I Forgot To Tell You
Chapter Eight
Thanks: To my lovely betas, Z-Heidi, Meg, Amber, Tash, Allison, etc. You guys rock. And to everyone for waiting so long for this chapter!! Sorry you guys! Author's Notes: I don't really have anything to say about this chapter except, "Sorry!"
Sara Sidle was a brilliant crime scene investigator. She could spot the tiniest piece of evidence with the naked eye, process it in record time, go home for a three-hour long nap and then come back to work. She never needed much motivation to do the right thing when it came to her job, because she loved it and nothing had prompted her to even come close to messing up something she was this obsessed with. Until now.
A few minutes earlier, Grissom had put a hand on her arm and looked her straight in the eye. "Brass and his team are going over to Michelle's house. They're going to arrest Harry, and everything is going to be fine," he'd reassured her.
She'd only nodded, lost in thought. "Where are you going?" she'd asked him, knowing by the quick way in which he moved around that he was headed somewhere. He had looked at her, clearly not wanting to answer.
"I'm, uh... going with Brass." He'd seemed to know exactly how she was going to respond.
"Well then I am, too." She had grabbed her jacket before he could blink twice.
"No, you're not." His expression had spoken volumes. "It's too dangerous."
She'd known exactly why he wasn't really letting her come. "Grissom, my personal involvement with this case is not going to affect my riding in the car beside you while you chase down a criminal." Her tone had been frustrated, angry almost, and he'd sighed.
"I know that, Sara. But I'd really rather you stay here. I'll call you as soon as we get him. I'm not even going to assist in the arrest. I'm just going to follow Brass and watch."
"Why?" she had asked. "You usually hate that kind of stuff. Why do you need to see it this time?" She really had been curious.
He'd shifted his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie to her. Moving in closer, he'd brushed the tip of his finger across the outline of her jaw. "Because I hate this guy, and my hatred leaves me with the strange sensation of wanting to see him get cuffed," he'd explained. "Please, Sara. Just stay here. Don't follow me, don't go anywhere. Just stay here. I promise I'll call you when we get him." So now here she sat, in a chair at the table in the break room. Wanting to defy him, wanting to hop into her car and race after them. Wanting to do something, anything but sit here and feel useless.
She moved around the lab slowly, waving to Greg in trace, nodding at Warrick who was piecing together the broken glass from a window, smiling at a frowning Catherine as she puzzled over a missing person's report. Finally, before she freaked out the whole building, she walked to her car and started the engine. She told herself that if she simply went over to see how Michelle was doing, that it wouldn't exactly be breaking the rules.
She parked her car on the side of the road and noted with satisfaction that Harry's beat-up old Chevette was gone. Surprised, she realized her hands were shaking. She cleared her throat and made her way up to the front door, knocking loudly. When she didn't get an answer, she turned the doorknob and let herself in, knowing Michelle would probably be upset.
"Michelle?"
The tiny home smelled damp and musty as Sara entered and walked around the front foyer calling her friend's name. No answer. The silence seemed out of place, unusual. She kept thinking she should be hearing sobbing in the background.
Feeling like an intruder, she slowly entered the kitchen and looked around. Nothing was out place, and it looked exactly like it had when Sara had visited a couple days ago. The mug she had drank her coffee out of was hanging on the rack above the sink. The room was cold and empty, so she left and walked down the hallway, checking room after empty room.
After she was sure the downstairs was uninhabited, she slowly crept up the stairwell, listening as her footsteps made quiet creaking sounds. She was careful not to touch the banister, not to touch anything.
Making her way into the first room that she thought might include Michelle, she found herself staring at a master bedroom, and then...
"Oh," she gasped, a hand over her mouth. Her fingers trembled as unguarded tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned away from the scene in front of her.
Michelle lay dead on the floor. In a scene so much like the one involving Leah, her stomach was a bloody mess. Her eyes stared at Sara, open and terrified.
Sara was bawling by now, the violent sobs shaking her shoulders as she swiped furiously at her cheeks. She knew she couldn't touch Michelle, but the sight of her friend lying dead on the cold hardwood floor of her bedroom was enough to make her want to scream. She belonged somewhere so much more beautiful.
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Harry had killed her, the bastard. She should call Grissom, tell him. Find out whether or not they had caught Harry yet, then beg him to come over and stay at the house with her because she wasn't leaving until the coroner came and pronounced Michelle dead, but she was terrified of being alone.
Calling the police wasn't necessary; as soon as she called Grissom, he would do the honours. Taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed his number and tried to lower the emotion level in her voice. She could barely breathe. Turning away from the sight of Michelle's blank and pale face, she waited as his phone rang.
