A Trial of the Heart: Chapter nine
00000000
Guilt is the source of sorrows; the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings.
--Nicholas Rowe
00000000
Sara's leaden feet carried her into work that night. It was becoming marginally easier for her to return and meld into her previous routine. She could pretend, at least for a few hours, that this was her old life, and she was only in the lab because Grissom had restricted her there for some minor slip-up like overtime.
She had spent at least a great portion of the hours before shift with Grissom in his townhouse, and allowing herself to fall into his embrace had felt like emotional catharsis. Sara felt… better. At least like she was handing things.
She had yet to encounter Ecklie, but she had no doubt the confrontation was unavoidable. Which was why she was unable to exhibit surprise when she rounded the corridor from within the locker room, and realised an unhappy looking Grissom stood waiting for her alongside the smarmy assistant director.
"Sara", Ecklie said, with such a false amount of sugary cheerfulness she was certain he had been previously threatened by some higher ups to ensure her recovery. "How are you holding up?"
Sara eyed him warily for a moment, exchanging a brief, bemused glance with her supervisor. "Fine, thank you".
"Good, good. I was wondering if the three of us might have a little chat for a moment."
'Like it was open for discussion'. She could already see the overconfident determination in his oily features. Sighing, she nodded her head, and mutely followed him down the hall to his office.
Ecklie closed the door behind them with overstated gravity, taking a seat behind his massive desk. The sympathy he projected was so blatantly false Sara could barely feign interest in what he was about to say. She had no doubt it was not something as innocuous as checking their progress. Ecklie would not call them to his office for a simple courtesy.
"I've been told you aren't attending meetings with the department psychologist, Sara", he began. 'Diving straight in, then.'
Sara shifted in her seat, folding her arms defiantly. "No. I'm not".
He was irritated by her unresponsiveness, and folded his hands on his desk. "Is there a reason for that?"
"I wouldn't feel comfortable with it".
'Like he can understand', Sara thought ruefully. 'He wouldn't even try'.
Ecklie merely blinked at her. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Sara, I really am. However the director feels… that we're risking your own health as well as the health of others by allowing you back into the field before you have spoken to a specialist."
Sara stared at him. She couldn't believe this. "I'm not dangerous, Ecklie", she snapped.
He frowned. "I wasn't implying that. Look, Sara… we all understand how difficult this must be for you. Grissom himself is talking to a well-respected professional. She made a suggestion that I'm not going to oppose. She offered the option of the two of you attending her sessions together… if it helps Sara's recovery".
Sara frowned. She glanced nervously at Grissom, who looked as surprised as she did by this statement… but not as reluctant as she felt herself to be. Talking to him alone was different. Sharing their experience with another psychologist… ironic didn't even begin to describe it.
"I don't know if I can… do that".
Ecklie stared at her. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear here, Sara. If you don't attend counselling, you are not allowed back into the field. Ever."
Grissom glanced up as he heard movement in the doorway, and nodded as Brass made his way into his office. His eyes trailed up to the overhead clock, noting it was technically the end of shift. "Jim. What brings you here?"
Brass shrugged, idly slumping into the opposite chair. "Nothing, really. Just checking in".
Grissom lowered his pen, eyeing the other man doubtfully. Brass sighed, sensing Gil saw straight through him. "Okay, you got me. I'm worried about our little Ms. Sidle".
Grissom slanted an eyebrow, scrawling his signature absently over several equipment requests. "She's ill, and taking a few sick days. She should be back soon".
Brass remained tensely in his seat, expression uneasy. "Yeah, that's what I'm here for. Look, Gil… this case has been pretty heavy the last few days. We had a suspect, we just couldn't hold him. Have you ever known Sara to let go like this when a case is so hot? Hell, she'd come to work with pneumonia if she had her way."
Grissom hesitated, meeting the detective's sharp gaze. "I know, I've been… considering that myself. You know what happened last year, Jim. Sara's trying harder to keep normal hours, and avoid burning out. If she knows she's too invested in this… then maybe she's trying to take the healthier option".
