I should be ducking now, right? Angst-ridden. No resolution yet. I am sorry for those who need more right now. But I am following my heart on this one. I need to let it follow through to what I believe is its natural conclusion. I hope you all understand what Grissom and Sara are both feeling right now in this story. Thank you to those who have taken the time to acknowledge this story and to encourage me. It has meant a great deal to me. I hope this story keeps you engaged.
Sheila
Chapter 17
Afraid of the Light
Sara's plan was simple. She would let him ask questions in exchange for hers. Question for question. She would get information on this other man. It was that simple. She could contribute. This would be her thing. They would find him, and then there would be a payoff in a rescue or a conviction or closure to families left in a paralyzing limbo. She could save women from suffering as she had.
At first, it was easy. She sat across from him wearing a thin smile. He grinned wickedly at her, but she didn't respond. She set out the deal and the guidelines. He clarified that his questions could be anything and she agreed. She said that if his information had to be good or she was out of there. So it began.
He wanted to know about the terror, her feelings, what thoughts went through her mind. She answered slowly, thoughtfully, careful to only give him pieces of who she was. He responded eagerly to her questions. She wrote down details regarding places he lived, likes, dislikes, work history, proclivities, signature. She stopped him several times, asking for clarification. She had no way of verifying his information. It was a risk, but she plowed ahead.
She had borrowed a recorder from the desk sergeant and had to keep shifting it closer to him because he spoke so softly. At some point, her head began to swim. He shouted at her, and she jumped. She stood up and shouted back, and he looked at her with puzzled eyes. Several times, she had him lift his hands to confirm that the cuffs were still locked.
She let him continue his questions. They became more difficult. He wondered about how she pictured Sanchez without ever seeing him. She gave him a perfunctory reply, but he pushed her for details. She found out the name of a landlady Robbie used to correspond with.
Her fingers started to shake so she shoved her hands under the table. Corcoran's face morphed into Grissom's and he shook his finger at her. He changed back into Corcoran, but she stunned. She had no idea that someone could possess these powers. She spoke to him with more deference after that out of respect for his skills.
He wanted to know what she thought about when Sanchez opened the door to her room. He asked her to describe what happened down to the last detail. She asked him why men kill women? It seemed a logical question, one she had wondered about for years. She listened to his answer, but found nothing of merit to put down on the legal pad in front of her.
He told her he kicked her in the side twice when she was with him, chloroformed. He asked her to lift her shirt so he could see if there were still marks. Without hesitation, she lifted her shirt on the left. There were faded marks on her left side. He asked her to come over so he could touch the marks. She started to cry, tears streaming down her face. She stayed seated, doing nothing to staunch the tears. She knew it was her turn to ask a question, but she could think of nothing. These men, their evil was so powerful, she was no match for them. She suddenly wished she had brought Grissom. He could guide her through the fog.
Then Sanchez was sitting next to Corcoran. She never had a chance to get a good look at him, so he was blurry, but he sat there short and squat. She called him names, but he sat there silently and ignored her. Corcoran was yelling at her, and she told him to shut up. There was a knock on the door and she realized that the third one had arrived. She got up and dragged the metal chair to the door and propped it under the knob. She couldn't fight them all at once, and so it was time to divide and conquer. The knocking turned to pounding and then the knob jiggled wildly. She knew she didn't have much time. Corcoran was yelling at her to open the door, but she ignored him. She searched the room for an object, something to use as a weapon. The room was bare of objects. She pulled at a table leg, but it didn't budge. She looked down at her new sandals and pulled one off.
She turned and addressed them solemnly. "You have to die. Both of you. Women have the right to be safe. We have the right. We have the right to live in a world without you."
She raised the shoe over her head and slammed it down hard.
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No one said a word. All of them ran hard for the entrance to the station. There were the shrill cries of ambulances in the air. Brass burst through the door and found the room in chaos. There was shouting from all directions. He led the way, pushing past people until he got to the room they had used for interrogations. The door was bent in the middle and hung on one hinge. Brass met a deputy guarding the door.
