Afterlife

By EB

©2004

Chapter Eight

This dream is different. He knows it's a dream, it must be a dream because Nick is alive, smiling at him from across this enormous room. That secretive smile, the one that says he has something he can't wait to share when they're alone. But they're alone here, there's no one else around, and why is he just standing there?

"Come on!" Gil shouts, perplexed. "Let's go!"

Nick smiles and waves, and Gil bellows his name, but the room is filling with mist and Nick is walking away. The vapor billows around Nick's legs, obscuring him, and Gil utters his name and follows, but the room is never-ending, so huge it can't possibly be real, and Nick is gone.

He sat up sharply, completely awake. He'd left the air going, and it was very cold, the sheet tangled around his feet and the blanket lying on the floor where he'd kicked it off at some point.

Shivering, Gil unwrapped his legs and climbed out of bed.

Early evening sun tinted the blinds orange while he lumbered into the kitchen to make coffee. He could feel the shreds of his dream clinging to him like spiderwebs, no clear images anymore, just a familiar, aching sense of loss. When would the dreaming stop? A year from now, ten? Never? He watched coffee drip into the pot and wondered if he could stand that.

He'd taken one cautious sip of coffee when the phone rang. A jolt of memory froze him briefly

it's the only warning you'll ever get

before he walked over to pick up the receiver.

"Gil? It's Jamie. Jamie Stokes."

His shoulders slumped with pure relief. "Hi, Jamie," he said breathlessly. "How are you?"

"I was calling to ask you that." Nick's sister uttered a rueful little laugh. "I'm all right. I was – thinking about you. You doing okay?"

Gil nudged a stool over with his foot and sat down at the breakfast bar. "I'm fine," he told her half-honestly. "Really."

"Really?"

He allowed a smile. "For the most part," he amended.

"I know what you mean," she said after a tiny pause. The laborious cheer in her voice had faded. "I -- I miss him. And it's crazy, because we lived a thousand miles apart the last few years. I barely ever saw him."

"Still."

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I wanted to tell you: I'm moving."

"Oh? Where to?"

"Back to Texas. I'll probably look for a place in Dallas somewhere." She sighed. "I can do my work anywhere, really. I mean, it just occurred to me the other day: Why am I staying in Chicago when I don't want to be here anymore? So I thought, you know. Maybe it's time to go home."

"Can I help? Do you need any –"

"No, no." Her laugh sounded glassy. "I guess I'm just feeling like – circling the wagons, something. I want to be closer to everyone. Family. I never knew I'd feel like this."

"It makes sense," he told her softly.

"Does it? I can't even tell."

"Have you told your parents?"

"Oh yeah. Mom flipped. In a good way, I mean. I think she's coming up next week to help me pack."

"That's good. You'll let me know if I can do anything for you, won't you?"

"You took the words out of my mouth again. Gil –"

He frowned at the receiver. "What?"

"You're part of the family, too, you know."

A sweet, aching knot had formed in his throat; he had to swallow before he could manage, "I appreciate that, Jamie."

"I thought I might come see you sometime. After the holidays, maybe. Is that okay?"

"Of course." He was vaguely startled at the wash of pure pleasant surprise he felt. "I'd love that."

"Okay." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Listen, I better go. I just wanted to touch base. You know. See how you were doing."

"I'm all right," he said gently. "One foot in front of the other."

"Yeah. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, Gil. Okay?"

"I promise. You do the same."

"Okay. Talk to you later."

"Bye," he murmured.

Jamie's call lingered with him as he drove to the lab that evening. Not sad, but bittersweet, hearing the reflection of his own grief in her Texas-tinged voice. He wasn't sure Nick would even have believed the repercussions of his own death, the changes still in motion as a result of that violent few seconds.

At a red light, Gil smiled a little to himself. Jamie, Nick had told him early one morning in an abashed voice, had really been his favorite of his five sisters. Not supposed to have favorites, but they'd been so close as kids, born only ten months apart, practically twins. It was Jamie who'd helped him with his things during his move to Las Vegas, and he'd done her the same service only a few months later, a longer move north to Chicago and the freedom she perceived there.

Now Jamie was going back to Texas. He understood the impulse, in a detached sort of way. The loss of her younger brother had left a hole in Jamie's life hardly smaller than the one in his own. Hardly surprising she wanted to surround herself with the remaining members of the family.

And who would he turn to, when the loneliness got too bad? What was his own fallback position?

He turned into the lab parking lot and fought down a wave of hot self-pity. He didn't have one, and that was a fact. He'd been mostly a loner before Nick's precipitous arrival in his life, and now that Nick was gone, he was alone again. Except pre-Nick, "alone" hadn't seemed to ever quite translate to "lonely." He'd been quite content, in retrospect.

