"You do understand that this will take time, right?" Mr. Wesley said as he finished scribbling down all the information I gave him about Sara. I reluctantly nodded. I knew that there was no chance of me finding Sara overnight. She was way to smart for that. If Sara Sidle wanted to disappear, Sara Sidle would disappear without a trace.

"I'll call with updates every few days. Tell Jim that I say hi," Mr. Wesley said as I stood up to leave the private detective's office. For the life of me I couldn't remember his first name. I knew that he said it once or twice, but I hadn't been able to focus.

Jim said that this guy was good. He used Wesley to keep tabs on what messes Ellie was getting herself in to. Jim said that I should look for Sara. We both knew that she was way too fragile to be left to her own devices. Sara was self-destructive to say the least, but I tried to picture her as happy and liberated. I tried desperately to make myself believe that Sara was driving somewhere exotic. I tried to imagine that maybe she was excited about something. God knows, Sara never had much in her life to get excited about.

I drove to her apartment. The door was unlocked, so I walked into the nearly empty housing. She left all the things that she couldn't move. I flopped down on her couch. It was where we watched so many movies and endless hours of CourtTV and the Discovery Channel. Very occasionally, Sara would give in and watch Animal Planet with me. The couch felt different. It didn't feel as comfortable as it did when Sara was here.

I wandered through the furnished apartment. I couldn't help but noticing the message scrawled on the whiteboard hung on the fridge. Let some deserving family have my furniture – it should be used to give someone a fresh start. Javier, thank you for being so kind to me for seven years. Thank you for understanding that I needed to leave Vegas. –Sara Sidle. I stood by the refrigerator transfixed by her messy penmanship. Part of me wanted to take the whiteboard home with me. It made me feel closer to her.

I reluctantly left the apartment. I walked downstairs to where the outdoor mailboxes were located. I ran my finger across her name plate. It felt cold despite the arid desert air. It probably only felt cold because she was so far away. That's how my frazzled mind reasoned the temperature disparity.

"I thought I'd find you here," Warrick said as he walked toward me, "Catherine called me. She thought I might have better luck than she did."

"I'm going to go find her. I don't care if you, Catherine, and Grissom think I'm being stupid," I replied. I noticed that my voice sounded flat. It didn't sound like I had any emotion left in me. It startled me that I could momentarily hear my accent fade into a depressed, monotone oblivion.

"What if Sara doesn't want to be found? What if she needs time to start sorting out her life?" Warrick asked. He didn't dare move any closer to me. I felt my hands instinctually form fists at my side. I tried to tell myself that no matter how mad I got, I couldn't hit Warrick.

"Grissom did a real number on her. What if she starts drinking again?" I challenged. I could feel my fists clench tighter with each word.

"I don't know. Maybe we should just give her some room before we start looking," Warrick replied.

"I can't, Rick. I can't let her leave like this," I replied. I quickly pulled on my sunglasses to hide the emotion that threatened to take over my body. I had been so strong for the last few hours. I had tricked my brain into waiting to get upset until I was in the safety of my own home. I had expertly tucked away slight falter in the cadence of my voice.

"It's not your decision, man. I don't want her to go either, but I don't was Grissom to keep hurting her. Sara needed to leave Vegas," Warrick said gently. I walked away before I could say anything to hurt him. I walked away before I could tell Warrick that I loved Sara, but I was too damn scared to let her know. I needed to get away from Warrick before I melted down.

My cellphone rang nearly constantly on the drive home. Everyone from Catherine to Brass called. I didn't answer a single one of the calls. I didn't have anything to say to them. I sure as hell didn't want them to tell me that my search was going to be fruitless. I tried desperately to cling to some kind of faith. In the past years, my faith in religion, people, and goodness had been ground down to something barely recognizable. I definitely wasn't the same happy-go-lucky CSI 1 that came to Vegas to be a great criminalist. I had changed into something darker . . . someone that I struggled to understand.

I retreated to the darkness of my bedroom and pealed my clothes off. I slid under the sheets and tried to will myself to sleep. Instead, I watched ceiling fan make predictable, tight circles. It didn't distract me as I had planned. I was haunted by images of Sara. I could see how the tears fell down her face yesterday. I could picture the first time I met her. God, she was beautiful. She would always be beautiful. I wished I would have been smart enough to tell her that years ago.

I wish I could have saved her . . . before it came to this.