Chapter Twenty Four

She was a blood spatter specialist. To know how blood exits a stab wound, she needed to know the major blood vessels in the human body. She knows which ones, if punctured, will lead straight to death. There are some, which can be damaged, but they'll keep the person alive long enough for the ER. Then there are those that rupture inside the body and leave one with an internal hemorrhage. Some vessels are not essentially important, but will gush out enough blood to make an onlooker panic. That's the one she sliced. However, she knew she wasn't invincible and there was only a sliver of timespan before the blood loss itself could prove fatal for her. She took the risk based on the assumption that her captors will do anything to save her. Her life depended on that assumption and she didn't even want to consider the possibility that she might be wrong.

However, the blood loss did make her woozy. She saw the ski masks on her captors' faces through a series of intermittent headaches. She recognized the sign board of a private clinic when the Explorer stopped. One of her tall captors stayed behind the wheel while the two other peeled off their masks and carried her inside the clinic. She recognized the woman from the first time and the other guy was the kind of punk she usually encountered during cases. Nurses came rushing towards her and she heard them refusing to handle her. Then she saw the guy deposit a wad of crisp green notes in her hand. Almost immediately, she was transported on top of the gurney and wheeled towards the corridors. The guy stayed behind while the woman accompanied her. Catherine hadn't expected to be unchaperoned.

Her keen eyes roved round, taking in all the possible exits. She saw few security guards, but they had the bored look of those who hadn't been in action for quite a while. There were the customary fire exits, all abandoned. Her gurney slid into a rather large ward. A young Black woman instantly joined her. Her name tag read, 'Dr. Greta Mkibo'. She expertly ordered the nurses, while slowly removing the flimsy bandages that kept the bleeding in check. She looked at the lacerations and frowned but she didn't ask how Catherine received the injuries.

"Is there anything to worry about?" Kristen looked worriedly at the extent of damage.

Dr. Mkibo briefly glanced into her patient's eyes before replying, "There has been significant blood loss. I think you may have just been in time."

Catherine gave an inaudible sigh of relief. She didn't know whether she had succeeded in wordless communication or it was a stroke of pure luck. She surely didn't want her captor to know that she had rather cleverly wounded herself.

"Well, how long will this take?"

"As long as it takes." Dr. Mkibo didn't look up. "You can wait outside."

"No, thanks, I'm fine here."

"As you wish."

Catherine felt the coolness of alcohol on her skin. She closed her eyes and observed her surroundings through the slits. Apart from the rhythmic beeping of her vitals and the scrub-clad staff, there was nothing else to indicate that this was a medical facility. The room was painted in a pale cream which reflected the sunny rays from outside. Curtains were of an old-fashioned floral print and the furniture was of beige plywood. She curved her neck a bit, but enough for her to get a good look at her escort. The woman was standing stoically, trying her best to not let her anxiety seep out. She was quite a beauty, the kind that didn't require hours in a salon or in front of the mirror.

Catherine hadn't really come up with a plan. The TV news had spiked her into impulsive action. She barely remembered walking up to the bathroom, getting the blade, curling herself on the bed and then beginning her rather meticulous self-infliction. What she did remember vividly were the news replaying over and over in her head. If the images of the exploded parking lot weren't horrific enough, getting to know that she had apparently been killed in it stunned her to immobility. Then came the blows, one after the other, each more painful than before. Sara, her Sara, her one and only beloved Sara, was accused to be the one involved. In typical media drama, her Sara's reputation was being ripped, stomped and tarnished. They had live feed from the memorial and Sara's absence was probably the most talked about thing. And then came the final picture that would make eager audiences forget their daily doses of afternoon soaps. Grissom and Sara were locked in embrace. "Now we know why Sara Sidle was absent from her fiancée's memorial", a smug reporter announced.

"That should do." Dr. Mkibo patted her arm gently. She faintly flicked her eyelashes to indicate that she was awake before shutting them tight.

