6/21/05

GRAVE CONSEQUENCES

Chapter 3

Nick squirmed in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Even with the additional leg room of their first class seats, he was feeling confined. He wasn't exactly feeling claustrophobic. The airplane cabin was spacious enough, it was more the fact that his movements were restricted that was bothering him. It had been an unusually turbulent flight, so far, and the passengers had been told to keep their seat belts fastened. Nick desperately wanted to get up and move around. He'd spent over 24 hours trapped in a Plexiglass coffin then almost a week, largely confined to a bed. He'd had enough immobility to last him quite a while. Unfortunately they had only been in the air for 45 minutes. They still had nearly four hours to go. Frankly, at this point, he would have preferred walking to Dallas.

He had prepared himself to be uncomfortable in the crowded airport, but they had been running late and had had to rush to catch their flight. There hadn't been time for him to even notice the crowds, let alone be intimidated by them. But he had assumed that, once on board the relatively quiet plane, he would be all right. He hadn't anticipated that the pressurized cabin and cramped seating would create such an overwhelming sense of oppression and containment. He could feel his heart rate increasing.

"Nick, Honey, what's the matter?" his mother asked, giving him that same look she'd given him when he'd squirmed in church as a child.

"I can't get comfortable."

"The hives aren't still bothering you, are they?"

"No, I'm just feeling... confined."

The vivid red welts on his face and body had indeed faded dramatically in the past few days. It now looked as though he simply had a bad sunburn. And as the marks had faded in appearance, the burning itching had faded as well.

"Well, try taking deep breaths," Jillian suggested.

Jillian and Nick were flying alone. Bill had been called back to Austin for an important court case and he had left Las Vegas two days earlier than his wife and son. But he had promised that he would meet them at the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport when their plane landed... four hours from now.

Nick knew that he wasn't going to last that long. He would go insane long before they even reached the Texas state line and deep breathing wasn't going to help. He was going to need help of a pharmaceutical nature.

"Did you put those sleeping pills the doctor gave me in your purse?" he asked his mother.

"Yes, but the doctor said you should only take them sparingly. Ambien can be very habit-forming."

"Yeah, but if you don't give me one, I'm going to start climbing the walls any minutes... please..."

Hearing the undercurrent of desperation starting to creep into his voice, Jillian rummaged in her purse for the amber-colored, plastic prescription bottle. Locating it, she very deliberately dispensed out one of the small, light blue pills. Nick swallowed it dry.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He was only vaguely aware of his mother's fingers lightly brushing his cheek as he drifted into a deeper, blessedly numb, darkness...

It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes, when he felt a hand gently shaking him. He heard his mother's voice calling to him. "Nick, Honey, we've arrived. We're in Dallas."

He dragged himself awake and looked groggily around the plane. Most of the other passengers had already departed. Standing and following along behind his mother, he felt like he was still sleeping and was walking through a dream. This surreal, disconnected feeling continued as they walked through the crowded airport. On some level, he was aware that the presence of the crowds and all the activity around him, should have been disturbing to him, but it wasn't. He was too numb at the moment.

As Bill stepped forward to greet them, Nick shook his father's hand mechanically and was thankfully oblivious to the concerned looks and quiet whispers his parents exchanged. The process of picking up the luggage and walking through the large international airport to the area where his father had parked his SUV seemed to take no time at all to Nick.

With the bags stowed and his parents in the front seats, he was at last free to sprawl out on the back seat and resume his interrupted sleep. He slept through the long drive through the city, south and east, to the outskirts of the metropolitan area, where the Stokes' Family ranch was located. It was nearing 7:00 in the evening and dusk was just descending when Bill turned the vehicle off the dirt road and onto the long driveway towards the house.

Jillian reached around her seat to gently shake her son. "Nick, wake up, we're home. We're at the ranch. Look and see what your sisters have done."

He was able to wake up with more ease this time and he felt more fully coherent than he had earlier. Sitting up and rubbing his face, he positioned himself between the two front seats and looked out the front windshield.

