Tortured Reasoning
Authors: Mossley and Burked
Summary: It's a Thanksgiving to remember when an investigation into a brutal serial rapist becomes personal for Sara and Grissom.
A/N: Potential spoilers through the current episode. Thanks to Marlou for her beta services and support. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We pooled our resources, and we still don't have enough to buy CSI, so we're just going to borrow some of their characters for a bit.
Chapter 3 –Vengeance is Mine
Sara gripped the steering wheel, flexing her fingers as she stared at the gothic structure before her. This promised to be an uncomfortable visit. Taking a last swig of her tea, she grimaced at the coldness. She'd been sitting out here longer than she realized.
Getting out of her car, she ran her eyes around the property. Nothing about the outside of the mansion gave any hint as to what happened on the inside. With a repressed snicker, Sara mentally conceded that was the case with most crimes they investigated. The most normal looking locales held the darkest of secrets.
The same was true of people, too.
Sara quickly walked to the front door, keeping her gaze focused on the wood. From what she knew of Lady Heather's domain, all the clients came, literally and figuratively, at night. She wasn't taking any chances, though, and avoided looking into any of the upper windows.
Before ringing the doorbell, Sara closed her eyes and took a cleansing breath. No one was being hurt now. What went on inside at night wasn't her concern; she was here to help Zoe.
When the door opened, she quickly covered her surprise that the dominatrix was still dressed in leather; apparently it was more than a costume she wore for her customers. If Lady Heather noticed, she made no comment.
"Ms. Sidle," she said coolly. "A social visit, I hope."
"Good morning, Heather. May I speak to Zoe?"
"No," she answered, but stepping back to let Sara enter. "Zoe is still in bed. As you can imagine, she had trouble sleeping last night."
Sara nodded as she cautiously surveyed the building's interior. She could easily believe a rape victim would be uncomfortable inside the domain.
"My quarters are upstairs, open to all," Heather said evenly, directing Sara towards her office. "But Zoe lives in the guest house. She was upset by what happened to her, Ms. Sidle, not by what goes on here."
"It was a traumatic event," Sara offered.
"One that Zoe would prefer not to dwell on. If that is what my daughter needs, then that is what she'll have. It's unfortunate if that hinders your investigation, but I will not allow my daughter to be harmed further," Heather warned darkly.
"I can understand that," Sara admitted.
"And yet here you are."
"I was hoping Zoe would be willing to talk to a forensic artist."
"This is a serial rapist, correct? What makes you think Zoe can tell you anything the other victims couldn't?"
Sara looked her imploringly. "Heather, she was the only victim who was able to talk afterwards. The bastard beat the other women, savagely, then took his knife to them. The previous woman was permanently blinded in one eye. Another had to have her spleen removed. They all needed plastic surgery. As terrible as this was for Zoe, she's the only one that has a clear memory of what happened."
"I can ask her when she wakes up, Ms. Sidle," Lady Heather said, her voice lacking the edge it had earlier.
"Thank you," Sara replied, following her into the office.
The dominatrix studied her for a moment before walking behind her desk. "I don't get a lot of visitors who aren't clients. But those visitors I do get generally fall into two categories: those who are curious, maybe even titillated by what they see, and those who can barely hide their revulsion."
"Same in my line of work," Sara said a bit nervously, hoping she would be able to maintain a veneer of objectivity.
"I imagine there are a lot of people who think you must be some sort of ghoul, since you have chosen to work around death and violence."
"I suppose so."
Heather smiled serenely. "Are you? A ghoul, I mean."
"I don't think so," Sara said with a shrug. "It's just the nature of my job."
"Yes, but why this job? Why not be a cop, if you like law enforcement? Or a research scientist, if that's your interest?" she asked as she took a seat behind her desk, directing Sara to a leather upholstered antique chair.
"I like how forensic science brings the two together. I can use my interest in science for the good of society."
"Ah, so it's society you're seeking justice for," Lady Heather said with a knowing smile.
Sara nodded as her eyes scanned the room, taking in all the tools of Heather's trade that were hung prominently around the office.
"I could make the same case," Lady Heather added confidently.
Sara lifted an eyebrow, the doubt evident on her face.
"I provide a constructive outlet for meeting the more primal needs of a segment of society. Needs will be met, Ms. Sidle. One either provides for that, or it will happen on its own, and not always at the time or in the way that one had hoped."
"Are you sure you're not glorifying violence? Especially violence against women?"
Lady Heather laughed, underscoring it by leaning back in her chair and noisily propping her booted feet on the desk. She picked up a riding crop that had been on the desk, and slapped it a few times along the leather bootlegs, eliciting loud pops.
"Ms. Sidle, just because the majority of my employees are female, don't jump to the conclusion that they are all submissives who allow strangers to beat them mercilessly. As a matter of fact, most of my female staff is dominant, and all but one of my male staff are submissive. And most of what happens here is symbolic."
