Foretold by SLynn

Summary: A woman walks into the crime lab only to tell Greg Sanders about her murder, a murder he's going to solve. Is she just playing games or is it something more?

Spoilers: Through 'Gum Drops'

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing and will return them all when I'm done, virtually untouched.

Notes: Sorry if this is taking a very long time to get out, but I really can't help it. Thanks for your patience and thanks to Tripp3235 and RivenSky for all the help!

"In all things it is better to hope than to despair."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Chapter 11: Hope

"Greg."

No answer.

"Greg," she repeated, this time a bit louder.

Still nothing.

"Greg," Sara said once more, this time reaching over and shaking him by the shoulder.

"What?" he grumbled looking at her somewhat surprised.

"We're here."

"What?"

"We're here," Sara said, indicating the condo in front of them, Mrs. Mary Juarez's home.

Greg sat up straighter and blinked back the sun from his eyes before turning fully to Sara.

"Did I fall asleep?"

Sara just nodded with a small smile on her face.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I haven't really been getting enough. Sleep. How long was I out?"

"About twenty minutes," Sara confirmed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Sara said. "If you want, I can just drive you home. We don't have to do this today."

"No," Greg said firmly, "we do. The more we get and the quicker we get it, the better."

"Did you find anything out last night?" Sara asked.

She'd meant to have asked earlier, but there hadn't been a chance. Greg and Sara had worked different cases all night and obviously hadn't had any opportunity to talk on the drive over, not with Greg snoring.

"Yeah," Greg said, sounding more awake than before, "Mary Juarez does have a daughter named Lydia. She was reported missing about fifteen years ago. At the time she was twenty and there were no signs of foul play so not much was done. Cops thought she probably wanted to disappear. Start over. Happens a lot, I guess."

"Then Lydia can't be our Jane Doe," Sara reasoned. "Not from the cases we have. The Jane Doe from that serial was found over twenty years ago."

Greg nodded; he had had that thought himself.

"So…" Sara said, drawing it out and waiting for an answer.

"So," Greg picked up, "I think we should still talk to her. Yes, Lydia Juarez isn't the Jane Doe from those cases, but Ashley knew something about her. About what really happened to her."

Sara looked skeptical, but held her tongue. Greg was really reaching now.

"If nothing comes of it," he went on, knowing too well what she was thinking, "we stop. I mean it. I'll walk away from this and never look back. I swear."

Sara still had that look on her face, but slowly relented with a nod.

As they both got out of the car and made their way to the house, Sara had to ask.

"Any idea what we're going to say?"

"I thought we'd just bring up Ashley's death and…."

"Wing it?"

"Pretty much," Greg answered, smiling at her as they reached the door.

Mary Juarez was in her late sixties. She had greeted them first skeptically, but once they'd explained why they were there, she had let them right in.

"That poor girl," she said, ushering them to the living room. "She was so nice. She use to come by and help me water my plants. My arthritis is horrible and I have trouble reaching the ones up high. Such a sweet girl. I could hardly believe it when I saw it on the news. Did she really jump? The reporter said she did."

"We're still looking into it," Greg answered. "We just had a few questions for you about her."

"If it will help," she responded, taking a seat and lighting up a cigarette.

"How did you meet Ashley?" Greg began.

"At the Rio. She was one of the waitresses there, in my favorite lounge. She'd always stop and chat with me."

Greg went on like this for a few minutes sitting near by as Sara stood and casually scanned the shelves and bookcases.

"We understand that your son filled a police report barring her from the house?" Greg asked, finally getting past the pleasantries a bit.

Mary sighed.

"Yes," she admitted, "he did. David is very, well, he's like his father, God rest his soul. He didn't like her coming by so much. Thought she was up to no good. He didn't know her. Ashley wouldn't hurt a fly. She couldn't."

"The report said that she'd taken money," Sara interjected.

"No," Mary answered firmly, "no. That's just not true. She never took anything. I gave her the money."

"Seven thousand dollars?" Sara questioned.

"Actually," Mary said in a matter-of-fact tone, "it was closer to fifteen. David guessed it was seven. Not that it's his business how I spend my money. You get to a certain age and suddenly your children think they know what's best for you. He's been trying to get me into a home for years now."

"You said spent," Greg interrupted the first chance he could. "Did you buy something from Ashley or was the money a gift?"

Mary paused and looked quickly to Sara and then back to Greg again. It was look they both knew. She clearly thought she wasn't going to be believed, at least not by Sara.

"Ashley was special. She had a gift. I paid her to use that gift."

"What type of gift?" Sara asked.

