Spoiler: Unbearable
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.
Okay. Thanks to those of you who continue to follow this. It is soooo dramatic right now, but fun to write. My angsty soul is fulfilled with the suspense. I hope to not lose any of you. You are what makes it fun and real. Please hang in there. Your reviews mean a great deal to me.
Sheila
Chapter 9
Afraid of the Light
He dragged a chair into the room. Then he went back upstairs and carried down a armload of implements. Sara's arm lay lifeless over the bed. He reached over and pulled on it a little. He dropped it and it went limp again. He turned and set up the chair, twining an IV through the arms and hanging it over the back. There were leather straps nailed into the chair, and he opened them and laid them over the side so they would be ready to receive his victim. Once his set-up was complete, he went back to Sara and began to drag her from inside the mattress. It took some work to extricate her from the innards of the mattress. He hoisted her on top of the mattress, and laid her down. Carefully, he lifted a wrist and felt for a pulse. It was weak but steady. Her skin was cold with a bluish tint on her lips and fingernails. He slapped her cheek, but her eyes didn't open. He pulled her body to a sitting position and swung her arms over his shoulders. Putting his arms around her torso, and pulled her to a standing position, her head and arms draped over his shoulders. Like this, he began dragging her over to the chair. After a few steps, her slight frame became even less burdensome, and then he remembered Fredericka.
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"Hello. Miss. Hello." Brass barked into a speaker phone set up in the middle of the dusty living room. Deputies milled around the room quietly allowing Brass the respect of his contact. Danny stood next to him, wired, one hand absently combing his thatch of dark hair.
"Yes, what can I do for you?" came a young female voice.
"This is the Reno county land office, correct?"
"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"
Miss, this is Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police. We need information regarding land purchases in the last year."
"Oooooh, I don't think I can do that for you, Mr. Brass."
"That's Captain Brass, and we are in the process of getting a warrant to your office as we speak. A woman's life is in danger, and we need information immediately."
"Sorry, wish I could help. Could you call back in 37 minutes, please?" The girl responded as if talking to someone in line at the grocery store. "Good-bye."
"No!" Brass yelled. "Do not hang up! This is important!"
"Mr. Brass, please control yourself. I can help you in 36 minutes and 23 seconds."
"You're serious? Okay. Let me try this…what's your name?"
"Shelly."
"Shelly, honey, can you please explain to me what 36 minutes is going to do to your helpfulness."
"That's when Miss Hastings gets back from lunch. She is the only one allowed to access the records on the computer. She doesn't let me touch the computer. Says I am flighty."
"Ahhh, I see. Well, Shelly, I need you to get Miss Hastings for me. Right away."
"I don't know. She'll probably kill me. She is very clear about her lunchtime."
"Honey, I swear to God that I will put you in jail if you don't go get her. Do you understand?"
"Can you do that?"
"If I do not hear Miss Hastings' voice in thirty seconds, you'll find out."
A clattering noise erupted over the phone and then silence. Brass prayed that she had merely dropped the phone. He looked at Danny whose eyes were wide in disbelief. Brass closed his eyes and counted seconds. Just when he was ready to send a squad to arrest the whole office, a voice came through the speakerphone.
"Hello." This was voice was considerably older than the young Shelly.
"Please tell me this is Miss Hastings."
"Yes it is. Shelly says it is an emergency which it better be as I was unable to finish my lunch."
"Miss Hastings, you can save a woman's life today. How does this strike you?"
"What do you need?" Brass blew a sigh of relief when she said this. It was clear that she was a no nonsense kind of woman.
"I need names of all individuals who purchased land in the last year in this county, focusing on land purchased outside of city limits."
"No problem. Give me a minute, please."
The silence was deafening. Danny was drumming his fingers on the table until Brass reached over and grabbed his arm.
"I'm back." The older woman said. "I have 76 names for you."
Brass licked his lips. "Narrow it to only men land owners." Danny furled his brow. Brass leaned over, "He would never lower himself to use a woman's name as an alias. It's all about the power." Danny nodded.
"That drops it to 49 names, Sir.'
"Miss Hastings, please confirm that Alberto Sanchez is not among the remaining names."
"No sir. There is no Alberto Sanchez."
"Any Hispanic names?"
"A Roberto Diaz, a Ernesto Villareal, and a Chico Garza."
Brass looked at Danny who shook his head. "Miss Hastings, please save those names and addresses. Anything else unusual?"
"What do you mean?"
"Unusual names. Names that seem false."
"Um, okay. There's a Warner Livingston, a Bernard Hosstrup, and a Hatfield Corcoran."
"God almighty! Did you say Hatfield Corcoran, ma'am?"
"Hatfield Corcoran purchased land on the northwest part of this county 8 months ago."
"Miss Hastings, I need the address now."
"County Road 19, 3 miles south of highway 23 intersection. Road isn't marked. You take a dirt road about 2 miles up into a canyon—"
"Miss Hastings, please tell this to the deputies who understand what you are talking about. How far is it from Reno?"
"About two hours."
Brass reeled around and looked at the deputies. One of them stepped forward. "I know the area. It's about 2 ½ hours from the ranch here."
