Twenty-Two

I don't remember much after that moment, only vague, insignificant details. The SWAT team practically dragged me outside, where dozens of cop cars and an ambulance were waiting. Their red and blue lights were dizzying, and I felt queasy from all of the movement around me. Good thing I didn't have any food in my system, or I would have surely thrown up. Although it was typically hot outside, with the warm, dry air shocking my system after being in air conditioning for so long, the paramedics insisted on wrapping me up in a blanket as they checked my vitals and overall condition. Someone later told me that I was in a complete daze, and I was even acting a little loopy. Apparently, when one of the doctors tried to find the pulse in my wrist with his fingers, I gave him a high five and tried to do a goofy "gangsta" handshake.

A few days later, I woke up in a dark and quiet hospital room. There was a dull glow from the mounted TV screen, and I could see that "The Price is Right" was on. Audience members were screaming out numbers to confused contestants, and to my surprise, someone next to me was yelling out numbers, too.

"Seven, you idiot! Seven!" It was Greg, sitting on the edge of a chair next to my bed. Despite being caught up in the world of Bob Barker, he was cradling my right hand in his lap, affectionately rubbing his palm over my own. I wiggled my fingers a bit to let him know that I was awake.

"Greg?" I said as loudly as I could, and he turned to look at me, a huge smile across his face.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, forgetting about his fun pricing games. He started to rub my head lovingly, but I winced when he grazed my fresh bruise. "Sorry," he apologized, pulling his hand away.

"What time is it?" I asked, finding it difficult to speak.

"It's a hair past a freckle," he joked, staring at his bare arm like it was a shiny new Rolex. I couldn't help but grin.

"Why am I here?" I could recall the events of the past few days, but I don't ever remember becoming severely injured.

"Oh my god! She's got amnesia!" Greg shouted. I put up my hand in protest and quieted him before he made a scene.

"No, Greg, I'm fine," I began. "I remember everything. I just don't know why I'm in the hospital."

"Phew," he sighed with relief, wiping fake sweat from his brow and leaning back in his chair. "Well you hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in, like, three days. Plus you took a pretty nasty blow to the head. The doctors just wanted to make sure you're alright." I nodded, letting him know that I understood.

"What happened to Roger?" I hadn't meant to wonder that out loud, but the drugs they had me on were taking a toll on my good judgment. Greg noticeably tensed up when I mentioned the name of my ex-boyfriend and ex-captor.

"Last I heard, he was being put through a psychiatric evaluation," he responded. "Good thing, too, because if they brought that bastard within 20 feet of me, I would kill him with my own two hands." Normally, I would have been shocked at such a violent sentiment from Greg, but I couldn't blame him. Roger had put Greg through as much crap as he had put me through.

I let out a huge yawn, my body signaling my weariness to the outside world. It was true that I was tired, but I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to stay awake with Greg; I wanted to ask him how he was doing, and how the crime lab, or whoever it was, had found me. But as these questions and others plagued my mind, I drifted into a deep slumber.

Eventually, I heard Roger's side of the story, or at least his take on reality. He had been searching for me since we broke up after high school, calling my parents in the wee hours of the morning and begging them for my address. My mom told me that she only kept it a secret so that I wouldn't be afraid to go out into the world on my own; heck, she didn't want me living in their basement until I was 42. That was probably the best decision for both my parents and me.

Roger had given up hope a while back, but his affection and emotions came tumbling back when he saw me on Halloween night. He had been in the same theatre as Greg and I, watching the same cheesy horror flick. At first, I found it hard to believe that he was in such close proximity without my knowledge, but I suppose he does blend in well with the freaks of Vegas. He had only used the whole "Valentine killer" thing as a diversion for the authorities, and it had worked – for a short time. Grissom, being the genius that he is, noticed that Roger didn't wait until February 14th to kidnap me; he actually did it the day before Valentine's Day. That was the first hint that Roger was nothing but a cult-obsessed wannabe. The crime lab identified the spilt blood in Greg's apartment as Roger's, and the rest was just a matter of tracking him down.

I can't say I hate Roger; it's rare that I hate anyone. But I do hate what he did to me. I mean, for the first time in a long time, I felt that I was in a healthy and real relationship with Greg. Of course, something like this had to happen in the middle of our ridiculous bliss. It was kind of a good experience, though. Not knowing if I would live to see tomorrow really made me value what I have today, as corny as that is; and what I have today is Greg. I knew he was thinking the same thing of me, because once I was released from the hospital, his affection, both physically and emotionally, was endless. Within a month, he had asked me to move in to his swanky apartment with him, and I was more than happy to become an adoptive mother to Henry. I even got a new car: Cornelia. She is just so damn beautiful! She looks just like her father Tear

When I finally returned to work, Greg was there to make things better, even though they weren't that bad to begin with. After dealing with a man like Roger, Missy seemed like a cuddly teddy-bear. After my first day back, Greg insisted that he carry me to my chariot, jokingly of course.

"How 'bout we just walk?" I offered, seeing the defeat in his face. Still, he obliged, throwing a lanky arm around my shoulders.

"Matilda," he asked, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I responded. He cleared his throat, and I prepared myself for the worst.

"Do you have any other creepy ex-boyfriends that you want to tell me about?"

The End….or is it?