7/29/05
GRAVE CONSEQUENCES
Chapter 8
"Let me get this straight, you want me to have myself committed?"
"No," Janine said, smiling, "it's not a mental institution, it's a crisis center. You would be voluntarily checking yourself in and you can leave any time. It's more like rehab center than a mental institute."
"A rehab center?" Nick asked, skeptically.
"There's no medication, unless absolutely necessary, no restraints, no isolation. You would not be treated like a mental patient. They use one on one counseling and group therapy."
"Oh great, group therapy. What is this Victim's Anonymous? What do I have to do stand up in front of everyone... 'Hi, I'm Nick Stokes and I'm a vic-tim." He stumbled over this last word as if it had stuck in his throat. It was a testament to how uncomfortable he was with the word that he had trouble using it even in sarcasm.
"No, Nick, it's not like that. It's not all that different from what you and I are doing now, just in a more enclosed setting. And sometimes there would be other people present. But they would all be people who have been through similar experiences. You wouldn't be the center of attention and it would be a neutral environment."
"What do you mean by a 'neutral' environment?"
"Well, you've never been there before, no one knows you. When you meet with me, you come here to the police station, your place of employment. Everyone knows you here and what you went through. I know that's got to be uncomfortable for you. Desert Haven is outside city limits. It's highly unlikely that you would see anyone you know."
He nodded thoughtfully. He had to admit the idea had some appeal. He did like the idea of getting out from under the well-meaning, but intrusively concerned gazes of his fellow CSIs. And it would be nice to not be the sole focus of everyone's anxiety. But this whole group therapy thing... he wasn't so sure about that. He had enough trouble just talking about his experience to Janine, how was he supposed to talk to a whole group of people?
"How long do I have to be there, a couple of days?"
"The standard course of therapy is two weeks, possibly longer, if necessary."
"Two weeks! Oh, no way, I'm not staying at this place for two weeks."
"Well, think of it this way, you wouldn't have to deal with your friends camping out in your living room any more. They would be free to get back to their own lives."
Nick sighed and nodded. "But the lab would be short-handed for two weeks. I can't do that to them."
"The lab is short-handed now and they're surviving. And you have not made anywhere near enough progress for me to clear you for duty, so whether you're here or there, the lab is still short-handed. If I talk to Ecklie, there shouldn't be any problems with getting your medical leave extended. And if you're going there under my referral, your insurance will pay for it."
"Oh, great," Nick said unenthusiastically.
"I really do think this is the best option for you."
"I don't know, Janine..."
Gil walked through the labyrinth of glass-walled offices and labs, munching on an apple and reading through the test results on his latest case. As he approached his own office, he became aware of the sound of voices coming from within. He stopped in the doorway and found Greg Sanders and David Hodges kneeling on the floor of his office amid scattered glass fragments and dirt. Both men were scrabbling about on the floor as though searching for something. They were arguing as they looked around.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" Gil asked.
As both men looked up guiltily, Hodges said quickly, "Oh, hey Boss, this wasn't my fault."
"Well, it wasn't my fault either!" Greg denied hotly.
"Hey, you were the one waving the lab results around like a signal flag!"
"I was just trying to keep you from taking them and trying to pass them off as yours."
"I would nev-!"
"Children, enough!" Grissom interrupted. "I don't care who did what. I just want to know what happened. What broke?"
"Um, your ant colony," Greg answered.
"My black Argentineans?"
"Yeah, I think we managed to corral most of them, but there's still a few that are MIA." He held up a glass jar with several tiny, black ants crawling around inside. Hodges held up another jar, with a similar amount of insects.
Looking at the two jars, Grissom said, "I'd say there's more than a few still missing."
"Oh," Greg said softly, glancing around him. "Sorry."
The entomologist sighed and said, "Hodges, clean up the mess. Greg, go in the break room and see if there's any flat soda in the fridge, preferably not diet. We'll set it out and see if we can lure them back into my office. I'll try and convince the building manager not to set out any poison traps."
The younger man nodded and left the office, headed for the break room. He hadn't gotten far before he encountered Nick and Sara walking towards him.
"Hey, Nick, what're you doing here?" Greg asked.