Danny was on his feet. "Okay, we are out of here. Deputy, you take lead. Brass and I ride with you."
"Where's Grissom and Malone?"
"Out on the porch going over the transcript of Hatfield's confession." Reported a deputy.
"Grab'em. We're going to make Hatfield and Sanchez sorry that their fathers ever met their mothers."
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Sara absently dropped her arm as he dragged her over to the chair. She reached under the nightgown and pulled out the metal bar that she was holding between her knees. It wasn't heavy, but it was the only thing she had. She felt him tense and she knew that he felt her strength. She swung the bar over her head and hit him on the right temple. He howled and jumped back, holding his face. She wanted to run, but she knew it wasn't enough so she willed herself forward and she came at him. She was able to hit once more behind the ear before he grabbed her arm and pushed her back. She fell back onto the bed. She rolled away when she saw him fall on top. Everything happened in slow motion. She understood that she didn't really have the strength to beat him, but she couldn't stop. He dropped beside her, and she began hitting him with every ounce of adrenaline her body could produce. He alternately worked to protect his face and to throw punches at her.
Sara rose up in one last ditch attempt to overpower him. She wrenched her arm away from his hands, and landed the bar as hard as she could on his head. He screamed and threw his arms up to protect his face. Over and over, she rained blows on his head. Finally she realized he wasn't fighting back. She pushed away from him, and got to her feet. Dizziness reigned and she had to lean against the wall. He was still, sprawled on the bed, his face red and sore.
Sara slumped against the wall, and contemplated her next move. She didn't know how badly injured he was, but she didn't care. Part of her wanted to bang away at his head until she was sure he was dead, but she wasn't sure how much energy she had plus she couldn't bring herself to get near him again.
She pulled herself up the stairs. A flood of warm air hit her as she emerged from the basement and she sobbed her relief. A dark hallway opened into the kitchen. She had thought about what to do if she got out of the basement, but now she had a hard time organizing her thoughts. The kitchen was benign, no clues of the monstrous presence apparent among the flowered curtains and appliances. She ran to the refrigerator and opened it. Milk, juice, peanut butter, jelly, ketchup. She grabbed the peanut butter and the juice. On the counter, she found a loaf of bread. She found a paper bag, and she dropped in the bread, juice, and peanut butter. She knew she would need energy to get away from this place.
She looked around everywhere for keys, but she couldn't find a coat or keys anywhere. On the table was a basket of laundry, another indication of normalcy that didn't seem to belong. At the top of the basket were several pairs of tube socks. She shoved several pairs into the grocery bag. She thought about going into his bedroom and looking for the keys. Then a howl rose up from the basement. "Sara! Sara! You can't get away!"
She jumped and backed against the wall. All thoughts of finding keys left her. She ran through the kitchen and clawed at the door. It took her a few seconds to manipulate the lock.
"Fredericka did this to me, and I made it hard for her! Do you want that!"
Sara ran out the door into the sun of a Nevada day. She ran up to a truck in the driveway, hoping keys would be in the ignition. She tried the driver's side door, but it was locked. There was a dirt road she knew would open onto a highway. Behind her were the bare hills of a Nevada landscape. In her mind, she could picture him chasing her down the dirt road in his truck, and so she turned and ran for the hills. Beyond the yard, she turned. His outline filled the doorway of his house. He held a shovel in one hand and a shotgun in the other. She stumbled over some sagebrush and scraped her knee on a rock. She didn't even take time to register the pain. She pulled herself up, remembering to grab her grocery bag and started running again.
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Grissom stared out the window of the squad car. Yellow, dry landscape rushed by. Brass was in the front seat harassing the deputy about speed, direction, anything that came to mind. Brass chattered constantly, most of it focused on the deputy's driving. Beside him, in the back, Danny sat, his arms folded tightly across his chest, and Jack Malone staring out the other window.
Grissom tried to focus on possibilities, but all he could imagine was the product of his trade; Sara cold and dead, her face betraying the torture she had endured. He imagined her cold fingers stiff and lifeless, her lips tinged with blue.
Catherine would process her. He would let her. Not because he wasn't capable. He would do it because Sara would prefer it. Her anger with him was still palpable and he believed it would be so in death as well. Catherine rode in the squad behind him. He wasn't ready for her piercing eyes; she who knew him better than anyone else. She would know his despair and he couldn't afford the exposure. She seemed to sense this, and allowed him the space he needed.
He remembered her as she was. Tall and lithe. Not so much walking, but striding through the lab. Confident in her skills and intelligence, but naïve when it came to human relationships. She brought so much heart to the work that she was always forgiven by colleagues for her brash, aggressive style. Her smile was a treasure and her laughter was intoxicating. He had taken her for granted for so long; content to have her at arm's length as long as he had her. He truly had no idea how he would have survived her leaving the lab. But now, the thought of her leaving was replaced with the idea of surviving her loss. The idea of it was overwhelming, and there were points when Grissom rubbed surreptitiously at his eyes. He did his best to isolate himself within his grief. He had no tools for sharing this anguish with others.
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