Hi! Finally, I am back with Chapter 20. This is either pretty good or I can give Days of Our Lives a run for their money in the melodrama department. Either way, I wrote what I felt. One more chapter left, and I am both excited and dreading the end of this story. Thanks to all of you who have stayed with me. You are wonderful. Please let me know how this chapter feels to you. Thanks.
Sheila
Chapter 20
Afraid of the Light
Sara sat on the finished wooden counter and watched Elliot roll out pie dough. As she workedt, Elliot gave a running commentary on dough and the specific techniques involved in a flaky crust. Elliot had a nice, low tone, and while Sara had no real interest in mastering pie dough, she was entranced by her stories. Elliot worked the dough, careful not to melt the cold butter cut into the flour; this being the key to flaky crust. Then she folded the dough over half and then over again. She picked it up and laid it in the greased pie pan, and then carefully unfolded it. She spooned apples mixed with sugar, flour, lemon, cinnamon, butter, and nutmeg onto the dough. She placed another triangle of dough on top and unfolded it on top. She kneaded the dough together, and cut a lattice on top with a knife.
"How will I know when I am ready?"
"You'll know." She opened the oven and placed the pie inside.
"I do feel better, but what'll happen when I leave."
"I suppose you will do well sometimes, and poorly other times."
"Elliot, am I well?" Sara's voice rose.
She leaned against the refrigerator and smiled at Sara. "No. You are just as crazy as the rest of us."
"Elliot!"
"More bad things have happened to you than most other people. That makes life harder for you. How you take care of yourself is really going to make the difference."
"So the trick is lots of TLC for me."
Elliot pushed away from the refrigerator. She walked over to Sara. "Listen to me, okay. You were kidnapped. How terrifying! I can't even imagine. You need time to get your balance back. You need time to feel safe again. That's different than the Sara theory of struggles which requires that you immediately jump back into the game and swallow your fears. Feeling shaky? Well, in your mind, the solution to that is to sneak out in the middle of the night and put yourself alone in a room with your kidnapper. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"
"I need to be easier on myself."
Elliot took her hands in hers. "And be patient. Sometimes, in life, we need to be afraid or angry or unsure. Don't always be so impatient with what is a process in life. It is okay for you to not feel safe right away. It is part of your recovery. Things will come back to you in stages. Let it happen that way."
"Patience." Sara echoed.
"In a month, you will be sitting at work and something will happen. Maybe a smell or a memory or something else will trigger a flashback. The old Sara would probably force herself to persevere, maybe challenge herself to face it whether she is ready or not. That Sara has no time for weakness. Do you know what new Sara should do?"
Sara shook her head.
"Find someone who can do this." Elliot reached over and hugged her tightly. She spoke into her ear. "Let people love you."
"Grissom?"
"You tell me." Elliot opened the oven door slightly to check the crust.
"Is my love for him real or just my need for someone safe?"
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Sometimes, we just love people. Reasons are not always that important."
"He means so much to me." Sara couldn't meet Elliot's eyes.
"Well, he sounds mighty special then, doesn't he?"
"What if…?"
"Sara, stop. Take care of yourself. Know yourself as others do. That will take care of all of these 'what ifs'. Understand?"
"I'm a little scared."
"Then I think you should have a nice hot slice of apple pie with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream. And we can talk about it until you feel better." Elliot bent over and opened the oven again. The warm, aromatic air drifted to Sara and she inhaled deeply. For a moment, she felt as safe as she always dreamed possible.
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Grissom ran his fingers through his hair. For a moment, he couldn't remember if he showered before he came out to the site. He realized he must have as his hair was still damp. He had only slept a couple of hours and now he stood at the Sanchez house as dawn approached. In the distance squad cars drove down the highway in his direction; lights still on in the hazy light of early morning.
The air was crisp, and Grissom was glad for the FBI jacket that Goodwater lent him. The large agent was about fifty feet from him, barking into a walkie talkie. Grissom heard a low hum and turned to the west. Two helicopters were circling in the distance.
