Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, but it's always good to aim high, right?
Author's Notes: Well, I may have finished writing at 11:30 pm, but I finished, and that's all that matters, right? I had a very, very hard time finishing up this chapter, I thought it would be next Friday before I'd finish, but I guess I was wrong.
I know it's dark, but I'm in a dark place tonight, so it was only fitting for th story to be there too. Be glad I wrote this one, because if I had worked on 'Denial' I may have killed off someone. Luckily, I didn't do that on this one either.
I managed to get written up at work for finishing an argument that someone else started with me, and now me and this jerk are being forced to go to teamwork classes, to boost morale and encourage us to work together, since my boss doesn't want to get rid of either of us for a long, long time. While I was relieved to hear that if anyone else besides Sam and I would have pulled a stunt like we did, they would have been fired, and we just got written up and slightly punished, it bums me out to know I'm going to be stuck with Sam for a long, long time. Up side? He seemed just as disappointed to hear I wasn't leaving any time soon as well. It's amazing how a bunch of grown adults can still act like we're in middle school...I guess some things never change. Guess that means my boss needs to get us a babysitter next time he leaves us in charge?
Please, please, please leave me a reply and let me know what you think.
Jenny
Seven:
Sara scooped the little girl into her arms, laughing and giving the girl a kiss on the cheek, "Now, Katie, didn't I tell you to go to bed?"
"I won't!" The toddler shrieked, laughing as Sara placed her back in the bed, immediately rolling over to try and escape. The child's eyes were tired, a yawn escaping her lips as she desperately clung to the worn teddy bear, although she protested bedtime with every shred of energy she had left.
Sara laughed again, tickling the little girl until she laid back down, and using the moment of stillness to cover her up, squatting beside the bed, which was merely 6 inches off the floor, and kissing her forehead, then each cheek, then her lips, pressing their foreheads together and saying, "Good night, Love bug, Mommy will be back to check on you as soon as your video is over. Mommy loves you."
She reset the sleep timer on the small television and pushed the 'Blue's Clues' tape back into the VCR, smiling as Katie let out a shriek of laughter and excitement as she recognized the opening music. She walked to the door, turning to face her daughter, and blowing her a kiss, "I love you, baby."
"Love you Mama." Katie replied, her eyes heavy as she rolled onto her side, clutching the worn bear and focusing in the television.
Sara shut the door behind her, walking down the hallway and into the living room. Time fast-forwards and she finds herself creeping back towards Katie's room, somehow knowing that her daughter would be curled up in a ball on the floor, her pillow and covers beneath her, as if she had tried to make one last escape from the bed and didn't succeed before exhaustion won. She somehow knew that every night, this was the same routine. 2 videos, the same blanket-fleece, even in the summer-, and the worn out teddy bear, named Buster, on the floor, looking angelic as always.
She pushed the door open, and instead of the sight she was expecting, she was met with a bare room, no toddler bed, no 'Dora the Explorer' and 'Elmo' blankets and toys, no white changing table-turned-entertainment center, no blue screen of the television illuminating the room, no small clothes, shoes, and blocks. The beige carpeting had been pulled up and replaced with shiny wood floors, the walls were even bare of the ballerina wallpaper that had cost a fortune. And the spot where the hyperactive one-and-a-half-year old girl should have been sleeping? A dark red pool of blood.
Sara awoke screaming, bolting into a sitting position, unable to get the images out of her mind. Her breathing was ragged, and dizziness washed through her as she tried to calm herself down. Her body was drenched in sweat, the cool air of her apartment, along with her shaken nerves, causing her to tremble.
She glanced at the clock, groaning loudly. She had been sleeping for an hour and 15 minutes, which sadly enough, was the most she had gotten all week. She contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but she knew it was useless, since the nightmares began, she hadn't gotten a full night's sleep. That, she could blame on Grissom.
Catherine had stayed with her one night just over two weeks ago, and she let it slip to the older woman that she had suffered from a miscarriage. True to her image, Catherine had, in turn, spread the news to Grissom, who had taken on a worrying gaze every time they were in the same room now, his eyes silently throwing questions at her that she wasn't ready to answer.
One night after shift, when Greg was due to appear in court, thus, leaving her alone for the first time in the few days she had been back to work, Grissom had taken it upon himself to treat her to breakfast, complete with the opening of a can of worms.