"Oh, I just got done with my second session with Janine. And seeing that it's almost 5:00, I thought I'd stop in and see if anyone was around. And look, everyone's here."
"Well, Catherine and Warrick aren't in yet. They're working the late shift tonight."
"Yeah, Warrick babysat me last night. I finally convinced him to go home and get some sleep early this afternoon."
"Well, you get me tonight," Sara said with a smug smile, placing a hand on Nick's shoulder.
"Oh, joy," the Texan man said dryly.
"Hey, a little more enthusiasm, please. I mean, you could give a girl a complex that way."
Turning his attention away from Sara back to Greg, Nick noticed that the younger man was staring at him apprehensively. It was almost as if he was afraid that the other man might freak out at any moment. Nick gave an inward sigh. Did Greg really think that his mental state was so fragile that he couldn't handle a little bantering with Sara?
"Greg, what's wrong? Why are you staring at me, man?"
"Uh, just hold still for a second." Reaching out, Greg carefully plucked something from the sleeve of Nick's long-sleeved t-shirt. He quickly dropped it on the floor and stepped on it.
"What was that?" Nick asked.
"Nothing."
Frowning at the younger man's strange actions, but accustomed to Greg's personality quirks, Nick turned back to Sara, who seemed equally mystified. Feeling something tickling him, Nick reached up and ran a hand across the back of his neck, expecting that a shed hair had lodged itself in his collar and was brushing against his neck. Glancing down, he saw a small, black ant scurry across the back of his hand.
With a slight, involuntary gasp, he gave his hand a convulsive shake, trying to dislodge the tiny invader, but as ants so often do, it clung tenaciously. In its instinctive bid for self-preservation, the insect headed for the nearest shelter, the sleeve of Nick's shirt. As it disappeared from his sight, under the cloth, Nick's panic immediately flared. Still feeling the tiny little legs on his skin, he was suddenly transported back to the Plexiglass coffin. In his mind he was once again covered with biting, stinging ants, slowly devouring him alive.
"Get them off me!" he cried out, frantically clawing at the sleeve of his shirt.
Seeing the rapidly growing hysteria in the man's eyes, Sara thought only to calm him. Grabbing onto his flailing arms, she said, "Nick, it's all right! There's only one ant and it's harmless. We'll get it in a second, just calm down."
But in that moment, Nick was not prepared to tolerate any attempt to restrain him in any way. He jerked one arm away from Sara and, in his panic he did so with entirely more force than was required to break her grip. His momentum carried him back against the glass wall of the nearest lab, his elbow shattering the glass with the force of his impact.
The sound of the glass shattering was like a switch being thrown in Greg's mind. Everything around him suddenly became muffled, as though his head was filled with cotton. It was just like the day the DNA lab had blown up, with him inside it, although his memories of that event were fragmentary and fuzzy. Looking down, he saw Nick now sitting on the floor surrounded by broken glass and blood... so much blood. There was a long, deep gash running up the back of Nick's right arm. Sara was kneeling in front of him, trying to hold the wound. She was looking up at Greg, her lips moving. She was speaking to him, but it took a minute for the words to register in his sluggish brain.
"Greg, get to the morgue! Get Doc Robbins! Greg, go!"
Her words snapped him back to reality, back to the present, and he pushed past the people who were beginning to gather in the hallway, drawn by the sound of the breaking glass. Once past the crowd, he broke into a run, headed for the county morgue in the next attached building of the complex.
Bursting into the autopsy room several minutes later, he found both Robbins and David Phillips about to begin their work on a male corpse. Gulping down a few breaths and trying to slow his racing heart rate, the young CSI quickly explained the situation to the two pathologists.
"David, you go. I'll catch up with you two," Robbins said decisively.
"Yes sir." the younger doctor responded, removing his surgical gown and latex gloves.
Arriving back at the lab, they found the crowd in the hallway had grown much larger and included both Grissom and Ecklie. The Assistant Director appeared quite agitated and was asking questions which everyone was apparently ignoring. Gil was kneeling beside Nick, looking calm and in-control as always, holding a blood-soaked towel over the younger man's arm. Nick appeared to be in shock and was sitting completely passive, staring into space. Sara stood nearby, not looking much better. All of her previous decisiveness seemed to have evaporated now that someone else had taken charge. She was pale and stood awkwardly staring at her bloody hands as if she'd never seen them before.
