A/N: Thanks again to everyone for reading and to the reviews that I've gotten. Enjoy.
Ch. 12:
Sitting in his car, he had the window rolled down as he hung his left arm over the side of the door. Holding the phone to his ear with his right hand, between the fingers of his left was a cigarette and he brought it up and took a drag off it as he stared at the sign that lit up the club that was on the far west side of the city. The red neon spelled out Anonymous. It was the masquerade club that had been mentioned in the investigation into Julia's disappearance. She had a second cell phone. A cheap disposable that had been found in his car between the driver's seat and the door. The only print on it was his. Warrick had tracked down the contacts in the phone and they all led back to the club. It'd been in operation for close to fourteen years, having opened in the summer of 1990.
In his ear, talking to him, was Sara. She was telling him about her night, work, and just keeping his mind busy. Every day was a struggle, and she helped him through it by mostly just being there and loving him. He knew it wouldn't be enough, that no amount of love or external help was going to keep him from spiraling when all else failed, but right then it was enough. The only person that could prevent him from falling was himself. He was trying, working on figuring out how to believe and accept something that should have been so easy: he was worth it. And the "It" was more than one thing. It was love, and being wanted, and time and effort, patience and forgiveness. It was Sara and Charlotte, and anything and everything that made him feel happy.
The last time he was in that nightclub, he had felt none of those things. He'd been unhappy and had truly felt in the deepest part of himself unlovable, unwanted, and worthless.
The concept of the club was exactly what the name suggested: an anonymous experience. Customers were encouraged, but weren't required, to wear masquerade masks. They could either bring their own or purchase masks upon arrival to conceal their faces. Of course, they could always be removed throughout the night, but it was optional. People could interact without looks being a consideration. It brought mystery, excitement, and in some cases, a sense of confidence.
In the back of the club were private rooms that could be purchased. Expensive pink champagne would be served, candles were lit around the lounge seating and tables. The customers were then left alone and what happened in those rooms, as the saying went, stayed in those rooms.
He'd learned about the club four years after its inaugural grand opening in the spring of 1994. How it had stayed off his radar for so long, he had no idea other than the fact that he really didn't go out. It had been during the course of his work, like always, when he first learned of the club. After the investigation, he had revisited as a customer out of pure curiosity.
He couldn't deny how he'd been when he was younger. The lyrics to Pink Floyd's "Young Lust" came to mind as he remembered how much more reckless and out of control of his addiction he'd been, that the anonymity that the club offered had sparked a desire inside that had nearly been all-consuming. Then a year later, after he'd introduced Julia to the club when she came to Las Vegas, it had consumed her to the point where he had no choice but to leave her again.
Sara asked, "Are you going to the candlelight vigil?"
Blowing the smoke out of his mouth, he told her, "No."
"Why not?"
His earlier conversation with his mother came to mind. It was less of a conversation and more of an argument. His mother simply did not want him to go. It was a vigil that was being put together by the deaf community, Julia's friends and family, and since he was currently suspected of her murder and facing a trial, she didn't want him there. He was an embarrassment. His mother didn't actually say whether or not she thought he was guilty, but she hadn't said that she believed him to be innocent either. But she did blame him, telling him it was his fault.
He had wanted to go because Charlotte wanted him to go. There were no candles or prayers that was going to bring her mother back, and quite simply, he didn't want the attention nor to draw scrutiny to the vigil with his presence. If he wasn't wanted there, then he wouldn't go.
"It'll only cause a lot of people more pain. I'd rather not do that."
She was quiet for a moment, before saying, "I'm sorry she made you feel that way."
She must have heard the hurt in his voice, and he had to clear his throat before he could say anything else. But right then another car pulled up alongside him and Jim Brass got out and shut the door. "Brass is here. We're about to go in and talk with the owner. I'll see later?"
"Yeah. I put in a double and I'm wrapping up now. Catherine's going to give me the rest of the night off. Well, I'll be on-call in case something comes up. We can meet later. My place or yours?"
He smiled into the phone as he told her, "My place."
"I love you."
When she told him that, he actually believed her. There was no doubt in his mind. "I love you too."
As he hung up the phone, Brass leaned against the door and peered into the car at him. "You cruisin' for a bruisin'? That's what's going to happen if you go inside. The owner is Jerome Kessler, Dr. Heather Kessler's ex-husband. He might not take a liking to you snooping around his business and asking questions."
He put the cigarette out and got out of his car as he asked, "Cruisin' for a bruisin'?"
"Yea, it's a line from Grease." When he shook his head in confusion, Brass practically gapped at him. "The movie musical Grease. You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Olivia Newton-John? "Tell me about it, stud.""
He only shook his head some more as they walked towards the front door of the club. "When you were here last, did you question Mr. Kessler about the back rooms?" Brass seemed surprised. "I take that as a no."
"He claimed nothing illegal was going on in his club—"
"Consenting adults engaging in sexual activity in the privacy of a private room...As long as it's not being paid for or performed by the staff-"
"It's still illicit—"
He opened the door and was immediately greeted by two tall and very big men who were the bouncers. The entrance had mahogany walls and a black counter. Behind the counter was a door with the words "Employees Only" on it. There was another door off to the left. It was all black and soundproof. Beyond that door was the interior of the club.
There was a hostess in a slick black dress who went to greet them when Brass pulled out his badge, saying, "We're here to talk with the owner. Is he in?"
The woman looked them over and then picked up a phone and made a call. Upon hanging up, she told them, "He'll be right with you."
Pocketing the badge, Brass told him, "I don't know what you're expecting to find here. We checked the security cameras," he gestured to the camera in the corner, "and her financial records. Julia was not here the night she disappeared."