Dust kicked up as the squads lined up in the front drive. Deputies with rifles and agents in suits and dark glasses emerged. In the middle car, an agent dragged an orange clad Sanchez out of the back seat of the cruiser.
Goodwater came striding toward them. He started talking to Grissom as he passed him. "Media is in the helicopters. If they get closer than a quarter mile I'm going to shoot them out of the sky with my revolver. They have been advised."
The agents clustered together around the killer. Goodwater walked into the midst and pulled Sanchez out of the crowd by his arm. Sanchez stumbled after Goodwater, still shackled at his ankles and wrists.
Goodwater turned to the assembled. "Gentlemen, ladies, this is how it is going down this morning. Grissom, our bugman, and I will be going for a walk with Robbie. He has agreed to show us the pleasures of this fine countryside. Now, people, I am sorry to say that this is a private party. Robbie only wants me and Grissom. Nothing personal, I'm sure. We'll just take a nice little stroll. Now, I have the talkie with me. If I yell for assistance, I want you out there and on Sanchez like blueberry jam on a white Easter dress. Understood?" The agents and deputies shifted back and forth. It was clear that they were not easy about this plan. Murmurs rippled through the ranks.
"You ready, Grissom?" Goodwater grabbed Sanchez and propelled him toward the open field behind the house.
Grissom grasped Sanchez by the arm before he fell face first into the gravel. He pulled him upright and then pulled his hand away abruptly. Robbie grinned at him, and settled in beside Grissom. "I'm glad you're here."
Grissom walked beside him silently.
"My father was afraid of her. I wanted you to know that. He could tell she was going to be fierce." Robbie looked over at Grissom for reaction.
"I don't want to know this." Grissom hissed.
"He wanted me to take her. Said she was perfect for me. I was going to."
Grissom looked away.
"But then he wanted to wait. Thought he could starve her enough so that she was docile. He misjudged her."
Grissom slowed to let Robbie walk ahead of him, but Robbie stopped to match his pace. "I wish he would have let me take her, you know. I would have done it right. It would have been art."
Grissom stopped. He turned and stared at the man with the baby face. "You're a dead man, Sanchez, desperate to establish yourself before you are nothing but a distant memory. You have no charisma. The numbers you killed alone are not enough to make you indelible. But I promise you that I will remember you. I will keep your memory alive long after you are a pale, sad ghost rotting away in a cell waiting for one last stay of execution. And do you know what I am going to tell everyone?" Grissom smiled. "I'm going to tell them that you tried too hard. I'm going to tell them that you were desperate and it showed. You will always be remembered as the little killer who tried too hard."
Goodwater laughed heartily from behind them. "The little serial killer that couldn't. I like that, Grissom. Robbie, you are derivative. Nothing original about you. How do you like that?"
The young man glared at Goodwater and shuffled ahead. The sun rose above the horizon. Their trek was slow and arduous and it became clear that Robbie wasn't going straight toward anything. Goodwater pushed him hard and threatened an end to the field trip. Robbie wandered toward a large rock that sat on the desert floor as a long oblong. He rested against the rock for a moment and then started moving toward the east. Grissom heard him muttering under his breath. It sounded like he was counting. Grissom leaned closer, but Robbie moved away and muted his sounds. Robbie finally stopped at a lone tree split from a storm many years past. He murmured something and Grissom was almost sure he said the number, 87. Robbie turned to Grissom. "Here are your precious girls."
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Elliot had the cell phone in one hand as she shook Sara. "Wake up, girl. Come watch the news."
Sara in shorts and a t-shirt stumbled after Elliot. In the living room, the T.V. was on CNN. Blurry eyed she stared at the screen. It was a wideshot of desert floor, figures vague in the distance. A reporter was explaining that Robbie Sanchez was leading investigators to the two last girls of his killing spree. As her eyes focused, she could make out three figures on the screen; two of them wore FBI jackets and the third was in an orange jumpsuit. She looked back at Elliot in confusion.
