So, this is the second installment of the "homage chapters". There are some very mild spoilers from Grave Danger and Spellbound. Thank you for all the reviews. Please continue, thanks :)
Chapter Twenty Three
"There is darkness everywhere
Yet your voice told me to go
Inspired and grateful was I
And now what's left but an echo"
I can hear Warrick's grief-stricken voice as he speaks in memory of Catherine. I know, and everyone present here knows, that no words can ever respectfully or wholly do justice to the deceased. But these memorials are more for our benefit than for the ones who have passed away. It is a faint comfort to our bruised selves. It is also a firm stone we erect in our minds to show that our beloved has left us and it is time we moved on.
Sofia had told us the reason why Grissom and Sara weren't present with us. The coward in me was thankful that Sara wasn't here. I didn't think I would be able to stand here beside Sara, knowing that my friend's heart is shattering into million pieces.
And Catherine…
There have been so many times, more than I would like, that I have been foolish during an investigation. I wasn't Grissom and neither could I follow his dictates. I got close to the victims, sometimes very close. I felt for them as badly as I would if they weren't strangers. Plus, there was this overgrown boy in me that liked attention. Be it after Kristie's murder or when I had accidentally spilled the case details to the media, Catherine had always shouldered my burden. If Grissom was my teacher, she was the guidance counselor. She knew what it felt like to become personal with the cases and therefore we were kindred in that sense.
But no dread had so much as matched the one I felt when I was trapped underneath the ground. For many days after my release, I still couldn't believe I was alive.
---
It was my first day back to the Crime Lab. Yeah, getting bitten by fire ants doesn't exactly count as a sickness, but I can assure you that being buried alive is as close to mind-numbing trauma as you can ever get. I did get through it, except for the occasional nightmares. But I think what helped me most was knowing how all my colleagues had been there for me. They cared for me and hadn't abandoned hope. That knowledge alone motivated me to return back to work.
The first person I saw was Sara. Sara, being Sara, was probably pulling her usual overtimes. I once tried to fix her up with a friend of mine, exactly the kind of guy you would like to introduce to your parents, but she had refused. Later I learnt that it was because she had a thing for Grissom. With all due respect to Grissom, I can't understand what made that woman so crazy about him.
I didn't disturb her studious concentration and went straight into the break room. I saw the woman I just wanted to see.
"Hey Cath."
She instantly leapt to her feet on seeing me and greeted me with a wide smile and a warm hug.
"Nicky, it's so nice to see you."
"It's nice to be back." I murmured. She pulled away and looked worriedly at me.
"What's up with your voice?"
"Oh, it's a little hoarse. Probably a cold." I lied.
"You sure?" Her eyes were scanning mine.
"Positive, Cath." I led her to the chair and made her sit down. I didn't need another lecture of how I should take some more rest. I had enough of that from my family.
"You should get a vacation. The seaside, maybe?"
"Nope, no vacation. I want to be here, solving cases." I gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm fine, honest."
She didn't look entirely convinced, but thankfully she didn't press on further.
"There was something I had to talk to you about." I looked at her.
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to thank you. I heard you had Sam lend you the money for my release. I know it must have been hard on you, asking him."
"Well, I figured it was time I pinched a little from my inheritance." She joked.
"Cath."
She sighed. "Asking him money wasn't easy. But there was no other way, Nick. And he wasn't doing a favor for you, he probably wasn't even doing it for me, so you don't ever have to feel indebted towards him. As for me, I have to live with the fact that I'm his daughter, whether or not I like it. My self respect will never allow me to ask anything for myself. But when it comes to my friends and family, if he's the only person I can go to, I won't let my self respect come in between."
"But, Catherine… no one else would have done it for me." I felt tears dangerously close to falling, so I looked away. I still held the old-fashioned idea that men shouldn't cry. "Hell, even the police department I work for didn't raise the money for me. I don't blame them; I know their policy. But…"
"We were all equally concerned about you." She softly interrupted. "I just had access to the money."
"I never realized you guys cared for me. I always thought, I was just another CSI." I forced a sheepish smile.
