My vacation never came. Well, if you consider being trapped in a makeshift coffin for what seemed like an eternity a vacation, I had more than enough vacation. I was forced to lay silently in a tiny box that creeked under the pressure of the earth above it. I was forced to be silent with my thoughts racing through my head.
Most of my time was spent wondering if my coworkers even knew that I was gone . . . missing . . . abducted . . . whatever you want to call it. I knew that there was a really good chance that none of them noticed because they were too tied up in their little pissing matches. Part of me severely doubted their ability to work as a team to find me. Realistically, they were nothing like they were when we were all nightshift workers. They were petty and confrontational. I could picture Sara and Catherine arguing over who was qualified to do what. It made me shiver against the hard wood.
I held on to the hope that maybe Grissom was able to pull everyone together as my breathing labored. I knew that I was rapidly consuming all the oxygen that I was given to work with. As my eyes closed, I remembered what my coworkers used to be like. It was comforting, since my biological family was nothing more than a group of people that occasionally got together to argue about something over the holidays.
I remember waking in a hospital bed that was so small that it was reminiscent of the coffin I was held hostage in. It drove me into a panic attack. I watched the screen of the heart monitor. My heart was racing, and my blood pressure was sky-rocketing. My heart seemed to be in working order, but my lungs didn't want to inflate. I remember gasping for air as my mother tried to comfort me.
My parents stayed with me for a few days. My mother occasionally made snarky comments about the dirty laundry that littered my bedroom floor. She immediately apologized, but the damage was already done. My mother couldn't put aside her need for control even when her youngest son was still adjusting to the fact that he had been clinically dead for more than a few minutes.
My father sat in a chair and watched a baseball game with me. My father was emotionally so far removed from his children. He was sick of all the fights, just as I was sick of all the fights at work. We sat in a comfortable silence. Before my parents left, my father said that he was glad that I was alive. He asked me to call my mother more often. Obviously, I had managed to cause conflict at home when I wasn't even at home.
I spent two days scared shitless at the prospect of leaving my house. I did everything in my power to stay safe; I began to develop a serious obsessive-compulsive disorder. I checked door locks and the alarm system a million times a day. I made sure that my attic door was still nailed shut. I had convinced myself that I was indeed crazy.
"Hey, I knew the Astros were playing at noon . . . We thought we'd stop by with some lunch," Sara said nervously as she stood on my doorstep. Greg was right behind her. Warrick was probably getting ready to go to work; someone would need to make up for the productivity lost due to my absence.
"You hate baseball," I commented. I didn't budge from my doorway. I was still angry at them for always fighting. I was angry at them for being on nightshift when I wasn't. I was angry at them for a million things that I didn't understand or know yet.
"Just because I'm a bad first baseman at the yearly picnic, doesn't mean that I hate baseball," Sara retorted. She looked hurt that I was trying to turn her away.
My parents told me bits and pieces about how the CSIs investigated my disappearance. I knew that Grissom had minor burns from some explosion that happened when he went to deliver the ransom. My father told me that Catherine and Sara refused to sleep. They didn't comment about if everyone managed to come together, so I assumed that it was probably one big argument.
"Well, here's some lunch. I guess we'll see you around," Sara said as she handed me a bag of something. I could see the tears in here eyes as Greg put a hand on her arm to comfort her. Sara and Catherine used to be the ones that would comfort me.
Sara occasionally snuck up on the roof when she was feeling overwhelmed by cases. I saw her up there one evening when I was returning to the lab after processing a scene. It was just days after Sara returned to work after her near DUI, so I assumed that she was probably talking herself into jumping. I ran up the stairs in the most dramatic of fashions only to scare her to near death. She told me that she needed some air; apparently, her case was a bit of a brain teaser. Sara made me tell her about my case. It was a child abuse case. It brought all the emotions from my childhood back to the surface. I remember getting choked up when I told her about the bruising around the little girl's groin. Sara told me that I was good at my job; she said that I always managed to find justice for the victims. She rested her hand on my arm while we sat in silence.
"Wait. I'm sorry . . . I don't know what I'm thinking," I said as they began to walk away.
"If you need your space . . ." Greg began. His voice began to trail off.
"I'm just mad . . . at everything right now," I replied as I let them into my house.
"You should open up the curtains. It might make you feel a little less caged in," Sara suggested as she walked into the house. The curtains were closed, but all the lights were on. I wasn't even sure what my rationale was.
I latched all four of my door locks as Sara began to open curtains and turn off lamps. She turned the fan on my air conditioner on; I could feel the air begin to circulate in the house. I hadn't noticed how the dank air in the house reminded me of the coffin. I shuddered at the thought.
I began to see a little more of the 'old' Sara. She teased me mercilessly about the double-double animal style burger that she was forced to order. Greg said that Sara stared at the menu for well over ten minutes before she ordered the French fries that constituted her lunch. We laughed about stupid things like we used to, while watching a baseball game that was so bad that it wasn't worth watching.
"I've got to get going. I should shower before I clock in," Sara said with a yawn. I looked at her confused because it wasn't even three in the afternoon yet.
"I'm pulling a few doubles to help out Warrick. Don't worry . . . I'll make sure to close out all your cases before you get back," Sara said with a weary smile. I figured that she probably hadn't gone to sleep after the double that she just got done with.
"My leave of absence is for six weeks," I replied. Sara's face went from tanned to a shade of white that I had never seen before. Apparently, Sara was taking on all my shifts. It was the logical choice considering day shift would never dream of working anything other than day shift.
"Well, just worry about feeling better," Sara replied. She was trying desperately to smile as she rested a hand on my arm before walking out the door. Greg followed close behind her; he locked each and every one of the locks.
"She's seriously taking all my shifts?" I asked as Greg returned to where he had been sitting on the couch.
"Well, with Grissom on leave because of the burns and Sophia's on bedrest for the rest of her pregnancy, Sara has had to manage nights and help out on swing. Nobody else volunteered. I mean, I volunteered to help out, but Catherine won't let me," Greg rambled.
"Why won't she let you?" I interrogated. Obviously, they hadn't managed to come together as a team.
"Because I'm taking most of the new cases on nights. I've been working fourteen hour days for the last week," Greg replied. This left me confused. I didn't know if they were working in harmony or just working in parallel.
"I'll be back soon," I replied.
"Just take your time. The lab is still going to be there when you are ready to come back," Greg replied with a smile.
I became curious. I wondered if 'my family' had begun to mend itself.