"So, let me see if I understand you. You're telling me that normal, every-day men pay hundreds of dollars to be symbolically tormented by a woman."
"Essentially that's correct," Heather agreed, surprising Sara. "Or women pay to do the same to a handsome, young man. Sometimes even man-to-man or woman-to-woman. There are a lot of different kinds of people out there, Ms. Sidle, with a lot of different kinds of needs."
"So it would seem," she admitted uncomfortably.
"Is it that you don't like what I do, or is it that you don't like me personally?" Heather asked without affect.
Sara jerked her head away from a collection of masks to stare at the dominatrix. "Excuse me?"
"I believe that you heard me. And you seem intelligent enough to have understood the question."
"I try not to judge people or what they do ... as long as it's legal," Sara answered somewhat defensively.
Heather smirked, setting her crop on the desk and picking up a set of handcuffs. "You try. Yes, it's evident that you're trying. But it's hard for you, isn't it?"
"Nobody's perfect, Heather. You have ideals that you try to live up to. Doesn't mean you're always going to be successful."
"You didn't get the pleasure of meeting my daughter under better circumstances. You might have liked her."
"I rarely get to meet people in better circumstances," Sara answered, her mind spinning a little from the sudden change in the conversation's direction.
"She has lots of friends, a good job, does well in school. She goes to Harvard," Lady Heather related with obvious pride.
"I went to Harvard."
"You're having a hard time wrapping your head around it, aren't you? How can an S&M whore have a normal, well-adjusted child?"
Sara sputtered, "I never said ... I never called you ...."
Lady Heather waved her protestations off dismissively.
"First of all, I'm not a prostitute. Our business isn't about sex, though out in society sex is one of the few areas where people will allow for their expression of dominance or submission."
"I didn't ..."
"Regardless of what you think of me or my chosen profession, I managed to raise a happy, well-adjusted, successful, strong young woman. One who thinks enough of me to travel all the way across the continent to be with me at Thanksgiving."
"Yes, I can see that," Sara managed to choke out.
"Why are you working on a holiday? Don't you have a family you'd rather be with?" Heather asked pointedly.
"I'm from California," Sara answered.
"That's not so far away. Certainly not as far away as Massachusetts. You could have easily spent a day or two with them."
Sara silently jeered. There would have been nothing easy about it.
"Crime doesn't stop to allow us all to have time with our families. There are people at work with kids, and they have priority."
"Ah, I see. So Mr. Grissom would not have allowed you to take a day or two off to see your family?"
"I didn't ask," Sara admitted.
"I see. I think you have no desire to see your family."
Her head snapped around, but Sara tried to keep her face impassive. From Heather's sage nod, she doubted she was successful.
"Perhaps I'm not such a freak after all. At least my daughter and I have a healthy relationship."
Sara mentally berated herself for falling for Lady Heather's bait. She wasn't here to talk about herself, but now she was on the defensive. It was irritating; regardless of what she thought about Heather or her profession, she had said nothing about it. She didn't have to defend her ideas.
"Good for you," she said firmly. "My relationship with my family is private, and I'm not going to discuss it with you or anybody else."
Heather studied Sara appraisingly for a long moment before leaning back in her chair, her fingers forming a steeple. "You're a very uptight person, Ms. Sidle. You should do something about that before it manifests in some unhealthy way. Like I said, needs will be met, whether we want them to or not."
Sara huffed a scoffing laugh. "So you think everything would be okay if I just pick up one of these toys of yours and beat the living shit out of somebody?"
"Maybe not everything, but you'd be surprised what a sense of release you'd have. It would get out some of that pent-up aggression you seem to just barely have control over."
"No, thanks. I swore a long time ago that I'd never knowingly hurt anyone."
"Spoken like someone who's been at the business end of pain."
She drew a deep breath, mentally counting to ten before returning Heather's stare. "This isn't about me."
"Really? I disagree. Did your vow include not harming yourself?"
Sara shifted on the chair but didn't answer.
"Trust me," the dominatrix said with a humorless smile, "physical pain fades eventually, or it can be dulled by medication if necessary. Emotional pain can linger if you don't find a way to deal with it."
It took a mental effort, but Sara resisted the desire to turn away. She wouldn't give Lady Heather the pleasure of admitting how close her statements were hitting to home.
"You don't know anything about me."
"More than you realize, Ms. Sidle, but I don't know everything," Heather conceded. "What bothers you more: that you were unable to stop what happened to you, or that you did nothing to stop it? And how does it relate to your family?"
Sara stood up quickly. "Here's my card. When your daughter is sufficiently rested, would you ask her to give me a call?"
"Denial or deflection?" Lady Heather prodded, standing as she spoke.
"It's been ... interesting," Sara said, leaving without offering her hand.
