Chapter Twenty Five

Lady Heather daintily poured herself a cup of tea. She took in a moment to enjoy the aroma of freshly crushed Assam leaves. She had never been a fan of the packaged variety; those were too artificial. In the background, she could hear the TV with the breakfast show hosts pouring over some new yoga exercises. She had tuned in to watch the news. The Boulevard and its explosion bore testimony to how short people's attention span was. A little more than a week after the terrible tragedy and another news had already kicked it off the popular spot. Some Hollywood actor was reportedly having an affair with his twenty five year senior mother-in-law.

She had barely bitten into her first margarine-buttered toast when she heard someone at the door; the gong-like sound echoed off her high ceiling.

She opened the door to reveal a woman, about her age, dressed in a conservative pant suit. "Lady Heather?"

"Kayla." Lady Heather's eyes automatically skimmed beyond to the streets and then returned to rest on the woman. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my sister…" Kayla looked distraught. "She's missing."

Lady Heather touched her shoulder and gestured for her to come in. She didn't settle her in the living room but instead took her to her terrace. She could have taken her to a cellar for all the difference it made to Kayla's countenance.

"Tea? Something to eat?" Lady Heather offered. Kayla shook her head.

"Alright tell me everything."

"Joyce and I were supposed to… go on a vacation together. You know, a little time off. But for the last few days, she hadn't been answering her calls. Then I went over to her apartment and found it empty. I called her employer, she works at the casino, but he said she hasn't reported for work in two weeks." Kayla took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "She was just… gone."

"Do you know if she had any friends? Lovers?"

"Well, she sees some guys from time to time, but as far as I know, it's nothing serious."

"Couldn't it be possible that she has taken a holiday with one of these men?"

"No!" Kayla said forcefully. "We were close; she would have told me if she was going away."

Lady Heather silently pondered and then asked, "Why didn't you file a missing persons report with the police?"

"I can't. Joyce is wanted for drug possession in Texas. She ran away from there and came to me."

"Ah."

"Lady Heather, you must help me." She pleaded. "I have no one to turn to. You have all the right contacts; you can know what happened to her."

"Kayla, I've retired from the business. As such, I have disengaged myself from my so-called contacts."

"But I'm sure if you ask them, they'll listen to you." The woman almost dropped to her knees. "People have a lot of respect for you, Lady Heather."

Lady Heather quelled the urge to scoff at that. She considered respect to be too positive a word to be associated with what people felt for her. Intimidation maybe, perhaps fear, definitely lust, but not respect.

"You will help me, won't you?"

She gave a small sigh. She had never been good at overriding her sympathy. That was why her former business had been a refuge for many the destitute, abused and addicted.

"I'll see what I can do. Do you have a picture of your sister?"

Kayla nodded eagerly and took out a snapshot tucked safely inside a paperback. She handed it to Lady Heather, her eyes brimming with hope.

Little surprises Heather anymore, she has seen and done so much in life. But the smiling woman in the photo almost took her breath away. The woman looked maybe a year or two older than her sister. Her blonde hair had the sheen of regular salon treatment. Her face was pale but not the kind that comes from ill health or staying indoors. Eyes were of the color of the sky, in which reflected the kisses of sunshine. Joyce was indeed a beautiful woman, well maintained for her age and still holding the grace of youth. But that wasn't what had surprised her.

What surprised her was how closely Joyce resembled Catherine Willows.

It took a while for Lady Heather to be able to find her voice. When she did, it was filled with urgency. "Kayla, the police needs to know."

"No! No police!" Kayla was livid.

"Listen to me. I have a feeling this is very serious." The sister's eyes widened in fright. "I know someone within the police ranks who can help you."

"A contact?"

"A… friend."

"But what if they arrest Joyce?"

Lady Heather pursed her lips. "I don't think that will happen." She didn't want to add that she had the feeling something had happened to Joyce.


Sara had to shield her eyes from the direct noon rays despite her dark shades. She quickly looked beside her. A boy, lanky and tall for his age, stood leaning against their luggage cart. His mousy brown hair, a liberal scattering of freckles on his nose and smudges on his cheek gave him an unruly look. He didn't complain when she took his hand and walked out of McCarran.

"Do you want something to eat or do you wanna go home, Kyle?" Sara asked him, using his real name.

He shrugged and got in the cab, indicating that it didn't really matter. She sighed and directed the driver to her apartment.

During the ride home, Sara shot him long looks. His attention was focused on the scenery outside the window. When she had told him about Rachel, he hadn't shown any signs of grief. At first, she had wondered if he was just bottling his sorrow inside. Then it occurred to her that he was simply not that affected. Rachel had never proven to be a good mother. For Kyle, it was just one more aspect of the crime-infested life he had grown up in.

Her building used to be one of the city's posh highrises. Now it was just another crumbling remnant of Old Las Vegas architecture. However, its previous repute ensured that the residents were from decent middle class background. They were the kind of singles or couples who worked hard for a bright future, not having spare time to indulge in the destructive pleasures of the city. The driver helped her unload the bags, which weren't a lot. She had been able to fit all of Kyle's possessions in two worn-out duffels.

