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.
"There are many here among us
who think life is but a joke
but you and I, we've been through that;
this is not our fate.
Let us not speak falsely now, the hour's getting late."
Bob Dylan 'All Along the Watchtower'
Chapter 18: Fate
Greg didn't have a whole lot of time to stop and think about Henry Baker.
Being an hour late put him an hour behind, something he really couldn't afford to be with as many cases as he still had open. Not that Greg regretted why he was late, just the fact that he knew he'd have to make it up.
Plus, crime is never ending in Vegas and because of that, not long after his sit down with Grissom he found himself back in the field with a fresh case to start.
It wasn't until nearly the end of shift before he was back at the lab.
Spotting Sara in one of the spare layout rooms as he passed, he veered off towards her instead of his intended destination.
"I thought you weren't on tonight," he said brightly, coming as close to her as he thought she'd allow at work.
Sara looked up from a stack of very familiar papers and smiled.
"Well, I have a hard time staying away."
"I'll just pretend that's about me and not work," Greg returned with a grin.
"It might be," she admitted, before clearing her throat, "a little. But I actually did want to go through this again."
"Find anything new?" Greg asked, knowing it was Ashley's file she'd been reviewing.
"Kind of," Sara answered, business like again. "I think that all of these Post-it's Ashley had in her car might actually make a message. Watch."
Sara arranged several of the notes into a quick formation that read: 'SORRY' 'I' 'DID' 'NOT' 'WANT' '2' 'HURT' 'ANY' '1'
"I'm not sure that's what she meant," Sara admitted, "but it's a start. I've still got a dozen of these to try to put into place."
"So, no breakfast?" Greg asked.
"I can't…"
Before she could answer fully, Judy knocked lightly on the door.
"Greg," she said, her voice always quiet. "The mail just came and this came for you."
"Thanks," Greg said, taking the large manila envelope and looking perplexed. "Anne's probably suing me."
Sara shook her head with a smile, but knew it wasn't true. All that was in it was a single piece of spiral binder paper and another envelope.
"Huh," Greg said, sitting down on the edge of the table looking perplexed.
"Is she suing you?" Sara asked seriously.
"No," Greg said, turning the envelope over in his hand to check the return address. "It's from Ashley."
"What?" Sara said, moving so that she too could read the note.
"Dear Greg," he read. "I'm sure you understand why I'm asking this of you, but could you please give this letter to my father. I want him to understand too. Thank you, Ashley."
Greg turned the note over, hoping for more but knowing better to expect anything.
"Well?"
"Well," Greg returned, "I guess I can."
"Seriously?" Sara asked; she'd been certain he wasn't going to do it.
"Yeah," Greg nodded. "I kind of have too, don't I?"
"No," Sara shook her head, "you don't. Send it through the mail."
"A letter like this? No, you don't send a letter to a man from his dead daughter through the mail."
Sara knew he was right about that, but it still didn't feel right.
"Do you even have his address?" Sara asked, hoping to stop him some other way.
"Yeah, it's on the release forms."
She nodded shortly.
"I don't like it."
"Neither do I," Greg admitted, "but… it won't take too long. And I can ask him…"
"Ask him what?" Sara cut in quickly.
Greg hesitated. He'd planned on telling Sara about Henry Baker being in the Highwayman files, but not like this.
"It's nothing," he quickly covered. "Just a few more questions about Ashley."
Sara scrutinized him, clearly not convinced, but let it go.
"So where does he live?" Sara asked instead.
"Indian Springs."
"That will take more than a few hours," Sara sighed. She'd wanted to go with him, but couldn't. She had a routine physical scheduled for this morning; it was why she couldn't make breakfast with him.
"I'll call you as soon as I'm back in town," he said, sensing her discomfort.
"You'd better," she warned. "And keep your phone on, please?"
Greg, very tempted to kiss her, settled instead on giving her a smile before heading out the door.
