Author's Notes: Big thanks to anyone out there reading and enjoying this story. Just to give you all some idea of where I'm coming from, I'm just a writer, not a scientist. I took physical anthropology in college and did pretty well (I wanted to take intro to forensics, but it was always full), so most of what's in this story is just what I remember from the class and the books I have on crime scenes and the like. If something doesn't mesh with real life, it won't be the first time that's happened in the CSI universe;)
Letting Go
by Kristen Elizabeth
Beyond the door, there's peace I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven
- Eric Clapton
To Sara in Sarajevo,
Doesn't that sound like an awesome song title? Damn my inability to learn a single guitar chord!
So, when are you coming home?
Okay, okay. If that hasn't worked yet, it's probably not going to now. But if it has even the slightest chance, let me know. I'll learn to ask it in Bosnian.
I feel it's my duty to tell you that, despite not having heard from you either way about it, Ecklie has gone ahead with the profile on you for the newsletter. It hasn't come out yet, but insider sources report that he calls you a credit to the lab. Duh. We've known that for years.
Is it snowing where you are? The Weather Channel never gives the lowdown on Eastern Europe. I picture you in a fitted red coat trimmed in black (fake) fur, like one of those Communist chicks in old Bond movies who would try to torture information out of 007 until she fell for his capitalist charms.
Um, where was I?
Oh yeah. When are you coming home?
From Greg (with love!)
"Sara." Jan stood at the edge of the Valley, their semi-irreverent nickname for the large hole their recovery efforts had dug into the black earth. She looked down at Sara who was busy at work uncovering a tangle of bones in the latest uncovered layer. "Time's up," she called out.
Brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, Sara replied, "Just a few more minutes."
"Uh-uh. You know the rules."
It was no use arguing. The rule was, no one spent more than two hours at a time in the Valley. It was a mental safeguard they'd all agreed to help each other abide by. Sara sighed, set down her tools and carefully stood up. Brushing dirt off her knees, she made her way to the rope ladder.
"Your two hours starts now," Sara told Jan after she hoisted herself out of the pit. "And if I gotta stick to it…"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jan started down the ladder, armed with her flask and her kit. "Go get warm and quit yapping."
As she walked to the fire, Sara released her hair from its ponytail; without access to a salon, she'd let it grow out past her shoulders, a look she'd never tried before. Some days she loved it. Other days she had to stop herself from reaching for a pair of scissors.
Over the weeks of living in the makeshift tent city, the central fire that they kept going whenever possible had become their town square. You could always find one of the team sitting close to the warmth, working on field notes, having something to eat, or simply staring into the flames, thinking.
That day it happened to be Simon. Sara took her time filling a plate of vegetarian goulash from the pot on the cook stove. Once she had it, she chose a chair several feet away from him. He glanced up from his notebook.
"It's been two hours already?"
"My thoughts exactly." She took a bite. "It's just as well; Jan's better with sorting out the bones than I am." Sara glanced around the empty camp. "Where is everyone?"
"The Dick and the Doc are in the morgue." He gestured to the largest of their tents. It was self-explanatory how the tent had earned its nickname; it currently provided shelter for thirty-two complete skeletons and three partials. Sara herself didn't spend as much time in the morgue as her colleagues. Her main job was recovery and preservation; as she'd just told Simon, identification of the bones was better left to the anthropologists. "Berislav went into town for supplies," he finished up, returning his attention to his work.
She nodded as she took another bite. His answer was congenial enough, but ever since their argument in her tent, there was a strained tension between them. It bothered her that it bothered her at all.
Sara finished off her lunch and debated about what to do next. There weren't a lot of options. She'd already used her allotted time in the Chamber; even though it was just twenty minutes in a metal tub with lukewarm water, it was a daily luxury that she never passed up. She could take her dish down to the stream to wash up, but the idea of plunging her hands into the water that was due to freeze over any day wasn't appealing. That pretty much left writing in her journal, penning a letter home, napping, or seeing if she could lend Doc Ashe a hand.