"Yes, it has," Lady Heather called out, shaking her head sadly. The signs of repressed anger in the younger woman storming off were so evident – to someone who understood the pain.
The next shift found a pensive Grissom standing at the doorway to the Layout Room. His hand rubbed his beard absentmindedly as he looked at Sara. One at a time, she hung the grisly photos from the previous victims of the I-15 Rapist. Unaware that she was being watched, Sara made no attempt to hide her disgust. He winced each time she reacted.
Part of him wanted to pull her from the case immediately, before it could affect her more. Grissom feared she would draw even farther away from him if he did so, and that was not an acceptable option.
All day, he had tossed fitfully in bed as sleep eluded him. Heather's comments about Sara had troubled him, and Grissom had been unable to shake the feeling. Heather was observant, not omnipotent. Her talents were geared to discerning her clients' needs. She tried to deflect attention away from Zoe, and she chose Sara as her target.
But images of her crying in his office over the injustice of a woman raped and left brain dead, of being driven to rage by the actions of an abusive husband, of being infuriated by the degradations of the Strip Strangler, of having to leave the scene of a young rape victim's murder came unbidden.
The sun was setting when realization finally hit Grissom: he simply didn't want to believe anything had happened to Sara.
Once his mind had accepted that something had occurred, it insisted on examining the possible scenarios. Since she reacted to domestic violence cases, his first inclination was she'd watched her mother suffer. And abusers often turned on children. It was the thought of Sara being molested as a child that drove him to his bathroom, where his stomach emptied violently.
Resting his head on the cool porcelain, Grissom fought down the bile, and resisted the urge to dismiss his concerns. This was something that he couldn't pretend didn't happen. Somehow, he had to reach Sara, for her sake more than his own peace of mind.
"Hey," he said softly, moving to stand beside her.
"Hey."
Grissom ran his eyes over her discreetly. Her current task was unpleasant for her, and there was a tightness around her eyes, but she was more relaxed than earlier. "You're in early."
"So are you," Sara noted without pausing in her work. "Probably the same reason I am. If the rapist follows his pattern, he'll attack another woman soon."
"If he sticks to his pattern now."
"How is he going to react after being interrupted last night?" she asked, taking a marker and jotting down information.
Grissom shrugged. "He'll be frustrated by his failure to complete his ritual. The dog bite will be an added insult. If he's smart, he'll lay low for a while, or leave Vegas altogether."
"You think that's what he'll do?"
"No," he said after a moment's thought. "He picks his victims based on opportunity. He always grabs the woman from a dark parking lot and drives away in her car to a nearby isolated area. He makes no attempt to hide evidence. There's no sophistication to his attacks."
"So he'll take his frustration out on the next woman," she said remorsefully.
"Or on the first stranger who gets in his way. It's likely the rapist has trouble controlling his anger."
"He rapes three or four women in each city before picking another location," Sara said, looking over her shoulder. She did a quick double take. "You don't look well."
"I had trouble sleeping," he understated.
Sara turned slowly, giving him a thoughtful look. She knew this had to be uncomfortable for him. Grissom was so evasive emotionally, but he'd been unable to hide the fact that he was concerned about her ability to handle the case. It was bad enough before Heather's announcement, but since then it had gotten more intense.
She felt guilty that she let Heather rattle her at the scene. If she had stayed calm, Grissom wouldn't be vexed now. It took an effort, but she was forcing down her own reactions, not giving him any ammunition to feed his anxiety. There was no reason for him to worry unnecessarily.
Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything to help.
And then there was the dominatrix. After going home, Sara had time to cool off. The pain that Grissom was willing to risk his career over Heather was still there, but she had noticed the strain between them at the scene. Whatever had happened was definitely over, and she gathered it didn't end on a good note.
"You okay?" she asked kindly.
"I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He didn't look fine. "Go home. Get some rest. I'll take care of this. If anything comes in, I'll page you."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Sara," he said, fixing her with a penetrating stare.
"Grissom," she said slowly, resuming her note taking. "It was one mistake. I'm not trying to minimize how stupid it was, 'cause God knows it was. But it was one beer too many, and we didn't have anything to eat."
"We? Someone let you drive drunk? Who was it?" he demanded, suddenly furious that someone, probably from the lab, had let Sara endanger her life.
"It doesn't matter. I'm an adult. It was my mistake. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to fall apart."
Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to calm down. Anger wouldn't accomplish anything at this point. "I'm glad to hear that, but we both know that's not what I'm talking about."
Sara set the marker down and wrapped her arms around herself. After a beat, she turned to face him. "How old were you?" she asked seriously.
"How old was I when what?" he repeated in confusion.
"When you became a drug addict?"
"I have never been an addict, drug or otherwise," Grissom said with a hint of annoyance.
