A/N: Sorry, Sassy, I'm not done putting Sara through the emotional wringer. Soon, though. Only onechapter left after this one.
Chapter 9
The silence of the apartment was smothering her. She had worked the last four days, and when she had mentioned coming in on this, her night off, Grissom had refused. She needed a break, he had insisted. She had reluctantly agreed, saving him from having to pull out the 'I'm your supervisor' card. So here she was restlessly moving around her apartment, trying to run away from the thoughts in her head but finding nowhere to go.
The only bright spot tonight was a phone call from Brass, telling her that the footprint and DNA both matched Wes O' Shannon, and he had officially been booked for assault and battery. The evidence, combined with a signed statement from Debra, should be enough to lock him up for a long time. She hoped so. It was what he deserved.
The temptation to hit another person, she understood. She had been close, more then once, to unleashing her anger in the form of a fist. Never had she actually gone through with it. To hit a person over and over again, she refused to understand. You were supposed to protect those more vulnerable then yourself, not beat them into submission. How can you tell a person
that you loved them, and then punctuate the sentiment with a fist? And when the fists started coming, why wouldn't you leave?
Her mother never left. Eighteen years she was married, a union that only ended with stab wounds. Sara couldn't attest to the early years, but never was there a time in her memory when yelling and hitting wasn't a normal part of the family dynamic. Why did her mother stay? Why did she leave her children in that situation? And what changed? What made her reach for the
knife, that last time?
She needed answers. Like a genie from a bottle, the questions had been released and they wouldn't go away. Her father was six feet underground, and even if he wasn't he would never give her what she wanted. There was only one person who might be able to help her.
Picking up the phone, Sara called the Vegas airport to inquire about any flights leaving tonight for California. There was one in an hour and a half. While she waited for her taxi she stuffed clothing and toiletries into a duffle bag. When the horn sounded she clumsily hurried out of the apartment on her crutches, locking the door behind her.
Grissom unlocked the front door as silently as possible, hoping that Sara had been able to fall asleep while he was gone. The only light turned on was a lamp on the desk, so he took it as a good sign. Slipping off his shoes to leave beside the door, and hanging his jacket on one of the dining room chairs, he made his way to the bedroom. It was empty. So was the bathroom. The entire apartment was empty. Reaching for his cell phone, he dialed the two digit code that would connect him to Sara's cell.
"You've reached the phone of Sara Sidle. Please leave a message."
"Sara, it's me. Please call me when you get this. I love you." Searching the vacated rooms for clues, he found missing items from the closet and the bathroom.
Where ever she had gone, she obviously meant to be gone for more then a couple of hours. In desperation, he picked up the phone and hit the redial button.
"Las Vegas Airport, how may I direct your call?" Without answering, he set the phone back into its cradle. Damn.
She rented a car at the airport, grateful that it was her left foot encumbered with a cast and not her right. She was not in the mood for a taxi ride, wanting her solitude. It was too early in the morning to go to the prison. Visiting hours wouldn't begin for hours yet. Sara didn't care,
though. If anything, she was relieved. The urge that had pushed her out of her apartment and onto a plane had subsided some. There were still questions she needed answered, but she was glad of the excuse to put them off a little while longer.
Just like when she was younger and growing up in Tamales Bay, Sara found comfort in visiting the ocean. The beach was empty in the hour before dawn. The moon had already set, and only the light of the stars reflecting on the ocean waves lit her way. She took off her shoes, leaving them on the hood of her rental car, and walked towards the tide. Dry, cold sand crept up
between her toes. As she walked to the water's edge, waves gently lapped over her feet and around her ankles. She stood still as the wave rushed out, taking the sand beneath her feet with it and causing her to sink inches into the wet sand. When she was little she thought that if she stood still long enough she would end of completely buried. There were times she had tried it, standing in one place for hours, hoping to disappear.
Walking farther along the beach, she turned to look over her shoulder. Each footprint she left behind was immediately erased, leaving no proof of her existence on this deserted stretch of land.
The criminalist in her thought about what an easy target she made right now. No witnesses, easy scene to clean up, and not a single person knew where she was. The more philosophical side of Sara saw allegory in the lack of footprints. Tamales Bay, Harvard, San Francisco... had she really left an imprint in any of the places she lived? If something happened to her right now would anyone even notice?
That wasn't fair, really. She knew there were people who would search for her. Nick, Warrick, Brass, Greg. Maybe even Catherine. Maggie would be upset. And then there was Grissom. Even now, Grissom was probably dialing and redialing her cell, trying to get a hold of her. For the first time she began to question her sudden flight.
Sara sat in her rental car in the parking lot of the prison for almost an hour before working up the courage to walk into the building. Now she was waiting again, this time on a hard plastic chair. Waiting to see her mother for the first time in almost twenty years, waiting for answers.
