Chapter 2
Saturday 1:30am
Grissom returned to the lab and headed for the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee. He walked down the hall to his office and shut the door behind him. As he walked around the edge of his desk, he turned on his CD player, and the sounds of the cello filled his office. He sat down and looked at the remaining phone messages on his desk. It was the pile from 'Senior'. And just then, he couldn't stop the tears. He put his face in his hands, elbows on the desk and wept for his father. He wept for the man who filled his nightmares, who hurt his mother, who hurt him. Grissom couldn't defend it and he couldn't define it; he chose to cry for the father who even in death tormented his life.
When he felt as though he had no more tears to shed, Grissom stood up and headed for the locker room, thankful that it was the middle of the night, and the hallways were quiet. He started the cold water in a sink and covered the drain with paper towels. When it was three-quarters full, he turned off the water and dunked his head in. He held it there, blowing bubbles, reveling in the cold of the water. Finally, when his air was gone, he stood, ignoring the water running off his hair and face onto his shirt. He pulled the paper towels from the drain and threw them out. Wiping his face, he walked out of the locker room and into the hall. Heading for his office, he felt immense fatigue. He walked into his office and again shut the door. Grissom turned off the lights, except the one that illuminated his desk. He walked to his couch and lay down, rolling onto his left side, facing the back of the couch.
3:00am
Sara walked up to Grissom's office. Not getting a response, she opened the door anyway. He was asleep on the couch, dreaming. She reached for him, touching his shoulder and he calmed immediately. Yawning, herself, she sat the floor, leaned against the couch and soon fell asleep.
4:00am
Grissom sat up after a nightmare and was surprised that Sara was in his office. Reaching into his desk drawer, he removed a note card with a butterfly embossed on it, with matching envelope.
Dear Sara,
Need some private time. I'll find you tomorrow.
Love you,
GG
He made sure he had his keys, wallet, and phone, and headed out. As he walked down the hall, he heard his name called.
"Yeah, Greg, what's up?" Grissom asked, slightly distracted.
"I wanted to show you something." Greg said, softly, handing him a piece of paper in a Ziploc bag.
It was a photograph from 1961 with Grissom and his parents. Everyone was smiling.
"Where did you get this?" Grissom asked softly.
"It was inserted into the mirror in his hotel room."
"Thanks, uhm, I have to go." Grissom said, handing Greg back the photo. "I'm on cell. Sara's napping in my office. Grab her in a half an hour and share your evidence. If you have questions and can't find me, talk to Brass. Remember, he used to head this unit."
"Take care, Griss," Greg offered.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Grissom replied before walking back into the hallway towards his car.
Grissom reached his car and opened it electronically. He started the engine and shifted his CD player to 7. The LCD screen said 'Rage', and the music reflected it. He drove a familiar route and pulled into the lot. He grabbed a bag from the back seat and headed in.
"Hey, Griss, aren't you supposed to be at work?" Hank called from the front desk.
"Gotta work some things out here," Grissom muttered before heading to the locker room.
He changed into a muscle tee, pair of shorts, and tennis shoes. He reached back into his bag for his gloves and headed out onto the floor.
"Hey, Griss," Tommy called.
"Hi, Tommy, could you lace me up?" Grissom asked.
"Sure, look, if you want to spar, later, Jimmy Slattery's guy got busted for weapons. Just let me know." Tommy said, lacing Grissom's right glove.
"Slattery, hunh? Do I know him?"
"Yeah, the blonde in the pale blue trunks."
Grissom looked over Tommy's shoulder and saw the twenty something man working out on a speed bag.
"Will I have fun or will I get the crap beat out of me?" Grissom asked, intrigued.
"I wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't going to be a challenge. Warm up and I'll talk to him." Tommy said, finishing the left glove.
Grissom nodded and headed off to a speed bag to get his timing down. He started his mantra and soon was lost in the rhythm of the sound of boxing. The sweat rolled down him, saturating his clothing. He was warmed up enough to go after the body bag. Walking to an idle bag, he started again, working up to a rhythm.
"Are you Grissom?" a voice interrupted him.
"Yeah, you Slattery?" he said, stopping to look at him.
"Yeah, Tommy says you might want to spar a bit."
