Issues by SLynn
Disclaimer: I own only the thoughts in my head and the characters you don't recognize.
Chapter 30: The Last One
Earlier that evening Greg had arrived on time to his session.
Dr. Fenton had greeted him much as he'd always done. Sitting down, Greg initially refused the offered drink, but he'd insisted. Dr. Fenton always insisted so Greg gave in. He took a glass of Sprite thinking it might even settle his stomach.
"So, tell me about your week?" he asked. He always asked that on Fridays. On Tuesdays he started with 'tell me about your weekend', it was fairly routine now.
After talking about it for the first fifteen minutes, he'd casually change the topic. Dr. Fenton usually had a topic he'd wanted to discuss during a session. Greg was still finding himself getting use to it; Dr. Sanchez had taken a completely different approach. She tended to just let him talk about whatever was on his mind, gently leading the conversation when she thought he'd hit on something key. Dr. Fenton was more direct. He had an agenda, definite things he wanted to find out. Greg had preferred Dr. Sanchez.
"You told me once you were spiritual."
Greg guessed the topic of today was morality.
"Yeah," Greg said finishing off his soda. "I am. I guess I am, probably as much as the next guy."
"Heaven and hell? Is that what you believe?"
"I'm not sure. I grew up being taught that. Heaven, hell and purgatory. But it sometimes doesn't seem fair. Just how bad do you have to be to get sent to hell? I'm certainly broken a few commandments, does that mean I'm damned?"
"I can't answer that," Dr. Fenton said standing up and getting Greg another drink.
"Yeah, no one can," he said. "But, I'm not a bad person, I don't think. True, I'm no saint, but I do what I can. My job, I wanted to do this job because I liked helping people. That should count for something, right?"
Dr. Fenton just smiled at him.
Greg took another drink of his soda, a longer one this time. He felt thirsty suddenly. Very thirsty.
"Do you consider yourself better then most people?" Dr. Fenton asked.
"That's a loaded question," Greg said with a smile. "If I say yes, I'm an ego maniac. If I say no, low self esteem."
Now Dr. Fenton laughed.
"Seriously Greg, do you?" he asked again.
"I don't know. People in general, they do some messed up things. I haven't been doing this thing long, my job, but I hope I'm better then that."
Greg felt the room tilt slightly, but shrugged it off. Took another drink of soda instead.
"What about the people you work with? Do you think your better then they are?"
"The people I work with, no. Definitely not. Grissom's like a genius. Sara too. I'll be lucky to ever know half what they do. And it's not just that they're smart, they're good people. Caring in their own ways. Nick and Warrick are like brothers to me, the closest I've ever had. And Amy's like a sister. Cath would hate this, but she's such a mom. It's good though. We're a family really. I'm not better then them. If anything, they tolerate me, sometimes just barely."
"How do you see yourself in that dynamic?"
"I guess I'd be the annoying little brother. That's an easy role. I'm still trying to prove myself, gain acceptance in a way. Respect maybe? I don't know."
"You don't feel respected?"
"No, that's not true. They respect me. I'm not sure what I mean, what I'm looking for."
Greg's vision swam again. Clumsily, he put down his drink, nearly missing the table. Dr. Fenton either didn't notice or didn't comment on it. Just kept on.
"You don't sound certain of that."
"I am," Greg answered, his voice sounded thick in his ears. He'd felt this way before. Early in the week.
"Greg?" Dr. Fenton asked now, reaching out and grabbing him around the forearm.
Greg cringed at the contact. He was holding on to him too tightly. Much too tightly.
"I think I need to go," Greg tried to say. He tried to move, but seemed to be experiencing another episode like he had earlier in the week. His body felt laden with lead.
"You shouldn't be driving like this," Dr. Fenton said, having first pushed him back into his seat and then released him. "I'll take you home."
Greg had started to object. He had wanted to say he could just call for a ride and that it wasn't a problem, but as he tried to do so, to stand and do so, he fell back into his chair. He had been helped of course by Dr. Fenton who now had a hand firmly planted on his shoulder.
"Greg," he said leaning down near his ear, "it's for the best."
He didn't remember much of the ride. Greg didn't remember much of anything after he'd almost fallen out of the chair. Somehow they'd gotten to his apartment. Dr. Fenton must have gotten his keys, but Greg couldn't say when.
His next completely coherent thought came as he was back in his own living room. He heard talking, thought it might be the television. Thought he might have been having a fever dream about everything that had happened that day. He'd never felt like this before. Just blinking seemed to make his head hurt.
Slowly he turned his head, and now Greg knew he must be dreaming. Dr. Fenton was on his couch, talking to him.
"What happened? Did I pass out?" Greg asked feeling sick to his stomach again.
"Yes," he said, turning to him slightly. "You did. You're going home now."
"This is my home."
None of this made sense. Greg tried to stand and found he just couldn't. His legs felt like he'd run a marathon. His arms too for that matter.
"No," Dr. Fenton said standing, shaking his head. "You're being sent on. To find out all the answers. Granted, you may not like what you have to hear. Given what you've told me about your life, I can't say for certain."
Greg was trying to shake the fog from his head. Trying to not just throw up. Why wasn't any of this making sense?
"Like you, in my line of work I've seen a lot of things. Some 'messed up' things. Some 'messed up' people. You know what I've learned? You can't help them all. Some people are past that point. It's best to just send them on."
Greg looked at him, really focused. This wasn't normal and it wasn't a dream.