The door opened and he watched as Jerome Kessler walked towards them. Jerome was dressed in a three-piece suit, had a beard and was thin and tall. His eyes were on his and when he got close enough, he told him, "I have nothing to say to you—"
"Mr. Kessler—"
"I already talked to the police," Jerome said as he glanced at Brass. "We have no record of Julia being here—"
"You're assuming she paid with her credit card and that she used her real name when—"
Jerome shrugged, saying, "Cameras proved that she never—"
"She has her own mask," he said, cutting the club owner off as Brass turned to him in surprise. "She could have put it on before walking inside and paid cash." Once Jerome stopped trying to cut him off, he continued by saying, "Did you ask the staff members who service the back rooms if they remember a tall, blond, deaf customer that evening wearing a mask of an animal? Black and silver with jewels going from the side of the ears up to the base of the horns. She would have gone by the name "Jules"."
Jerome was getting highly impatient with him as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and let out a deep breath. Then he seemed to deflate slightly as he said, "Come to my office so we can talk in private."
They followed him through the "Employees Only" door and down a hallway to his office. It was fairly clean and simple with a desk and filing cabinets and a small television mounted in the corner that wasn't showing live feed of the security cameras. There was a basketball game. A college team. It was March Madness.
Gesturing towards the TV, he asked, "You bet on the games?"
Jerome shook his head as he sat behind the desk. "I don't gamble. Horrible disease."
Sitting down, he asked, "You knew Julia was Jules?" He couldn't help but think that the reason he knew that was because Julia had been intimately involved with him.
"I did. We, uh…we were close for a while."
He gave a nod as he asked him again, "Did you see her that evening?"
"I didn't see her," Jerome stressed again before saying, "The last time she was here was December, it was before New Year's Eve."
"How'd you know—"
"We had a New Year's Eve party. Club Members Only. She's a member. She never showed and hasn't been in since."
"That you know of," he said. Julia could have stopped being a regular at the club due to her relationship with Dr. Vincent Lurie. "If she was avoiding you, she could have gotten a new mask or only came by when you were out. Were you here all night and did you see every customer that walked through the door?"
"I left early, around midnight. I had other things to do."
"See," he said as he glared at the man, "you left early that evening. Did you ask the staff members who service the back rooms if they saw her?"
Jerome shook his head, saying, "The police only questioned the front of the house workers. Since I haven't been seeing her here, I didn't think to personally question the back of house staff."
"We need to know if any of them saw her that night or early that morning. The club still closes at 5 am, correct?"
Jerome never once glanced at Brass as he solely kept his eyes on him. It was almost like Brass wasn't even in the room. "Is this even necessary?"
"Yes, it's necessary."
"How did you two meet?" Jerome asked before clarifying, "You and Heather."
"Our daughters are on the same little league team. Zoe and my daughter are friends."
Jerome frowned as he told him, "She's our granddaughter. Allison Zoe Kessler. Our daughter was Zoe."
"Then why—"
"Zoe was a teenager, fourteen, when she was raped. She had no idea she was pregnant until it was too late to do anything about it. We took custody of Allison, raised her as our daughter. No one had to know that she was Zoe's."
"Where's Zoe now?"
Jerome's sadness grew as he finally looked at Brass then answered, "It messed her up. She got addicted to drugs and…We tracked her down once, tried to get her to go to rehab. The last time I saw her, she was on the corner of Fremont. At least I thought it was her. It messed Heather up as well. She hasn't been the same. Calling Allison "Zoe" isn't going to bring us our daughter back."
He couldn't imagine anything like that happening to Charlotte and it hurt his heart to even think about it. "I'm sorry."
Jerome gave a nod as he reached over and pressed a button. A couple of seconds later the door opened and one of the bouncers walked in. "Andre will be your escort. He'll get you into the back rooms."
"I'm sure my badge can do that," Brass said as he stood.
Andre led them through another door that entered directly into the club. As the aesthetics and music changed over the years, the one thing that didn't was the use of masks to conceal identity. All around him as a DJ played the music that pounded the walls and a laser light show that was timed with the music lit up the dark club, people with masks danced on the dance floor, conversed at the bar, and made out in the booths.
"You know, Gil," Brass was saying as they ventured further into the club and closer to the back rooms, "the more I learn about your, uh, extra-curricular activities, the more I realize how little we truly know one another."
Andre stopped in front of a door that was camouflaged in the black wall. There was no handle and Andre pressed his palms into two specific spots and pushed, making the door slide open. Years ago, that door had a handle, but as he walked through the doorway and into the mahogany candle lit hallway, he felt instantly transported back to 1996 and to the last time he was there before tonight.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins
Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
It'd only been a few days since they brought Charlotte home from the hospital and Julia had already asked his mother to watch her so they could go out. He was in no mood, having worked a triple, and all he wanted to do was spend time with his daughter, but Julia was eager to get out of the house. They were all living in his townhouse, and they were supposed to be trying to make this marriage of theirs work.
Part of making things work, Julia had told him, was spending quality time together outside of the house. You have to compromise, she'd told him. Then she told him where she wanted to go once they were in his car. Anonymous. The nightclub had become her new favorite place to go and for good reason. She enjoyed everything about the club, but especially the anonymity and promiscuity of the customers.
Entering the club, the lighted candles lit up the lobby as the host greeted them before rounding the counter to open the door for them.
~"Candles raise my desire
Why I'm so far away
No more meaning to my life
No more reason to stay—"~
A live band was on the stage performing a song as Julia grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the back of the club. Mahogany walls, burgundy tables, and candles lit up the walls and tables, as people who were dressed in suits, dresses, and masks moved and danced around them.
"We reserved a room in the back," he told the man at the door in the wall. "Grissom."
The man checked the reservation list and then moved aside and opened the door for them. "Room 2."