"Sounds like fun. Let me get suited up. See you in five." Grissom said before heading back to the locker room.
He took out his mouth guard from its case and inserted it. Walking back onto the floor, he went to Tommy, who had his head guard and his kidney belt. It had been more than a month since Grissom had sparred, and he needed to get used to the additional weight of the safety equipment. Tommy stood in Grissom's corner, watching for the tell tale signs of when he lost control. Tommy knew Grissom had a temper, but the leather bags couldn't fight back.
Slattery came in slowly and they started their match. Grissom tagged Slattery in the chest a couple of times and danced away when Slattery came too close.
They had been going at it for almost ten minutes when Slattery tagged Grissom hard. Grissom shook his head and took a different stance.
"Go after him, Grissom. You can take him." Tommy urged.
Grissom carefully followed Slattery's moves, echoing them. Out of the blue, Grissom hit him square, twice. There was no warning and Slattery went down hard.
"Jesus, Grissom, I didn't want you to knock him out." Tommy cried as he climbed into the ring to look at the other fighter.
Blood poured out of Slattery's nose onto the mat. Grissom paced in the opposite corner, still aggressive, still agitated.
"That's it," Tommy said, walking up to him.
"I'm sorry," Grissom said, looking at the floor.
"No, it's my fault. I knew what you were capable of; I'd just never seen it that fast." Tommy said, pulling Grissom's gloves off for him.
"I'm sorry, Tommy," Grissom repeated.
"Grissom, you didn't do anything wrong. Go take a shower and head home. Chalk this up to experience." Tommy advised.
Grissom took his gloves and walked into the locker room. He removed all the rest of his protection, carefully putting his mouth guard back into the custom container. Stripping off his clothes, he headed into the shower. He passed a mirror and saw the bruises faintly on his chest. Standing under the stream of hot water, Grissom tried to lose himself and not let his mind wander.
He dressed quickly and looked at his watch, five-thirty. Just in time, he thought as he packed his gym bag and headed for his car.
"Hey, Grissom?" a voice called.
Grissom turned and saw Jimmy Slattery with a piece of tape over the top of his nose.
"You're good. Anytime you want to spar, have Tommy hook it up."
Grissom nodded and unlocked his car. He threw his bag on the passenger seat and got in. Starting the engine, he reset the CD to Cellos in the Mist, pulled his shoulder harness on and drove to find more solace.
"Sara? I have some Blue Hawaiian for you, but you have to come to Trace," Greg teased.
Sara opened her eyes and groaned. Sleeping on the floor had been a bad idea.
"Where's Grissom?" she asked, standing, before reaching for the note that she saw on the floor next to her.
"Gone for the night. I need you to look at the evidence that Brian and I collected."
"What the trick roll?" she said, reading Grissom's note.
"No, Mr. Grissom's hotel suite." Greg said, holding the door to Grissom's office open for her.
6:00am
Grissom pulled into the parking lot. Shutting off the engine, he got out of the car and locked it electronically. He walked toward the utility building.
"Dr. Grissom! This is unusual. What can I do for you?" Benny, the grounds-keeper for Palm Mortuary, asked from his chair at his desk.
"Benny, I need to crash until the office is open. Then I need to make arrangements for my father." Grissom said his voice barely audible.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry. I left it just like you wanted. The office opens at nine. I'll come back for you. You just sleep and leave everything to me." Benny said, standing.
Grissom nodded. He took his electronics from his pockets and put them on Benny's work table. He slipped his holster from his waist, careful with the gun, and set it on the counter. His glasses came next and then he lay down in a nest of packing blankets. Benny turned the lights off, except the work lamp at the table. Grabbing his coffee, he left the grieving scientist alone.
8:30am
"Excuse me, are you Benny Martinez?" a tired looking man in shirtsleeves asked him.
"Yeah, who are you?"
"My name is Jim Brass. I happen to be a cop, but I'm here trying to find my friend, Gil Grissom. Is he here, somewhere? He mentioned that he comes here to work things out, sometimes."
"Oh, yeah, get in. I'll drive you to my building." Benny said, walking back to his Gator.
"Thanks," Brass said, climbing in.
They drove to the other side of the cemetery to a non-descript building.