"What's happening to her?" Kristen leant forward.

"The blood loss… must have rendered her unconscious. Nothing to worry about."

"I'd like to take her home now."

Dr. Mkibo hesitated. "I don't think that will be advisable, seeing the injuries she had suffered. We should keep her here for a few hours, for monitoring."

"We can do that at home. Just give me the instructions." Kristen said vehemently.

"Ma'am." Mkibo gently took her by the elbow and ushered her to a corner of the room. She then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I very well know how she had come to get those wounds, but unlike the doctors from big hospitals who are bound by ethics, I have no need to be intrusive. For the moment, I have tended to her wounds. However, being devoid of blood can do funny things to the body."

"You don't think you can fool me. I'm a science student." The young woman voiced.

"Well, then what I'll say should make complete sense to you." Mkibo didn't skip a beat. "The receptionists outside, they are neither stupid nor uneducated. Our clinic wants profit but we do ensure that we don't fall into trouble. Your friend here," She gestured towards Catherine. "Has tried to commit suicide. That does, indeed have legal ramifications. We are all ready to overlook it, but if you discharge her a little too early, there is no saying what might happen to her. Who knows, her condition might even be beyond the scope of our little clinic. And that's a case neither you nor I desire. So for both our sakes, what is an hour?"

Kristen shifted uncertainly. She was in a huge predicament and she didn't want to take upon the burden of the decision. "I'll have to call my… her husband. He will know what to do."

"By all means. You can use a phone outside."

Kristen once again looked at Catherine. Apparently assured that the woman had dozed off, she sauntered out.

"How's she?" Sean questioned as soon as he got the call.

"She's fine, for now."

"What do you mean, for now?"

"The doctor says she needs to be kept for an hour of observation." Kristen was sweating nervously.

"And where are you right now?"

"I'm outside the ward."

"And I hope she's alone inside." Sean's voice had an edge to it.

"Well, not really…" Kristen gulped. "She's unconscious, so she won't be ratting anytime soon."

"Get in and don't you dare leave her side again."

"But…"

"Stop arguing and go in."

She swore under her breath as she returned her cellphone to her jacket. What had started as an excellent opportunity to pay through her medical school fees and a luxurious Caribbean cruise wasn't going as smoothly as she had hoped. She hadn't wanted to resort to anything more illegal than keeping a woman against her wishes. She hurried inside the ward. To her relief, Catherine was still asleep and the doctor was checking the woman's pulse.

"You'll be here, I assume." Dr. Mkibo remarked.

"Yes, her husband wishes for me to keep an eye on her." Kristen smiled thinly. "I'm sure you understand why."

Mkibo rubbed the wrist. "Of course. You can make yourself comfortable while I go and attend to some of my other patients."


Sara needed to retrace Rachel's steps before she came to Vegas. She went into her apartment and connected her old laptop to the internet connection. She checked into Rachel's credit history, called the rehab and the workplace. She calculated that Rachel had left San Francisco about a week before the explosion. That gave her ample time to contact Sara. Why she didn't was a perplexing mystery.

Sara called few of her friends in Frisco; friends that she shared with Rachel and who knew about the woman's troubles; friends that the CSIs were not likely to find unless with some deep investigation. They all chimed the same comment that they hadn't seen nor heard from Rachel since the last time that Sara had been there. She had another impending worry. Kyle was to come home the next day and someone needed to be there to tell him. While she was doing all this, she had called her travel agent for the quickest flight to San Francisco. She didn't really know what she could discover about Rachel, but she needed answers. Sara hadn't probed much into Rachel's history, but maybe it was time she did.


Dr. Mkibo walked nonchalantly to the nearest staircase. She gave her approaching staff as polite a smile as possible so as not to appear suspicious. She opened the heavy metal door and, with one quick glance behind her, she closed it. She fished out her cellphone and dialed the number that she had just memorized, hoping that she hadn't forgotten or misplaced any digit. She heard the rings on the other end, keeping one eye towards the door. After five rings, she heard a click and then a deep feminine voice.