"Let us in. Where is she?"
"Unless you're a medic, you're not going in." he growled in reply and stood fast. Brass leaned around him and spied a Reno homicide detective.
"Lowry. Let me in!" The man looked up. "Move Stinson, let him in."
Brass squeezed by. Then the deputy closed the hole again. Grissom tried to get past, but the deputy was immovable. "Just wait." Brass put up a hand and then disappeared into the sea of bodies in the room.
Grissom whirled around ready to explode. Malone caught his eye and slowly shook his head. "She's going to need you. Get a hold of yourself." Grissom sighed and closed his eyes. Brass reappeared and gestured to Malone and Grissom. The deputy reluctantly let them pass by.
Grissom was immediately annoyed with the number of people in the room. Evidence gathering would be a nightmare. They were contaminating everything. Brass pulled on his arm, and he saw people leaning over a body on the floor. He could see blood on the chair and table. He pushed a detective out of the way, and saw Corcoran on the floor, his face a mask of blood. He wasn't moving.
He stood up, but couldn't see over the many heads in the room. "Sara!" he cried. "Sara!"
Brass took him by the shoulder and steered him to the corner farthest away from Corcoran. Sara sat curled up in a corner. There were cuffs on her hands. Two detectives were trying to talk to her. She shook violently and was drenched in sweat. Brass started complaining at the detectives about a variety of concerns, and Grissom leaned before her. "It's okay, Honey. It's okay. I promise." The words slid out of him rapidly. He reached for her hands, his cast covering the whole of her cuffs. "Don't worry about a thing. I should have understood what was happening. I should have been here. It's going to be okay." He couldn't find her eyes. She stared past him to a place not in the room.
"I'm going to get you a lawyer, Sara. You'll be fine. You didn't mean to kill him."
A chuckle interrupted his rambling. "Good thing you work with people after they're dead. Corcoran's alive. Has a concussion and some cuts, but his pulse is good. Not much damage you can do with cork heeled footwear." Brass winked at him and turned back to the fussing he was doing with the detectives.
Grissom held her hands together tightly but nothing seemed to impact the shaking that racked her body.
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Catherine tried to interest him in a cup of coffee, but he waved her away. He sat hunched over in a chair in the hospital lounge. They all sat around him quietly. Appropriate things to say at this point escaped them. Nick, Greg, and Warrick sat along one wall hands clasped like boys at a church service.
Brass showed up, still wearing the untucked button down shirt he grabbed at the motel. He took the coffee Catherine had offered Grissom. "News?" he asked.
Grissom raised his head at the sound of Jim's voice and Catherine shook her head. "How did this happen? How did she get past the deputies?" Grissom asked.
"She didn't. Just told them she needed to go to the station. They put her in a squad and drove her on down. She flashed your ID and no one looked too closely."
Nick chuckled and shook his head.
Jim kept his eyes on Grissom. "This is my fault, Gil. I didn't properly brief those guys. I didn't even see this as a scenario. Doesn't matter. I could have…talked to them about her condition. Let them know that she wasn't…right."
"You wouldn't have known what to say." Malone's gravelly voice interrupted. He walked in with Sam and a pale Danny dressed in a white shirt and slacks. His clothes looked two sizes too big.
"It was really my fault. She basically told me that she was up to something desperate and I didn't listen. I didn't understand what she was saying." Grissom said.
"I don't know…Malone began. "I should have imagined something like this."
Catherine threw back her head and laughed. "We're having fun now. Who's next? Who else wants to take responsibility for what happened?"
A silence fell over the room. Danny stepped out from behind Malone and shook hands with Nick. "Hey crew cut! How's it going?" Nick managed half a grin and then moved over to make room for Danny.
"It's good to see you up, Danny." Grissom's voice was soft. Danny looked over with his sleepy eyes and nodded at him.
Again the room got quiet. Grissom looked over at Brass. "Do you know what they are going to charge her with?"
Brass hit his head. "Hey! Here I bring good news and I forget to tell everyone. D.A. isn't going to charge her with anything."