"Hold on, Sara. They'll get in closer."
Sara turned back to the screen. She noticed something familiar about the gait of one of the FBI agents; a slightly bowlegged gait. She leaned forward. The camera zoomed in from a distance and she caught the grainy picture of a man with silver curls and beard. She sucked in breath sharply. "It's him." She whispered.
Elliot nodded and slid her cell phone into her pocket. Sara stayed glued to the screen. Again, the camera moved in closer and she could see him in profile. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. "He looks really worn."
"He's been helping FBI with Sanchez in Arizona." Elliot said quietly.
She turned her head sharply at Elliot. "What do you know?"
"I just talked to Jack. He says that Robbie wanted Grissom to go with him to the site of the last graves."
"He can't be everywhere, do everything. Why isn't he in Vegas? He's had a hard time too."
"Jack says they needed help with bugs. Then he got sucked into the interview. It will be over soon."
Sara glared at Elliot, and then stalked off to the bedroom. She returned a few minutes later in jeans and a sweatshirt. She grabbed her jacket off a hook.
"Sara?"
"I need to take a walk." Her voice was choked with emotion. She bounded out the door.
Elliot went to the window and watched her leave. Then she pulled out the cell phone again and dialed. "Jack, I think we're ready."
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It had been hours. The sun rose high in the sky. Grissom had long since lost his borrowed jacket. The heat blistered his face with sweat. He had already gone through 2 liters of water, but thirsted for more. Agents were digging at various points in the desert sand. Goodwater stood next to Sanchez who was seated in the shade of a large rock. They had been at it about two hours, but had yet to find anything. Sanchez gave them a general area, but said he couldn't remember specifics.
Grissom squinted against the bright light. He had forgotten sunglasses in his early morning fog. He kept his attention on Sanchez. The man sat casually, seemingly unconcerned about the events around him. He tried to have conversation with Goodwater, but the agent largely ignored him. Grissom noticed that Sanchez occasionally stole glances off to the west with some intensity. He caught him mouthing words, and it brought him back to Sanchez's whispered number.
At noon, an agent hit something solid. All work stopped so that Grissom could more carefully excavate the area. It quickly became clear that they had found a human corpse. A team was assembled to work the excavation. Grissom came over and gave Goodwater the word. The agent grabbed Sanchez under an arm and dragged him to his feet. The cuffs stretched his arms and he howled. Goodwater continued as if he heard nothing.
"Hey! I want to stay. You promised."
A big hand grabbed the front of his jumpsuit, and Goodwater leaned into his face. "We are digging up somebody's child, a daughter, a sister, a friend. People are forever wounded by her absence. Your presence here dishonors her memory."
"We had a deal." He hissed.
"We had nothing." Goodwater pushed him back on the ground and walked away. A couple of agents came over and pulled him to his feet again and dragged him into a waiting jeep. Goodwater didn't turn around again to acknowledge him. Grissom walked over.
"It'll probably take us 3-4 hours to uncover her, more if there is another girl."
Goodwater stared off into the distance. "Sometimes, the pure meanness in a human soul is more than I can bear."
Grissom nodded. "Rupert, why don't you go back, get some lunch, rest a little?"
A smile pulled at one end of his mouth. "What about you, Grissom? You don't need to hang with these boys. They know their work."
"He said 87. I heard him, and I have a hunch about it." Grissom squinted in the direction of the long rock they had passed earlier.
"Have no clue what you're talking about, Bugman?"
Grissom slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Go back. I won't stay long. Just want to walk around a little."
Goodwater nodded and waved over an agent and sent him jogging off in search of a jeep.
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A crowd had gathered at Sanchez's small house. Coverage of the search on CNN had brought out curiosity seekers and those morbidly interested in the pain of others. There was also a group of parents who were missing daughters. They stood separately from the others, their grief palpable, even at a distance. Goodwater knew that they would grieve no matter the identity of the women recovered. They were in an exclusive club of people who never really slept and never really woke up. Every day was punctuated with the reality of their children's absence and the fear of what they might learn about it.