"Let me take a look," David said, as he knelt beside Grissom.
Gil peeled the towel away, allowing the young medical examiner to look at the wound. "Oh, this looks bad," David said softly.
"There's an ambulance on the way."
"Good. Let's get some more clean towels on this. Continue to keep pressure on it."
Someone produced more clean towels from one of the labs and passed them down to Gil. Taking one of the towels, David expertly wrapped it around Nick's arm and pulled it tight. He glanced up as Dr. Robbins elbowed his way through the crowd to join them.
"Apparently there is an ambulance coming," David informed his boss.
"Cancel the ambulance, we'll put him in my vehicle and I'll take him myself," the coroner announced. He looked over at Greg and Sara. "You two, help me get him out to the parking lot. You can come with me."
Both investigators turned to Grissom for approval. "Do as the man says," Gil said quickly.
After getting the injured man back on his feet, Greg slipped a shoulder under Nick's good arm and began leading him out toward the parking lot. Sara walked along on Nick's other side, maintaining the pressure on his arm. They followed Doc Robbins out to his SUV.
After meeting with Ecklie and filling out an accident report, Grissom met with Catherine and Warrick to get them updated on recent events. As he was heading out to his car, Gil promised to call them as soon as he found out about Nick's condition.
Arriving at the ER waiting room at Desert Palm, Gil had an unsettling feeling of deja vu. Didn't we just do this? he asked himself. Walking over to where his two CSIs were seated with the coroner, he asked, "Any news?"
"The doctor said the wound isn't as deep as it had appeared to be, thank goodness," Robbins spoke up. "But it is still pretty bad. They're stitching him right now. There will probably be internal stitches as well as external, so it could be a while yet. He also lost a fair amount of blood, so they'll probably top him off as well."
Grissom couldn't help but smile at the visual analogy, picturing in his mind Nick hooked up to a 'gas' pump, dispensing blood into his arm. Suddenly completely exhausted, Gil sank down on the nearest chair, across from Sara and said, "Exactly what the hell happened?"
Greg and Sara glanced at each other before the younger man answered, "It was the ants, the ones that Hodges and I accidentally liberated. There was one crawling on Nick's arm and he freaked."
"He said, 'Get them off me,'" Sara said softly. "It was like he thought he was covered with them again. He panicked. I thought he was handling things pretty well, but he's not, is he?"
"Apparently not. Who's supposed to stay with him tonight?"
"I am," Sara answered. "But Grissom, I don't think I can handle this right now, not after this. This whole thing has brought up a lot of... stuff. I'm sorry, but I just don't think I'd be of much use to Nick right now."
"I understand, Sara, it's all right," Gil assured her. "I'll stay with Nick tonight."
"Thanks, Gris... God, I'm sorry, guys, I feel so useless."
"It's okay," Greg said, reaching over to take her nearest hand in his. "Don't feel guilty just because you understand your limits. You can't save a drowning person if you can't swim yourself. This whole thing has been pretty rough on all of us. There's nothing wrong with knowing when to step back."
"Greg's right," Gil said. "Nick's not going to thank you for making yourself a basket case on his behalf. Besides, we need someone to hold down the fort at the lab."
"That I can handle," Sara said with a smile. "Thanks, guys."
The four sat for nearly an hour, discussing their latest cases, when they were interrupted by a tall, African-American woman in pink scrubs and a white lab coat. She glanced around for a moment then asked, "Where's Mr. Stokes?"
"Well, he was with you..." Robbins said.
"We released him about 15 minutes ago. I just forgot to give him this prescription for pain killers. I was hoping I could catch him. Did he leave already?"
"He never came in here," Grissom said, frowning.
As the group was exchanging confused glances, a petite Hispanic woman in her late fifties who had been sitting near them, abruptly spoke up, "Are you looking for the skinny-ass honey with the short, dark hair and the tight, blue t-shirt?"
"Yeah, that's Nick!" Sara said, standing and moving closer to the woman.
"Oh, he left ten minutes ago."
"What?" Gil demanded, moving to stand beside Sara.
"Yeah, he walked in, took one look at y'all sitting there talking, turned around and walked back out."
