A Trial of the Heart: Chapter four

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"Courage is not the lack of fear but the ability to face it."
---- Lt. John B. Putnam Jr. (1921-1944)

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When Sara finally woke from her dreamless, drug-induced sleep, she realized it had only lasted six hours. She could hear the TV in the next room, and was reminded once again of the comfort she drew from Greg just being in the other room.

She shifted slightly, and her muscles groaned in protest. She had been so tried she was still in the same position she was in when she drifted off into sleep. The stitches in her back were starting to itch. The frustration washed over her again. Her shoulder was too sore to sleep on her right side, her ribs on her left side kept her from lying on her other side, and she was never able to sleep on her stomach. Her only option was her back, however painful it was. Even when she thought she had some control she realized it had been taken from her.

Slowly rolling out of bed, Sara walked into the living room, and had to fight the laughter she felt boiling up within her. Greg was sitting on the couch, eating ice cream out of the carton, with several DVD cases strewn about the coffee table, including Divine Secrets of the Yaya Sisterhood, You've Got Mail, and When Harry Met Sally. Next to him on the couch was a box of Kleenex. "Greg?"

He looked up startled, but no shame showed on his face.

"Getting in touch with your feminine side?" she asked, looking at the scene, and noticed he was about 30 minutes into Two Weeks Notice. "Oh, I love this movie," she exclaimed, and sat next to her friend.

He chuckled. "You have no war movies, no action films, but a butt load of chick flicks! What was I supposed to watch?"

She jabbed him in the ribs and tilted her head toward the balled up tissues. "You seemed to get into them."

He pulled her into hug, and they both shifted so they could lie down. He settled back on his left side and let her manoeuvre her body into a position where she could lay on her side with very little pressure on her injured ribs. Leaning back against him she lifted her right arm up slightly so he could lay his comfortably around her waist. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I would have never guessed you were such a sappy movie fan!"

"Well, we see the worst of human life, and the worst moments in individual's lives, I've never really wanted to see the dramatized version. These remind me that life can end up happily ever after." Sara chuckled as Lucy accused George of being the most selfish human being on the planet, and laughed outright at his comeback, "That's just silly, have you met everyone on the planet?"

Greg felt so happy to hear her laugh again. "Did you sleep ok?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I was out. Did I hear the phone ring just before I fell asleep."

She felt him tense slightly. "Yeah, Grissom called."

"You talked to him?" She instantly regretted not answering and was just as quickly was relieved she hadn't.

The amusement he was feeling touched his voice. "Yeah, I love it when he's thrown off balance. After he heard my voice, it took him a while to formulate a sentence."

Sara knew that ordinarily Grissom would have been thrown off by such a situation, but now she wondered how much of his inability to speak was due to his mental battles. "What did he want?"

"He wanted you to have the phone number of the psychiatrist he went to see. I wrote it down for you, and told him I'd give it to you." He motioned toward the pad of paper in front of them.

Cocking her head to look at it. "Dr. Kathleen Muller," she tested it out. She didn't feel ready to talk to anyone let alone a psychiatrist. They continued to watch the movie in companionable silence. As Sandra Bullock's character tried to pretend she didn't have feelings for Hugh Grant, Sara began to think back on the days where she would struggle in the office and Grissom had been completely clueless. As much as she had hated those days, now she longed for them.

She knew she was lucky to be alive, and she should just take solace in that. Most of all, she reminded herself that there was a state worse than death.

Sara approached the adjacent cell hesitantly, Brass had to push her slightly out of the way so he could enter first. "Brass, she needs medical attention, not an opposing form in her face," she stated, slightly annoyed.

"Sara, I already called in for the paramedics," he explained, and opened the door slowly. Only then did Sara begin to notice that he was trying to protect both her and victim. She was so intent on helping the girl, she never heard Jim's request for medical help. He eased himself into the cell, but despite his cautious actions the young women threw herself back against the wall behind her.

Sara shivered at the mental state of the captive. More then likely she had witnessed the death of the man in the next cell, and she herself looked like she had been tortured severely.

"We'll need a bolt cutter," her companion stated, looking at the chains.

Sara surveyed the area around the female, trying to creep closer to her. Glancing toward the wall she couldn't quite believe what she saw. "There's no way…" she whispered to herself.

Brass turned his attention to the brunette, as she removed something from the wall with gloved hands. He was shocked she was touching items in the crime scene without snapping a few evidence photos first. "Sara?"

She was creeping toward the closest chained hand with the item. "I don't think we'll need a bolt cutter."

The object of Sara's attention tried to run from her. "It's okay, we're going to help you. It's okay now." She continued to whisper encouraging words while the key that she found slid into the lock and turned with ease.

"The key was in her cell?" Brass was more confused then he had ever been.

Sara nodded as she unlocked the other hand. "Yes, and within her reach." The girl collapsed into Sara's arms. "You're okay. Can you tell me your name?"

She had stayed with the girl while they waited for the paramedics, and asked Brass to call Greg in to help her process the scene. She felt bad subjecting her colleague to such a gruesome scene for his limited experience, but she was going to need help. The girl clung to her arm as Sara rocked her gently, but never spoke a word.

Greg must have felt her tense. "Hey, you okay?"

Sara couldn't answer. The memories were too vivid. She merely nodded.

He squeezed her slightly. "We have about 3 hours before shift begins. Anything you want to do before we go in?"

She considered her options, and knew she would regret the decision. "I want to go see her."

Greg was shocked. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"No," she answered quietly.