Grimacing, he yanked the truck into an empty space and turned off the ignition. Gathering his briefcase and a jacket, he made his way into the lab.

Down the hallway, Catherine lifted her chin and waited for him to reach her. "Hope you got some good rest," she said by way of greeting. "Gonna be a long-ass night."

Gil nodded. "What have we got?"

True to Catherine's baleful words, the night was hectic, a rash of new cases on top of the current ones still being processed. It occurred to him, sometime after midnight, that they were overworked and understaffed since Nick's passing. No one had said anything to him, but it was courtesy; the fact was they needed to hire someone, at least one new investigator, before matters truly got out of hand.

He buried his nose in work to keep from thinking about it too much. That was a problem for tomorrow. Or the next day. Surely it could wait that long.

It was well into the next shift before he finally saved his working file and thought about going home. After all, he had matters of a more personal nature to attend to. The Paul Brooks question, for example. Had there been an audit, and if so, how had the man swung a surprise visit to one of the most venerable casinos in town? Sutter had a point: such things didn't happen, at least not normally.

He waited for the flare of hot interest, but all he felt at the moment was exhausted, and burned out. What was he doing, anyway? Looking for meaning where there most likely was none? Trying to make sense out of Nick's senseless death? He'd seen this sort of behavior in far more than one surviving family member, during cases he'd worked. Anything to keep from thinking about the fact that one day they would have to go forward without the person they couldn't imagine losing.

And what about the mysterious phone call a few days ago? Wasn't that proof that this time he was not playing the role of the grieving partner in denial, grasping at straws? There was something real here, wasn't there? Why else would someone threaten him?

It only succeeded in making him feel even more tired. I'm sorry, Nicky, he thought dully. I can't do any more right this moment. I'm so tired. You understand, don't you? Just give me a day or two and I'll be back on it. I will, I promise you. I swear.

Warrick and Sara stood in tense discussion near the fibers lab, both looking up at his approach. "Calling it a night?" Warrick asked.

Gil nodded. "You two should head out. Get some rest. We'll all need it, I think."

"Too true."

Sara had been watching him closely; now her eyes narrowed. "You okay?"

Gil met her gaze and then glanced away. "Fine. See you both tomorrow."

She drew a breath, but he brushed past her, fingers sweaty on the handle of his briefcase.

Thirty minutes after he got home, tired and thinking only of going to sleep, the doorbell rang. Biting off a curse, Gil put down the fork he'd been using to poke at a bland microwaved dinner, and went to answer it.

He wasn't expecting the face he saw.

"Cabe?"

"Surprise." Nick's brother grinned and shrugged, holding out his hand. His fingers were warm and dry against Gil's. "Sorry to just drop by like this."

Gil blinked. "No, it's all right. P -- Please, come in."

"Thanks."

Inside the house, Gil was suddenly acutely aware of the lapse in his own housekeeping duties. Picking up his briefcase from where it sat discarded on the couch, he said, "Have a seat. You want some coffee? A beer?"

Cabe settled uncomfortably on the couch, looking as if he'd rather be moving around. He nodded. "Beer'd be great."

Gil walked over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge, and picked up his own half-empty bottle on the way back. "So what brings you to Vegas?" he asked.

Cabe spun the top off his bottle of beer and took a fast sip. "Bar association convention." He gave a sheepish smile. "I don't usually go, too busy, but it was Vegas, and I thought, hell, I'll check with Gil while I'm there. See how he's doing."

Two Stokeses in twenty-four hours. Odd. Gil nodded. "Where are you staying? Do you want –"

"No, no, I'm at the hotel. Bellagio."

"Ah."

An awkward pause that Cabe covered by drinking more beer. Then he said, cautiously, "You okay? Doing all right?"

"You know, Jamie called yesterday afternoon to ask the same thing."

"Oh. She's moving back to Dallas. Did she tell you?"

"She did, yes."

Cabe gave a busy nod. "Too damn cold up there anyway. Be good to have her home again."

Gently, Gil asked, "Is there something on your mind, Cabe?"

"Me?"

"You seem anxious. Is everything all right?"

Cabe glanced down at his beer bottle. "Shows, doesn't it?" He blew a sigh. "Sorry."

"That's all right. Tell me?"

"Mom -- My mother wanted me to see if there were some of Nick's things I could bring back. Just a few things, you know. Old stuff."

Ah. "Of course," Gil told him, relieved. "Cabe, you don't have to feel awkward about that. Anything you want."

The expression of pure relief on Cabe's strong features made Gil feel tired again. "Thanks. I didn't know how you'd feel about it. You know, me messing around with N- Nick's stuff."

"I've sorted through quite a bit of it already." He held up a hand at Cabe's alarmed look. "I didn't throw any personal effects away. Just boxed things up. That's all."