"You are a part of the CSI." I look up to see her grin. "Chummy Society of Investigators."
---
Being in services such as these makes me unsettled. I cannot push away the feeling that I had once come this close to dying. If my team members had been only a few minutes late, I would have pulled the trigger ending my own life. Then, people would have come to attend and pay their last respects to Nicholas Stokes. Trapped in the confines of Death itself, I hadn't experienced the "better place" they talk about. If there ever is Hell, I had breathed in its fiery air.
I can only pray for Catherine to be in a better place.
"The clown jests
But masks his tears with paint
The ceremony speaks beauty
And yet cannot hide death's taint"
People think Greg Sanders is never serious. In a way, they are correct. It's not that I don't take any situation seriously; it's just that I prefer to laugh my way through it. But standing here, among strangers all dressed in black and knowing that the graveness on their faces are a reflection of mine own, I have lost my ability to humor.
Lindsay is just in front of me. Her gorgeous, blonde hair that glows like freshly cultivated corn, contrasts sharply with the black dress she is wearing. No child should be here, no child should have to see this. I cannot even begin to imagine what she's going through. Even though my parents died when I was too young, I had no memory of them and I had always known my Papa and Nana Olaf as my parents. But I do understand the helplessness of not having your own parents with you. Even though you are surrounded by all the love in the world, that void can never be filled. Lindsay has Sara, her grandparents, her aunt and us, but Catherine is someone she can never replace.
When I was a lab tech, I handled dead people's samples all the time, but I was never compelled to put a face to it. However, as soon as I started going out in the field, I began experiencing what it felt like to look into a dead person's eyes and knowing that they'll never see life again. For me the dead wasn't dead, but a mere shedding of the mortal skin to advance to the next stage. I never told anyone that when on a crime scene, I'm usually struck by an eerie vacuum. It's not the feeling of death, but it's the sensation of being in a room where a live soul had just been sucked away. People will just laugh at me. They won't understand. I had Norse blood in me. My Nana Olaf was a psychic and her foremothers before her were all expert practitioners of the occult. And despite myself, I believe in some of the pagan art.
And that very intuition has been tingling inside me for a couple of days. It's as if I can feel Catherine's presence. It's as if she hasn't entirely left the material world yet. I know you will think that I'm talking about souls. No, I don't mean any spiritual existence but the real person.
And out of nowhere a thought, both shocking and embarrassing, struck me:
What if Catherine isn't dead?
I'm Captain James Brass and I have no poetic way of expressing myself. Most of the times, the only thing that does come out of my mouth is sarcasm. I wasn't born a cynic, the police job made me into one. I've seen bad people do bad things and I've also seen bad people who get away with bad things. And then there are the good people who have the best of intentions, but one stupid mistake ruins their lives. In my line of work, I've watched all kinds of victims; teenagers, elderly, prostitutes, pimps, dealers, middleclass workers, single mothers, babies and… even police officers. I have learnt to treat it as a job and the victims, as a piece of paper to be studied. If I didn't do that, I'll never be able to sleep again.
I'm not even inside the House of God. I and God have not been on speaking terms for quite a while now. And solving every case reinforces my belief that either God doesn't exist or He is too self-preoccupied to care for ordinary mortals. I have come this far only for Catherine, but I refuse to step inside and give God the satisfaction that I have forgiven Him. I haven't and after what happened to Catherine, I never will.
Catherine was special. She wasn't a friend like Grissom was. I didn't treat her like a kid the way I did with Sara. And yet she was special. But despite that, I'm callous enough to say that I'll get over her death. Her loss will be felt, but I'll move on. I'll have to move on.
What I will find unbearable, though, is the loss I will sense in the others. Walking away from the past is easy for me; I've done it countless times. Living with a sordid present is difficult. Coming to work everyday and seeing the sorrow on everyone's faces will remind me of Catherine and the fact that she'll never come back.
Sara had asked me to be her "father" on her marriage. Will I ever be able to look in those eyes again? What comfort can I offer the heart that has felt a grief like hers?
I look at Catherine's picture amongst those of the other victims. No, no one can forget her. As long as we work there, her absence will always be felt. She will always be missed.