When the first girl was brought from the site, they pressed forward, anxious to see her. Goodwater was gentle but firm with them. He knew their faces, some from other crime scenes, and he made it his business to know the face and story of every child they stood vigil for. He urged them to go home, be with their families. He reminded them that there were other children at home who needed them, but still they waited.
Late afternoon came and another corpse was brought to the yard. This corpse was the most recent one; smells still emanating from her. One of the mothers broke past the tape, desperate to see this body, to know for herself if this was her girl. Goodwater waved agents away from the frantic woman and trotted after her. At the body he took her by the shoulders as she bent over the girl, and spoke softly to her. The woman slowly crumpled to the ground, and Rupert was there to help her up and to lead her to a chair.
The sun dropped to the horizon and all the colors softened. The girls had been carefully wrapped and taken to morgues in Phoenix. Goodwater looked anxiously to the horizon, but couldn't make out Grissom's form. He wanted to look for him, but the parents had stayed after the girls left. They wanted to talk to him, get any little bit of information that they could cling to. Goodwater let the other agents pack up and move on back to the motel, but he stayed as the warm shades of dusk descended in the distance. A cool desert wind blew, and the sandy soil kicked up dust swirling around their feet.
Goodwater urged the parents to move on, but they were insistent. They would stay as long as he did. In frustration, he scanned the horizon for Grissom, and finally was rewarded with the appearance of a small, dark figure. He turned and told the families to wait. Then he trotted toward the figure. As he neared, he could see that Grissom was beaten by endless day. His feet dragged and he walked with his head down.
"Hey Grissom! Beginning to worry that coyotes got you." He waved at him.
Grissom looked up briefly. Then Goodwater noticed that he was carrying something. It was a metal box. He stopped and waited for him.
"What you got there?" Goodwater was a little breathless.
Grissom looked past him at the families gathered in the distance. Then he turned to Goodwater and put the box on the ground. The two men crouched over it, and Grissom pried off the top. Inside the box, there was a large photo album. Goodwater blinked and looked at Grissom. "Is that what I think it is?"
"87 is the number of steps from the dig site to the long rock. This was buried on the north side of the rock." Grissom rubbed at the sand caking his face. Sweat mixed with the yellow sand in the wind.
"Did you open it?"
Grissom shook his head. He pushed it at Goodwater. The dusk was beginning to turn to night, but the two men were oblivious to the change. In the light of the full moon, Goodwater opened the album. He slowly turned pages. Every two pages told a story. At the top, was pasted with the license card of a girl, and underneath was cramped writing filling that page and the next. Goodwater didn't take too much time to read the words. There would be time for that, and he already knew that Robbie was recording every moment of his horror in a desperate effort to better hold the memory.
"I think he wanted to come out here with us so that he could make a mental map. He probably figured that, at some point, he would be able to get somebody to come out and retrieve his book for him." Goodwater didn't respond. He slowly turned pages and noted the IDs he found. He let out a deep breath at one. A dark haired girl smiled on her ID. He turned his head, and picked out her mother standing in the family group, tightly wrapping her jacket around her in the night.
Goodwater turned to the last page. On the top, there was an ID, but no writing accompanied it. Robbie never had the chance to write this story. He looked at Grissom who stared at the page. Then Goodwater reached in, and pulled the ID off the page.
"You and I are going to pretend we never saw this one." He handed it to Grissom.
Grissom let out a noise and licked his lips. His hands shook as he stared at Sara Sidle's work ID. With a thud, he sat back onto the desert floor. Goodwater started to say something, but stopped. It became clear that Grissom needed a little space. He got up, and let him sit there with the card in his hand, trying to settle the emotions in his throat. Then Goodwater turned and walked back toward the families. Carefully, he returned to the page of the smiling girl and walked straight for her mother.