"Cool. You mind if I?"

"Not at all. Let me show you."

He'd put Nick's boxes in the garage, carefully taped shut and awaiting just such a moment as the one now at hand. With a faint pang of remorse, Gil flipped on the overhead light and gestured at the neatly stacked boxes. "Everything's here. Well, mostly," he amended. "Some things I've kept. Photographs, mostly. But the rest is here."

"Good deal." Cabe barely glanced at him, walking over to touch the topmost right box. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not," Gil replied with more vigor than he felt. "I'll be happy to help if I can."

"That's all right. I got it."

Wanted privacy, then. Gil fought down another flicker of wrongness and nodded gamely. "I'll leave you to it, then."

After an hour or so Cabe re-emerged from the garage, burdened with a box filled with various items. Gil saw Nick's yearbooks neatly stacked inside, among other things. Cabe's face was flushed and sweaty. He set the box down with a sigh.

"Find everything?" Gil asked.

"Think so. She – Mom – she just wanted some of his old stuff. You know." He made a face. "I cleaned up in there when I was done. Most of it's still there, though."

Gil nodded. "Another beer? You look like you could use it."

"Got any iced tea, something?"

"I think so."

Cabe drank down two glasses before he finally grinned and shook his head. "Thirsty work."

"Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. I'll pick up something at the hotel." Cabe gazed at him, mouth closing.

"Yes?"

"I didn't see Nick's desk."

"Oh. Yes, I -- I'm afraid I gave that away." He fought a sinking feeling in his belly. "Warrick and I cleaned it out last month, and when he admired it, I said he could have it. I apologize, I didn't realize that –"

"No, it's okay." Cabe shook his head decisively. "If you cleaned it out then I guess I already saw what was in it, right?"

"I put it all in a box, yes." Minus a few papers, Gil thought with a pang, and almost said it. Some flicker of unease made him hold it back.

"Warrick? That someone you work with?"

"Right."

"Okay." Cabe drew a deep breath. A furrow had appeared between his straight brows, and his eyes were preoccupied. "Listen, thanks for letting me, you know, scrounge around. I know it probably wasn't much fun for you."

Understatement, but Gil shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I want to help out any way I can, Cabe, you know that."

"I appreciate it." Cabe's dark eyes – so like Nick's, so painfully like – met his own briefly. "I should head out," he added in a louder voice. "There's a panel I'm supposed to attend at three. Gil, it's been great to see you."

Gil shook Cabe's hand, nodding. "And you. I hope I'll see you again before you go back to Texas?"

Cabe shrugged. "I'll do my best, that I promise you."

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. Convention wraps up Sunday, but I gotta get back soon."

"I understand. If I don't see you again, please give my regards to your parents? And Jamie, when you see her?"

"Absolutely. Listen, you call us if you need anything, got it? Anything at all. You just name it."

Gil smiled. "I will."

His plans for a long afternoon of sleep completely shot, Gil lay down with a troubled sigh. He'd been absent too often lately; missing work tonight would create an unholy load for the remainder of the team. No, he'd have to grab a little sleep now and then make up for it with coffee. Tomorrow, he promised himself tiredly, he would leave as early as possible, and make it a point to catch up on missed sleep.

His alarm went off after a paltry three hours, and he was in the shower before he felt truly conscious of his surroundings. Christ, when had he gotten old like this? There had been a time, not so long ago, when he'd gotten by fine on less sleep than this. But right now he felt stuporous, his brain turned to solid rock. He yearned to go back to bed, sleep as long as his aching body needed. Eight hours, nine, twelve, didn't matter. As long as it took.

Instead he turned the water as cold as he could stand, and climbed out of the shower with his teeth chattering.

He made it to the lab only a few minutes late, and gave a harried nod to the few personnel he saw on his way to his office. There, he shed his jacket and briefcase with a relieved sigh and flopped down in his chair.

"Whoa," Catherine remarked a few minutes later, peeking in his door. "You're not sick again, are you?"

Gil produced a weary smile. "Didn't sleep much."

"Maybe you should –"

"I'm fine, Catherine. What's up?"

She leaned against the door jamb, arms akimbo. "The usual. Why didn't you sleep?"

"Nick's brother is in town. He wanted to pick up some of Nick's things."

"Oh." Her eyes crinkled sympathetically. "Cabe, right? The SEC one?"

"He's an attorney for the SEC, yes. Although I believe he has political aspirations."

She nodded. "He said something to me at the memorial about running for a House seat sometime."

"Something like that. I'm not entirely sure."

"Okay. Coffee's fresh. Better get it while it's still drinkable."

"Sounds like a great idea."