When they brought her in, Sara didn't recognize her. Her hair, once the same rich brunette color as her own locks, was now mostly gray. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles. There was a look in her eye that Sara saw too often as she worked. A guarded, shut down look that said the person was not living, but just existing. The years had not been kind to Laura Sidle. Sara waited until she was seated across the table from her to speak.
"Hello..." mom? No, she couldn't call her that, so she refrained from addressing her at all.
"Sara. You look... good." Her voice was lower and huskier then Sara remembered. The mother from her childhood had spoken in a soft voice, barely more then a whisper.
"You look..." tired, old.
"I know." She seemed to read Sara's mind without her having to speak.
"So, are you on vacation, or did you finally leave Sin City?"
"No, I'm just here for a couple of days. I still live in Vegas." She wrote her mother once a year, more out of a sense of duty then anything else. Told her the bare bones of her life, but didn't mention the specifics.
"It's been a while." Eighteen years, to be exact. When Sara had been in foster care, the monthly visits had been court ordered. For five years, she spent the third Saturday of the month in hand me down dresses making awkward conversation with her only remaining parent. The first two visits, Ben had come with her, but then he had run away again. This time, it was for good. She hadn't seen him since. The week before she left for Harvard she had made one final visit, and that had been it. She cut off that part of her life, forever. Or so she had thought. Sara took a deep breath. Small talk was over, she decided.
"I'm not here on vacation. I came here to see you, because there are some questions I need answers to." Laura's face brightened for an instant when Sara started talking, but the expression quickly faded, a look of resignation taking its place.
"You want to know why I killed your father, I suppose."
Sara shook her head. That was one thing in her twisted family history that she almost understood. "Why did you stay with him as long as you did? Why didn't you leave when he started hitting you? And why the hell didn't you leave when he started hurting your children?" She could feel her temper rising, the last question spoken loud enough that the other occupants of the room were looking at them.
"I tried, once." Laura wouldn't look up, continued to stare at her hands as she spoke.
It wasn't an answer Sara was expecting, and she stared at the woman across from her in shock. "When?"
"You weren't born yet, but I knew that I was pregnant. He hit me in the stomach, and I was afraid I would lose you. That night, he went out to the bar with some buddies, and I packed a bag for Benny and I, and caught the bus. We only made it to the next town before he found us."
"He beat you for leaving." Sara stated without emotion. She knew it, without asking. It was a story she had heard a dozen times before. She had seen those women, bruises on their arms and legs, lies coming out of their mouths. Had gone home every time and cried for them, knowing that she couldn't help them unless they asked. They rarely did.
"I never tried again. Next time, it might not have been a beating. He might have killed me. I couldn't risk it." She spoke as if it was a given fact, and that saddened Sara more than anything. She hadn't expected to pity her mother. The anger that had simmered under the surface for so many years whenever she thought of her parents hadn't left room for any other emotion.
A part of her still wanted to argue. Really, she just wanted to believe that if she was in the same situation, she would have made different choices. That wasn't something her mother could tell her, though. Right or wrong, Laura Sidle had already made her decisions, and was living with them.
Sara managed a few minutes of small talk before making an excuse to leave. She wished her mother well, and meant it. She said goodbye, and meant that too. She wouldn't be back.
Driving out of town, she almost took the freeway exit that would take her back to the airport. Her ticket wasn't until tomorrow, but she could try to change it. As she was signaling to change lanes a mileage sign caught her eye and changed her intended route. Written in white against a green background, the sign denoted the distance to three nearby towns. The last name on the list was Tamales Bay. Sara turned of her blinker and continued forward. There was one more demon to fight today.
The cemetery was at the edge of town, on a gently sloped hill that overlooked the ocean. It should have been a peaceful place, and maybe for other people it was. To her, it had all the appeal of a minefield. As cautiously as if that was what it was, Sara made her way through the graves until she reached the one she wanted. A flat brass marker, imprinted with his name and two dates, was all that claimed this place as his. Her father's grave.
James Sidle, 1945-1984.
Sara stared down at it for a long time. She didn't touch the marker, refused to stand too close to it. It was like the discussion she had just days ago with Maggie about cooties and little boys. She had teased the little girl about boys outgrowing cooties. Now, she felt like maybe Maggie was right. She had that same desire to avoid touching her father's grave, afraid of catching some horrible imaginary thing. Afraid of being contaminated by whatever made him the way he was.
"Bastard." The insult was out before she realized it had been waiting there, at the tip of her tongue. It was not the only one. "You son of a bitch. Asshole. Prick. Sack of shit. Mother Fu..."
One by one, she threw out every defamation she could think of. With the type of people she came in contact every night, it was quite a list. With the tip of her left crutch she hit the ground, sending a spray of weeds and loose dirt in the direction of the grave marker. One of the larger clumps landed on the brass, obscuring most of the writing. Sara stared at it for a moment, wondering at the irony of the perfect placement. Finally she turned, and left the cemetery without cleaning away the dirt.