"Oh, God, no," he groaned, suddenly feeling nauseated.

There was a huge white banner draped across the front of the house, with large, red, block letters that read 'Welcome Home, Nick!' Grouped beneath the banner were all five of his older sisters, his older brother, and their various spouses. Their children were running around on the lawn, waving sparklers and squealing loudly, chasing his parents' golden retriever, Aggie, who barked ecstatically, in doggy heaven with all the activity and attention. Flashing Christmas lights had been strung up around the front of the house and the surrounding shrubs.

Nick was suddenly transported back to the night when he had been found and rescued from his Plexiglas tomb. His mind was filled with hazy memories of the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, the jumbled voices of the search teams, the barking of the scent dogs and the disturbingly distorted faces of the paramedics as they had worked over him. He was abruptly overcome with the same overwhelming and confusing emotions he had experienced that night, relief, despair, helplessness, shame, and, of course, the all-pervading fear.

Feeling his body start to shake and break out in a cold sweat, he sat back on the seat and covered his face with his hands. He took several deep breaths, trying to force his heart to stop racing and his stomach not to rebel.

"Nick, Honey, what is it? Are you all right?" Jillian asked him anxiously.

"No, I'm not," he whispered. "Please, I can't deal with all of them like this. Please, just make them go away. Please."

He was aware that the vehicle had stopped moving and he heard his father turn the key in the ignition, switching it off.

"Stay here with him. I'll take care of this," Bill said to his wife.

As Bill stepped out of the SUV, a tall, slender woman with long, dark hair stepped forward to kiss his cheek.

"Welcome back, Daddy," she said. "Where's Nicky? He is with you, isn't he? We're all anxious to see him."

"Julia, what have you done?" Bill said, in a tired voice. "I told you not to make a big fuss."

"Well, I just thought it would be nice to make Nicky feel welcome, especially after everything he's been through."

"It's too much, Julia. You're overwhelming him. He's not ready to deal with all of this. Now, take everyone to the back porch."

"Well, don't we get to see Nick first?"

"Julia, take everyone to the back porch!" Bill said, in the voice that all of the Stokes children were familiar with and obeyed without question. "When Nick is ready, he will come to them."

"Yes, Daddy," the woman said meekly.

With the front yard emptied, a much calmer Nick climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the house. His mother walked nervously beside him. Inside they found more luggage piled in a corner of the foyer. Apparently at least some of his siblings were also planning on staying at the ranch.

Seeing this as well, Jillian said, "Why don't you go and lie down in our room, Dear. We'll figure out where everyone is sleeping later."

Nick nodded and headed toward the west end of the sprawling, one-storey house, where all the bedrooms were located. The master bedroom was the last one of the long hallway. Entering it, He deposited his bag on the floor and promptly flopped down on his parents' immaculately made bed. Nick felt a flash of guilt for messing up the careful handiwork of Madra, his parent's housekeeper, but she's was gone for the night, so she would never know.

He hadn't planned to fall asleep again, but apparently there was still more of the sedative in his system than he had thought. The next thing he knew it was almost 9:00. He awoke to the sound of muffled voices in the house. At first he was disoriented and slightly frightened. He lived alone and was not accustomed to waking to the sound of other voices. Remembering his surroundings, he relaxed again and allowed the voices to lull him back in time.

As the youngest of the seven Stokes children, Nick had always been the first one sent to bed and he had always resented it. He had always felt like he was missing out on something. What, he had no idea, but he always thought that his family waited for him to be sent to bed before they did anything fun. Never mind that his sister Allison, the next youngest, had to go to bed very shortly after him. He still felt left out.

Lying on his parents' bed now, listening the voices and laughter of his siblings, some of whom he hadn't seen in a few years, he was beginning to feel that way again. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his face. His head felt clear now, the drug apparently having finally worn off. He went to the room's private bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Feeling somewhat human again, he headed out to face his family.