"He's just inside on the left. He wanted me to wake him at nine for him to take care of the details for his Dad's burial." Benny stated, leaving the Gator running.
"I'll do that for you. Does he know where the office is?"
"Yeah, help yourself to coffee," Benny said.
"Thanks, Benny."
"Uhm, you're welcome," Benny said, slipping the Gator back into gear and driving back to work.
Brass walked into the warehouse and pulled out his flashlight. Grissom was wrapped in packing blankets, safely asleep. Walking to the work table, Brass followed his nose and poured himself a cup of coffee. Grissom's cell phone was on the table by his wallet, lab keys, car keys, gun, and glasses. He turned off his flashlight and slipped it into its holster next to his gun. Sitting on a stool, Brass sipped his coffee, lost in the silence, watching his friend sleep.
9:00am
"Grissom,
coffee, wake up," Brass said loudly from six feet away.
Grissom woke up quickly. He looked at his surroundings and frowned at Brass.
"Relax, will you? This is what I do. Besides, I thought you might need a pal."
Grissom sat against the wall and accepted his glasses and then a mug of coffee from Brass.
"What do you know?" Brass asked.
"I know that he was killed gangland style. He was in trouble." Grissom said, sipping his coffee.
"Why did you go to the morgue? Al was pretty upset having to do the prelim with you in the room."
"Someone acid etched his fingerprints off. I needed to be sure, for me." Grissom said, as the tears started to fall down his face.
"Easy," Jim said, walking over to sit next to Grissom on the floor.
"He ran out on my mom and me when I was a kid. I wrote him off. I didn't know if he was alive or dead and I couldn't have cared less. Then Roger said definitively he had died at the Twin Towers on 9/11 and it was over. My father reached me at the lab. I have thirty messages from him after I left."
"The panic attack?" Brass asked.
"Doc called you? Yeah, then my father called me at home, wanting me to meet him."
"Which triggered your migraine," Brass said.
"Yeah, Jesus, Jim, I'd been up for forty-eight hours. I was a mess in anyone's book," Grissom said, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"Drink some more coffee. We need to organize your father's burial and then get you home." Brass instructed.
Grissom nodded, sipping his coffee. After a few minutes, he struggled to his feet with Brass stabilizing him.
"You go to Slim's?" Jim asked, seeing a bruise on his cheek.
"Yeah, I sparred with a twenty year old." Grissom said, putting his electronics back on and slipping his keys into his pockets, and his gun to his waistband.
He turned off his phone, causing Brass to raise his eyebrows.
"He tagged you," Brass pointed out, changing the subject.
Reaching his hand to his cheek, Grissom smiled.
"I dropped him; K.O.," he noted.
"Wow!" Brass remarked as they headed to the door. "Benny says you know the way to the office."
"Yeah, we can walk. Did you park in the lot?"
"Yeah,"
"That's where the office is." Grissom said, squinting as he walked into the warm early morning air.
10:00am
"I think that will be the last piece of information we need from you, Dr. Grissom. I am sorry for your loss but I think you'll find that here at Palm Mortuary we will take care of your father."
"Yes, I'm sure. Roger McAllister recommended you." Grissom said, putting the receipt for the plot and headstone into his wallet.
"Yes, Martha. That was very sad. His son is here as well. Unfortunately, he didn't have the resources to buy three plots together. His son is in the B and his wife is in…"
"S." Grissom finished for her.
"Thanks very much," Brass said, guiding Grissom out.
Grissom headed off, walking quickly through the gravestones with Brass in pursuit. Suddenly, Grissom stopped and dropped to his knees, the grass more forgiving that the concrete from the previous night. Brass crouched next to him and slid an arm over his shoulders.
"Do you know how long I've been coming to this cemetery?"
"No,"
"Since I moved here, almost fifteen years." Grissom said, stifling a sob.
Brass pulled him close and they both cried for the son of their friend. Suddenly, Jim's phone rang. He rubbed his eyes and tried to pull himself together until he read the screen.
"Hi, Kiddo,"
"Is he with you? I won't worry, I just need to know."
"Yeah, he's with me. We're on our way home." He said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.
"Thanks, Jim. I'll wait for you."
"Bye, Sara,"
"Bye, Jim."