Gil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night. To the woman who had provided the information, he said, "Thank you, very much." Turning back to the others, he said, "Let's go find him."
"Well, he can't have gotten too far, he's on foot," Robbins commented as they were leaving the hospital.
"Don't be too sure of that," Gil said ominously.
Out in the hospital's parking lot, they saw no sign of the Texan and no indication as to which direction he might have gone. "Well, you three may as well go back to the lab. Maybe that's where he headed. That's where his car it, after all," Gil said. "I'm going to drive out to his house. Hopefully, I'll see him along the way. If he's not there, I'll call Brass and see if he can put out a BOLO for Nick. If you learn anything, call me. If I learn anything, I'll call you... Oh, and Sara? Let Catherine and Warrick know what's going on."
"Right."
Grissom saw no sign of Nick as he drove to the other man's house either, nor was he at the house when the entomologist arrived and knocked on the door. Gil drove around the vicinity of the hospital, but did not find the younger man. After an hour of this fruitless search he went home, hoping to find a message on his answering machine.
As he approached his front door, after parking his vehicle, he found something even better than a message. Nick was sitting on his front steps, staring down at his lap. His right arm was in a sling, to lend support to the damaged tricep muscles and to keep the arm immobilized so the wound could heal. Relief flooded Gil's mind at seeing the other man safe, but that relief was short-lived. As he moved closer, he saw what was holding Nick's attention. Grasped awkwardly in his left hand and cradled in his lap, he held a 9mm pistol. Gil felt his heart skip a beat and he slowed his steps.
"Nick?" he called out softly, not wishing to startle the other man.
The dark head lifted and narrow, dark eyes slowly focused on the man before him. "Grissom..."
"Nick, what are you doing here? Why did you leave the hospital?"
"I don't know. I wanted to be alone for a while, to think... I thought I could handle it by myself. I always have before. You know, when I was a kid, after Nigel Crane... but it's not working this time. I can't make it stop. I can't bury it this time..."
The Texan was speaking softly, his accent suddenly heavier than usual, and he didn't seem to be talking to Gil, but more to himself. "I'm so tired. I just want to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that damn box. I just want it to stop. I just want to sleep..." As he spoke, he made a slight, unconscious gesture with the gun.
"I understand, Nick," Gil said, speaking softly, in that gentle tone one uses to try and calm frightened children or to coax wild animals. "I understand completely. Why don't you give me the gun and we can talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm messing up everybody's lives, my family's, yours, everyone at work... I have to stop it."
Gil began slowly inching closer, a little bit at a time, doing his best not to seem threatening in any way. "We will stop it, I promise. We will, but you have to give me the gun, please, Nick."
With a confused expression, the younger man looked down at his lap. He seemed to be seeing the gun for the first time. Looking back up at his former boss, he whispered, "Okay." He handed the weapon over to the older man.
Taking the gun and checking that the safety was on, which it was, Grissom released a long sigh of relief. Suddenly feeling very old, he slowly moved to sit heavily on the step beside the other man.
"Gris, I wasn't gonna, you know..." Nick's voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely to the gun.
"No, of course not, I just didn't want you to have an accident," Grissom said, not entirely sure if he believed what either of them was saying.
"I'm sorry, Gris. I messed up again, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't mess up. We just need to find you someone who can help you, someone who can help you make it stop. Why won't you talk to Janine?"
"I don't know. It's hard. I don't like talking about it. It makes me remember and I don't want to remember. I want to forget!"
"But you need to remember it, so that you can get rid of it, purge it out of your system once and for all. Those memories are like a poison inside of you. And you know how poisons have to be treated. They have to be flushed out of the body."
"Yeah, but what happens after the poison is gone? What if there's nothing left?"
"Nothing left? Nick, there's more to you than just your experiences."
"I'm not so sure about that anymore. Lately I feel like my entire life has been nothing but a series of unhappy events. I know there've been some happy ones too, but right now, they seem rather weak in comparison."
"Yes, you have had more than your share of trauma, haven't you?" Grissom said, with a sad smile. "But it brings to my mind the words of Frederick Nietzsche, the German philosopher. 'That, which does not kill us, only makes us stronger.'"