"You have reached the voicemail of Sara Sidle. Unfortunately, I'm not available to answer your call, so please leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Dr. Mkibo felt her throat dry, not sure of what she should be saying. Then she took a deep breath and started, "This is Dr. Mkibo from the We Care Medical Clinic. There is a patient here that… aagh!" She spun around just as a hand snatched her phone away. She had just begun to register the masked face in front of her when she was pushed against the wall. She saw her attacker drop her cellphone and crush it beneath his shoes. Her mouth opened involuntarily, pushing a sound from it. A leather glove clamped against her face, choking whatever she was about to scream.

"Think very carefully before doing anything, doctor." A male voice rasped. "You may want to be heroic, against all wishes for survival. But I believe there is a small girl waiting for you at school; May is it?" Mkibo's eyes widened at the mention of her daughter's name. "And a husband who's in his 18th floor office right now, oblivious to how easily a bullet can penetrate him."

Mkibo struggled and she gasped muffled shouts against the hand holding her.

"Shh." The man brought his face closer so that she could almost feel his breath filtered by the cotton fabric. "Now listen to me. You are to accompany the patient and her friend to a black Explorer parked outside. If anybody asks, just tell them that you will be gone a while. You are not to make any other communication with any of your staff. You will stay with us, as an honored guest, for as long as we deem necessary. You will do this. You will do this for your beloved husband and your lovely daughter, won't you?" His fingers dug into her skin. "Won't you?"

She nodded. Almost instantly, he let her go. She almost slumped but gathered her strength at the last minute. Without another word, the man picked up the damaged phone parts and slid down the stairway. She assured herself that he was well out of sight before making a move back towards the main corridors. She smoothed the creases out of her pants and tried to walk as confidently as possible. She could only hope no one noticed the slight wobble in her knees. There was no telling what would happen if someone sensed something was wrong and called 911. He might kill her family. She didn't even have her cellphone nor the time to go to the public phone to assure herself that both her husband and May were alright.

When she reentered the ward, she could sense her patient's eager gaze on her. With the little time that they had while Kristen was away, the woman had given her a number to call. Ever intuitive, Mkibo had intuited that this was more than a mere suicide case and she had been eager to help. Now she felt helpless.

"Let's go." Kristen's eyes were cold. She had, no doubt, received orders from the man who had attacked Mkibo earlier. The doctor could only nod weakly and began to page one of the nurses when she thought better of it. There was no need to involve someone else in this peril. She detached Catherine from the machines and the IV tubes. Then, with the help of Kristen, she carried the woman onto the gurney. They wheeled it to the main lobby as casually as possible. Rocky was outside, smoking, but he quickly ended it when he saw them coming. His partner ignored his questioning eyebrow as she motioned for him to help with the gurney. She stayed within hearing distance of Mkibo as the doctor outlined to her staff that she'll be with her patient after which she will be gone for a while. Her calm voice belied any of the tensed fear she was feeling. If the staff felt that it was out of the ordinary for Mkibo to leave in the middle of shift, they didn't say anything.

She was so absorbed in keeping her façade as composed as possible that she became temporarily unaware of her surroundings. She turned around in a hurry and began to walk when she collided squarely against a man.

"Hey… hey…" Greta looked up to see the smiling face of a paramedic.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled. She could see Kristen giving her a warning look.

"Greta?" The paramedic's smile faded as he watched her dash towards the doors. "Greta!" He called out again.

She reluctantly paused, turned her head towards him and forced a chirpy, "Call me later, Hank."

Hank Peddigrew's boyish features were marred with a scowl that transformed into full-fledged shock when he recognized the woman on the gurney.


Thank you all for the R&Rs. We all know who Hank Peddigrew is, I suppose. If you don't or forgot, do watch Crash and Burn, THE Catherine/Sara episode.