"Grissom," he answered, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice.
"It's Sara."
"Sara, I told you I'd call you as soon as we got him. At the moment we're still trying to catch up, now stop worrying and go home and sleep." His voice was more stern than it had been at the lab. She started to cry all over again.
"No, Grissom, listen." She took a deep breath. "I'm at Michelle's house. She's-" A movement by the doorway to the bedroom caught her eyes. The unmistakable knot of fear caused her to stop talking, and she half- listened to Grissom's confusion through the cell phone. A black shoe showed itself by the wooden doorframe and she gasped, no longer able to breathe. Her cell phone dropped to the ground as his full form became visible.
"Sara?" he said again, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sara, are you there?" There was still no answer, so he turned into the nearest driveway, backed out, and began to drive in the opposite direction, towards Michelle's house.
After he had been driving for about five minutes, his cell phone rang and he picked it up immediately. "Sara, I'm so glad you called me back. What happened?"
"Grissom, it's me." Brass's voice sounded out through the phone. Damn. "Listen, I've got some bad news."
"What is it?" he asked, waiting for the worst.
"The guy in Harry Lot's car wasn't Harry Lot." He really didn't waste time, Grissom thought. When he didn't speak, Brass continued. "It was his friend Jerry Ramano, pretending to be Harry Lot so Harry Lot could get away."
"Stop saying 'Harry Lot'," Grissom said, frowning, "And tell me what's going on here. The car we've been chasing for over thirty minutes doesn't actually contain our murderer?"
"No." Brass' voice was blunt, satisfied that Grissom finally understood. "What the friend says happened is Harry overheard his wife telling what he thought to be the police last night that he was planning on running, so he called up his good old friend Jerry and asked him for a favour: to hop in the car at 9 AM this morning and drive off as soon as he saw us coming. Naturally, we'd assume the guy was Harry, chase him, and give the real Harry a nice, long chance of getting away."
"Wait a minute, you're telling me Harry Lot is still in his house?" The world suddenly became slower and played in black and white.
"Well, probably not anymore, but he was certainly there longer than we thought he was."
"OK, thanks Brass, I'm headed over there right now. Bye." He hung up his cell phone, pushed on the gas pedal, and repeated the same prayer over and over in his mind as he drove.
Please God, let her be OK.
Thanks: To my lovely betas, Z-Heidi, Meg, Amber, Tash, Allison, etc. You guys rock. And to everyone for waiting so long for this chapter!! Sorry you guys! Author's Notes: I don't really have anything to say about this chapter except, "Sorry!"
Sara Sidle was a brilliant crime scene investigator. She could spot the tiniest piece of evidence with the naked eye, process it in record time, go home for a three-hour long nap and then come back to work. She never needed much motivation to do the right thing when it came to her job, because she loved it and nothing had prompted her to even come close to messing up something she was this obsessed with. Until now.
A few minutes earlier, Grissom had put a hand on her arm and looked her straight in the eye. "Brass and his team are going over to Michelle's house. They're going to arrest Harry, and everything is going to be fine," he'd reassured her.
She'd only nodded, lost in thought. "Where are you going?" she'd asked him, knowing by the quick way in which he moved around that he was headed somewhere. He had looked at her, clearly not wanting to answer.
"I'm, uh... going with Brass." He'd seemed to know exactly how she was going to respond.
"Well then I am, too." She had grabbed her jacket before he could blink twice.
"No, you're not." His expression had spoken volumes. "It's too dangerous."
She'd known exactly why he wasn't really letting her come. "Grissom, my personal involvement with this case is not going to affect my riding in the car beside you while you chase down a criminal." Her tone had been frustrated, angry almost, and he'd sighed.
"I know that, Sara. But I'd really rather you stay here. I'll call you as soon as we get him. I'm not even going to assist in the arrest. I'm just going to follow Brass and watch."
"Why?" she had asked. "You usually hate that kind of stuff. Why do you need to see it this time?" She really had been curious.
He'd shifted his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie to her. Moving in closer, he'd brushed the tip of his finger across the outline of her jaw. "Because I hate this guy, and my hatred leaves me with the strange sensation of wanting to see him get cuffed," he'd explained. "Please, Sara. Just stay here. Don't follow me, don't go anywhere. Just stay here. I promise I'll call you when we get him." So now here she sat, in a chair at the table in the break room. Wanting to defy him, wanting to hop into her car and race after them. Wanting to do something, anything but sit here and feel useless.