Jim closed his phone, slipped it back in its holster and stood up.
"Come on, you're needed at home," Jim said, and extended his hand to his friend.
Grissom looked up and reached up his hand. Jim pulled him to his feet easily, sliding his arm over Grissom's shoulders as they walked to their cars. Grissom reached into his pocket for his keys.
"Are you okay to drive?"
"Yeah, I'm on autopilot from here, anyway. Thanks for coming out, Jim," Grissom said, standing in the opening of his door.
"Get some sleep. I'll see you later." Jim said, smiling.
Grissom nodded in acknowledgement and slid into the driver's seat. He shut the door and started the engine, turning the volume up. Fifteen minutes later, he turned into his driveway.
Turning the key in the door, Grissom walked into his townhouse. The sound of cellos echoed softly and caused him to smile. He placed his bag at the bottom of the stairs, and took off his electronics and keys, putting them in the clay dish. Walking into the living room, Sara stood up, dressed in his Chicago Bears jersey and little else. She stood, waiting for him to come to her, noting the fatigue on his face and in the way he moved. He walked to her quickly, enveloping her in his arms.
"I love you, Sara,"
"I love you, too, Gil," she said, as tears that she swore she was not going to shed started to course down her face.
He pulled back, hearing the hitch in her voice and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.
"No tears, okay, please?"
"I can't guarantee, but I'll try,"
Grissom pulled her close again. He stepped back and looked at her.
"I'm sorry; I have to go to bed."
"Me too, let's go."
He picked up his bag and they walked up the circular staircase, Grissom in the lead, his left hand trailing behind, holding on tightly to Sara's hand. As they entered the master bedroom, Grissom released her hand, dropped his bag by the closet and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sara got into bed and pulled back the sheets from his side. Grissom walked in from the bathroom, his hair damp, his shirt wet, and went to the closet. He took off his clothes to his shorts and walked back to the bed. Sara slowly rolled onto her left side. Grissom got into bed and turned out the light. He rolled onto his left side and moved to spoon against her back. Pulling her to him tightly, he took a shaky breath and tried to sleep.
12pm
The phone rang and a groggy Grissom reached to answer it.
"Grissom,"
"Gil, it's Rory. I've got an office full of Feds. How soon can you get here?"
"What?" Grissom said, his voice sounding shrill.
Sara woke up, sitting upright in the bed next to him, watching him react to the phone call.
"I need you here to answer questions about your father."
Grissom started to shake and dropped the phone, and then got out of the bed.
"Hello?"
"Sara? It's Sheriff Atwater. The FBI is here and needs to talk to him."
"Not today, Sheriff. He pulled a quadruple, as well as working this last shift to cover for Sofia and then found his father dead. Tomorrow at the earliest." Sara said, taking charge.
"Oh, I see. I was unaware of all of that. All right, Sara, tomorrow at nine a.m. in my office."
"Yes, Sheriff, I'll make sure he's there." Sara said.
"Thanks, uhm, good bye,"
"Good bye," Sara said, reaching over to hang up the phone.
Grissom sat on the end of the bed and then slid to the floor. He leaned his head back as the tears started again. Sara got out of bed and sat next to him, crying as well.
"Please, hold me," Grissom whispered through the agony he was feeling.
Sara reached around him, pulling his head to her chest, feeling his body tremble as he sobbed. Finally, he started to calm and repositioned himself on the floor so his head was in her lap and his arms were still tightly around her. Sara ran her hands through his hair, rubbing circles on his back, and felt him relax even more.
2:00pm
Sara eased her way out of Grissom's hold to answer nature's call, pulling a blanket from the closet and covering his shoulders to his feet, first. She walked downstairs and suddenly saw the flashing light on the antiquated answering machine. The LCD read forty five. Groaning, she sat at the kitchen bar and reached for the pen and pad. Pressing play she started to listen to the messages. Ten were from Grissom's father. Sara figured Grissom was asleep and she was in the shower during that time period. There were fifteen hang-ups from 9:30pm to 9:35pm. The next phone call was at 3:00am from Brass. Then Rory, Doc, Andy, Brass again, Sara, five hang-ups, Doc, Brass, Andy, Sara, and five more hang-ups. Sara wrote a note, ' do not erase', and put it on the machine. She then wrote a note about the 9:00am meeting with Rory on Sunday. Her stomach growled as she headed into the kitchen to fix some lunch. Mindful that Grissom was still asleep, she turned the stereo on, playing Cellos in the Mist. Soon she was lost in the haunting music as she made herself an omelet. She stood in the kitchen and ate it slowly.