"Really? 'Cause pushers targeting kids is one of the things that sets you off," Sara said pointedly. "It bothers you even though you weren't a victim."
Grissom let out a slow breath. She had a valid point; a crime could be disturbing regardless if the CSI had personally experienced it. His head tilted as he observed her closely. It would be nice to believe her, but he felt she was trying to reassure him.
"So, you're telling me that nothing bad ever happened to you?" he asked directly.
"No," she corrected, walking to the light table to study a file. "But who hasn't had something bad happen? It's part of life."
"Enough that it affects you later?"
"We're all shaped by our experiences," she answered, darting her eyes to the hand that rested on her shoulder.
Grissom gently pivoted her body so she was facing him. "There's a difference between being shaped and being haunted."
"I thought being the ghost was your gig," Sara said with a forced smile, waiting for him to break off. When he held her gaze, she dropped her head. His concern should have been touching, but the fact it was only initiated because of the dominatrix hurt.
"I'm just trying to help," he said, his other hand coming to rest on her opposite shoulder.
"Grissom," she exhaled, holding up her hands, unable to cope with his sudden openness. "Okay. I admit things weren't always great when I was kid. But that was then. This is now."
"But you are reacting to this case."
"It's a terrible crime. What that bastard does to his victims is sick. Yeah, it bothers me."
"Can you look me in the eye and say this isn't personal?" he asked.
Sara lifted her head and looked him directly in they eye. "Can you tell me why you believe Heather over me?"
Grissom chewed his lip thoughtfully. Heather had never lied to him, but he knew that wasn't a smart answer; it implied Sara had lied to him. At most, she avoided answering his questions directly. Considering the personal nature of them, he could understand her unwillingness to talk about it.
"She's observant," he finally responded.
"So are you. You've known me for years. How come you never thought about asking me this until she mentioned it?" she asked, a muscle in her jaw clenching at the harshness that had crept into her voice.
"I never wanted to believe you'd been hurt."
When she didn't answer, Grissom quickly scanned the open doorway. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer. Luckily, a number of the lab staff had taken vacation for the holiday, but it was still uncomfortable.
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered, his tender statement ending in a soft curse when she pulled away after her pager went off. His followed a few seconds later.
"From Brass," she said, clearing her throat.
"Same here," he sighed. With a shrug, he escorted her to the parking lot, hoping they wouldn't find another victim of the I-15 rapist.
Pulling into the seedy motel's parking lot, Grissom frowned before turning to Sara. Her expression held the same mix of apprehension and curiosity.
"God, do you think it's another victim?" she asked softly, watching as David pulled a gurney from the coroner's van. "He nearly killed his other women. It wouldn't take much to cross that line."
Grissom let out a huff, shaking his head. That wasn't a good sign. If the rapist had graduated to murder, it was unlikely that he would stop. Or it could be unrelated. The lab was shorthanded, but it seemed unlikely Brass would have paged them specifically when he knew they were concentrating on the I-15 Rapist. The mayor wanted him caught before any other woman was attacked.
"I don't know. A motel? All his other attacks were in isolated areas," Grissom posited as they retrieved their kits.
"He could have changed his MO because of the dog attack. Pick somewhere less open."
"It's possible," he acknowledged. If true, the change in behavior could complicate their investigation.
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not. It's highly unusual for a serial rapist to attack again so quickly. They like to 'savor' their actions," Grissom said, turning his attention back to his partner.
"I'll be okay," Sara told him quietly.
He gave her a small smile, standing nearby as they crossed the parking lot. "Let me know if I can help."
She nodded, but didn't answer.
Brass waved them over to the steps heading to the second-story of the building. "You two handled a rape last night? Zoe Grey?"
"Yeah," Sara answered.
"Patrol found her car in an alley two blocks away. Porsches tend to stand out in this neighborhood," the detective said, leading them upstairs. He pointed out a muscle-bound man dressed in a greasy t-shirt rocking uneasily on his heels. "That's the manager. He found the body. After I saw it, I figured I should call you two in."
Sara and Grissom exchanged looks, and he left his hand on her elbow after escorting her around a crowd of guests. Sara glanced down at it, but made no move to walk away.
Brass paused before they reached the door, an unreadable expression on his face. "This Zoe was Lady Heather's daughter, right?"
"Yes," Grissom answered evenly.
"Figures."
"Why?" Sara asked.
"You'll see. This is bad," he warned, leading them into the room.
The buzz of flies and the acrid smell of blood reached them before they walked into the room. Coupled with the caveat from Brass, they had an idea what to expect before entering.
"Oh, my God," Sara whispered hoarsely.
Streaks of blood covered the walls and ceiling, emanating from the nude body tied to the bed. As she moved closer, Sara noted the gagged form was male and massive amounts of flesh had been flayed from his body.
Brass let out a long sigh. "I'd say he learned the hard way not to piss Lady Heather off."
TBC