Brass nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Right. Okay, yeah." He rose to his feet, boosting his bulky weight up by the armrests. "Just answer me this", he said, pausing on his way to the door. "Unless Sara had the willpower of an ox—which I think we both know, from personal experience, is doubtful—then why hasn't she called for any updates on the case?"
He shot Grissom a pointed glance, and departed his office. Grissom sat in his chair for two whole minutes before rising to his feet and loading his briefcase, starting quickly for the door.
"I can't believe this".
Greg glanced up as Sara stalked into the breakroom, followed by a much more reserved Grissom.
He had a sneaking suspicion she had spent the night at their boss's townhouse, but he wasn't about to step on anybody's toes. If anyone could help her through this, Grissom could; which was why he was only mildly concerned by the venom in Sara's voice as she slumped into a conference chair across from him.
"Uh, what's up?" he asked, glancing between them uncertainly.
Sara shrugged. "Nothing. Ecklie's making me speak to the departmental psychologist".
Greg frowned. "Oh. Well…"
"Don't try telling her it might be a good thing", Grissom warned, touching Sara lightly on the shoulder as he passed her towards the coffee maker.
Greg slanted an eyebrow, incredibly intrigued by the sudden change in their dynamic. It took him a moment to realise that the room was no longer charged with tension, and they appeared comfortable in each other's presence. Something had happened. He didn't know what, but he thought it was more progress than a counsellor could ever hope to achieve.
Sara just shrugged, glancing down at the thin layer of condensation an empty mug of Greg's coffee had left on the table, tracing it with her thumb.
He cleared his throat, deciding to jump on in. "So, um, things go okay with you two? With, um, dinner and everything?"
Sara had explained to him he wouldn't be needed at her apartment that night, and then she had told him why. A few months ago, if someone had told him Grissom and Sara had had dinner; he would have died before he asked either of them about it. However, now, all of them were attempting to be more open and sociable with the pair. His concern for Sara dictated he ask, even if he didn't really want to hear the particulars.
Sara gave a small smile, looking infinitely sad, and yet brighter than he had seen her in days. Like there was hope blossoming on the horizon. "Yeah", she murmured enigmatically. "It went fine".
Grissom paused in front of Sara's modest apartment, considering his next move. If Brass' concerns were misplaced, then Sara was going to want to know what he was doing here. Well, he had offered to bring her some soup. Of course, he had none on him, but he was genuinely concerned about her, and he was sure he could play that card.
His knuckles rapped lightly on the door, and he waited for a response. When none was forthcoming, he knocked again, a little louder than before. The sound seemed to echo dully inside, filling him with an irrational sense of dread.
She's probably asleep, he assured himself. He glanced at the doors beside hers, dimly wondering if any of her neighbours had a spare key to her apartment. As an afterthought, he tried the doorknob, and was surprised when it twisted fluidly in his grasp.
Swallowing, he nudged the door open, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the inner gloom. He took a step inside, and something crunched under his boot. He glanced down; heart jolting painfully when he realised a fragment of glass was crushed under his weight.
Slowly, his gaze made out the dim outlines of the rest of the apartment and he drew in a sharp breath when he realised the place was completely ransacked.
Furniture was overturned, books were scattered, and a thousand of impossibly small shards glass littered everywhere in sight.
A lump formed in his throat when he realised splattered over the glass were droplets of dark, rich red blood.
He stepped back into the hall, whipping out his cell phone with newfound urgency. "Brass; call in the team, now. All of them, I don't care! We have a situation. A new crime scene. At Sara's apartment".
0000000000
Her cell phone was shrill and loud in the resonant walls of her narrow cell, and Sara ground her teeth as Dr. Wilson glanced down at the lit display, mouth quirking up in amusement."That's the fifth time Gil Grissom has called now".
Her breathing was harsh and laboured, and she leaned her head back against the chilled brick wall, blotting out his eager curiosity with closed eyes.
"Tell me, Sara, does a normal boss care that much about his employees?"
Sara tasted the bitter tang of blood under her tongue, and spat out of the corner of her mouth, opening her eyes to stare over at him.
He leaned casually against the bars of the adjoining cell, enjoying her reaction immensely. She saw the niggling suspicion behind his intense dark eyes, and forced herself to look away from them.