Finishing her meal, Sara looked again inside the fridge and figured now was as good a time as any to go shopping. She made a quick list, and then left a note for Grissom, before grabbing her keys and walking out of the townhouse.
2:30pm
Grissom woke up, lying on the carpet in his bedroom. He got up slowly, feeling tired and off balance. Walking into the closet, he dropped his shorts and put on his running shorts, a t-shirt with Leonardo DaVinci's sketch of man, and his Adidas. He had no idea if he was going to run, but these were comfortable clothes in the heat. He headed downstairs to the silence of the townhouse. He smelled a faint odor of egg and walked into the kitchen to see Sara's dirty dishes. He then saw the note on the answering machine; do not erase. Curious, he pressed play and listened. When he heard his father's voice, he started to pace, trying to evade it, still not turning the machine off. The door shut during the fourth message as Grissom fled from his house, his father's voice, and his memories.
3:00pm
Sara walked in to the eerie sound of voices speaking in the living room. She realized quickly that it was the answering machine. Setting her bags of groceries on the counter, she stopped the machine and then started to worry.
"Grissom?" she called, as she started to search the house.
Ten minutes later she was positive he wasn't in the townhouse. She walked to the front door and saw all of Grissom's personal belongings; keys, wallet, cell phone. Picking up the phone in the kitchen, she called Jim, trying to keep her emotions under check.
"Brass,"
"He's gone," she blurted out.
"What? What do you mean?"
"I went to the store about forty-five minutes ago. He woke up and listened to the messages on the machine. He doesn't have his keys, phone or wallet. Jim, I am so scared. I don't know where he is, but I know he isn't able to handle this on his own. Please help me, help him," Sara pled into the phone.
"Okay, Sara, it'll be okay. I know some places that he goes to. You need to stay home, though, so you can let him in. I'll call Andy and Catherine."
"Tell Al, too, and Dr. Wu," Sara said as the tears started again.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll find him." Jim replied while holding onto his emotions, only because he was at his desk and the door to his office was open.
"Please Jim, I need him."
"Me, too, Cookie. Stay close to the phone." Jim said.
"I will, bye,"
"Bye," Brass said, setting his cell phone down.
He picked up his land line and dialed quickly.
"Hays,"
"Andy, it's Jim,"
"Grissom?"
"Yeah, he heard his father's voice on his answering machine and walked out of the townhouse. Anything you can do to help, I'm swamped right now."
"First of all, what do we know?"
"He left his wallet, keys, and phone. He literally ran out of the house sometime between 2:00 and 3:00."
"That helps, okay, I'll call Slim's, Dr. Wu, and Benny." Andy Hays said, settling upright in the chair at his desk.
"I'm going to call Catherine,"
"Call Roger and Al Robbins." Andy instructed.
"Right, I will,"
"We'll find him,"
"Talk to you soon," Brass said.
"Right, bye,"
"Bye,"
Brass touched the bar on the phone and dialed Catherine's cell phone.
"Willows,"
"Catherine, it's Jim. Can you talk?"
"Hang on, I'm at a scene. Nicky, I need to take this. I'll be over here."
"Kay," Brass heard Nick reply.
"Brass what's up?"
"Grissom identified his estranged father at a scene yesterday. It's really thrown him. He ran out of the house today, no wallet, keys, or phone. Just keep your eyes out."
"Damn, you bet I will. Call over to Lady Heather. I know they talk, sometimes."
"Still? Well, okay. Keep me in the loop." Brass said.
"I will," Catherine said, closing her phone.
Brass closed his eyes for a moment as he hung up the phone. He picked up his jacket, and headed to his car; sometimes driving focused him. He got into his car and drove, letting his mind wander as to where Grissom was.