He had been trying to help, and Sara had been grateful for the concern, she really had. It had been ages since he had shown her genuine concern, and the attention from him was something she had always craved. Their friendship had always taken ups and downs, and they had been in a downward spiral, and it felt nice to have him talking to her...if only the subject would have been different.
It may have been okay, if he wouldn't have started off with "How are you doing?" As if the bags under her eyes and her pale face hadn't shown she wasn't in tip top condition, as if she could possibly be alright after being dealt such a blow.
It might have still been okay, until he spoke his next question, "Who was the father?"
That was the point where the conversation began it's rapid descent downhill. Her first reaction was to tell him it obviously wasn't him, because even when she wanted him to touch her, he stayed far away. Her second was to tell him she wasn't fooling around with any of her coworkers, but she refrained from saying it, just because she didn't want the possibility to even enter his mind. She knew the truth would earn her a disappointed gaze and a shake of the head, possibly even a discussion on safe sex and the possibility of sexually transmitted diseases, or the risk of getting raped and murdered by bringing home a guy you met in a bar. She knew, she had worked the same crime scenes as he had over the last few years.
Instead, she dodged the question and tried to change the subject. It went from paternity to why she hadn't told him she was pregnant, about the risks of her job and the possible dangers to the fetus by certain procedures and chemicals they use on a daily basis. She had cut him off, telling him she had been careful and she wouldn't intentionally put herself or any of her children-born or developing- in harm's way.
Then he brought up her obvious depression. After finding out what she had told Catherine, in confidence, he had been seriously concerned about her mental stability. He had gone through the whole speech about her having people on her side, getting help when she needed it, not relying on alcohol or anonymous sex to get through her problems, as if she was sleeping with someone new every night. She had cut him off again, stressing the point that she was not a whore to persuaded every male she came in contact with to sleep with her. She told him she was fine, that she was being medicated to keep her in control of her emotions, that he had nothing to worry about.
He suggested counseling, she refused. He suggested group therapy, she refused. He offered an open invitation for a ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on, she again refused. She had told him she was under control.
And she had been, until she went home and fell asleep.
Until then, she had been able to block out the miscarriage, she had been able to take her little white pill and forget about everything. She had been able to pretend like nothing had happened, like she was just in a funk, like she was the same person she had been a few weeks back. After talking to Grissom, a floodgate of emotions had opened and poured out, causing her to cry herself to sleep.
That's when the nightmares started. They were the same, every night, and after sleeping for about an hour, sometimes more, sometimes less, she would wake up, frightened to the core, shaking like a leaf, unable to breathe, to think, to move. And definitely unable to sleep for the rest of the day.
Today was no different. The second her eyes shut, she saw the happy little toddler, then the blood. She shakily walked to the bathroom, dropping the stopper into the tub's drain and turning on the hot water. The lack of sleep, along with tremendous stress, was starting to wear her down. She was to exhausted to eat, to think straight, to focus on anything. Work, which had been her haven at once point, was turning into a nightmare. Greg, of all people, was constantly having to go behind her and check her work, which was often riddled with mistakes. Of course, everyone knew she was having a rough time, so for now they were covering for her.
Sara knew it was a matter of time before she made a major mistake, one Greg couldn't fix, and Ecklie found out. That would be the icing on the cake, the act that got her fired. She tried to summon up the passion to care, but was unable to. If the fatigue hadn't numbed her mind completely, the anti-depressants finished the job. Their goal was to keep her alive, and that's what they were doing. It was just too bad they couldn't keep her alive and functioning. She had spent the first week while taking the Zoloft in a energetic frenzy. She had cleaned her apartment, caught up on all of her housework, did several books of mind-teasers and word-search games, read several books, watched tons of new movies, and wrote long-overdue letters to her grandparents, cousins, and brother that she had been neglecting for years.
As the sleepless nights added up, the pills weren't enough to keep her awake, and the nightmares were too intense to let her sleep. With every sleepless night came something else for her overloaded mind to worry about, whether it was Grissom, Greg, the miscarriage, her work, her friends-or lack of them, anything that came into her mind turned into a near, if not full, panic attack.
She thought of calling her doctor and seeing if it was a problem with her medication, but she changed her mind, reasoning that her forgetfulness and anxiety were better than mind-numbing suicidal depression that she knew was waiting for her once she stopped taking her medication. Of course, after one of her terrifying nightmares, she sometimes wondered if she'd rather be depressed.