"Do you know why I took you on as a patient?" he continued, not waiting for a response. "After I sent Laura on, cleansed her of her sins, I was curious as to whether or not anyone was on to me. Human nature. I'd done everything I could to cover my tracks, but we all make mistakes."
Dr. Fenton was sitting down now, had pulled up the coffee table and sat down in front on him. Greg could still hardly move. His breath was all caught in his throat.
"I've cleansed a lot of people, more then you or your genius colleagues have figured out judging by what you've told me. I was upset, surprised even when you told me what your friend, that pretty little Asian girl, Amy right? When you told me that Amy found my fingerprint. That you had my DNA. I'm a man of science too. I knew I didn't have much time."
Dr. Fenton reached over to him and undid his belt and slid it off of him in one quick movement. Greg tried to stop him. Tried to move, but only saw his hands give a slight shudder in response.
"No," he said in his normal calm voice, "you don't have to worry about that. It's never like that. That would be unclean."
He took hold of Greg's hands, they were trembling still, and fastened them together with the belt. Greg still couldn't speak or move, but his mind was racing. He noticed it now, Dr. Fenton had on gloves and a hat. He desperately wanted to just wake up, to have this all be a dream but reality was sinking in around him.
"You're going to be my last," he said with a smile, standing up again and pulling Greg up with him.
The movement made his head worse. Made it spin faster. Greg shut his eyes and fought down the urge to vomit. Before he knew it Dr. Fenton was sitting him down again, this time in his bathroom. Looking over, Greg saw the bath tub was already full. He'd seen the photos of Evan Jacobsen and Jason Smith and knew what happened next. Briefly he wondered what Doc Robbins would say about death by drowning, if it was one of the better ways, but he couldn't dwell on it. There wasn't time.
"You know what your real problem is?" Dr. Fenton asked, he'd only put Greg down to rest for a moment, "You're too smart. You think too much. It's really a shame Greg, it's not that you're a bad person really. It just has to be done. You'd have figured it out sooner or later and I can't give you the chance."
Greg was on his feet again against his will. He tried to fight it, but whatever it was that made him feel this way was just too strong. Greg knew he should be yelling and kicking. Doing something but it wasn't in his power. In one quick movement he felt himself falling and sinking. Under the water. Into the water and he couldn't move. He couldn't even struggle. He'd held his breath on instinct. He was a good swimmer; he could hold his breath a long time. Opening his eyes, he saw him there. Standing over him. Good swimmer or not, he couldn't hold his breath forever.
What he couldn't do was panic. Couldn't allow himself to panic. Greg tried to stay calm but it was hard. That's when he realized, he could move a little. His legs weren't completely immobile. Trying to push himself up, he'd managed to get part of the way out of the water, to just break the surface. He managed another half breath through his nose before he felt his head being pushed under.
Now he was panicking. Kicking as much as he could, but unable to get his head even part of the way out of the water again. Dr. Fenton's gloved hand was firmly planted on his head, so tight he could feel his nails even through the fabric. And Greg saw those stars again. Stars he hadn't seen in a while, black and invading his vision. Greg knew he was close to blacking out. Shut his eyes for a moment and when he reopened them he felt his lungs screaming in pain, but no one was in the room.
Desperately he tried to push himself up again, but was too weak. To weak to push himself up even half an inch. His feet couldn't find any traction, they flailed. His eyes were shutting again. Greg was blacking out, releasing air he knew he should hold on too. It wasn't his choice any more; his body was acting counter to what his brain knew to do.
Then he was coughing. That's all he'd remember before coughing, spitting up water on the bathroom floor. Trembling from fright and exhaustion.
"Greg? Oh God, are you alright?"
He knew that voice. When did she get here? How?
"Greg," Sara said again, her voice was strained. She sounded like she was crying. "Talk to me please."
He was on his hands and knees, still coughing. Greg's hands were still bound in front of him as he rested almost entirely on his elbows and knees.
"Sara," he tried to say, but it didn't really come out at all.
She was rubbing his back now, touching his neck. Greg pushed himself up as best he could, backwards so he could sit. Sara caught him half way and helped him lean back, undid his hands, ran a hand of her own over his face. He looked pale and his breathing was labored.
"What happened?" she asked.
Greg shook his head. He didn't know, couldn't say. It was foggy, all of it. His hands still shook, but at least now he could move them. He could move again, his whole body now, but it was slow work.
"Where is he?" he asked her.
Sara didn't have to ask who.
"I don't know," she answered.
Her voice still sounded odd to him. He'd never seen her this way.
"Stay here," she said to him, getting to her feet, "I'm calling for help."
Greg tried to stop her. Something came out of his mouth, something like a no. He didn't want her to leave. He felt like he might pass out again, but she was gone before he could stop her.
He'd expected her to just come right back with the phone. After a minute, after she hadn't returned, he tentatively got to his feet. It hadn't been easy and he nearly toppled over in the process.
Steadying himself against the sink, he saw it. Sara's gun. She must have come into the apartment with it drawn. She'd been expecting trouble. Greg thought that could only be a good thing, the rest of the team must know too. Must suspect Dr. Fenton, why else would she be here now. Greg wasn't lucky like that. They had to all be on their way now, but then why had Sara have to go and call for help?
"Greg," he heard from the next room, but it wasn't Sara's voice. "Why don't you come out here and join us. It looks like you won't be my last after all."