She loaded herself with the luggage and once again took Kyle's hands in one of her own. They silently proceeded inside the building. She kept a wary eye for his reaction, but if he was feeling scared, he had it well hidden. The elevator stopped at the fifth floor. Her apartment was at the east end. However, as soon as she stepped out into the corridor, she went almost static with shock.

"Sara!" Lindsay leapt up from the cross-legged sitting position and half-ran, half-walked towards her.

"Linds, what are you doing here?" Sara blinked, thinking for a minute that she was hallucinating.

"I came to find you but you weren't home."

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"I… dunno."

"Lindsay, does anyone know you are here?"

The girl hesitated and then shook her head. A gasp slipped out from Sara. "Are you saying that you ran away from your grandparents?"

"They won't allow me to visit you!" Lindsay whined. "They won't even allow me to call you. And you weren't there at the Chapel. I wanted to see you!"

"Linds…" Sara dropped to her knees. She gently reached out for the girl's frail shoulders and gave it a slight rub. "I- I wanted to be there, for you, for your… Mom. I…"

"I know, Sara." She stroked the dark hair. "I saw Nana and Sam ask you to leave."

Sara covered the soft hand with her own. "Are you angry with me, Linds?"

"For what they are saying on TV?"

She lowered her gaze. "Yes."

"You love Mommy and you'll never hurt her. She always used to say that not everything on TV is true. And, anyways, Mommy and I both hate that woman in the news. She looks mean."

For the first time since the nightmare began, Sara felt some of the burden lifting from her heart. She looked up into Lindsay's eyes and saw Catherine's reflection in them. She cursed herself for letting go of Lindsay. She had been so wrapped in her own suffering that she hadn't been there for the girl. But now, she was determined to change that. She leant forward and gave her a quick kiss.

"Linds, I want you to meet Kyle." Sara motioned to the boy silently watching them.

"Hello Kyle." Lindsay smiled, as she wiped tears from her face.

He nodded without a word, but his expression wasn't entirely unfriendly.

"Alright, children, let us go inside. And you both better start thinking of what you wanna eat. The first one to speak wins." Sara grinned down at both of them before opening her door.


The all-time American teenage favorite, pizza, was unanimously voted as their lunch of choice. They were all bundled together on the floor in Sara's living room, watching Madagascar. Lindsay had strongly opposed to the suggestion that they should inform Sam and Lily about her whereabouts. Sara had tried to reason with her, but rather half-heartedly. In the end, they compromised to a phone call after the movie.

Sara went to get her cellphone from her room. It was still attached to the charger. In her hurry to leave for San Francisco, she hadn't had time to charge it. She plugged it into the socket. As soon as power surged through the device, an icon beeped, notifying her of voice messages. There were a couple from Greg and Nick. From work, only Grissom knew about her trip. There were two texts from her brother, asking her to meet up sometime. Then there was an unknown number and several messages from a caller which looked vaguely familiar. She went for the anonymous one first.

The message started with a heavy silence before an unfamiliar voice, definitely female, spoke, "This is Dr. Mkibo from the We Care Medical Clinic. There is a patient here that… " And then she heard a scream and muffled sounds of a struggle before it ended.

"That's strange." She frowned. She dialed the number but received the operator's message that it was unavailable. Her scowl only darkened. She then went on to the next few. She almost dropped her phone in surprise when she heard it.

"Hey Sara, this is Hank. I don't know if you remember me… but… well, just call me at this number."

Hank? – She ran a hand across her hair in disbelief – Why the hell is Hank calling me?

She skimmed through three more of his messages which were similar in content. She was wavering somewhere between irritation and confusion. Hank Peddigrew was indeed a blast from the past that she didn't want to remember. Now, after nearly five years of breaking up with him, she wondered why he would want to talk to her. Only one thing came to mind.

With Catherine gone, Hank felt she was single enough to date again. That he would consider himself a likely candidate, was all the more cause for her to ignore his message.

She called Sam's place, but was told by the butler that he was in his study and didn't want to be disturbed. He informed her that Lily and Nancy had left the house to discuss something with Catherine's lawyer. Then on a thought she asked the man where Lindsay was. His noncommittal reply was that "Miss Lindsay" is probably sleeping in her room. She rolled her eyes. Nobody even knew that the girl was absent from home.

She had just about arranged her clothes in her closet when a knock came on the front door. Expecting Lily or Grissom, Sara rushed to open it.

"Hank?" She gaped at him.

"So, you are home after all." He feebly smiled.

"What do you want, Hank?"

"You haven't answered my calls."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Is that why you are here?"

"Yes and no. I was worried something had happened to you."

"Your concern is touching. But, as you can see, I'm perfectly alive."

He raised his hands in defeat. "Sara, I know you are angry with me and everything, but can we just let bygones be bygones?"

"Correction, Hank. I'm not angry with you. You mean nothing to me."

He shrugged. "Fine, alright. But would you at least hear me out?"