She eased one foot into the hot water, flinching as her foot started to tingle from the burning heat. After the tingling stopped, she let her foot touch the bottom of the tub, balancing her weight to slowly ease the other in. After this leg was also adjusted to the heat, she eased herself into a sitting position, gasping first from the heat, then in relief as her body adjusted to the temperature and she was able to lean back, resting her head against the cool porcelain of her tub, her eyes slowly closing as she began to relax.
Greg glanced at the clock anxiously, his eyes shifting quickly from Grissom to his cell phone, which was laying on the table in the break room. "Sara's never late."
"Sara's had a lot going on, she probably just overslept or lost track of time. Give her 15 more minutes, then you can call her." Grissom said calmly, although his facial expression showed that he would love nothing more than to oblige Greg's request.
Grissom glanced at the clock, himself, and then met Greg's eye, "Do you want your assignment now? I've got three cases, so we're all solo."
"I've never worked solo," Greg said slowly, "And I don't think Sara should be working solo right now."
Grissom sighed heavily, "Greg, don't think I don't know everything that goes on during my shift. You've been covering a heavy workload, you've been doing excellent work and you have shown me your capabilities. I believe you are fully capable to handle a scene solo. Sara will be fine as well, I think having to focus on the case without anyone to back her up will be good for her, it will give her something to keep her mind occupied. If either of you need help, I'll have my pager, and Warrick's on standby since we're short-handed."
Catherine's voice rang through the room, "I thought you'd be long gone by now."
"I thought the same about you." Grissom retorted, turning to face Catherine, "Busy evening?"
Catherine pointed to the assignment sheets in his hand, "Just as busy as you're going to be. Good luck." She scanned the room, noticing only Greg and Grissom's presence, "Where are the ladies tonight?"
Grissom looked down at his watch, his eyes meeting Greg's in a nod of agreement. Greg started to dial Sara's home number, while Grissom answered Catherine's question, "Sara hasn't made it in yet, and Sophia is in Detroit at a conference."
"Sara hasn't made it in yet?" Catherine asked incredulously, "Are we talking about the same Sara here? Your shift started 45 minutes ago."
An irritable voice answered behind Catherine, "Don't you have anything better to do than talk about me? And I'm pretty sure Gris can read a watch, after all, he passed third grade, didn't he?" Sara's tone of irritation grew when she saw the concerned look on Greg's face, and the shocked one on Grissom's, "What? I know I'm late, I overslept. It won't happen again...don't act like none of you have never came in late. I would have called, but I didn't want to be set back even further."
"You look awful, girl." Catherine said, ignoring the jab Sara had initially dealt to her. "Are you sure you got enough sleep?"
Sara turned back to face Catherine, her eyes narrowing, "I don't believe my sleeping habits are any of your concern. You're not my supervisor," She turned back to Grissom, "Handing out assignments or what?"
With a worried glance, he handed Sara a slip of paper, "DB at Mandalay Bay. Detective Vartan is waiting there, he's not in the best of moods, tread lightly."
"Shouldn't you be warning him of that?" Greg quipped, his smile fading and his eyes dropping as Sara turned her furious glare towards him, snatching the paper from Grissom and storming out of the room.
Catherine raised her eyebrows, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."
"It's always a challenge, trying to decipher what mood she's going to be in on any given day lately." Grissom replied, his voice matching the concern in his eyes, "Greg, meet Sara at Mandalay Bay and assist her. I'll call Warrick in for your case."
Catherine held up her hand, "It's not fair to Greg to have to miss out on working solo to clean up after Sara's messes. I'll have Warrick assist Sara, let Greg get out there and get his hands dirty. He's got to build a name for himself."
"It doesn't really matter." Grissom sighed, handing Greg a slip of paper, "Is Warrick still here or did he head home?"
Catherine jerked her thumb towards the locker room, "He was just finishing up, I'll go let him know to meet Sara."
As the break room emptied, Grissom looked at his own slip, letting it fall to the table as he sank into a chair, his elbows on the table, his eyes resting against the palms of his hands. He liked to be in control, and suddenly everything was spiraling out of his grasp, leaving him on edge, confused, and worried. Three things he didn't like to feel. Something had to be done, if only he could figure out what.
Warrick walked up to Sara and Detective Vartan, who were both dangerously close to hitting the other, both poised for a fight, and both trying to determine who could talk the loudest, without actually yelling.
"Calm down, both of you." Warrick said, a hand on Sara's arm, "Sara, search the room, leave the body for me. Vartan, give me the rundown."