God, Grissom, stop calling me, please.
"I have a question for you", he posed, stalking around her hunched form patiently. "If I called Grissom and told him what had happened to you, do you think he would come to your rescue? Do you think he would suffer to spare you?"
"Stop it!" she blurted out, wincing at the pain in her shoulders when she jolted forward in fear. "Please, don't bring him into this! I'll do anything, just don't hurt him. Please".
Wilson looked smugly satisfied. He absently fingered the black box in his hand. "Do you love him, Sara? Would you sacrifice your life for him?"
Tears sparked behind her eyes, and her nails dug painfully into her palms. "Yes! Okay, yes! I'm in love with him. I love him. Leave him alone! Just stop doing this!"
Wilson smiled thinly. "I can't do that, Sara."
"Sara, I want to make it clear I'm not going to press anything with you. I want you to be able to share whatever you feel comfortable with".
Sara stared back at the doctor defiantly, crossing her legs at the knee. "Well, considering I'm not comfortable with this at all, it might be a short session".
Dr. Muller maintained an expression of extreme patience, and Sara wanted to hit her. Or better yet, leave.
Grissom remained silent in the seat beside her, and she wondered how he could possibly tolerate this. Of course, she often forgot how long she had been left alone with Dr. Wilson; to endure his constant sermons on love and his theories on pain. Theories… he was more than willing to share…
"I don't understand… who could have done this", Catherine muttered, taking in the disordered state of Sara's apartment.
Nick swallowed grimly. "Try every suspect in her seven active cases, or hundreds of her solved ones".
Greg, crouched mutely by the counter, didn't say anything, features flushed with anxiety. The two exchanged a brief, worried glance and resumed their work.
By the doorway, Brass and Grissom stood in consultation. Warrick had returned to the lab with the blood and several other samples, in a hasty effort to get the results as quickly as possible.
"You couldn't have known, Gil", Brass said quietly.
Grissom shook his head, looking away from his friend's probing stare. Guilt ate away at his insides. "You did", he muttered bitterly.
Did he know Sara so little that he hadn't even been concerned enough to notice she was missing? Anything could have happened to her, and they could be too late because… because of him.
"I have to go", he said abruptly. He couldn't endure the commiserative looks any longer, or worse, the quiet accusation.
Brass stared after him in mute shock. "What? Where?"
"The lab", Grissom snapped. "I want those results".
"Mia would have paged if she had them already", Brass argued.
Grissom shook his head, blocking out the logic of the detective's argument. He didn't care. He had to get out of here. He had to think.
Who would have taken Sara? They had all discussed their suspicions, and though they weren't sure, he and Brass both agreed Dr. Wilson, the suspect in her most recent case was certainly viable. As were several others who would be intent on revenge. Their line of work was dangerous for provoking the wrath of wronged criminals.
Wilson.
The look the man gave him as he announced he was to be released from interrogation had stayed with him. As had Sara's intense need to solve the case. There was something off about it. Something, that made him steer left instead of right away from North Trop Boulevard, and head back towards the inactive crime scene.
The warehouse had been cleared, and the crime scene tape removed, so it took him several moments to recall the address.
He pulled up outside the building when he did, parking his Tahoe down the road. If Wilson had taken Sara, he needed to understand his crime. He needed to get into his mindset, and understand what motivated him, and where he may have taken her. If nothing else, it was a comfort mechanism. He knew the others weren't going to find anything useful until the DNA results came back and identified Sara's attacker. He didn't even want to consider the fact that it might only be her blood.
For once in his life, the evidence wasn't what drove him.
The door of the warehouse creaked slightly as he let himself inside, and he examined the vast interior. Sara and Greg had swept the building high and low, and he knew there were no evident signs left of the crime that had been committed there.
Slowly, he strode towards the narrow corridor, feet scuffling slightly on the dusty concrete. He turned a corner…
…And his heart stopped cold in his chest when he came face to face with the object of his troubled deliberations.
"Dr. Grissom", Wilson said calmly, tilting his head. "We've been expecting you".
00000000000