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"You got him drunk!" Goodwater hissed into the ear of the agent standing near the door of the bar.
"Sir, I'm sorry. He was insistent. He's had 6 double scotches." The young agent winced a little at the anger on his supervisor's face.
Goodwater rolled his eyes. "You don't control his drinking, you control the bartender. Water down the drinks."
"Sorry, Sir." The agent said.
Goodwater brushed past him and went to the corner table where Grissom sat nursing a scotch. The silver in his hair was a dusty yellow with sand. Streaks of dirt ran down his neck. "How you doing there, Buddy?"
Grissom rolled his head up and nodded at Goodwater. "Sit, Rupert. Drink with me."
Goodwater signaled the waitress and sat down across from Grissom. Grissom leaned forward. "Something wrong with your agents, Rupert. They hover. Trying to drown me in soft drinks. Feel like I'm at a damn AA convention."
"You've got to be pretty dehydrated after a long day in the sun. I'm sure they are just trying to watch out for you."
Grissom growled at him. "I can take care of myself. Always have." He unfolded his hand. In it was Sara's ID. "This is her, Rupert. This is the girl I would risk everything for."
Rupert looked at the picture. "She looks serious."
Grissom sighed. "Yeah, she was probably angry when this picture was taken. I probably said something stupid. I do that a lot around her."
Rupert smiled. "Bugman is in love."
Grissom stared past Goodwater into the distance. "What would I have done if he'd succeeded? She could have been one of those bodies."
"Now hold on there, Grissom. She was too smart, too strong. It was no twist of fate that she made it."
"Yeah." He let out breath.
"Grab her and hold on, Grissom. You've been bit bad. I've seen it before. Nothing to do but surrender."
"It's complicated. She's been through a lot. She's healing. Might not need me when she's done. We work together—"
"Stop it. You just don't know what you're talking about, son."
Grissom chuckled. "I haven't been anyone's son in awhile."
"I got a story for you."
"What kind of story?" Grissom scratched at his beard.
"It's a 'Grissom doesn't know shit about complicated' story. Listen up."
Grissom dropped his face in his hands. "Please!"
Goodwater chuckled, "You want to know how I met my wife?"
The hands shook Grissom's head back and forth. Goodwater ignored him. "She was an informant when I was the Jersey state police; a call girl whose boyfriend was a major crack dealer in the Trenton area."
Grissom raised his head out of his hands.
"I used her to get information. She was a beautiful girl; smart, brave, funny. She had a determination that amazed me. Probably in love with her then, but didn't pay attention. Sucked her for all the information I could and then put her right back out on the streets." Goodwater took a long draw off his beer. "He found out she snitched and had her beaten bad; 6 broken bones, she was in traction for a month. I went to see her, and I can't explain it, but I fell for her. I fell hard. She wouldn't talk to me though and I figured that this was my due for treating her as I did. I quit Jersey police, joined the FBI, and figured I would never see her again."
Grissom's weary blue eyes followed Goodwater. "About three years later, I ran into her by accident when she was at the federal courthouse. She wouldn't talk to me still, but I followed her. She was living at a halfway house. Been through drug treatment 3 times. She looked worn, bitter, but I couldn't help myself." He signaled the waitress for another round. "I came to that house every day for months, but she wouldn't look at me. Finally one day, she's out on the stoop waiting for me. Says she's going to graduate the program in a week. Says that I can be friends with her if I help her get into college."
Goodwater chuckled into his longneck. Grissom waited patiently. "For three years, she lived out of a room in a house. Went to school and studied. That's all. Only would see me for a meal on Sunday. It was crazy, but somehow it made sense to me. I paid her rent, I paid for school, and, in return, she fed me Chef Boyardee on Sundays. My girl is not a cook. Then she graduates, and invites me to the ceremony. Afterwards, she walked me over to her favorite professor and introduces me as the man she's going to marry." Goodwater rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I will never forget that feeling. Hadn't even kissed her up to that point, but I was ready to marry her. I'm almost cried right in front of her teacher. Grissom, you don't know complicated." Goodwater leaned back in his chair and drained the bottle just as she placed another one before him. "Well?"
