Chapter Twenty-Four
II
"Why are you here?"
Sara looked at the woman before her and wondered that herself.
Maybe for answers, being a professional CSI, making sure it was all laid out, letting the world move on with the answers.
Maybe for Anna, this young girl she'd felt strangely close to ever since arriving in this country, and Anna would have wanted a confrontation.
Maybe for Sara Sidle, young and scared and with blood in her family.
"I'm here for closure," she finally said and Caroline Jensen looked gently at her from her chair. The cell did not seem to face her much, as if she had been in a mind's cell for days already and this was merely a shadow of it.
"Closure? That means end, yes? You seek end?"
"I seek an end," she agreed, pausing for a moment to form her thoughts. "I read the fairytale you mentioned the first time we met."
"I suppose our fairytales must seem odd to you, miss Sidle," Mrs. Jensen replied, folding her hands, almost as if in prayer. For forgiveness? For understanding? For closure?
"Yes and no. A lot of them seem to be about the same, just with different words and styles. Why did Anna like that one so much?"
The old woman smiled almost fondly. "I have wondered that myself. Perhaps she liked it because it was about a young woman who found love, but lost it again making a very human mistake. Being curious what her love was truly like, you see. She wanted to know him, but this doomed him. Still, she did not give up. And she saved him. She was the hero."
"Anna wanted to be a hero."
"We all do."
'No,' Sara thought and felt a chill. 'Some of us want to be a villain.'
"How can any mother justify killing for her daughter?" she blurted out, feeling years of memories and blood and guilt tumble loose and fill her mouth with bile.
She had not asked her mother to kill her father. She had not. She had not. Had she?
ThescreamingthescreamingohGodpleaseshutupshutupSHUTUP!
Go away. Diediediedieplease. Just silence. Just give me silence. Pleaseohplease.
The memory was cool, like glass cutting through skin and chilling the blood. She blinked against the tears and stumbled to the empty chair, sitting down heavily and feeling like the ground was a hole ever falling before her.
Why now, when Grissom was closer than ever and she was strong, professional, progressing? Why did it always haunt her life as she rebuilt it time and time again? Why did it always come back?
Blood always clung on. Even to memories.
She heard the other woman stand up, and a moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder, stroking her slowly.
'I'm being comforted by a murder,' she thought absurdly, but the gentle touch felt like that of a grandmother and she didn't shake it off.
Even if it was another hand she might long for.
"I am sorry," Mrs. Jensen said quietly after a moment, her voice filled with honest sympathy and regret. Strange how human a killer could remain. Strange how human her mother had remained.
"I am not the one who can give you forgiveness," she said harshly, but the old woman's answer was only sad, no hostility in it.
"And I am not the one who can give you this closure you seek."
Sara nodded, closing her eyes for a moment, pushing back the bile, the memories, the girl that had once been her. Sometimes, it felt like it kept getting harder to fight back to Sara Sidle, and not remain with the ghost of young Sara.
A new home had not been the exorcist. Work had not been the exorcist. Grissom would not be the exorcist. She wasn't sure any more what could be.
She stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling the cell very much around her, as it would have been closing in her own mother. "I… I better go."
Mrs. Jensen merely nodded, looking distant again, perhaps caught in her own memories once more. A prison harder to escape than this one. Bricks and cement grumbled to dust with time. The mind built much stronger.
Prison and warden and prisoner too, the mind. Fighting itself, ever and ever, surrender not an option. And escape only came with a dark price, paid in maggots and rotting flesh.
Death.
Caroline Jensen would not live long. Perhaps she knew so herself. Perhaps she was even willing it to come. Guilt was a hard burden to fight on with. For killers, for humans, for survivors. For her.
She didn't look back as she walked out.
The sun was bright and warm as she exited, her eyes at once drawn to Grissom, arms crossed and leaning against her car. Shades hid his eyes from view and his face gave away nothing. He was dressed casually, the wind tugging gently at his t-shirt and stroking his hair.
"I thought you had a seminar," she said, walking slowly over and stopping a few feet away.
"I had. I'm done. I decided to solve the mystery of my missing colleague."
"Did you?"
"I followed the evidence," he replied, taking his shades off. "I am not sure I will ever solve her."
"No," she agreed with a smile. "Unless she lets you."
He inclined his head, his gaze warm as he regarded her. His greeting caress in a way, letting her know what other men often said with touches. But Grissom was Grissom. That was the intoxication of him. That was also the problem.
"Why did you see Mrs. Jensen?" he asked softly after a moment, no accusation in his voice, only curiosity.
"Closure."
"I see," he said and she wondered if he truly did. "We've got a flight home tomorrow."
To catch Anna's father, Sara didn't say. Grissom would point out nothing had been proven yet, and perhaps if she did not say it aloud, the ghost of Anna would never know and be able to rest in peace in the earth of Norway.
A child did not need to know their parent was a killer. No one deserved that burden.
'Not even me,' she thought faintly, selfishly.
"Last day here," she said instead, watching the leaves stir slightly and sigh in the wind. Clouds were drifting lazily across the sky, but they were white and soft and didn't threaten rain. One last day of summer, then, almost perfect, like a parting gift. "Where's Greg?"
"Still with their lab, comparing procedures. We're having dinner with the police chief of Oslo later. We have a little time before that."
"A little time," she repeated and wondered why those words seem to beat in her mind, like a fading drum roll echoing. A little time. "It'll be nice to go home, even if this has been…"
She couldn't think of any good description that seemed to describe it all. Sad, wonderful, seducing, educational, interesting. Beautiful, in its own way, this country, this trip. This relationship.
"You're not sorry you came?"
She glanced at him, seeing the question he didn't ask in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it. "No. I'm not sorry I came. You were right, I needed a holiday."
"A working holiday," he corrected, but with a slight smile.
"Not all work."
"No. Not all work," he agreed, almost beaming at her, making her skin tingle. "And… I thought… Maybe… There's this amusement part outside of the city."
She bit back a smile. She knew there was, as she had looked it up herself, thinking of luring Grissom there. "With a roller coaster?"
"Yes. Two, in fact. I was wondering… Would you ride them with me?" His face was sincere, a little hesitant and a little guarded. Perhaps he still wondered if she wanted him, even with all the evidence uncovered. Or perhaps he was still fighting himself every step. As she was, in another way.
"Will you hold my hand if I scream?" she asked and he reached out and took her hand, letting his thumb brush her skin.
"Yes."
He turned her hand over, following the lines of her palm with a finger, studying the pattern. It was almost painful, almost as if he was looking at her life, reading it from her palm. He wouldn't judge her, not Grissom. But every part of the darkness in her he would see would make it harder to keep a balance. It could not be all her, for all she loved him. He had to share something of his, too.
Perhaps he was trying to, in his own way. The wild rides of ups and downs, ever in speed, ever an illusion of risk. Grissom's diversion.
"Yes. I'll ride them with you," she promised and he kissed her palm, the briefest tease of his tongue against her skin. For a moment, she allowed herself to look, watching the sun burning down on him, exposing the grey in his hair, the slight tan in his skin and the shine in his eyes.
One last summer day in Norway. A little time. A little holiday. A little Grissom.
'A little life,' she thought and let Grissom guide her into what remained of the summer day.