He got coffee in the break room, and passed the time of day with Sara and Greg, including a good-natured jab from Greg concerning the relative merit of institutional coffeemakers. "It does the trick, Greg," Gil told him with a sour smile. "At times, that's all I ask."

"Yeah, but."

"Yes, yes."

He was headed in the direction of ballistics when Warrick's unmistakable baritone called, "Grissom!"

Gil turned, barely managing not to slosh coffee over his hand. "Yes?"

Warrick's face was set in unhappy lines. "Got a minute?"

"Of course."

"In private."

Gil narrowed his eyes, and nodded. "Sure. My office?"

"That'll work."

He led the way, and watched while Warrick carefully shut the door behind them. "What's going on?" Gil gazed at him.

"You talk to Nick's brother?"

Gil blinked. "Cabe? Yes – yes, he came by this afternoon. How did you know he was here?"

"Because he came by my place, too. Tonight, right when I was getting ready to leave for work."

"Cabe?" Gil said doubtfully. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We don't, man," Warrick replied, shaking his head. "Least, not until now. And get this: All he wants is to have a look at that desk."

"What?"

"Nick's desk! He's all in my face about the damn desk." Warrick's features twisted with mixed anger and confusion. "Asks, have I emptied it out, did I keep anything I found. Told him it was all over at your place, you know? But he's still asking if he can have a look for himself."

Gil gave a tense nod. "Did you let him?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, couldn't think of a reason why not."

"And?"

Warrick sighed. "And nothing, man, he opened a few drawers and then said thanks and split. Now you tell ME what that was all about."

"I'm not sure yet." Gil shook his head when Warrick drew another agitated breath. "But I'll find out. He's staying at the Bellagio."

"You gonna talk to him? I mean, I understand the guy lost his brother, you know. I get it. But this was flat-out weird, Grissom. How the hell did he know where I lived? I'm unlisted, I got a PO box, it isn't like you can just look me up in the goddamn phone book."

"I'm not –"

"And that ain't really it, either," Warrick interrupted. "Why? What was in that desk he wanted?"

Gil kept on looking at him, and watched as memory dawned on Warrick's face. "Think this was about that key we found?"

"Maybe."

"Wait a second. If you didn't know about that key, how the hell did Nick's brother?"

Gil shook his head again. "I don't know that yet."

"I mean –"

"Warrick, I don't have any answers yet. But trust me, I'll get them. All right? Calm down. It's -- I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

Warrick's expression was eloquently dubious. "Yeah, well, let me know when you find out. Because that was pretty strange."

Gil met his gaze squarely. "Yes," he said softly. "It was."

He waited until Warrick had left before sitting at his desk and picking up the phone. Should have the Bellagio's phone number memorized by now, it was a common enough locale. He flipped through his ancient Rolodex until he came to the right card.

The operator sounded perishingly young. Gil swallowed and said, "Cabe Stokes's room, please."

"One moment, sir." She paused, and then said, "I'm sorry, sir, we don't have any guests by that name in the register."

A needle of ice shot up his spine; he sat up stiffly. "I'm sure this is the right hotel. He's attending a convention you're hosting."

"Which convention, sir?"

Gil swallowed dryly. "The Texas Bar Association, I believe."

"I'm sorry, sir, there's no convention here for that organization."

The ice spread, sliding tendrils down his arms and legs. He felt colder than he had in the shower that afternoon. "I see," Gil said faintly. "Would you mind checking the name once more for me? Stokes. S-T-O-K-E-S."

A beat, and the teenage-sounding operator told him, "I'm sorry, sir. I don't see anyone by that name."

"Th – Thank you. For your time."

"My pleasure, sir."

He fumbled the receiver back into its cradle, nearly dropping it from his nerveless hand. No convention. No Bellagio. Cabe had lied. Nick's brother had come to his house, gone through Nick's things, and then made a trip to Warrick's home – an address he couldn't have had just lying around – in order to have a look at Nick's desk. Nick's desk, that contained the few clues Gil had found to an increasingly thorny puzzle.

When Greg stopped by later, wanting to check on something, he was still staring fixedly at the telephone, too stunned to move yet.

"Grissom?" Greg hovered hesitantly in the doorway, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You okay?"

Gil forced himself to look forward, focus. "I -- Yes. Yes, fine. What did you need?"

"You wanted that report from last night." Greg waved a handful of printouts. "The Jefferson case?"

Gil took the papers, laying them on his desk without looking at them. "Thanks, Greg," he said faintly.

"You sure you're all right? I can –"

"I'm fine." Gil swallowed. "Just preoccupied, I suppose."

"Because you look like you just saw a ghost."

Gil gazed at him, hearing his heart thumping in his ears. "I feel as if I almost have," he whispered.

TBC. EB 12/17/04