"Oh, well, I must be pretty damn strong then," Nick said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
"Yes, you are."
The younger man turned to look at his boss, not sure if he had heard him correctly. Seeing Grissom's serious expression, Nick asked, "How can you say that? You've seen me reduced to tears because some woman pulled a gun on me."
"Yes, a desperate and mentally unstable woman, who had already killed once, and who was about to pull the trigger... I have seen many investigators pack it in and quit after experiencing much less. But you came through it all right, you always do. After everything you've been through, you always got yourself through it and you never lost your smile or your compassion. You are strong, Nick, probably one of the strongest people I know."
"But I don't think I can do it this time."
"And that's okay. It doesn't make you weak. I know I haven't exactly been the best example for this, but it's okay to ask for help. No one will think any less of you for it. We all know how strong you are. You don't need to prove it to any of us."
The other man was silent for a long time, simply staring down at his lap. When he finally did speak, it was in a small, quiet voice, but Grissom heard the three words loud and clear. "I need help."
The older man released the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. "Let's go call Janine."
It was after midnight when Grissom's black Tahoe pulled up in front of Desert Haven Trauma Center. The two men seated inside the vehicle could see into the well-lit, glass-enclosed lobby of the modern, brick building and saw Janine Geller already waiting. The psychologist had pulled a few strings to get Nick admitted to the center on such short notice and in the middle of the night, so neither man was going to begrudge her insistence on being present when Nick was admitted.
When the younger man made no move to exit the vehicle, Gil asked gently, "What is it?"
"Once I get in there and I'm all signed in, how do I know they're not just going to decide to keep me there indefinitely?"
Grissom smiled. "They won't, Nick. And if they do, just give me a call. I'll get the rest of the team and we'll come down and bust you out."
Nick chuckled at that bold statement. "Thanks... I'm scared," he whispered, deliberately looking out the car's window, away from the other man.
"I know. I'm scared for you... Do you want me to come in with you?"
"No," the Texan said self-consciously. "Janine's in there. I don't need too many people fussing over me... but thanks for the offer." He turned to face the entomologist. "Gris, I... thank you. I think you might have saved my life."
"No, Nick, you saved your own life. I... just gave you a ride."
"Well, thanks for the ride."
"Anytime. Call me when you're ready to come home."
"Okay."
Clearing his throat noisily and ducking his head, Nick fumbled with the door handle, trying to open it with his left hand. Finally getting it open, he climbed out of the vehicle and turned back to get his bag, which was tucked under the passenger seat. Giving the older man a nervous smile, he closed the door and headed toward the building.
Grissom watched the other man's retreating back all the way into the building. He watched as Janine approached the Texan. Even from a distance, Gil could see the look of consternation that crossed her face as she gestured to Nick's arm in its sling. Grissom continued to watch as a receptionist appeared with paperwork for Nick fill out. Janine assisted him with this, but the younger man still had to sign the papers painfully with his right hand. A short, stout woman with short, gray hair, wearing a white lab coat stepped forward. Janine apparently performed introductions and awkward handshakes were exchanged. And then Nick was led away by the unknown woman, disappearing from Gil's line of sight.
He continued to sit and watch as Janine left the building and walked toward his SUV. Recognizing the vehicle, she walked around to the driver's side, where he had already rolled down the window. She stepped up to him, a sort of smug smile playing about her lips.
"You did good, Gil, very well done."
"Thank you," he said, somewhat surprised to find that he was genuinely pleased by her praise.
"See? Give yourself half a chance and you do alright with people. Maybe you don't 'get' the general populace, but you do know your own people and that's a start. We'll work on the rest. Which reminds me, I'll see you tomorrow for our next session?"
"Yes, ma'am... Uh, Janine, may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you continuing to see Sara Sidle?"
The psychologist didn't answer for a moment. When she did, she said, "Well, I suppose, as her supervisor, it is your business... Yes, I am."
"Good," he said simply. "Good night, Janine."
"Good night, Gil."
Grissom heaved a sigh of relief. He found that he was truly looking forward to going to bed. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past few weeks, but perhaps tonight he would finally be able to get a good night's sleep, content in the knowledge that his CSI was safe and in capable hands.
To be continued...