrote policy and procedure . . . enforced Sara and Nick's suspensions after he saw them 'acting like teenagers' in the locker room . . . after they had clocked out of work. Gris didn't notice that Sara and Nick came back from their suspension with sunburns . . . courtesy of a four day long weekend in San Francisco.

"Warrick, no hits on the DNA. Could you get me a pot of coffee for in the lab?" Greg asked . . . he was serious . . . no wit, no humor, no story about Papa Olaf.

"Yeah, man. Work on the prints on the gun . . . AFIS," I said trying to get the words out. I was so tired that I could barely think . . . let alone make intelligible sentences. Catherine echoed that remark . . . saying that it felt wrong to be in the lab, but it would feel worse to be at home doing nothing.

"Someone needs to call her parents," Catherine said. It was a job that I knew we would rather leave for Grissom. It was a job the Grissom would delegate . . . it was too personal this time. The girl that he pined for . . . the girl that admittedly was attracted to him was gone.

"You should take Nicky somewhere. He needs to get away from here," Catherine commented. I knew what that meant. The hours were precious and few . . . 24 . . . in twenty four hours Sara's case would go from a search to a recovery case. Nick didn't need to be here if and when her body rolled through these doors shrouded in a body bag. I didn't want to be here for that.

Nick whimpered in his sleep. He shot up . . . gasping for breath looking around disoriented . . . wondering why the hell he wasn't in bed with Sara. Catherine was so startled that she tipped over her coffee cup . . . choosing to comfort Nick rather than clean up the mess. I automatically reached for the paper toweling.

"Nicky, you need to go somewhere else. You can stay at my apartment. Linds is still with my sister . . . go back to my apartment and at least get something to eat," Catherine coaxed as she rubbed his back. Nick looked like a time bomb ready to explode . . . the fear, panic, and anger were setting in. I could see it in his eyes. He looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Nick, come to my apartment. You can rest there . . . it's closest to the crime lab," I offered. Nick looked at me like I was insane. His eyes screamed 'you expect me to abandon her case . . . leave the only place I might be useful.' I understood this look . . . I understood it well.

"I can't. I can't leave here without her . . . we drove her Denali today. I don't have the keys to her car," Nick said incoherently . . . overcome by the emotion of the situation. I hung my head . . . if the last few years hadn't destroyed him, this threatened to be the crushing blow. I watched Nick mature as a CSI . . . he truly loved his job . . . sometimes I didn't understand that. He came here so innocent . . . a degree in forensic science wasn't enough to harden a person . . . it was just a damn cool major for a science nerd. Nick hardened . . . every day he hardened a little more. I think I would have too if I had guns held in my face and I was attacked by a psycho.

"Nick, come home with me," I said once again. Nick looked at me like he couldn't quite comprehend what I was saying, "Nick, let's go get something to eat."

He nodded his head weakly. Looked at Catherine for approval . . . she smiled. Catherine said she would call with news . . . that Nick was in no way allowed to set foot in here for at least twenty-four hours. He nodded his head again. I was just happy to see him moving . . . I was terrified of the prospect of watching him for twenty-four hours. So much can change in twenty four hours.


"So you are saying that none of the security cameras work?" I parroted back to the security guard.

"This is a public housing building, Mr. Grissom. Not much around here works well," the security guard said as he sat back in an orange plastic rolling chair.

"Then what can you do to help me," I said getting more and more frustrated . . . Brass stood in the corner not saying anything.

"Sorry, Mr. Grissom. Crimes around here don't normally get solved. I don't get enough money from the government to turn this into the Palms," the security guard said sarcastically.

My cell phone was ringing. I had absolutely no desire to answer it. I stared at the caller ID screen. My heart leaped into my throat . . . I wasn't expecting to see Sara's cell phone number on the screen.

"Sara?" I said as I answered the telephone.

"I am safe. I'm being taken care of. Please stop looking for me. I don't want to . . . I don't want to," Sara said . . . I could hear here begin to gag . . . hear her vomiting. He monologue was obviously rehearsed.

"Sara, I'm going to find you," I whispered . . . I could feel my heart pounding against my chest wall. I was terrified that it would fly out.

"Gil, what is it?" Brass said finally walking forward.

"Please leave Sara and I alone . . . we are happy . . . we are a family," a man's voice said . . . the voice was soft. It had a gentle cadence. It was a voice that I never had heard before. It definitely wasn't Nick's voice. Nick didn't have it in him to do something like this. I cursed myself for even letting myself think that Nick could somehow be involved in this. Her phone hung up. I scrambled to dial the lab.

"Catherine, Sara just called my cell phone. Get in contact with the cell phone company find out what tower was being used," I said.

"Gil, is she okay?" Catherine asked.

"No, I don't think so," I replied . . . Brass hung his head. I knew how responsible he felt. The same way Warrick and I felt responsible for Holly.

"I'll call them. Gil, what do we do next?" Catherine asked.

"I don't know," I replied.


My dreams are filled with her face. When we were at the crime scene, Sara got into her zone . . . she lost herself in the evidence. Sara was normally good for that. She was analytical. She needed answers, but most of the answers she was looking for weren't at the crime scene.

Brass was there. He should know better. He always did get antsy come the end of his shift. Brass didn't live for the thrill. He rode the wave . . . where ever it took him. This all rested on his shoulders.

Even in my dreams, I can smell her perfume. I bought her the perfume. Sara said that it was sweet . . . no one had ever bought her perfume. The bold combination of orange blossom and jasmine . . . it seemed to fit her. The scent was all over her apartment. I was thankful that Warrick didn't take me there. I don't think I could have made it for more than seconds before I broke down. No one needed to see me like that . . . Sara was the only one who had seen me crumble. I had left so much build up inside me . . . Nigel Crane. He managed to bring all of that out of me. He left me broken; Sara carefully helped me put myself back together.

Sara knew about the nightmares . . . the horrible pictures that illuminated my mind. Sara knew the secrets that I worked so hard to hide from everyone including myself. She was patient. Always there with arms to wrap around me . . . lips to say that it wasn't my fault. It was the sweetest love that I could ever imagine.

My cell phone startled me out of sleep. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I answered it any way . . . praying that maybe this was a joke. I hoped that Sara was at home wondering where the hell I was.

"Stokes," I said . . . I barely recognized my voice.

"Nicky," Sara whispered. Her whisper sent chills down my spine. I was thankful that she was still alive.

"Sara, where are you?" I asked.

"Nicky, oh God, Nicky," Sara said. I could hear her crying. I could hear the distinct click of a gun being loaded.

"Sara, you gotta tell me where you are. I'll come get you," I replied . . . the tears falling down my cheeks. I heard her gasp.

"Please don't look for me. I'm being taken care of, Nicky." I could hear Sara struggling to talk through the tears. It was obvious that someone was making her do this . . . say these hurtful things.

"Sara, I love you. I'm not going to stop looking," I replied. I could hear Sara choking on her sobs. Her breathing was labored. The line went dead. I stood up disoriented . . . I rarely went to Warrick's apartment.

"Warrick, we need to go to the lab. Sara called me. Someone . . . someone was making her say that she didn't want to be found," I rambled as I grabbed my vest . . . collected my kit.

"Whoa, wait. Are you sure it was her?" Warrick asked. I knew the look on his face. He was too scared to be hopeful.

"It was her. If you won't drive me, I'll walk," I threatened. Warrick grabbed his car keys and we were out the door.

I knew that hope was a dangerous thing. It made you believe in things that often are too far removed from reality. But without Sara . . . reality wasn't worth living.