Candles lit up the long mahogany hallway. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to Room 2.
Sitting in the long chaise chair that was in the room, he tried to relax as he draped his arm over the back of the seat, over Julia's shoulders, as she leaned into him. Her hand was on his thigh, rubbing it as she brought him out of his head and into the world around him. It was hard sometimes for him to relax, to open up and let loose. That had been what she'd done for him once, and why it had been so hard to keep himself from falling into a darkness that had nearly consumed the both of them. She got him to stop thinking and to react mostly with emotions. All logic had left him as he fell into only love and anger, jealousy and bitterness, until he finally broke. Until his marriage had broken apart and dissolved into nothingness.
One of the reasons he left Los Angeles was because he was afraid of himself, and the man he had become with her. He'd been scared to death of his anger and that jealousy. Scared of the hate he'd felt for himself, and the depression he'd spiraled down into that nearly killed him a few times.
She had a way of taking over his mind, stripping him of all his control, making him feel so open and vulnerable, and so much in love, only to rip it all away, leaving his heart and mind in pieces.
~"Freezing feeling
Breathe in, breathe in—"~
And now, she was doing it again. She knew how much he valued her now that she was the mother of their child. How much he wanted to try to make their marriage work. She was once again in his head, making it so hard for him to think clearly. In her hands were masks, two of them that she had picked out for them to wear after their first time at the club together. She'd had them specially made at a fetish shop. Hers was of a horned animal and it had jewels going up the sides from the ears to the base of the horns. His was that of a devil. Both masks were black and silver, with an opening for the eyes and mouth and chin, and nothing else.
Raising the masks, she put hers on first before sliding his mask over his face for him.
~"I'm coming back again—"~
Then she leaned into him, pushed his lips open with hers, and slipped her tongue deep into his mouth causing him to moan into the kiss.
He was vaguely aware that the waiter brought in a bottle of pink champagne and three glasses before he left and they were alone again.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins
Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
Her hand was rubbing his thigh through his pants as he felt his desire grow. If her goal was to drive him crazy, she was succeeding. The door opened and another customer walked in, a woman, and then the door shut behind her.
~"Hazing clouds rain on my head
Empty thoughts fill my ears
Find my shade by the moonlight
Why my thoughts aren't so clear—"~
Julia had been experimenting lately, trying new things and her adventurous side was even getting more dangerous and extreme. Tonight, she wanted a ménage à trois. With his addiction, and being a thrill-seeker himself, he didn't mind a lot of what she wanted to try. He loved exploring the limits of his sexuality with her, finding out what he enjoyed and didn't enjoy. He also loved making her happy. That was his only goal as her husband: to satisfy her. Julia never seemed satisfied. He was never enough for her, whether being good or bad, it was never enough.
~"Demons dreaming
Breathe in, breathe in—"~
He had found out after he'd been released from the holding cell in Los Angeles, after he'd physically attacked his best friend Alan for having an affair with Julia, that she'd wanted him to do it. She wanted him to get into fights for her. She thought that was proof of his love for her. She wanted him to get jealous, to get angry, to yell and fight and get physical not only with the other men in her life but with her as well. She wanted it. It made her feel wanted, and desired, and loved.
~"I'm coming back again—"~
It made him feel like a piece of shit. Worthless and pitiful and ashamed of how he'd acted. It had taken him getting away from her, it took moving to Las Vegas, for him to learn that it wasn't right. That it wasn't him. He wasn't that man and didn't want to be that man anymore. He could love someone and treat them right if only he could get the chance. He wanted that for himself. He wanted one woman in his life. A woman who actually loved him for who he was, and wanted him, and who he could satisfy. Someone who didn't feel the need to be with anyone else because he would be all she needed and desired.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins
Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
But Julia would not let him go. For whatever reason, she kept dragging him along with her. It wasn't out of love, but something else entirely. Reaching out, he touched her neck, rubbing his fingers up to her face as he drew her attention away from the woman in the black dress and kissed her again. She moved against him, moaning and needy, as her left hand rubbed at the back of his neck as her right grabbed him through his pants. Feeling her hand on him, trying to work him into a desperate ache, made his stomach twist up into knots. His heart was aching as he ended the kiss.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins—"~
In her voice, he heard her frustration. "What's wrong?" she spoke into his ear since her hands were busy.
He knew what was wrong, but it was hard to admit it. Hard to believe and accept that he was in a marriage with a woman that he was no longer in love with, but who also no longer turned him on. He knew that no matter how hard he tried to make this work, the only thing that awaited him if he stayed with her was more pain, and shame, and guilt. He would bend over backwards, killing himself, trying to make her happy until he actually did kill himself.
A poem entered his head, one he'd written himself a decade ago while he stared out into the ocean with Julia wrapped up in his arms: "The waves still, the night dark, and here I lay staring at the stars, sinking, as my last breath sweeps me away."
He'd wanted death. A wife shouldn't make him want to die, unless it was of pleasure.
~"Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
Then she got his belt unbuckled, zipper down, and then went down on him. He closed his eyes at the sensation that shot up his spine. He wanted to enjoy it, but what stirred in his gut wasn't an aching desperation for release, and it wasn't for it to not stop because he couldn't get enough. For the first time since being with her, he wanted her to stop.
He couldn't do this anymore.
~"Voodoo, voodoo, voodoo—"~
The woman in the black dress was watching them and he felt an ache in his gut as he saw her eyes on them both as her hand went to her chest. Around her neck was a necklace with a cross pendant and her other hand was playing with it, sliding the pendant along the chain before putting it in her mouth.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins
Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
Julia's mouth left him and he felt relief as she leaned back and signed, /What's the matter with you?/
All that work and he wasn't even remotely hard. He had no desire to be in that room with her any longer. Grabbing her behind the neck to stop her, he heard her moan at the pain as he asked, "Will this make you happy?"