Sara shot Vartan a venomous glare before grabbing her kit and storming into the bedroom of the suite the victim had been found in, cursing quietly under her breath as she began to survey the room.
She knew there was no reason to be angry, she had simply found that the easiest mood to handle once she awoke from her hour-long nap in her bathtub, jolted to reality by yet another nightmare about her child that should have been.
She began dusting for prints, barely aware of the hotel suite clearing out, until finally it was just her and Warrick. She had been able to avoid him since the miscarriage, although she was sure he knew what had happened. They had never been really close, although he always had her back, and she was surprised to feel less tense while working with him. When she was paired with Grissom or Greg, she was constantly watching over her shoulder, worrying what they were thinking about her, the pain Grissom had caused her years ago to bubble to the surface around him, the guilt she felt for bringing Greg into her hellish life bubbling while around him.
The more comfortable she became with Warrick, the more she started to get into processing the scene. She glanced around the area she had been working on, giving a small smile as she realized she hadn't overlooked anything glaringly obvious as she had been doing lately. By the time she had finished the bedroom, she was in a much friendlier mood. It wasn't until she started to rifle through the victim's possessions that her mood drastically changed.
The victim had been a 35 year old woman, Clair Barnes, and she had been registered at Mandalay Bay with her husband, Theo, who had not been present at the time of check in. Sara vaguely remembered Warrick saying Vartan was checking into Theo Barnes's location. The first black suitcase was filled with various clothing and personal items, both male and female. The other two suitcases were smaller, although both would still be considered large. She opened the second one, surprised to see it filled with toys, which by first glance, seemed to belong to a young child. The infant sized clothing verified her assumption, and she began to wonder what had happened to the kid, if he (she assumed it was a he from the clothing) was with the father, or if possibly he had been kidnaped.
She called out for Warrick, wanting to get his take on the suitcase of toys and clothing. She heard him call back that he was coming, and she popped open the third suitcase, her heart racing and her breathing shallow as she slammed it shut, clamping her hand over her mouth and taking a deep breath.
After a few brief seconds of trying to calm herself, she realized it was useless, and she sprinted into the hallway, vomiting onto the carpet as she held onto the wall to keep herself steady. In the room, she heard the click of the suitcase a second time, along with a loud swear from Warrick.
She took a few deep breaths, determined not to be affected by this turn of events. She clenched her fists tight, silently telling herself she could handle this, that she was going to find the person who did this and bring them to justice.
She entered the room, coming face-to-face with Warrick, who had shut the suitcase back. He had a look of surprise, disgust, and anger on his face as he motioned to the suitcase, "Who does something like that?"
"I don't know." She started to tremble, "War, I can't...I...I can't do him."
Warrick nodded, handing her his camera, "Go back and follow up on pictures of the victim..the first one. I'll handle this one."
Sara exited, the relief she felt evident on her face, and Warrick took a deep, calming breath and opened the suitcase once more, frowning sadly and touching the small hand with his gloved finger, "Hey there little guy, we're going to find who did this to you, okay?"
He flipped the tag on the boy's overalls over, cursing softly. He was wearing a 6-9 month outfit, which meant he was less than a year old. No child that young, no child any age, should have been mutilated that badly, his body scarred beyond recognition, his blue overalls stained red, almost black, with blood. His face was battered, although his innocence still shined through, and there was a severe indentation on his head, probably from a fatal blow, although he'd leave that to Doc Robbins.
He battled nausea himself as he gathered the evidence he needed, resisting the urge to cover the baby as he turned away, fighting tears that threatened to make their way to the surface. He walked into the living area, knowing he would need to take pictures, and planning on getting the camera from Sara.
What he didn't expect was to see her sitting on the middle of the floor, her head buried in her knees, which were drawn to her chest, rocking herself back and forth as she silently sobbed, finally having reached her breaking point.
He silently slipped back into the bedroom, pulling out his phone and dialing Catherine's number, knowing she would have answers on what to do. Minutes later, she had reassured him that she was on her way, and she'd handle things until Grissom or Greg finished their own cases. As he hung up, he did the only thing he could think of for the meantime, he knelt down beside her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He tried to soothe her at first, but after realizing she wasn't even aware of his presence, he settled with holding her, praying that she wasn't in the middle of some serious breakdown. She had already reached her breaking point, he didn't want to witness her topple over the edge.
TBC...