"She could speak to the dead," Mary said plainly. "She was giving me messages from my husband Carlos. He's been gone ten years now, but through her he lived again."

Neither Greg nor Sara said anything.

"I know what you're thinking," Mary went on. "You're thinking the same thing David thought. But it's true. She could talk to him. It was money well spent. I'd of given her everything I had just to hear from Carlos one more time, but she stopped coming by."

"Why's that?" Greg asked.

"Well, David denies it but I think he warned her off. This was before he called the police but he was always suspicious of her. I saw her at the Rio a few weeks ago, but as soon as she saw me she just turned and walked away."

"Did she ever talk to you about anyone else?" Sara asked now.

"Once," Mary confirmed. "Just once. I think it might have been the last time she was here. If not, very close to it. She asked me about my daughter. If I needed a message from her, but that was crazy. My daughter isn't dead."

"Your daughter?"

"Lydia," Mary answered, getting up and taking down a small silver frame from the self nearest Sara.

"Have you heard from her lately?" Sara asked.

"I haven't heard from Lydia in a very long time," she answered, "but she isn't dead."

Sara nodded.

"Lydia was what we use to call a free spirit. She probably made her way to Europe. She'd always wanted to go there. I'm sure that's it. One day she'll call and…well… one can always hope."

Mary trailed off, lost in her own delusion.

"She's not dead," she repeated after a moment. "I know Ashley had a gift, but even gifted people make mistakes. I'm sure that's it."

The ride back was silent.

Sara and Greg were both mentally reviewing the odd conversation they'd just had with Mary Juarez and trying to decide where to go next.

Finally, Sara pulled up next to Greg's car in the lab parking lot and they both continued on in unmovable silence.

"What do you think?" Greg finally asked.

"That Lydia Juarez is probably dead and that Ashley Baker knows something about it," Sara confessed. "I think Mrs. Juarez knows it too, but she just can't deal with it."

Greg nodded in agreement.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Well," Sara said, having thought about nothing else the entire time, "we can go back over the journal, the car contents while we still have them. Her parents could show up any time now and take them. We need to get as much out of them as possible, as soon as possible. I don't think we can do this alone."

Greg nodded again.

"Nick offered to help last night," Sara supplied.

"Really?" Greg responded, laughing a bit. "Warrick did too."

"Couldn't hurt to have some extra eyes."

"No," Greg agreed, "not at all. I just… What are we going to do with it? If we do find something, then what?"

"We'll have to go to Grissom," Sara answered. "If he can't get the cases reopened…"

"Sara," he interrupted, "we don't even have a body."

Sara stopped and stared at him, and then without knowing why, burst out laughing.

"Why is that funny?" Greg asked, laughing now as well.

"It's not," Sara countered through the giggles that were still escaping. "It's really not. But I just pictured us going to Ecklie with all of this and… well…"

Sara began laughing again, even harder than before.

"He's going to make us each get psych counseling," Greg finished through his own laughter. "It might be worth telling him just to see the look on his face."

"I think we both need some sleep," Sara said, as soon as she'd calmed down enough to speak. "I haven't laughed like this in a long time; I must be punch drunk."

"I've heard you laugh like this," Greg argued. "We always…"

They were interrupted by a series of sharp taps on the passenger's window; taps that caused Greg to jump in his seat before turning to see a very concerned looking Grissom staring back at him through the glass.

"Hey Grissom," Greg said as casually as he could as he rolled down the window.

"I've been trying to call you for two hours."

"Really?" Greg asked, reaching for his phone and at all costs avoiding eye contact with Sara. He was positive if he looked at her, he'd start laughing again. It must look odd enough already, the two of them out in the parking lot four hours after shift change and laughing like loons. No need to add to it.

"Yes really," Grissom answered. "It keeps going to voice mail."

"Oh," Greg said, realizing the problem. "I shut it off."

He braved a quick look at Sara who instantly averted her eyes and bit her lip. Yep, she was fixing to laugh, too.

"My sister kept calling," Greg tried explaining, but was quickly cut off.

"Henry Baker is coming by to collect his daughter's things," Grissom continued. "Someone needs to release them to him and I thought you might want to do it."

"Yes," Greg answered, back to being seriously, "definitely. What time?"

"Two o'clock."

"I'll be here waiting," Greg returned.

Grissom paused, seeming to be considering what might have been going on before he'd come into the picture, but only for a moment.

"Keep your cell on," Grissom said before leaving, "no matter how many times your sister calls. That's why caller ID was invented."

"Got it," Greg said with a nod.

Sara and Greg both watched as Grissom walked back into the building, neither speaking. As soon as he was inside they each turned to one another and couldn't help but laugh. It had been a strange, strange morning.