She moved around the lab slowly, waving to Greg in trace, nodding at Warrick who was piecing together the broken glass from a window, smiling at a frowning Catherine as she puzzled over a missing person's report. Finally, before she freaked out the whole building, she walked to her car and started the engine. She told herself that if she simply went over to see how Michelle was doing, that it wouldn't exactly be breaking the rules.
She parked her car on the side of the road and noted with satisfaction that Harry's beat-up old Chevette was gone. Surprised, she realized her hands were shaking. She cleared her throat and made her way up to the front door, knocking loudly. When she didn't get an answer, she turned the doorknob and let herself in, knowing Michelle would probably be upset.
"Michelle?"
The tiny home smelled damp and musty as Sara entered and walked around the front foyer calling her friend's name. No answer. The silence seemed out of place, unusual. She kept thinking she should be hearing sobbing in the background.
Feeling like an intruder, she slowly entered the kitchen and looked around. Nothing was out place, and it looked exactly like it had when Sara had visited a couple days ago. The mug she had drank her coffee out of was hanging on the rack above the sink. The room was cold and empty, so she left and walked down the hallway, checking room after empty room.
After she was sure the downstairs was uninhabited, she slowly crept up the stairwell, listening as her footsteps made quiet creaking sounds. She was careful not to touch the banister, not to touch anything.
Making her way into the first room that she thought might include Michelle, she found herself staring at a master bedroom, and then...
"Oh," she gasped, a hand over her mouth. Her fingers trembled as unguarded tears spilled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned away from the scene in front of her.
Michelle lay dead on the floor. In a scene so much like the one involving Leah, her stomach was a bloody mess. Her eyes stared at Sara, open and terrified.
Sara was bawling by now, the violent sobs shaking her shoulders as she swiped furiously at her cheeks. She knew she couldn't touch Michelle, but the sight of her friend lying dead on the cold hardwood floor of her bedroom was enough to make her want to scream. She belonged somewhere so much more beautiful.
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Harry had killed her, the bastard. She should call Grissom, tell him. Find out whether or not they had caught Harry yet, then beg him to come over and stay at the house with her because she wasn't leaving until the coroner came and pronounced Michelle dead, but she was terrified of being alone.
Calling the police wasn't necessary; as soon as she called Grissom, he would do the honours. Taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed his number and tried to lower the emotion level in her voice. She could barely breathe. Turning away from the sight of Michelle's blank and pale face, she waited as his phone rang.
"Grissom," he answered, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice.
"It's Sara."
"Sara, I told you I'd call you as soon as we got him. At the moment we're still trying to catch up, now stop worrying and go home and sleep." His voice was more stern than it had been at the lab. She started to cry all over again.
"No, Grissom, listen." She took a deep breath. "I'm at Michelle's house. She's-" A movement by the doorway to the bedroom caught her eyes. The unmistakable knot of fear caused her to stop talking, and she half- listened to Grissom's confusion through the cell phone. A black shoe showed itself by the wooden doorframe and she gasped, no longer able to breathe. Her cell phone dropped to the ground as his full form became visible.
"Sara?" he said again, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Sara, are you there?" There was still no answer, so he turned into the nearest driveway, backed out, and began to drive in the opposite direction, towards Michelle's house.
After he had been driving for about five minutes, his cell phone rang and he picked it up immediately. "Sara, I'm so glad you called me back. What happened?"
"Grissom, it's me." Brass's voice sounded out through the phone. Damn. "Listen, I've got some bad news."
"What is it?" he asked, waiting for the worst.
"The guy in Harry Lot's car wasn't Harry Lot." He really didn't waste time, Grissom thought. When he didn't speak, Brass continued. "It was his friend Jerry Ramano, pretending to be Harry Lot so Harry Lot could get away."
"Stop saying 'Harry Lot'," Grissom said, frowning, "And tell me what's going on here. The car we've been chasing for over thirty minutes doesn't actually contain our murderer?"
"No." Brass' voice was blunt, satisfied that Grissom finally understood. "What the friend says happened is Harry overheard his wife telling what he thought to be the police last night that he was planning on running, so he called up his good old friend Jerry and asked him for a favour: to hop in the car at 9 AM this morning and drive off as soon as he saw us coming. Naturally, we'd assume the guy was Harry, chase him, and give the real Harry a nice, long chance of getting away."
"Wait a minute, you're telling me Harry Lot is still in his house?" The world suddenly became slower and played in black and white.
"Well, probably not anymore, but he was certainly there longer than we thought he was."
"OK, thanks Brass, I'm headed over there right now. Bye." He hung up his cell phone, pushed on the gas pedal, and repeated the same prayer over and over in his mind as he drove.
Please God, let her be OK.