She gave him a pointed look before nodding.

"I saw Catherine Willows three days ago."

Anger boiled through her like molten lava. "This is not funny, Hank."

"I knew you won't believe me, so I'm going to take you somewhere."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. This discussion is done." Sara proceeded to close her door when he laid a shielding hand against the wood.

"Please, Sara, I promise you I'm telling the truth. I can't convince you unless you come with me."

She jabbed a finger on his chest. "What do you think you want to accomplish by telling me all this? Catherine is no more. I'm just starting to accept that. Inside I have her daughter who will probably take forever to come in terms with her death. I don't appreciate such jokes."

"It is not a joke." He muttered impatiently. "Why on earth would I joke about something like this?"

"I don't know… maybe you have upgraded from a two-timing jerk to a sick bastard?"

"Just give me this one chance, please? You don't even have to come with me if you don't trust me. I'll give you the address and we can meet there." Just as he was saying that, he took out a business card from his front pocket.

"Here, this is where I'll be at 2." He reached it out.

Sara didn't look at his hand. She kept her glare focused on him. He sighed and placed it on the floor. "I hope I see you there, Sara." With that, he walked away.


Hank strolled towards the visitor's parking lot. He had about an hour to reach the clinic. That gave him enough time to stop somewhere for a bite. But he hardly felt hungry. The confrontation with Sara went worse than he expected. She obviously despised him and with good reasons. He hadn't done right by her all those years ago. He had married Elaine, enamored, as much by her beauty as her inherited wealth. The marriage proved to be the first step towards his ruin. He discovered that he was just another pawn in her game of I-need-to-rebel-against-my-rich-parents. He found out about her numerous affairs and liaisons. Rejected and humiliated, he sought solace in drinking and gambling. However, in that time of darkness, he did have some relief in the form of his son. But very soon, Elaine insisted that their child be taught proper etiquettes and style, and she wanted her parents to take care of it. He had protested, but she had all sorts of leverage against him, not the least of all being his immense loans. Not being able to bear the depression any longer, he had filed for divorce. As expected, he lost the custody battle and now he gets to meet his Benny only once every month.

Hank kicked his car out of frustration. He had liked Sara, enjoyed his time with her, but he had been too much of a coward. He slammed open his car door and got in. He only half expected her to show up, but he mentally promised himself that he won't rest until he proved to her that he was right. He had long waited for a way to redeem himself.

The Dodge sedan grunted to life and Hank rolled it across the dry path. He had barely reached the main road when he felt cold metal pressing against his neck.

"What the…" His first reaction was to turn back, but he couldn't do that, so he looked into his rearview mirror. All he saw was a masked face.

"Drive where I ask you to." The man behind commanded.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Hank cried out hoarsely.

"All those questions are immaterial right now. What is important is that I have a gun in my hand and if you don't follow my orders, I'm going to use it."

Hank swallowed hard. His mind raced to all the people he still owed money. Some of them were rich and powerful, but he couldn't think of anyone who was dangerous. He once again looked into the mirror. As a shaft of light crossed the car, he caught a glimpse of chocolate brown eyes.


Sara stood lingering at her doorway, thinking over what Hank had said. During the short period when they had been dating, he had shown a decent sense of humor. Either that had changed drastically… or there was something else.

She watched Lindsay and Kyle painting. They had something in common. They were raised by single moms, never mind that Kyle's didn't really care much for him. And they both had lost their mothers to that terrible explosion, the cause of which was yet unknown. As someone undoubtedly observed, grief unites people like none other.

She once again pondered over what Hank had said.

"I saw Catherine Willows three days ago."

She reopened the door. Hank was gone but the card lay at the step. She bent down and picked it up. Her heart rate leapt when she saw the embossed letters on them.

We Care Medical Center


Sean could see that Hank was sweating. He knew it wasn't the kind brought about by the desert heat around them, but instead the cold, clammy type which is a result of primitive fear. He had ordered him to drive further and further away from the city, until they were now veering across the arid, isolated fringes of Las Vegas.

"Stop."

Hank stepped on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt. "Sir, listen, I'll pay you whatever I owe you. Trust me, I'm doing my best. I work two shifts. I work restaurants during the weekends. I…"

"Shut up." Sean cut in impatiently. He peered through the window and gazed around. There wasn't a sign of life anywhere. "Get out of the car, hands on your head."

Hank obeyed, his hands raised accordingly. Sean pressed the muzzle of his gun to the back and urged Hank to move forward. They walked on until they reached an overhanging cliff which dropped sharply to the bottom.

"Wh-where are you taking me?" Hank was shivering.

"Down."

He gave a hard shove.

Hank hardly had time to scream before he toppled to his death.

Sean waited and then smiled when he heard a satisfying thud and a crack. He gazed upwards. Already, the clear sky was getting dotted. The scavengers had come for their feast.


I did take a lot of liberty to twist Hank's story into a tale of bad karma. By all means, Elaine might be a terrific Saint. For the sake of my story, she can't be.

As usual, thanks for all the reviews!