She smiled slightly as she signed, /Yes./
All he ever wanted was for her to be happy and to make her happy. If this made her happy, then…Leaning forward to whisper into her ear, he told her, "Then go be with her. I'm leaving."
He buckled his belt, stood, and left the room.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away
When I feel the snake bite enter my veins
Never did I wanna be here again
And I don't remember why I came—"~
Walking back out into the club, he made his way through hordes of people falling down into that burning pit of lustful need that he'd ached for. They were dancing, kissing, and looking so happy. His hands were shaking, lungs burning, as his insides felt like it was being set on fire. He wanted what they had so badly that it was making his head spin.
~"Voodoo, voodoo
Voodoo, voodoo—"~
The only problem was that the woman he wanted it from didn't want him. She wanted nothing to do with him. He was pathetic, and so stupid to think that he could make their marriage work. They would never be able to be together, their marriage would never work, because he would never be enough for her.
~"Voodoo, voodoo
Voodoo, voodoo—"~
A woman was watching him, her eyes on him as he crossed the dance floor, and he noticed her as well. She was leaning up against the wall, long black dress, exposed thigh through the slit of the dress as she brought her leg up against the wall. There was a look in her eyes, one that wasn't hard to miss. She wanted him, but he had to be sure.
~"(Voodoo, voodoo) so far away—"~
Walking up to her, he leaned down and whispered into her ear as he placed his hand against her waist. There was only one thing that needed to be asked, "Do you want me?"
Was there any woman who actually wanted him? Was there anyone he could actually make happy? If he took his mask off, revealed who he was underneath with all his flaws and faults and mistakes, would she still want him? Probably not.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away (voodoo, voodoo)—"~
Pulling him with her, she led him down a long hallway and out the back door into the alley. He pushed her up against the wall, grabbed her wrists together and raised them above her head as he gripped and held them in place, then kissed her hard. His other hand grabbed that thigh he'd seen under the dress and lifted it up to hook around his waist.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away (voodoo, voodoo)—"~
As he continued to kiss her as he moved his hand in between her thighs and rubbed her up into a breathless, pleading, mess, she got his zipper down, pulled him out, and then let him push into her without any protection. He really didn't care anymore. He had a vasectomy after Charlotte was born, but that didn't do anything against catching some disease. In that moment, he felt diseased, like something was deeply wrong with him. He was wrong, and bad, and never good enough.
Hearing her gasp in pleasure, making her scream as she came, and knowing how good he made her feel was the only thing that made him think he was worth something. Besides work, sex was the only thing he was good at. It was the only thing that made him feel good, that was until he'd realized what he'd done. Once the pleasure was over, once he could think clearly again, he had never felt so empty, so cheap and dirty, as he did right then.
He couldn't even look her in the eyes, didn't bother to even say anything, before walking away as he ripped that damn mask off and threw it into the trash as he left the alley. Getting to his car, he drove away as he felt like a filthy piece of shit. He needed a shower.
Never again, he told himself. He was over this. Over Julia. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want to be like this anymore. This wasn't who he was. He knew he could be better, and do better, but right then all he thought of himself was that he was nothing but a good fuck. That feeling that settled into his mind made him want to die.
~"I'm not the one who's so far away."~
The next morning, as he sat at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette as she berated him for ditching her at the club, he told her, /I'm done./ She stopped signing as she stared at him in disbelief. /I don't love you. You don't love me…I can't do this anymore. I want you to leave./
/I'm not leaving. What about our daughter—/
/Charlotte isn't going anywhere. She'll always have a room here. I'm talking about you. I'll help you look for a house. I know a realtor—/
/We're not getting a divorce—/
/Why not?! This isn't a marriage. You never loved me. What I am is a safe bet. I'll always be here for you and you know it. You're afraid to be left—/
/You're pathetic./
/I'm pathetic because I don't want to keep having meaningless sex?/
/Oh, like you don't like it—/
Shaking his head, he told her, /I don't. I don't think I ever did. It's never made me happy. All I feel is…empty. And hate. I'm sick of this, sick of myself—/
/Poor you—/
/Will you stop that and just listen to me for once! We have a daughter to raise now—/
/Are you sure when you got the vasectomy that they didn't take your balls as well?/
He stared hard at her as he felt his jaw ache. /You're not going to make me feel bad for wanting to grow the fuck up and be a father. Maybe having a kid has caused me to kick myself in the ass. I'm glad it did. I need her and she's going to need us. You're a mother now…You can't honestly tell me that this is what you want. This turmoil. I don't. I want to be with someone who actually loves me—/
She actually laughed at him. /Please, you're not capable. I'm your wife and you can't even please me—/
/That's because you're insufferable—/
She reached across the table and smacked him.
He sat stunned for a moment then shook his head. He wasn't playing this game anymore. She wanted him to get angry, smack her back, and then throw her down for rough sex. Last night, once he realized that he was done, he'd shut her out. She was no longer in his head, or his heart, and she would never, ever, be in his bed again.
Grabbing his cup of coffee, he stood as he told her, /I'm done./
/Gil—/
Ignoring her, he walked away, going up the steps to his bedroom and shut the door.
A staff member named Seth shook his head as he told them, "Sorry, but she hasn't been here in months."
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"Pretty sure. She's usually with another woman, and they're really popular with the men because they let them watch them together. Believe me, when they're here, everyone knows about it. They, uh…they would also tip me a few hundred under the table."
He actually wasn't surprised by that. "What were they paying you for?"
"Discretion. This is Anonymous."
"And what else?" he asked because he knew Seth was holding something back.
Seth glanced at Brass who told him, "I'm not with Vice, kid. This is about a missing woman. Just answer the question."
He glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before saying, "I would meet with a guy in the alley. I would pay him for the product. Then, take it to them."
"Product?" he asked before he realized what he was saying. "Cocaine."
"Yeah," he said before asking, "Anything else?"
"This dealer, is he a regular here?"
"No. He's not a customer. We would just meet in the alley."
Brass then asked, "Can you identify him?"
Seth shrugged, "Sure, maybe. It's normally dark. He, uh, he was a white guy. Average height. In need of a bath."
"He smelled?"
"Yeah," Seth told him. "Not like a homeless guy, y'know. He just…had an odor. Short greasy hair."
"Sounds like you could make a positive ID if you saw a picture," Brass said as he handed Seth his card. "Come down to the department tomorrow and we'll go through some mugshots."
Seth took the card and then walked away as he shook his head. He was back to being the last possible person to have seen her that night. Well, that the police knew of.
He exited out the front door and mentally had to rid himself of the feeling that'd clenched his heart. The last time he'd been there had been when he decided he was going to separate his life from Julia's completely. It had also been when he realized that he didn't want to continue on the way he'd been living. He'd gotten so reckless once again, and so full of shame and guilt that it'd sent him down back into that deep dark despair that made him want to hurt himself. Instead of hurting himself, he had meaningless sex that caused him even more damage.
It never helped to make him feel any better, it actually made him feel so much worse, but it was what he did; it was how he could hurt himself without actually hurting himself. It was impulsive and stupid, but it had been the only thing he wanted other than death. And death wasn't an option.
After that night, he remembered being depressed for a long time. The only happiness he felt was what he got from his daughter. She had made him so happy. He didn't even have to work at making her love him, or laugh at him, or appreciate anything he did for her. As his child, she gave him all those things without him asking for it and more. But the one thing she could never give him, and what he wanted, was the love of a good woman. A real, and true connection with the woman that he knew was meant to be his wife. No judgment, no bitterness and jealousy, and no guilt and shame for being with her. Nothing but happiness, and acceptance, even when he fucked up because at times his mind could get fucked up.
The woman who gave him that, and more, was the one woman who he felt he truly did love for the very first time in his life: Sara. She was everything to him. And she was in pain. She was hurting because he was hurting. This case, his assumed guilt by the press and growing public opinion, and the swirling rumors were threatening to tear her apart. Where he could ignore it, tone it out as he focused on the job and what he had to do in order to prove his innocence in the court of law, she was drowning from the mounting pressure.
She had a hard time reeling in her emotions and not taking things personally. She was already quick to anger but it was getting worse over the last couple of weeks. Sara had also expressed her concern and worry for his daughter, so he'd finally invited her to have dinner with the two of them which seemed to help. She was able to see for herself how happy Charlotte was and that she was doing okay after the events of his arrest.
It hadn't solved everything, hadn't eased her anger and growing anxiety and fears, but it had helped to solidify to her that he was serious about their relationship. That he wanted her in his life, and in his daughter's life, and that she was important to him.
He got to his car as Jim stopped beside him. He'd been oddly quiet since they left the club with no new answers. All they found out, and what he'd already known, was that she liked to meet up with other people, men and women, while at the club and had been in the back rooms several times. But the last time anyone had seen her there was months ago.
So, why did she have that cell phone on her? Why call him four times that night? If she and Dr. Lurie had broken up, then he figured that she had that cell phone so she could get into contact with someone at the club to meet up for sex. She needed a rebound. Maybe she called him to try to get him into her bed?
"What're you thinking?"
Leaning against his car door, he shook his head as he tried to put it all together. He couldn't; he didn't have all the pieces to the puzzle. "We're missing something. I can't figure out a motive. Drug deal gone wrong? Scorned lover? If so, why involve me if it was about her? Or, if it's someone who has a vendetta against me, why kill Julia?"
"I think that's why Jefferson's convinced that it's you. Not just due to the evidence, but because you're the only one with a plausible motive. Take this Dr. Kessler, if she was the one who slipped you the Mickey, why? What's her angle?"
"I don't know."
He was at a loss. They were missing something. He just hoped they found it before it was too late.
As she opened her office door for him, he was reminded about why he thought it was urgent that they spoke. It wasn't just because he wanted to question her about the Ambien in his system the night Julia had gone missing. Staring at her, seeing her look of surprise and then resignation as he stood on her doorstep, he went to speak but she interrupted him.
"I already talked to the police."
"Okay, but...I'm here because I wanted to explain, and to apologize," he had told her before she opened the door wider to let him inside.
Heather shut the door behind him as she asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
"Just water, please."
He watched as Heather went through the rooms toward the kitchen as he went to the living room and sat down on the sofa. He stared at the hardwood floor, listened as the clock ticked by the seconds, and resisted the urge to lie down. Lavender was in the air from the flowers in the vase on the coffee table. Most likely picked from the flower bed he'd seen in the front yard. A glass of water was placed in front of him on the coffee table. Heather sat down across from him in the chair next to the fireplace. In her hands a glass of amber liquid with ice. Whiskey, probably. He took his whiskey neat, two to three fingers worth. He wanted the whiskey.
He downed the water and sat forward, resting on his knees, as only one thought came to mind. "Do you still love your ex-husband?"
Heather regarded him a moment, a tight frown on her face, before answering, "No."
"Does he still love you?"
Heather hesitated a moment before saying, "What is this about? You said you wanted to apologize?"
"If I had told you that I was dating someone, what would you have done?"
"I would have asked you why did you have the need to cheat? Do you even know why you did it?" she asked.
He let out a breath and stared at the coffee table. It was hard to concentrate as too many thoughts ran through his head. All his reasons that added up to nothing. He shouldn't have done it in the first place.