Coming to the end of the hallway, he found most of the family gathered in the living room, on the other side of the foyer. He stood for a moment, just watching them, not quite ready to interact just yet. As he stood there, he was struck by just how much he missed his family. He had been living on his own for so long in Vegas that he had almost forgotten what it was like to be a part of such a large, bustling family unit. His parents had been nagging at him for years to move back to Texas, maybe...

Alerted by some movement he'd made or perhaps catching his scent, Aggie, who had been sprawled out on the living room floor, abruptly sat up and turned to face him. Climbing to her feet, she ran to greet him. Smiling, Nick knelt down to receive the dog's enthusiastic welcome. He laughed as her entire body gyrated with the vigorousness of her tail-wagging.

Looking up, Nick saw a few of his siblings drifting closer to offer their greetings as well. Their parents must have warned them not to overdue it, as the general demeanor of things was much more subdued than it had been earlier in the evening. The children were no where to be seen at the moment, for which Nick was grateful. He was definitely not feeling up to giving any piggy-back rides, which was the demand he was generally greeted with by his nieces and nephews.

As he stood, Julia stepped forward to give him a firm hug. "I'm so sorry about earlier," she said. "I didn't think it through very well. I just wanted you to know that we all missed you and we're so glad that you're okay."

"It's okay, Jules, I know."

Julia was the eldest of the Stokes brood and she had always acted a bit like a mother hen to her younger siblings, particularly the youngest. In fact, Nick wasn't sure if Julia would ever fully accept that he was an adult, carried a gun as part of his job, and was fully capable of taking care of himself... well, could sort of take care of himself...

Jim Brass stopped in the doorway of Grissom's office. He had been about to knock, but seeing that the scientist was fully engrossed in whatever was on his laptop screen, the detective decided to simply let himself in. Curious as to what was holding the investigator so enthralled, Brass walked around the desk to look over the other man's shoulder.

"Hmmm, the Texas State Commission on Judicial Review," he read from the top of the screen. "You wouldn't be looking for dirt on Judge Stokes, now would you, Gil?" he asked in a teasing tone.

The investigator glared up at him for a moment. "No, I was just looking for some background information, so I could get a better idea of what kind of man he is... I don't know what I'm looking for," he admitted with a sigh. "But this website isn't telling me anything. It tells more about the commission itself than it does their actual findings."

Moving to take a seat in a chair across the desk from Gil, Brass made himself comfortable. "You know, it's funny that you did that," he said conversationally. "I just happened to speak with an old buddy of mine earlier. He's on the force in Fort Worth. According to him, Judge Stokes has quite the reputation for being 'fair but very tough'... It kind of makes you wonder what he'd be like as a daddy. Somehow, I get the feeling he didn't cut his kids any more slack than he did the criminals."

"No wonder Nick was always to eager to prove himself and so desperate for approval," Gil said softly.

"Correction: he was desperate for your approval... Hmm, 'fair, but very tough'... Gee, that doesn't sound like anyone we know, does it?" Brass asked dryly, looking pointedly at Grissom.

The investigator dropped his gaze uncomfortably, remembering a conversation he had had with Nick a few years earlier after Gil had told Nick that he wasn't ready to work a D.B. case alone. Gil still remembered Nick's words to him:

"You know why I took this job, honestly? I wanted to pack heat, walk under the yellow tape, be The Man. But mostly, because I want you to think I'm a good CSI."

To which Gil had responded, "And that's why I have to hold you back... Anybody who's great at anything, Nick, does it for their own approval, not someone else's."

Thinking back now, Grissom realized just how arrogant that statement had been. It had been spoken in the true style of a man who had no extended family or measuring stick to live up to. Gil Grissom was a man apart, very much alone in the world, so of course, he needed no one else's approval. And, in theory, his statement was truth, but even he was well aware that theory and practice were two very different things. And trying to hold Nick to an unrealistic ideal was unfair.