"You're kidding!" Warrick leaned forward.
"They didn't look closely at her ID and putting her alone in a room with a prisoner was not protocol. Add to that the fact that she is one of his victims, and you have an embarrassment the county wants to sweep under the rug."
"Corcoran could charge her." Greg said.
Brass grinned. "I went to see him. He's all trussed up about two floors above us. Concussion, contusions, and she sprained his neck. I told him I couldn't wait to release to the press how one of his victims tried to kill him with a Birkenstock. Corcoran wasn't amused. I very much doubt he wants anyone to know about this either."
"Thank God." Catherine sank back into her chair. "We needed some good news."
"The information she got. Any of it good?" Grissom pulled his glasses off.
"Serial crime is flying in tonight. They're going to take it." Malone said.
No one said anything. A week ago, ego and ambition would have elbowing each other out of the way to keep this case. But now, they were a room full of tired, disillusioned law enforcement professionals eager to get as far away from this ugliness as possible.
"I say we get Sara and buggy out of this place." Catherine said.
"I know the sheriff here would like to see us gone." Brass yanked a bag of chips out of Greg's hands and began munching away.
Grissom looked at Malone. "What do you think about taking her home now?"
Jack shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you all about that."
"We're listening."
"Sara can't just walk back into her life. She had a psychotic break today. She needs treatment."
Grissom closed his eyes.
Brass thrust the bag back at Greg. "Well, that's okay 'cause we got more than slot machines in Vegas. We'll get her the best therapist in town."
Danny leaned forward. "This is not a weekly appointment kind of situation, Jim."
"We haven't given her any time to heal. In a couple of weeks she'll be fine." Catherine flipped her hair back and glared at Malone.
Jack sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "It's not that simple, Catherine."
"You're not a psychologist. Told me yourself."
"Catherine, listen to him." Danny said.
"No," Catherine was on her feet now. "I won't. Any dummy knows that she needs people around her she knows and who know her. Meeting her a couple of weeks ago just doesn't cut it. You don't know what's best for her. Hell, you don't know her at all."
Sam shouldered past Malone. "We're not trying to take over. We just want to help."
"We don't need your help. We'll take good care of her." Catherine flashed her green eyes at Sam.
Grissom sighed. "Catherine, Jack was going to suggest something. I, for one, want to hear it."
"I have a friend. Her name is Dr. Elliot Cusack. She works on the trauma team for the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Did a lot of work after 9/11 with people who lost co-workers in the towers. She also did work with the families. I talked to her about Sara a couple of days ago."
"You knew back then." Grissom preoccupied himself with cleaning his glasses.
Jack shrugged. "How could she not need trauma counseling. I called her again a couple of hours ago."
"What did she say?" Grissom's practiced nonchalance was betrayed by the shakiness of his hand as he adjusted his glasses.
"She says that Sara probably needs some pretty intensive work. She offered to evaluate and treat her."
"Where?"
"New York. She has an inpatient clinic there and a home in the Catskills where she treats clients as well."
"We'll think about it." Catherine folded her arms across her chest.
Jack focused on Grissom. "Gil, this is an opportunity. She's a nationally recognized expert. She's also a trauma survivor herself. Lost her husband in Pan Am flight 103 shot down over Lockerbee, Scotland. She's also a friend and I trust her."
Grissom nodded. He got up slowly. "I'm going to go see if she is ready for visitors."
They watched him walk slowly down the long hospital corridor, looking everything like a man carrying a large weight on his shoulders.
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He was relieved to see that she lay quietly in the bed without restraints. She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. But already he could see in her glassy eyes that there were only pieces of the Sara he knew.
"I'm on drugs." She murmered.
He chuckled. "Enjoying yourself then?"
"I'm woozy, but I still remember everything that happened. I thought Sanchez was in the same room with Hatfield. I thought Hatfield had special powers, and I thought the third man was trying to break in the room."
"It was too much stress for you. You should nevere have been in that position."
"I tried to kill a man today." She whispered this last bit of information.
