Sixteen

Grissom was quick to question me on the events of the night before. Greg had apparently filled the boss man in on our activities (minus the sex), but Grissom needed to hear the details from me. When I found the strength to stand up again, I was whisked away to his office, dreading my inevitable interrogation.

I had been in Grissom's office before, but I had never had the chance to really study the surroundings. As I sat waiting for him, I looked around the dark and secluded room. Everyone else in the crime lab had to interact with other people at every moment; there was no such thing as privacy in this place. Grissom, however, was an exceptional to the rule. From what Sara had told me, Gil would rather be with his insects than with other people, and he had plenty of bugs to keep him company. Glass jars lined the shelves and sat atop the desk, all containing creepy crawlers. Some were dead, preserved in a light green goop. Others were still alive, desperately trying to climb to the top of their jars and escape, only to fall back down to the bottom. Was there such a thing as insect cruelty?

When Grissom finally came in, he was quick to start the questioning. No sentimental greeting; no small talk. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean with a cloth before putting them back on to begin.

"Greg tells me you saw a man outside his apartment?" he asked. I nodded, suddenly overtaken by shyness. I had grown used to the other co-workers, but Grissom was still intimidating; he was still a puzzle that I hadn't been able to figure out. "Do you want to tell me about him?"

"He was dressed in dark clothes, with the hood of his coat up," Grissom wrote down each of my words with great intensity, not even looking up to give me a sign that he was listening. "He just stood there for a minute, staring at me. I mean, I couldn't see his eyes, but he was facing me. He was just a few feet from me. Then he pulled the head out from his jacket."

"And then what did you do?" he inquired. What did he think I did? Stayed there and played patty-cake with him?

"I ran back to Greg's apartment." I replied. I figured that Grissom knew about the relationship between Greg and I and the level it had reached.

"Can you tell me anything about the head? The hair color? The gender? Anything?" I considered his question for a moment and realized that I really couldn't remember any physical traits about the severed head. Whatever I had seen earlier had been erased from my mind completely.

"No, sir," I answered, ashamed of how little help I could offer. "I don't remember anything about it."

"Okay," he began, finally looking up from his report. "Thank you for your time."

"Wait, that's it?" I asked. I hadn't been taking the case as seriously as a girl in my situation should have been, but that was only because I figured Grissom and the rest of the team were devoting all of their effort to it. But if he wasn't even going to take the time to question me, why would he take the time to help me instead of other victims? He was clearly surprised by my question, not expecting to be the one put under a microscope.

"Unless there's something else you'd like to share with me." He said. I racked my brain for any other bits and pieces that I could tell him, but my mind failed me once again. The bump I had sustained from the fall must have given me temporary brain fart. I shook my head "no", but I wasn't going to let this be the end of our conversation.

"Mr. Grissom, what did the note say?" he studied my face for a moment, deciding if he should tell me or not. I was desperate to know, but at the same time, I trusted his better judgment and whatever verdict he came to.

"That's still a rather sensitive subject," he responded. "It's in your best interest that you leave these things to the team, and let us focus on protecting you."

"How can you protect me?" I raised my voice, slightly annoyed at his sudden lack of urgency. "Valentine's Day is two days away. Are you going to watch me at all times? Are you going to give me a bodyguard? Or a gun?" Grissom sensed the sarcasm in my voice.

"Matilda, until we get everything figured out, maybe you should stay with Greg." He suggested. Well I could have told him that. Still, I wasn't looking to get into a fight with the boss. My head was still throbbing from my fresh, um, boo-boo, and I hadn't had much sleep. I left Grissom to his work, and made my way back to my desk, completely forgetting that I wasn't even on the clock.

All of my life, I had hated Valentine's Day. In elementary school, I only got cards from the girls in my class, and those were mostly out of sympathy. There was never some adorable, munchkin-like boy gazing at me with that goofy gaze of puppy love. High school was even worse. While everyone else saw the day as a reason to make out in the hallways at school, I saw it as a reason to eat lots of those foil wrapped heart-shaped candies. But after the past 24 hours, and the new meaning that the word Valentine had taken in my head, I was sure that I would never neglect to remember February 14th again.