7:00pm
Brass had been to all of Grissom's hangouts, no one had seen him since earlier that day. There was no word from his friends or Sara. Frustrated, Brass went somewhere where he felt comfort. Parking his car on the street, he walked the steep stairs. Opening the door, the smell hit him first and it relaxed him. Then the sound filtered down and he smiled. Walking forward, he sat down, and listened to the music. The ceremony started and by rote, from some buried memory, asleep for months, Brass began to repeat the words that were being said. He lost himself in the comfort of the rhythm and the litany.
"Jimmy?" a voice called.
Brass looked up to the tall man in clerical robes standing before him, realizing that the service was over.
"Hi, Tim," Brass replied tiredly.
"That's all I get, hi Tim?" The man with a shock of red hair asked, a soft smile on his face.
"Man, I'm sorry, it's just…" Brass lost his thought.
Father Tim sat next to him studying the face of his childhood friend. It seemed a lifetime away when they were boys in Bayonne.
"What's happened?" Tim asked softly.
"My friend found his estranged father shot gangland style yesterday. He freaked and ran out of the house after hearing him on his answering machine. I've been looking for him since 3 or so and I just don't know where else to look."
"Do I know this friend?"
"You never met him but I've told you about him. My friend, Gil Grissom,"
"Oh, Jimmy, I'm sorry. Do you have a photo? Maybe I could show it to the parishioners?" Father Tim asked.
Brass opened his wallet and pulled a photo of Grissom at bat for the lab against Ecklie's baseball team. His hat was backwards, grey curls easily falling through the gap, and a huge smile on his face.
"Oh," Tim said, standing quickly.
"What do you mean, 'oh', Tim?" Brass asked, standing as well.
"Come with me," Tim said, handing the photo back before quickly walking off in the direction of the confessionals.
He opened a door and Jim saw Grissom, curled up, and still dressed in his running clothes, sleeping. Brass dropped to his knees and softly touched Grissom's hair as if touching him would confirm that he was real.
"I found him a little before the four o'clock service, pacing in the narthex. We talked a little, he really needs someone to talk to, Jimmy." Tim said softly.
"I know; I need to call a professional." Jim agreed.
He stepped out of the confessional and dialed a number.
"Hays,"
"I found Grissom. He's at St. Agnes, on Whitney, asleep. What do you want to do?"
"Wait for me, please, and then we'll take him home, together." Andy replied.
"Okay, I'm going to call Sara,"
"Fine, I'll be there in twenty minutes," Andy replied.
"Great, thanks,"
"Bye,"
"Bye," Brass said, looking at Tim.
"He'll be here in twenty minutes," Brass said, before speed-dialing a well-known number.
"Sidle,"
"Hi, pumpkin, I found him, he's fine." Brass said, while sitting on a pew as his own reserves started to crumble.
"Thanks, Jim." Sara said, trying to be strong.
"We'll be home in under an hour." Brass said.
"Okay, bye,"
"Bye," Brass said, shutting his phone.
Tim and Brass watched Grissom sleep, silent guards, waiting for Andy to arrive. Ten minutes later, Andy trotted up the side aisle and then stopped suddenly, seeing the frown from Father Tim.
"I'm sorry, Father,"
"Andy Hays, this is Father Tim Cassidy, my childhood best friend and my priest." Jim explained.
"Father, I'm sorry,"
"Relax; it's just unusual for someone with a gun and handcuffs visible to be running through my church. I'll have to write a blurb in the weekly newsletter." Father Tim half-joked.
"How is he?" Andy asked.
"He's conflicted. I gather his father beat him, but he loves him implicitly and it's tearing him up." Father Tim said.
Andy was silent, looking at Grissom.
"Did he talk to you?"
"Yes, very openly,"
"Then you need to wake him, and then we'll take him home. He needs you, Father, much more than he needs me," Andy explained.
Andy and Brass walked away from the entrance to the confessional. Father Tim raised his eyebrows and then crouched near Grissom.
"Grissom? Wake up? I have to close the sanctuary." Father Tim said.
Grissom stirred slowly and then sat up, examining his surroundings. He stood slowly and walked out into the sanctuary.
"You're not that good," Grissom growled, trying to figure out why Brass was there.
"No, you're right. I'm here because this is my church and I needed some support, tonight. Tim wondered why I was upset. I explained and he asked to see your photo. Here we are."
"Wait, you're that Father Tim?"