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They pulled into the hospital parking lot. The drive over was one made in silence. Greg knew she was stressed, but didn't know how to console her.

He parked the vehicle in his normal spot. Having been to visit her everyday for two weeks, he fell into a routine right down to the path he walked to the hospital entrance.

Once inside, Greg walked slightly in front of her, keeping her between his body and the wall. Sara wondered if he was aware of what he was doing. Either way, she appreciated the protectiveness.

The elevator was wonderfully empty. She was having a hard enough time with enclosed spaces as it was. She leaned against the railing, and watched as Greg paced back and forth in front of her. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

He stopped in mid stride. "I'm just not sure this is such a good idea now that we're here."

Reaching for his hand, she squeezed it tightly. "I need to do this."

He squeezed back, and did not let go. Soon the doors opened, revealing a long corridor of doors. As they walked together down the hall, Sara surveyed all the names written on the doors followed by a string of letters. While she knew the many different combinations signified years of education, and research, she wondered what the person behind the door was like. Had it only been a month since she walked down a similar hallway searching for Dr. Lee Wilson, PhD? She was a completely different person now.

Greg lead them to a desk in the middle of the floor, and she let him do all the talking, still holding her hand. The woman stepped out from behind the desk and led them down to the end of another hallway.

Sara opened the door, and greeted the women behind the desk. She was dressed very professionally, and offered a sincere smile, "Ms. Sidle?" she asked, glancing at the desk calendar before her.

"Yes Ma'am." She offered a smile back and glanced around the room. She always hated psychiatrist offices.

The women stood, and shook her hand. "I'll tell Dr. Wilson you're here. He cleared his afternoon schedule for you."

'She had far too many Wheaties today,' Sara thought to herself and watched the perky young woman disappear behind a large oak door.

Sara looked at the framed poster directly behind the receptionist's desk, and she wondered why the walls of offices were always littered with motivational pictures. The photo was a beautiful shot of the Great Wall of China, but she laughed out loud at the caption at the bottom.

"I don't think motivational quotes are supposed to make you laugh," a kind voice said behind her.

She stood up straight and felt a tinge of red creep up on her face. "No sir, it's just that it says teamwork at the bottom of the picture… I don't think slave labour qualifies as teamwork."

The man before her nodded his head. "I never read them, but now that you say that…Janice, replace that picture…with an ink blot or something."

Sara laughed again. "Dr. Wilson? I'm Sara Sidle with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." She stuck her hand out as he took it and motioned her to sit in his office.

Sara had looked up his bio before she had even made an appointment to talk with the man sitting in front of her. He was a popular marriage counsellor, and had several published books. His dissertation to obtain his PhD was on 'The Power of Love'.

She sized him up quietly; in general she would describe him as average. Average build, brown hair perfectly in place, but his eyes made her stop. He exuded confidence and a refinement, but his blue eyes seemed to be searching her soul. She shifted slightly, and began to speak. "Dr. Wilson—"

"You can call me Lee," he interrupted. "You're not here to see me as a patient-- there's not need for the professional separation."

She narrowed her eyes, very uncomfortable with using his first name; it seemed intimate at this moment. "Okay," she simply answered and glanced at her notes. "You were working with Marni Mullins and Jerrod Clark, correct?"

He smiled. "That's right. They're getting married. Wonderful couple. I've never seen two people more in love with each other."

"If that's true, why were they seeing a marriage counsellor before they were even married?" She was confused, and for some unknown reason becoming increasingly uncomfortable in his presence.

"Sara, a lot of people come to see a counsellor when the problem has become too big to fix, and they expect a magical cure. I encourage couples to get counselling before they have problems," he explained.

She bristled at the use of her name. "I see. When did you see them last?"

He opened his appointment book. "Two weeks ago. They missed their appointment last week, and have not returned my call. Has something happened to them?" His concern seemed to touch his voice, and his body language appeared to agree with that assessment.

"Mr. Clark is dead, and Ms. Mullins is in the hospital," she answered, watching his reaction.

"What happened?" He seemed genuinely shocked, and dropped his pen.

"Mr. Clark was tortured to death, and Ms. Mullins sustained injuries consistent with torture." He didn't seem phased by the details, and she was getting a headache from the mixed signals she was getting. This was the primary reason she hated therapists; they new how to manipulate a person into thinking or feeling a certain way.

"They were so much in love-- they were going to have a wonderful life…"

"Is there anyone you can think of that who would have a grudge against either one of them? Someone that would want to hurt them?" She was hoping for any lead, no matter how small.

The doctor shook his head. "No, they were living the American dream."

"It ended in a nightmare, Dr. Wilson," she told him sadly.

The door swung open and Greg and Sara were allowed to enter first. Sara spotted the chair, sat down next to the bed before her, and took the delicate hand that was lying lifelessly on the blanket.

"Marni?" She had no idea what her current state of mind was.

The petite blonde stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, but they were glazed over. "Jerrod?" she asked weakly.

Sara almost started to cry, she leaned in to stroke her hair. "No sweetie, it's Sara."

"Jerrod? I'm sorry Jerrod, I'm sorry, I couldn't do it." Her breathing was erratic.

The nurse stepped over to check her vital signs. "She's been in and out of consciousness, but she's never been coherent. The psychiatrists like to keep her sedated for the time being."

Sara could no longer hold back the tears, and finally started to cry. "I'm sorry Marni, I'm so sorry." Greg stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "This could have been me…"

He massaged her neck. "It's not, Sara-- you both survived. You and Grissom, you're going to get through this."

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