It looked almost exactly the same. She drove down her old street, stopping the car in front of the Bed and Breakfast that had been her childhood home. The two story building was still painted yellow, the shutters and trim white. Bright flowers lined the sidewalk, inviting passerby's to stop for a moment and admire the postcard perfect view.
Inside, it was nothing like she remembered. Where once there was antique furniture and flowered wallpaper, now the walls were painted a pale cream color and the furniture was whitewashed French colonial. Instead of the elderly woman who had presided over the registration desk when she was growing up, a young man of twenty three or four greeted her.
"Welcome to Seaside Bed and Breakfast. Can I help you?"
Sara wasn't sure how to respond. She had walked in more out of habit then anything, not thinking past those first steps. "Uh, do you have any available rooms?" she found herself asking.
"Would you like a single or a double?" He was smiling at her, that same fake smile she had perfected when she had worked here for her parents. The same smile she had given teachers and social workers when they had questioned her about her bruises, her mother's injuries, her brother running away.
"It doesn't matter. Do you have any rooms facing the ocean?" Her bedroom had been on the third floor, facing the street. Her parents had saved the better rooms for paying guests.
"Your in luck. We have one room with a double bed on the west side."
"I'll take it." A swipe of her credit card and she was once again a resident of 3481 Cresting Road, albeit a temporary one. Sara retrieved her bag from the car, and then walked up the carpeted staircase to her room.
The room was done in pale blue tones, pulling the ocean view into the room. It had a balcony, a feature that had been added by the new owners. Sara pulled the rocking chair in front of the double doors so she could see the crashing of the waves. She didn't rock, just sat perfectly still in the chair. She didn't notice when the first tear started down her cheek, or the second. Soon, though, they were coming fast as the tears became sobs and she released them in a way she hadn't ever been able to do while living under this roof.
It was dark outside when she awoke. For a moment she forgot where she was, and wondered why her eyes were so sore, why she was sleeping in a chair and not a bed. Only for a moment, though, and then it all came back. The flight, the visit, the tears. She was alone in the room, and she didn't want to be alone anymore. Without a second thought, Sara picked her cell
phone up from the bedside table and opened it up. The last five calls on the display were all from Grissom, and she highlighted the first one, pressing the send button.
"Grissom."
She took in the sound of his voice, letting it echo in her heart for a moment before opening her mouth to speak. "Gil." The single syllable came out weaker then she meant it to. Her voice was still horse from the crying and thick with the last remnants of sleep.
"Sara, thank God." It was a prayer from a man who didn't pray and under other circumstances Sara might have laughed and teased him about it. Instead, she just accepted the relief in his voice and was thankful.
"Griss, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I just need to... I need..."
"What do you need?" He hoped that whatever she answered was a request he had the power to grant. Or was willing to grant. If she asked him to leave her alone, he wasn't sure he could comply. It had been just over thirty hours since he had seen her, and he felt like he was going through withdrawals.
"You. I need you." She needed him like she needed air. More so, maybe. From the depth of her soul, she needed him.
"I'm on my way."
"Wait." She almost shouted, afraid he would hang up. "Talk to me a little longer."
He readily complied, telling her of the case he had worked the night before. A robbery in a casino that was being used to film a reality TV show. By the time he figured out who did it, the show's producers were offering the man a job. Sara laughed softly. Grissom kept talking until her only response was the soft sounds of breathing, and then he closed his phone.
She was surprised to hear a knock on the door two hours after she hung up the phone. Grissom was the only person who knew where she was, and even if he left right after they had talked it would still be hours before he would be here. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rolled off of the bed and hobbles across the room. Cautiously she opened the door, jaw dropping in shock when she saw that it was indeed Grissom standing in the hallway.
"How?"
"I was already on my way here. Brass ran a search found your airline reservation. I wasn't sure if you'd..."
Sara silenced whatever he was about to say with a searing kiss. It was hungry and more then a little desperate, as she tried to communicate without words how she felt. Still silent, she pulled him into the room. When she finally released him there was a smile on her face, the first since she left Vegas.
"Thank you."
Sara slept a solid eight hours, safely ensconced in Grissom's arms. He was still asleep when she finally awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows. Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of the bed and walked towards the French doors leading out to the balcony. The ocean was a bright blue, highlighted by the warm sun shining on the water. Sara took a deep breath, enjoying the tang of salt that filled her nose.
Grissom moved so silently, she didn't know he was behind her until his arms snaked from behind, encircling her waist. He rested his chin against her shoulder. They stood like that for a long time, neither one wanting to break the spell of the peaceful moment. Eventually, Sara turned her head towards his, and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"You ready to take me home?"