Indian Springs wasn't more than an hour's drive, but it felt longer. Greg knew why, it was the desert. Being in the desert; even if he was on a highway in a car with a destination. It was too empty, the complete opposite of Vegas. It felt strange; it felt like he was heading into oblivion.
Still, Greg made very good time. He arrived in the tiny town, not much more than a dusty pit stop, and easily found the road he needed to travel to Henry Baker's ranch address.
Parking and taking a moment to consider what he'd say exactly, Greg got out of his car and headed for the house, but not before turning off his cell phone. He knew Sara would understand him having it off for a few minutes while making a visit like this. It wasn't exactly a great time for him to get another angry call from his sister.
After knocking for several minutes, he peeked through the window and saw only an empty house. Not satisfied that Mr. Baker wasn't home, seeing as a truck was parked out front, Greg proceeded to the back of the house and out towards a large barn that sat beside a rather nice flower garden and had both its doors open.
"Mr. Baker," he called out, seeing the older man at work nearby on a jigsaw.
He stopped and looked up with no small amount of surprise.
"Mr. Sanders, right?" he asked, shutting the machine off and coming over to him. "From the crime lab."
"That's right sir," Greg returned, shaking the offered hand.
"What can I do for you today?" he asked. "Are you here to return Ashley's things?"
"No, sir, we're still looking through them right now."
"Still haven't found it then?"
"No," Greg confirmed. "Not yet. But we're working on it."
Henry Baker just nodded slowly, as if judging the truth of that statement.
"I'm actually here because I got this in the mail today," Greg began, "along with a note. They're from Ashley. She wanted me to give it to you."
Greg handed the letter over to Mr. Baker who seemed, if anything, reluctant to take it. Once he did have it in his hands, he stared blankly at it for a few minutes. Greg thought he could understand that.
Finally, he opened it.
Greg noticed that the pages looked similar to the one he'd received, like they were torn from a notebook, but nothing more. He discretely looked away as Mr. Baker read his letter.
"She sent this to you?" he asked numbly, once he'd finished.
"Yes, sir," Greg answered. "Here's the note."
Greg passed him the other paper, the one that had been addressed to him, and saw the man pale.
"Will you excuse me for a moment," he asked, if possible paler than he had been before. "I think I need a drink of water."
"Of course," Greg returned, growing concerned and wondering if he should perhaps accompany him. "Do you need…"
"No, no," he objected straight away, "I'll manage. You just stay here. I'll be back in a minute."
Greg watched the older man walk off before turning to survey his surroundings. It looked more like a workshop than a barn. There were no animals just various woodworking machines as it appeared Mr. Baker was in the habit of building. There was no sign that it was an active ranch. No hay, no farming implements; in fact, the horse stalls looked as if they'd been converted for extra storage.
Glancing over it all, Greg turned back quickly, as one color stuck out among the browns that dominated the walls.
It was blue.
Checking to see that Henry was really gone, without hesitation Greg walked over for a closer look.
It was a toy chest.
The toy chest was an older one, real wood, white with a primary blue lid. It looked old, very old, like it might have been bought at an antique store or passed down within the family. But that wasn't the only thing he'd noticed.
Painted on the blue lid were the words 'Bloo the Travelin' Circus Clown' written underneath Bloo himself.
He had to open it.
Greg used his pocket flashlight to open the lid, having no gloves on hand. Kneeling down to view the contents without having to pick them up, he wasn't sure what he'd find but knowing this had to be what Ashley had wanted him to see. It had to be. It fit so well.
The very first thing he saw, the item right on top of everything else, wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but was still a shock.
Forgetting protocol, Greg picked it up and stared.
It was the newspaper photo that Ashley had pinned up at her apartment. The very same one except in this one, instead of Greg being circled, Sara was.
He couldn't comprehend it.
And he didn't have time too.
"She told you then?"
Greg was on his feet and spun round before the question was finished.
"Told me…"
But the words faded from his lips.
It wasn't every day you faced a man with a gun.