"And we now know that Birkenstocks don't cut it in the weapon department." He sat down beside her and found her hand.
"Grissom, what if there had been something heavier in that room. What if—"
"Shuuush! It doesn't matter. We could go on for days. What if I had woken when you left the bed? What if Brass had told the deputies to watch out for erratic behavior from you? This played itself out. You're okay and Hatfield will make it."
She squeezed his hand tightly. "I'm not okay though."
"We're going to get you help, Sara, and you are going to be okay. I promise."
She smiled. "We just never seem to get this right, you and me. When I'm ready, you're not. When you're ready, I'm insane."
"Well, Sara, you should know this about me by now. Once I have settled on something there's no turning back, and I've settled on you."
"I don't know if I can get better, Gris. I feel like I have been sick for so long, even before Hatfield and Sanchez. I don't know who I am any more." Her eyes grew watery.
Grissom swallowed. That fear grew inside him as well. Even if she did recover, would it be the Sara he knew? Did she love him because she needed safety in her life above all else? Predictable, 'By the Book' Grissom who could always be found at work or at home. Fear of this had nagged at him especially after she revealed her childhood. How long would a man like that satisfy her? Something shifted in him slightly, and changed the course of the conversation he planned to have with her. "Sara, I was just talking to Jack. And he knows someone…someone very good who can help you. This doctor really understands trauma and what it can do to a person."
"Jack must know people all over. I should have known that he would know someone like that living in Vegas. Are there openings? I think I should start seeing this person right away."
"This doctor lives in New York, Sara."
"I don't understand. New York? It's too expensive to fly back and forth."
"Jack wants you to stay here. The doctor has a place for you to sleep. There will be no expenses. I will take care of that."
She lifted her head off the pillow. "You're sending me to a hospital to stay?"
"It's not a hospital. She treats clients in all sorts of settings. Jack says she's the best. Says he talked to her and she's willing to take you on immediately."
"You're okay with sending me away?" Tears began to snake down her face.
He shook his head. "I'm not. I want you to stay, but Jack says this is an opportunity, and I also want you to have the best."
"And you believe the best is to be away from you?"
"I could be a distraction, Sara. You need to figure out what's best for you." She tried to pull her hand away but he held on tightly.
"Do you think I am too sick to know what's best for me?" Flashes of the old Sara danced in her eyes.
Grissom didn't answer. He wasn't sure what he thought anymore, and the words he was using were not helping either of them.
She watched him struggle and dropped her head back on the pillow. "I don't want to be mad at you, Gris. I've spent too much time feeling that way."
"I love you, Sara. That's not going to change. But this decision can't be about us, it has to be about you and I think it has to be made by you."
She chewed on her lip. "Then I guess I better starting thinking, huh?"
"Sara?"
"Can I talk to Jack please?" Then she turned her wet face to the wall.
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Grissom stared through the glass at Hatfield. He lay in the hospital bed, IV attached, looking everything like a normal human being. Hatfield was sleeping peacefully, and Grissom wondered what could possibly exist in this man's dreams. He could only imagine darkness and pain. Hatfield's face was yellow and purple, and Grissom looked on in admiration at Sara's work. She clearly worked beyond the potential of her resources and he smiled. He was aware that he should probably be feeling some sense of moral concern about her actions and his reactions to it, but he chose not to think about it. There had to be a time when he was just a man who wanted evil defeated no matter the method.
He felt someone standing behind him, but he didn't move. He knew who it was.
"We're leaving on an early flight, 6 a.m."
"Does she want to see me?"
"She told me that she was going to sleep. She didn't ask for you."
"Should I come?"
"And sit in a hotel for three days, three weeks, three months? You're not that kind of man. Let her do what she has to do."
"In the last five years, I haven't been away from her for more than a week. Even when I held her at arm's length, it mattered to me that she was there every day. Can you believe that this is what is on my mind right now?"
"You don't think she'll come back."
"I don't know what I think. You got to take care of her, Jack. She means everything…"
Malone put his hand on Grissom's shoulder. "I'll call you when we get there."
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TBC