"Gil," Brass warned.
"Yes, why?"
Grissom looked at Brass and smiled. "Jim talks about you, sometimes."
"Ah,"
"Grissom, we need to get you home," Andy said softly.
Grissom turned his gaze to Andy and his eyes filled with emotion. He straightened and walked to the door.
"Godspeed, Dr. Grissom," Tim called softly.
Grissom pushed the panic bar and went out into the parking lot, pacing. He looked for something familiar, his Denali, Sara, but saw nothing. Jim walked out into the parking lot and electronically opened his car. He opened the passenger door and stood silently by it. Grissom looked at him and walked quickly to the passenger door, settling easily. Andy walked to his car and followed Brass when he pulled out of the lot. Half an hour later, they pulled up to Grissom's town house. He got out of Jim's car and started to walk up the stairs quickly.
"Grissom, wait," Andy called.
Grissom stood on the landing, shifting his weight. Andy took the stairs two at a time and was quickly at his side.
"Look, you're upset. I think I need to prescribe something."
"I can't, Doc. I have to appear before the Feds at 9am tomorrow morning. Hell, I'll be lucky if I'm there at all, anyway." Grissom said darkly.
"What are you talking about?" Brass asked, walking up the stairs below them.
"Rory called and has demanded I appear to talk to the Feds." Grissom said sarcastically.
"Shit, okay, I understand. I'll be there with you, don't worry." Brass said.
Grissom rang the doorbell and said, "I'm not worried, Jim, I'm just really angry."
Sara opened the door and saw Grissom. She hugged him and mouthed 'thanks' to Jim and Andy before guiding Grissom into the townhouse and shutting the door behind them. He walked out of her embrace and stood in the living room. He seemed suddenly edgy and distracted.
"Grissom, please don't do this. Don't shut me out. I want to help you." Sara said, walking up to him.
He turned away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his beard.
"I have to work tonight. Can I make you something to eat before you go to bed? You need to be at the Sheriff's office at nine tomorrow morning." Sara said, trying a different tactic.
The phone rang and Grissom walked over to pick it up, hesitating slightly when he saw the note 'do not erase'.
"Grissom,"
"Dr. Grissom, this is Marcus Sheehan of the F.B.I.. I'm calling just to reconfirm that you will be at Sheriff Atwater's office tomorrow morning at nine. We need to talk to you." A deep voice said.
"What do you want from me?" Grissom asked, barely containing his mounting anger.
"It will be explained to you tomorrow. Good bye," Agent Sheehan replied and then hung up.
Grissom slammed the receiver back onto the cradle, causing Sara to take a step back.
"You can't let your father rule your life again, Grissom. He was a bad man. He didn't love you." Sara said, now angry at the situation.
Grissom turned quickly to look at her.
"Maybe he didn't, Sara, but I loved him. He was my father in good times and in bad. Unconditional love between parents and offspring is biological. I just don't understand…" Grissom started, his anger continuing to build.
"What don't you understand?"
The phone rang again and Grissom walked over and picked it up.
"Grissom,"
"This is Agent Sheehan,"
"What?" he asked impatiently.
"Bring a lawyer tomorrow," he said and hung up.
Grissom stood with the dead phone in his hand and started to shake.
"What do they want from me?" Grissom screamed as he slammed the phone receiver onto the marble counter top.
The plastic phone broke up on impact but Grissom continued to pound. Sara at first took a step back but then her anger returned again.
"They want you to explain him. They want you to tell them what's going on. They want you to open up." Sara said, her hands on her hips.
"It's none of their business. I just want to be left alone. I don't want to be judged." Grissom said, the remnants of the phone lying at his feet.
"Jesus, Gil, a man was killed; your father, and they're investigating it" Sara said, raising her voice.
"No, they're investigating me, now. I haven't seen my father in almost forty years. I know nothing about him. I just want to be left alone. They're judging me through him." Grissom said, starting to pace.
"Please, let me help you,"
"No," Grissom said, softly.
"Please, don't shut me out. Let me help you."
"No, leave me alone," Grissom shouted and stormed off to the lab room.
"Fine, to hell with you," Sara said, fuming.
She picked up her keys, electronics and bag and left the townhouse, slamming the door for effect.