It was common knowledge around the lab that Warrick was Gil's favorite. Hell, he had never denied it. He had tremendous respect for the fact that Warrick had managed to overcome his difficult circumstances to become who he was today. Warrick was African-American, came from a single-parent home, his mother died when he was still young, and he was subsequently raised by his grandmother. And while they had not exactly lived in poverty, money had been tight.

Nick, on the other hand, was an attractive, white male, from a family of privilege. Grissom had simply made the logical assumption that Nick's life had been easier, that everything had been handed to him. It was partly why Grissom was always going out of his way to challenge Nick. He suspected that the young man hadn't been challenged enough in his life. Had that been a fair assumption? Had it even been fair of Gil to make comparisons between Warrick and Nick? They were two completely different men.

While Nick's childhood would most certainly have been more financial secure than Warrick's, did that necessarily make it any easier? After all, Warrick had been an only child, raised by a doting grandmother. Provided that he stayed off of drugs and out of trouble, and so long as she felt he was satisfied with his job, any career path he had chosen would have made Celia Brown happy. But for Nick Stokes, son of a state Supreme Court justice and a prominent defense attorney, the youngest of seven over-achieving children, the expectation levels were considerably raised.

Perhaps I should have stopped to consider Nick's circumstances more closely. Perhaps I was unfairly hard on him at times, Gil thought. He liked to consider himself a fair and impartial man, a man who let actions and evidence speak for themselves. But perhaps he had more prejudices than he realized.

It seemed strange for Nick to be sleeping in his old bedroom. It had long ago been converted into a sort of library by his parents. Several bookshelves now lined the walls and contained their extensive collection of law books. Usually when he stayed with his parents, he slept in the guest room, which had once been one of the girls' rooms, but it was currently occupied by his sister Julia and her husband Brett, who had driven in from Shreveport, Louisiana, where Brett served in the state Senate. The fourth bedroom of the house was occupied by Julia and Brett's two children, 3-year-old Hannah and 7-year-old Brendan. The rest of the out-of-town siblings had dispersed to either hotels or the homes of those still living close by.

Nick was not sleeping in his old twin bed, that had been given away years ago. The library had a fold-out couch. He didn't mind giving up the guest room to his sister and her husband, but he hadn't slept in this room for many years and it felt ...odd. The couch was located in almost the exact location that his old bed had and as he rolled onto his side, facing the door to the room, long buried memories began to drift to the surface...

He had been nine years old. There was a big formal dinner being held in his father's honor. He was being given an award for all the work he had done for the District Attorney's office. The entire family was supposed to attend, but Nick hadn't been feeling well all day...

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the hard wood floor. He was supposed to be getting dressed in the little, miniature tuxedo his mother had rented for him, but he just couldn't seem to summon the energy. His head felt heavy and yet, strangely fuzzy at the same time, and all really wanted to do was lay down. His brother Chris, who was home from college, was already dressed. Nick was alone in the room.

He looked up at the soft knock on the door and saw his mother step into the room. "Oh, Nicky, you're not even dressed yet! Honey, we're already running late," she admonished him.

"I'm sorry... I don't feel well."

Sitting down beside him, she ran a hand over his forehead and cheeks. "Uh-oh, you're warm. Stay here, I'll get the thermometer."

As Jillian was about to leave the room, Bill entered it, saying, "Honey, can you do something with this tie? I can't get it to work... Why is Nicky not dressed?"

"I think he's running a fever. Stay here with him while I get the thermometer. I'll deal with your tie in a minute."

As she disappeared from the room, Bill turned to his son, shaking his head and saying, "Oh, Poncho..."

"Oh, Cisco..." the boy said weakly, automatically giving the prescribed response. The nicknames were a reference to the boy's favorite television show, "The Cisco Kid", an old black and white western from the fifties. The title character was a Lone Ranger-type of figure with a goofy, not particularly bright, sidekick named Poncho. The show was conveniently set in Texas.

Jillian returned a few minutes later with the thermometer, which she slipped under Nick's tongue. While they waited for the mercury to do its thing, she tied her husband's bow-tie for him. Reading the thermometer a few minutes later, she declared, "102. He's not going to dinner. He's staying in bed."