"There are many reasons why someone cheats, and it can be complicated figuring out the why. For some it's control, other people can be in love with several people at one time, others—"
Clearing his throat, he told her, "My girlfriend calls it my "cycle of self-loathing". I, uh…I have an addiction problem. I have a need to hurt myself. One way I fulfill that need is to have sex with women I shouldn't be having sex with. There's no other reason."
"I see," she didn't drink the whiskey but instead put it down on the coffee table between them.
He wanted to pick it up and take a drink himself or ask for a glass. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to drown himself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Instead, he pushed the craving away as he kept silent. He was there for a reason. He told her he came by to apologize. That was partly true. "Can, I, uh...use your bathroom?"
"You remember where it is?"
He smiled slightly as he got up and headed down the hallway. He shut the door and immediately opened her medicine cabinet. The only medication she had inside it beside aspirin and pain reliever was insulin. She was a diabetic. Maybe she had a bottle in her bedroom? He checked the linen closet and only found towels and feminine products and toilet paper. No sleeping pills. He then used the bathroom, washed up, and walked out.
As he sat back down, she asked him, "What were you looking for?"
He stared at her before he felt himself smile. She didn't miss anything. "I have migraines. My head hurts. I also haven't been sleeping much. Are you a psychiatrist or psychologist?"
"Psychologist. I can't prescribe you anything, if that's what you're wondering."
"Do you have anything you can give me to help me sleep at least?"
She shook her head, saying, "No, but I wouldn't give you anything even if I did. You just told me that you have an addiction problem. You do know that if you combine alcohol and sleeping pills that you could slip into a coma and possibly die?"
She at least knew the risks of taking the pills with alcohol. Would she have drugged him if she knew the risks? He had no idea. But if she wasn't the one who drugged him, then who did?
"Can I ask you what was it that sent you down that road of self-loathing that ended with you in my bed?"
Thinking back to that night, he felt the guilt and shame creep up his neck and shook his head as he told her, "I don't want to talk about that right now. That would mean that you're my therapist. You're not my therapist. I just want to apologize for what I did and for putting you in the position that you're in now."
"Gil—"
"Grissom. It's Grissom."
She smiled. "You want to keep this professional. Formal. I understand. It's a way to set a boundary and take control. Grissom," she corrected herself before continuing, "we don't have to talk as therapist and client. But before you leave, I would like for you to understand why you have the need to do it. I watch the news. I saw her coming over to your house...Did she give you an ultimatum?"
"No." He really didn't want to talk about his relationship with her.
She was watching him very closing as she asked, "Why are you here, really?"
He wanted to know why he did the things he did. Aside from wanting to know if she drugged him or not. "I want to know why I hurt her."
"Have you cheated on her before?"
He shook his head. "You were the only other woman I've slept with since we started officially dating."
"How about before you officially started dating?"
He shifted on the sofa as he felt the familiar unease shift inside as he thought about that question. "Yes."
"How many?"
Without hesitation, he told her, "Once." He was reminded of Teri Miller and how she had gotten married to some other man after they'd been together.
"Why? Was it purely based on opportunity? Or, were you wanting to date? Grissom, what was your reason? There was a trigger, there always is."
He shook his head. "As I told her, my girlfriend, I can't see myself sometimes. I guess…it was part of the same cycle?"
Heather thought about what he'd said for a moment before saying, "You don't look inside yourself much, do you? I'm not surprised. Men like you don't."
"What does that mean?"
"You're a thinker," she explained. "You internalized everything, and you don't question your feelings or motivations. You just act on your emotions when they surface and then bury them again. That's why you can't see what you're doing and why you're doing it. There was a trigger. Something happened that set you off down that path of self-loathing. It could have been something small and insignificant, or something major."
He knew what it was with Teri Miller. He knew how he ended up in her hotel room. "I had a rule. I don't date. I told you that. Before I started dating my girlfriend, I told her the same thing. I also told her it was okay for her to date other people. Even encouraged it."
"Why?"
"I'm still legally married, I can't—...I couldn't love her or be with her, and I didn't want to tether her to me. I wanted her to find someone else. Someone better. I wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with me. But, it was a lie. I didn't want her to be with anyone else."
She was looking at her hands as she rubbed them together. The ice in the glass of whiskey was melting. "And did she start dating someone else?"
He could only give a nod as he thought about Sara with Hank, felt how it sparked his jealousy as he worked his jaw and tried not to let it bother him. They were done and over with; she was with him. He had nothing to worry about anymore. He was enough for Sara. He knew he was. He was all she wanted...Wasn't he?
"That was the trigger?" she asked as she crossed her legs and leaned forward.
"It had to be." She gave a nod as he felt himself shift again on the inside. Rubbing his hands on his pants, he wanted to grab up the glass, down the whiskey, and then…do something stupid. She was tempting him to do it, wasn't she? Was that why she put the glass on the table?
"Did you want the excuse and to control the situation?"
"What?" he asked as he lifted his eyes from the whiskey glass to her eyes.
She was watching him as she leaned against the arm of the chair, legs crossed over the knee. "You said you lied to her, you lied intentionally, and then when you saw her being receptive to another man's advances, you used that as an excuse to hurt yourself by being with another woman. My question to you is: was that what you wanted? Did you set yourself up intentionally to have an excuse?"
He nearly gapped at her in surprise as he asked in near shock, "You're asking…if I did it on purpose?"
"Did you?" she asked. "You like control. It's one of the reasons why you cheated even though you don't think it is. You took control by cheating in the hopes it would make Sara leave you. The same with me. Here's the cycle: your mind starts lying to you, your body starts aching with want and need...making you feel like you're going to die, as the desperation grows, and all you need is a trigger to give in. That's how addiction works. You're always searching for an excuse. That low, that depression, is where addicts live when they're not reaching that high that they so desperately want. If you're always high, and never low, the high can't be sustained. You have to hit bottom. You need it as much as you need the sex, or alcohol, or whatever it is you're using to bury the pain with."
