We watched the Discovery Channel late into the afternoon; it was almost time to go back to work. Nick and Greg dozed as we watched documentaries about lizards, sharks, and snakes. Sleep was a little harder for me to come by; every time I would lapse into sleep, the nightmare would begin. Once, I woke with a jolt that caused Greg to jump. We were three people awkwardly waiting to find out exactly where Laura was. Greg didn't understand the urgency; unless Nick had told him during one of my many short-lived naps. Had Nick read the notes on the case, he understood the urgency. Nick must have understood that there was a very good chance that Laura's grudge may not have been put to rest by years and years of time behind bars. That time might have fostered her hate. There was a very good chance that she could come back to finish all the things that she had threatened so many years ago.

I was a grown woman, but I felt like there was still a terrified child locked away in the persona that I had created. Today, that terrified child was thrust upon the world following Laura's 'good behavior.' I felt a paranoia that I couldn't squelch even with the presence of two people that I knew I could count on to protect me. I felt small like I did when I was ten; I felt as though Laura was still so much bigger than me. It was ridiculous; I was trained to protect myself with firearms, but the monster Laura was couldn't be killed by bullets. I needed to find a way to kill the monster that loomed in the corner of my mind; I needed to get rid of the Laura that lived in all my dreams.

I began to devise a plan; the scientist in me wanted to believe that calculated actions could thwart the monster. I kept an extra gun in my nightstand; I never kept it loaded. After shift, I would load my gun. I would remember to leave my cell phone next to me on the nightstand. I would call Brass about getting a restraining order against Laura. I would put another lock on my front door. My list of 'I woulds' quickly grew to a list of enormous length. I neglected to think about what to do about the nightmares. Alcohol wasn't going to be an answer; I had nearly lost my job over that. I knew that I could always call my PEAP counselor if I was desperate. I wasn't sure if that would be enough this time.

I remembered Nick saying that I would tell him all about my problems when the time was right. I was just about ready to shake him awake when his cell phone rang. I was so tense that I think the benign noise might have made me jump. My adrenaline was surging. My heart was pounding and beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. The rational adult inside of me told me to calm down . . . it wasn't even my phone that was ringing.

Nick stood up and walked into my kitchen to answer his call. I immediately felt ashamed that I might be keeping him away from his personal matters; I immediately felt selfish for letting Greg and Nick spend their little free time protecting me from something that probably would never physically hurt me. I could feel my cheeks flush red with embarrassment.

"You okay?" Greg asked with a yawn tacked on to the end. I nodded. He smiled; he put a hand on my knee and reminded me that I was in good hands. I nodded again. I knew that I was in good hands; I just felt like I might be taking advantage of those good hands.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I was genuinely sorry; I was genuinely embarrassed for acting like a terrified child.

"It's okay to think about you and only you sometimes," Greg reassured me as if he already knew what I was thinking. I always thought I was like Grissom; I always thought that I was a ghost. I never realized that people knew me. To some degree that scared me, but right now, it made me feel safe. I didn't feel as alone as I did early this morning.

"I just feel ridiculous . . . I mean it happened eons ago," I reply.

"Twenty year is hardly eons, Sara. She did bad things to you . . . she said bad things to you. I'd be scared too," Greg replied. He knew; I wasn't mad. There was a strange comfort in knowing that I didn't need to tell him the story. I hadn't told anyone the story of how I became the Sara Sidle that I am today. I turned to him and smiled. Even if he didn't understand, he was trying so damn hard to think about how I might feel. It was like Greg just peeled off those layers of personality that I used to hide who I really was. I felt naked, but I felt understood.

"Any news?" I asked Nick as he sat down in an armchair in my living room. He looked sullen; he looked shaken. I hoped he wasn't a poker player. I didn't even know what to make of his face; I hoped it wasn't the news I dreaded . . . Laura lived in Vegas. I hoped that it wasn't something about Nick's family or someone in the lab; that might just be the worst news of all.

"Sara," Nick said. He stopped to take a deep breath. "Laura's dead."

I couldn't breathe; I couldn't speak. I wasn't even sure what I was feeling. I think I squeaked out the word how because Nick began to explain the unfortunate circumstances preceding my mother's final days on Earth. She committed suicide after going on a seventy-two hour bender . . . heroin and such. No one claimed her body. No one was able to get in touch with me, my brother, or my father; Laura was alone.

I began to remember the tiniest bits of information from my childhood. I remembered Laura making cookies; I remembered the way she looked when she would dress up for dates with my dad. I remembered her white overalls being stained with grass and dirt after she spent the afternoon in the garden. I remembered the way that her perfume lingered in the air of the huge Victorian house. I remembered my family all living in peace. For a few moments, I didn't remember the Laura that nearly killed me.

I sat sobbing in my living room. Nick and Greg were trying to tell me that this was all over; Laura couldn't hurt me anymore. I didn't hear them . . . I was too busy grieving the mother that I knew before my dad left . . . before I became the Sara that I am today. I was grieving a mother based on memories that were fuzzy; they were memories that might have been doctored to be remembered as a little bit better than reality.

It was over.

FIN