"I concede that you have the corner on complicated." Grissom nodded over his drink.
An agent came up and whispered something in Goodwater's ear. A big smile broke out on his face. Grissom arched an eyebrow. "Your girls want to talk to you?"
"Something like that, Bugman." Goodwater scraped back his chair and got up. He put his meaty hands on the table and leaned forward. "The course of true love never did run smooth."
Grissom looked up with blurry eyes. "William Shakespeare." Goodwater grinned and walked away. Grissom dropped his head again, and held onto the highball glass with both hands. Exhaustion and emotions competed for his attention, but he shook his head angrily and hung on. The numbing effect of the scotch was going to leave him soon in favor of the cold reality of a raging headache and a choked heart. He was desperate to stave it off for as long as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the waitresses staring at him. She was dark and tall, and her hair hung to her shoulders like Sara. He turned his head to get a better look but she was gone. Then behind him, a pair of hands dropped onto his shoulders and squeezed. He stiffened at the invasion, but an unmistakable voice whispered into his ear. "Hey Griss."
He sucked in his breath in. Arms enveloped his chest, and he drank in the familiar smells of her hair. "Sara?" He croaked.
She dropped into the chair beside him; beautiful Sara with a smile on her face, her brown hair shiny, long arms folded across her chest. She looked amazing.
"How? Where?"
She couldn't corral her grin. "I saw you on T.V. this morning, and I went to take a walk. When I came back, my bags were packed, and Danny was standing there with a plane ticket to Arizona and a car to the airport."
He smiled and shook his head. "I can't believe this."
She bit her lip. "You're happy to see me?"
He let out a deep breath and looked down into his drink for a moment. He thought carefully before he spoke. "Don't ever leave me again. Please."
Silence settled between them. She reached over and took his hand. He shifted to face her, and her ID slid off the table. He grabbed at it, but it clattered to the ground. Sara reached over and picked it up. She looked at it, taking time to run her fingers over it.
Grissom gently took it from her. "I didn't mean for you to see this."
"Robbie Sanchez had it?"
He nodded.
"Give it back, Griss."
"Sara, it's a reminder—"
She placed her hand firmly over his. "It's a reminder of how I persevered."
His weary blue eyes found hers. "You're better?"
She caressed his face softly. "I'm getting better, and I have new rules to follow when it comes to taking care of myself."
"Oh." He nodded. His eyes watered and he looked away. Sara steered his face back to hers. "I'm drunk." He said in explanation.
"Let's get you to bed." She tried to pull him to his feet.
"Sara?" He stumbled to his feet. She reached around his torso to steady him. "Sara? Do you still…like me?"
She laughed and squeezed him around the middle. "I love you, Griss."
He pulled her tightly into a hug and sloppily kissed her neck. For a minute, they stood there, Grissom rocking them back and forth. Finally, he spoke into her neck, "I love you, Sara." She whimpered softly into his hair.
"Come on, big guy." She said when she could speak. She pulled him toward the door. In the corner on a bar stool sat Rupert Goodwater. He picked up his bottle and toasted Grissom as they passed. Grissom smiled.
Sara pulled him out into the cool night air. The moon shone brightly and Sara wanted to laugh at how good life felt in that moment.
"Hey, did you see Rupert? He was sitting at the bar." He mumbled into her shoulder as she guided him to the motel.
"I met him when I got here. Seems like a good guy."
"He has kids, adopted ones from China. They are adorable. Ever thought of getting a couple of kids?"
"Huh?" She wore a confused look. "I never knew you thought about kids."
"I'm just saying that he swears by them. Says it is the best thing he ever did."
She laughed. "Well, that's a mighty fine recommendation, Griss. We'll have to talk about it sometime."
He leaned into her and let her guide him into his room.
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TBC