This was spinning out of his control as he rubbed at his head as it started to hurt.
"What do you think you deserve?"
What did he think he deserved? He was a bad man. He was worthless. He didn't deserve Sara. That was all he knew. He didn't deserve Sara or the love she gave him. If he was being completely honest, he didn't deserve to breathe.
"What is it that you hate so much about yourself that you're willing to destroy your own happiness to keep buried?"
He shook his head in confusion as he felt his world tilt off balance as he fought to breathe. This wasn't right. His head wasn't right. The room spun in his vision, and he had to close his eyes. His head was pounding.
"Grissom?"
He opened his eyes, grabbed the glass of whiskey and downed it before standing, saying, "Thanks for the whiskey." He sat the empty glass on the table by the door on his way out. "But I can't stay." If he did, he'd regret it.
"Grissom?" she called out after him.
Shutting the door to her house, he pulled out the car keys and headed towards the car. There was only one thing he wanted to do, and he couldn't do it there.
"...Julia Holden's daughter, Charlotte Grissom, is being accompanied by her grandmother, surrounded by the community as they all light candles in the hope that she'll be found, and in prayer and remembrance. Everyone that is except for Julia's husband and Charlotte's father, Gil Grissom—"
He'd lit some candles of his own around his bedroom, bought several bottles of Sara's favorite red wine, and prepared to take his sweet time. They hadn't seen each other in days. He'd been awake during the day now as he took Charlotte to school and then went over his case for trial before he started on dinner before going to pick Charlotte up. Once home he would help her with her homework, then they would eat dinner and she would spend time playing while he cleaned up. Then he would read her a story before bed. After Charlotte was asleep, he would call Sara and talk to her before she got to work. While Sara worked, he slept. But tonight, she was on-call and so she had come over. He'd made her dinner but now he wanted her as dessert.
He felt hands on his hips, and his chest, followed by a kiss as he opened his eyes. Sara's kisses over his body made him feel so much better. Then a bite into his skin and he groaned as he closed his eyes again. She licked where she'd bitten him, making his body shiver. In retaliation, he grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back. He sank his teeth into her breast, heard her gasp as he raked his teeth over her nipple, before sucking and licking her skin. He continued his assault as he kissed, licked, and bit at her chest and neck.
Her voice broke as she begged, "Please, babe—"
"You have to wonder what kind-of father doesn't attend the vigil for his own wife and the mother of his child. That isn't right. It speaks volumes to his apathy to her disappearance—"
He kissed lips as he grabbed her right leg behind the knee and lifted it up over his hip. He slipped his right arm under her body, putting his weight on his arm. Sara's breath caught in her throat as he moved up inside her.
He closed his eyes as he listened to her pleas, panting, and moans against his fast breathing. He loved hearing the sounds of their love making. It drowned out everything else. All the outside noise that threatened to overtake their lives. He opened his eyes to watch as Sara lost herself in pleasure; watched the way she couldn't control herself but tried as she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming too loud. He felt her fingernails scratch down his back as her other hand tangled in his hair.
Then the laughter that broke through the noise that had filled his head. Sara wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him to her. Staring up at him, she told him, "I love you."
He continued to stare down at her as he told her, "I love you too."
"I've received reports from multiple sources that Gil Grissom was excluded from the vigil, banned for even seeing his daughter, and you have to wonder if his own mother knows something, or at least suspects—"
She had pushed him onto his back and was kissing over his chest before she drew back, leaving him groaning and feeling cold. "This is going to end, isn't it?" He shook his head as he reached up, grabbed her behind the neck, and pulled her down for another kiss. As she broke away, she said, "Us. In this room. Sooner or later—"
He ran his hand over her chest as fear and desperation gripped his heart. He leaned up and kissed her again as he pushed up into her harder, making her start moving. Sitting up, she rode him slow, nice and easy, as the tension built.
He pulled her into a hug and held her as tightly as he could. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want this to stop. He loved Sara. He loved her so much. He wanted to wake up every day to her smile. He wanted to hear her laugh, hear her talk. The way she kissed him. The taste of her skin in his mouth and the way she smelled after she got out of the shower. How she felt in his arms. He remembered all the times they held each other, all the times she made him feel truly alive and happy, and he never wanted it to end.
Sara had become his entire life. Another reason for him to keep going. His reason to keep fighting. She was his hope and light in the darkness. He didn't want to go on if he didn't have her in his life. He couldn't. She was drifting away from him again; he could feel it in her body and see it in her eyes.
All the noise was trying to divide them, break them apart. He'd been ignoring it this whole time. Trying to keep all the noise out of his head and out of his life, but it was creeping inside and into the one place that was supposed to be his sanctuary. It was getting inside his house, his bedroom, and into their heads creating fear and doubt.
"Scott, I'm going to stop you right there as our studio just got news that a body has been located. We're going live as we have a correspondent at the scene. It hasn't been confirmed yet, but a woman's body has been found north of Las Vegas—"
Rolling over, he kissed her deeply before grabbing her and flipping her over onto her stomach. Taking his time, he kissed and licked at her back, working his way down her body. He kissed and licked at her ass before smacking it, rubbing it, before he reached over and grabbed his belt off the floor to bind her wrists. He had to help her forget, to get all the noise out of her head. She needed him to help her escape all the pain of her life and he only knew one way to do that. Wrapping his hand around her neck, pulling her up so her back was pressed against his back, he pushed into her from behind.