She went with her last choice. "Don't work too hard," she told Simon as she got up.
In the morgue, Doc Ashe and the Dick were gathered around the newest addition, a woman in her twenties with a bullet hole in the back of her skull. As Sara approached, she picked up the tail end of their conversation.
"…clearly indicates that she was a long-term abuse victim," Doc Ashe pointed out. "Her life was just as violent as her death."
"Collar bones were both broken multiple times." The Dick held one of the bones in question up to the light. "Look at those fracture lines…I want a picture of this for my collection."
Sara cleared her throat lightly and both men turned to look at her, but only their medical examiner smiled at her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"We're done with the initial examination," the Dick informed her. "Document it. Take some extras for Simon's little article. And don't forget about the fractures."
"Please. We appreciate it," Doc Ashe added in his soft British accent.
She reached for the camera. "My pleasure."
Whenever clothing was found intact enough to be useful in future identification, the bones were laid on top of the pieces during assembly. The woman's remains had been wrapped in the tattered pieces of a Disney World T-shirt. As Sara carefully photographed the bones, Mickey Mouse smiled up at her. It was decidedly disturbing.
She was just finishing up when Simon came through the door flap, out of breath. "Vegas…Doc…Jan needs you all."
Running in the cold air, even such a short distance, knocked the wind of Sara. Her lungs burned with each breath until she and the three men reached the edge of the Valley.
"Jan?" she called down to the woman. "What's going on?"
The reply to her question was too calm, too collected. "Could you all please join me? I've found something."
Sara was down the ladder first, followed closely by Simon. "Should you be down here?" she asked him.
He landed on the leveled dirt next to her. "Probably not."
Without waiting for the Dick or Doc Ashe, Sara went to Jan. "What is it?"
Jan could only point.
At first, all Sara noticed was how much progress Jan had made on the skeleton in the short time since she'd taken over. She really was amazing. In fact, Sara would have liked to see her in some sort of body recovery contest versus Grissom. She wasn't sure who she'd lay money on.
But then she took a good look at the bones. Bile rose up in her throat and all stray thoughts vanished.
Now uncovered, it was obvious that it was two bodies, one lying prostrate across the other. And the top body was that of a child.
"Elementary school age?" Sara heard herself asking.
Jan nodded, her face pale. "Six, seven, maybe. Still a few baby teeth."
"What's that?" Over Sara's shoulder, Simon pointed to the lower half of the skeleton. "Please tell me that's not…what I think it is."
Sara kneeled down to get a better look. The object was a ten-inch bowie knife, rusted over from the fluids of decomposition and ten years time. It was positioned at a ninety degree angle between the child's pubic bones, extending all the way up into what would have been the lower intestine. "I think it's safe to say…this was probably a girl," Sara whispered.
She closed her eyes, but she couldn't block out the sound of Simon vomiting.
Greg sank into his couch with an audible sigh. He had decided that he wasn't going to move for the next eight hours. After a double shift mostly spent on his feet in the layout room, piecing together shredded documents found in a murder victim's briefcase, he was ready for a little rest and relaxation. And some breakfast. But that would require moving, a violation of his plan.
He stretched out one arm towards the kitchen, willing the Capt'n Crunch to come to him, preferably in a bowl with some milk.
There was a knock on the door and Greg let his arm drop with a sigh. "I'm not at home," he yelled as loud as he could. "Leave a message at the beep and I'll give you a call back when…"
"Greg." Grissom's voice was impatient. "I have to talk to you."
To his knowledge, he'd never given Grissom his address. But it was in his personnel file. He'd just never imagined that Grissom would want to track him down badly enough to look it up. Especially since they'd just seen each other at the lab and whatever he needed to talk about could have been discussed there.
That left only one conclusion. It wasn't a work thing. It was something personal. And that was worth getting up for.
Greg yanked the door open. "What's up, boss?"
Grissom held a sealed envelope in his hand. "I need Sara's address."
To Be Continued