"Well, what are we going to about a sitter?" Bill asked.

"Dear, it's 7:30. We need to be leaving shortly. We're not going to find a sitter this late. I'll just have to stay home with him."

"But, Honey, I really wanted you to be at the dinner with me..."

Nick felt his heart sink. He was ruining his father's big night.

"Well, I wanted to be there too, but I don't see what else we can do. I'm not leaving a 9-year-old with a fever home alone."

"Well, what about Madra?"

"Bill, she's a housekeeper. Her duties do not include taking care of sick children. Besides, she's gone home for the night and I am not calling her back. That would be taking unfair advantage of her."

Just then Julia came breezing into the room, in a flounce of lavender taffeta. "Mom, do these earrings go with this dress?" she asked. "Why isn't Nick dressed? Don't we need to leave soon?"

"He's running a fever. He's not going. I'm going to stay home with him," Jillian said.

"What? You can't stay home! How is that going to look? Daddy's getting this award and you're not even around to see it... Look, I'll stay home with Nicky." Her tone made it very clear that this was last thing she really wanted to do. All five of his sisters had been talking about nothing but his dinner for weeks.

Nick pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms around them, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe if he could just disappear, no one else's plans would have to be ruined because of him.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Julia said abruptly. "What about that woman from church?"

"What woman?" Jillian asked.

"She's a new member, graying dark hair, forty-ish maybe... Don't you remember? She came up to us after the service and was gushing about how well-behaved Nicky was and what a beautiful child he was... Didn't she offer her services as a babysitter any time you needed one?"

"Oh, yes, that's right, I remember now. Oh, but Honey, we don't even know the woman and I don't want to impose on anyone this late."

"Oh, come on, she can't be too bad. She's a member of our church, right? It couldn't hurt to ask."

"I don't know... I don't even know her phone number... I'm not even sure I remember her name."

"I do. It's Mrs. Planchette and I'll bet her phone number's in the new church directory. I'll go look." With these words, the girl turned on her heel and left the room.

Jillian sighed and turned to her husband, who gave her a non-committal shrug. She turned to Nick. "Nicky, Honey, do you mind having Mrs. Planchette babysit?"

"No, I don't mind. She's seemed nice," the boy said quickly. Of course, at this point, he would have agreed to have Dracula himself as a babysitter, if it meant that he wouldn't have to be the reason everyone's evening was ruined.

"Well, okay," Jillian said hesitantly. "I'll go see if we can find her phone number. Bill, why don't you help Nick get into his pajamas."

By the time Jillian returned, Nick was in his favorite, blue plaid pajamas and was tucked up in bed. "Well, she said that she would be happy to babysit for Nick and she'll be here in about 20 minutes," his mother reported.

Addressing her husband, she said, "Why don't you go make sure the rest of the kids are ready to go, so that we can leave as soon as she gets here."

After he had left, she sat down on the edge of the bed to double check that her husband had tucked their son in properly. There was an art to tucking in a child that most men simply could not grasp.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked, as she smoothed out the wrinkles in the sheet across his chest.

"Yeah, I think I'll just sleep."

"That's a good idea. Do you want me to make you something to eat before we leave?"

"Not hungry," he said sleepily.

"Okay, I'll come and say good night before we leave."

He nodded, but was already half asleep. Twenty minutes later, when she came to kiss his forehead and whisper good night to him, he only barely registered that fact. He was awakened some time later by the sensation of cool air on his body. Groggily, he reached for the covers, but couldn't feel them.

Opening his eyes, he found Mrs. Planchette kneeling beside the bed, pushing the blanket down toward his ankles. Nick was confused, but too tired to bother questioning this action. He supposed she had a reason for doing it. Closing his eyes again, he was about to drift back to sleep, when he felt a tug at his waist.

Opening his eyes again, he saw the woman untying the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. Once again he was confused, but said nothing. But when he felt her slide her hand under the cloth of his waistband, he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath. Quickly he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the scene out of his mind. Maybe if he couldn't see it, it couldn't happen... but it did.