She felt so good it was hard to keep from coming right then. He also couldn't help but tell her as he spoke into her ear, "You feel so good. You like that?" he asked as he smacked her ass. "My naughty, dirty girl, you like that, don't you?" he asked again as he gave her ass another slap.
The way she moaned at his words and pushed back into him sent a shiver down his spine. And she did like it. And she was his girl in every way. She wanted to be his. She wanted everything that he could give her no matter how hard or soft, or how rough or gentle. She wanted it all. So far, the smacks had been more playful than hurtful. He knew that they'd stung her skin, left red marks, but never hard enough to bruise.
His hand rubbed over her hot flushed skin as he kissed and licked her back before shoving her down into the bed. Keeping a firm grip on the belt that bound her wrists, he used his legs to spread her knees wider as he thrust back into her at a brutal pace. She was panting into the bed, hands fisting her palms, nails digging into skin as her arms strained against the belt.
And, God, he loved seeing her that way. It stirred something deep inside of him that he couldn't control and didn't want to restrain. He smacked her thigh again, then her ass, as she started begging him to come. Her voice hitching and breaking with each and every plea. Tears stung at her eyes.
It took everything he had to not come as her body started clenching around him, her body bucking as she gasped, her scream catching in her throat. He grabbed her up around the neck and pulled her upright again. His hand around her neck tightened then eased, before tightening again, restricting her ability to breathe as he felt the tightness building in his gut. He was so close. The pleasure grew as he felt his body getting hotter, tighter, until—
He grunted out his pleasure as his pace faltered. He was coming. God, she made him feel so good. Made him want her so badly it hurt. "Fuck," he gritted out as he kept coming. He didn't think it was ever going to stop.
He never wanted it to stop. He wanted more. So much more. Without warning, he flipped her over as he reached down between her legs. His hand once again grabbed her throat and tightened, then eased, and then tightened again right along with her body as he rubbed her into another orgasm. The tension was building as she closed her eyes. He watched as the heat spread up, felt her muscles tense and quake under him as she fought to breathe, her chest heaving until—
She gasped, crying out, as she came hard into his hand. Letting go of her neck, he went down on her, wrapped her leg over his shoulder, as he ate up everything that she gave him. Then, he was laughing. A deep laugh that he couldn't stop. He bit at her stomach, causing her to playfully slap him, which made him laugh harder. The belt hadn't been that tight, and she'd easily freed herself from it.
He kissed at her thighs, and then down her legs to her feet as she worked on getting her breathing under control. Bringing her foot to his mouth, he kissed the bottom of it as she started laughing as she tried to jerk her foot out of his grip. He kissed it again before licking it, making her squirm as she fought to breathe as she kept laughing.
"Stop," she begged him while laughing, "that tickles!"
When she finally almost kicked him in the face, he started laughing again before he draped himself over her and kissed her chest, her neck, and then her lips.
He loved hearing her laugh and had missed it. For the past week it seemed like all the joy had been sucked out of the both of them. Every time they were together, he wanted to try to get them back to this feeling of happiness, of joy, and pure bliss. And he was drifting in that bliss, drifting into the exhaustion that settled into his body as he laid down beside her, arm around her waist, as he closed his eyes.
A noise woke him from a deep slumber. It was ringing. Blinking his eyes open into the dark bedroom, he rolled over towards the ringing and fumbled to grab up the cell phone before it woke Sara. He felt her hand on his back, running her fingers over his skin, as he flipped the phone open and answered groggily, "Grissom."
"Gil, it's Catherine…There's no easy way—I'm sorry. We found her. We found Julia. She's dead."
Closing his eyes, he nearly dropped the phone as he felt the grief hit his chest. Despite knowing there was no way she was still alive, he had hope. Hope that his daughter would see her mother alive again. Now, all that hope was gone. "Are you certain it's her?"
"I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't."
He felt her arms around him as she pressed herself against his back. Burying her face into his neck, he heard Sara tell him, "I'm so sorry."
Reaching up, he grabbed her arm and rubbed it as he spoke into the phone, "Thanks, uh…thank you, Catherine." He felt so numb as he tried to work out what to do. He couldn't go to the scene, couldn't work her death to figure out what happened. All he could think about was Charlotte. "I want to be the one to notify my daughter."
"I understand. We're still processing. We'll be out here for a while—"
"Where?"
"She's in the desert, Gil."
Feeling his stomach twist up thinking about Julia out in the desert, alone and cold…"I gotta go." He snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the nightstand as he stood. Sara's arms slipped from his body as he said, "I have to take a shower."
Everything felt so distant, like he was no longer in the world as he went through the task of starting the shower. He stepped in under the spray as his chest started to hurt, and then his head, as he fought to push down the grief that'd hit his chest the moment he'd heard that Julia was dead. The shower curtain opened behind him. He felt her hands on his back before turning him around as she pulled him into a hug. He broke as he felt the tears slip down his face as the spray of the hot water covered them.
He hurt so bad; he hadn't felt that much pain since his father died. How in the hell could he tell Charlotte? He never wanted her to feel that badly. He never wanted her to know what it was like to lose a parent at such a young age. He never wanted her to feel the brokenness and emptiness that he had felt, or to experience the confusion and anger it'd brought him.
How could anyone possibly think he would put his daughter through this kind-of grief? It was the worst feeling in the world.
"We have confirmation, Jill. Sources confirmed that the body found in the desert, off a desert road that's between Creech Air Force Base and the State Prison off I-95, is in fact that of Julia Holden, the missing wife of Dr. Gil Grissom who is already facing charges for her murder. As you can see behind me, the police and crime lab are out here searching for clues and evidence, and we can only wait and see what they find, if anything, that either confirms or casts doubt on Dr. Grissom's guilt."
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned/used: "Young Lust" by Pink Floyd. "Voodoo" by Godsmack.