His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was going to burst right through his chest, but still he didn't move. He lay, rigid and silent, eyes still tightly closed, praying that maybe if he pretended to be asleep, she would go away... but she didn't...

Eventually when she finally did leave the room, he lay on his side, staring at the door, trying desperately to will his mother to come home. His eyes were burning and his body was screaming for sleep, but he remained stubbornly awake, staring at the door.

After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a car pull up the long driveway. He heard the front door open and his mother's voice speaking to Mrs. Planchette.

"Oh, Mrs. Stokes, you're back early. I didn't expect you for another hour, at least."

"Yes, I left immediately after Bill's speech. We drove two cars, so they'll be a little cramped on the way home. But with Nick not feeling well, I just couldn't stay away. Is he sleeping?"

"Yes and he's been no trouble at all, a perfect angel, in fact. If you ever need me to babysit again, you just let me know."

No! Keep that woman away from me! Nick wanted to scream, but he didn't. He just lay there, still staring at the door.

There was more muffled conversation that he couldn't make out then he heard the front door open and close again. A few minutes later, he heard another car driving away from the house. Something deep inside him, that he hadn't even been aware he was tensing, finally relaxed. She was gone. She wouldn't come back. She wouldn't touch him again.

He heard his mother's footsteps in the hall and saw the door finally open. Seeing that he was awake, she came in and sat on the edge of the bed. He sat up and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh, goodness," Jillian gasped. "Where did that come from? What's wrong?" Running a hand over his forehead, she said, "I think you're warmer. Your fever must be going up."

Nick wasn't really paying attention to her words. He was listening to the voice at the back of his head that was screaming, tell her! Tell her what happened! She's a lawyer, she'll fix it! But then another voice piped up, saying, yes, she's a lawyer, she'll make you talk about it, probably in a courtroom full of people and a judge. Do you want all of them to know what happened, too?

"Nicky, Honey, what's wrong?"

Looking up at her, he opened his mouth to tell her, but before he could, he vomited onto the floor beside the bed. His mother quickly stepped away from the bed.

"Oh," she said gingerly, "sorry, I asked... Okay, why don't you go and brush your teeth and I'll clean this up."

Nick never did tell either of his parents. His fever spiked up quite high after that and he spent several days lost in fever-dreams. When the fever finally broke and he was able to look back on that night with a clear head, he managed to convince himself that it had just been another fever-dream, nothing worth worrying his parents about.

He had almost managed to completely bury those memories, until many years later, he and Catherine had dealt with a case involving a dead 14-year-old boy in his psychiatrist's home. When Nick had learned that Dr. Sapien had a history of sleeping with her underage patients, the memories had resurfaced and he became determined to make the psychiatrist pay for her indiscretions. Seeing that his objectivity was rapidly becoming suspect, Catherine had confronted him, threatening to take him off the case. Needing to offer some justification for his reactions, he had told her about that night. It was the first time he had ever spoken about it.

Confiding in Catherine had helped him to some extent and Nick hadn't really thought about those memories in a long time. Why were they now suddenly coming back to haunt him? Because he was once again sleeping in this room? He'd slept in this room for years after the incident and it hadn't bothered him like it was now.

He was once again experiencing the feelings he had that night, the humiliation, the violation, and the feeling of being unclean. It was ironic; he had always worked so hard to keep his body in top physical condition, theorizing that if his body was strong, no one could ever victimize him again. And yet, Walter Gordon, a man probably some 20 years Nick's senior had easily physically subdued him and taken him hostage... so much for all those sit-ups.

Rolling over, he picked up his watch, which was lying on one of the arms of the couch. The watchface was luminous and read 3:40 AM. He knew he would never be able to fall asleep feeling the way he was. With a sigh, Nick got up and headed for the bathroom down the hall to take a long, hot shower.

To be continued...

Author's note: Background information on cannon characters came from the book "C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigation Companion" by Mike Flaherty.