Title: Returning Home
Author: Elizabeth Kelly
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: CSI, its plot and characters, belong to CBS Worldwide Inc., and Alliance Atlantis Productions.
Summary: GSR - What if something you thought was lost forever, returned home?
Chapter Four
Brass stood by the closed door, his gun clenched in his hand. Four uniformed cops stood right behind him, and Warrick and Nick stood behind them, both of them with one hand holding their kit and the other on the butt of their gun. The sound of Brass's knuckles on the hard wooden door echoed down the stairwell.
"L.V.P.D. open up!" his voice yelled through the door, no response came. Brass counted down from three on his fingers. When he reached one, they busted the door open. Guns drawn and ready the uniforms and Brass searched the apartment. Thirty seconds later, Brass came out to give Nick and Warrick the all clear.
Cautiously they entered the apartment. It had the look of a place whose tenant left in a hurry. Books and newspapers were scattered all over the ground, the garbage hadn't been taken out, clothes scattered the floor.
"Man, he left in a hurry," Warrick commented, picking up a shirt lying on the ground.
"Yeah, one of his victims escaped. He had to of known that she would go to the police," Nick pointed out, photographing a map on the floor of the main room.
"I got a map of Frisco," Nick held up the map for Warrick.
"Check it for prints." Nick had just begun printing the map when Brass walked back into the room, from the hallway.
"Guys, you might want to see this." Warrick and Nick looked up from what they were doing.
"You go, I'm getting this print." Warrick nodded, stood up and followed Brass into one of the bedrooms.
"Oh, my God," Warrick gasped walking into the bedroom of the two girls.
"Nick!" Brass called.
"Hang on, I just got to get this print," Nick called back. Brass's gaze travelled around the room, words escaping him. Warrick had his flashlight fixed on one of the walls of the girls' bedroom.
"Nicky, you're gonna want to see this," Warrick managed. Muttering, Nick walked into the room, before coming to a sudden stop.
"Jesus," he muttered.
"I think you'll find him on the cross," Brass commented dryly, pointing to the large crucifix on the wall by the door. Next to the two foot tall crucifix, was a single bloody handprint. The window on the opposite wall had been broken, the early morning moonlight reflecting off the blood on the shards of glass sprinkling the floor. Posters covered the walls of the bedroom, not the usual posters seen in the room of teenage girls. All sprouted quotes from the bible, with relevant drawings in the background. Each nightstand held a battered copy of the bible.
A framed copy of the Ten Commandments hung behind the bed of each girl, and the dresser in the corner was covered in framed photographs, some of the two girls, others of a woman; one with two toddlers, another two showed a baby wrapped in a blanket. Brass couldn't help the feeling of suffocation that seemed to have taken a hold of him. He could only imagine what the girls had gone through those last five years.
Warrick followed a trail of blood from the window to the door, with his flashlight. Nick bent down to look at a pool of what looked to be vomit on the floor by the bed. No words seemed right for the situation, so they silently agreed to say nothing and all three got to work. There was a little girl out there, and it was time she returned home.
"Can you tell me Father's real name?" Catherine had taken over the questioning of Emily, when Brass took Nick and Warrick with him to the apartment.
"No, he never mentioned it."
"Did he give you and Maddie a last name?" she asked, gently.
"Isaacs," she replied.
"Was he ever violent towards you?" Emily shook her head.
"No, it was strange. He always seemed to treat us like we were his real daughters. He would tell us stories about our 'mother' and about the days that we were born, and about things that we did when we were little. He always made it sound so real, but we knew that it wasn't true."
"What did he say about 'Mother'?" Greg questioned, softly. Emily's brow furrowed in deep thought.
"He was always telling us about how kind she was. He told us that God had chosen her for a special task, and that she wouldn't be around anymore." Catherine looked at Greg her eyebrow raised in question.
"Got a theory, Greg?" she asked.
"Yeah, but I gotta do some research." Greg, abruptly left the room.
"He's becoming more and more like Grissom everyday," Catherine commented to herself.
The night had been tiring and emotional for everyone. Grissom had been watching Sara for the last half-hour. She hadn't spoken a word, as she paced his office. Up and down, up and down, Grissom thought it would have annoyed him after awhile, yet the movement seemed to soothe him. He watched as she nervously fiddled with the ring on her finger, twisting it round and round. He knew that it meant she was thinking and remembering. He allowed himself to drift back to the past, to a time when things had been so much better, a time when Sara and Madeleine were his world, a time when he wasn't the bitter, twisted, old man trying to work out why everything went wrong.
He had thought that they would survive anything together. He had thought that their love for each other would not falter. The loss of their daughter had torn them apart. He tried to understand when Maddie had become the glue in their relationship, holding everything together.
He watched her pace, fresh tears falling down her face, the constant battle of emotions that seemed to have taken a hold of her. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and never let go. Then he realised that it wasn't the loss of Maddie that tore them apart, it was the fear; the fear that he could not replace the hole that Maddie had left in Sara's heart; the fear that he constantly reminded her of their lost child; the fear that he had been the cause of her mental breakdown.
He had tried so hard to help her. Nothing seemed to pull Sara out of the rut that she had gotten into. When he received the job offer for head of night shift in Las Vegas, he decided to take it. He thought moving to Vegas, might help her; a fresh start, a new city. She hadn't lasted three months, when she left to go back to San Francisco. She had said that she thought that they needed time apart, and that she needed some time to find herself. Her therapist had agreed. They had kept in touch, emails and the occasional phone call. She had become a CSI, her new calling, and she rose through the ranks quickly.
Then came the shooting. Holly Gribbs' death had left him a CSI short, and he only trusted Sara to deal with Warrick. He had talked to Sara's therapist and to Sara herself, together they decided she was ready to come back to Vegas. It was time to move on. Sara hadn't fully healed, and Grissom doubted whether she ever would, but she had her old spark back. The spark that made him fall in love with her for the second time. 'Take things slow, Gil, you both need time to adjust,' the therapist had told him. Four years later, and he was still adjusting.
A/N: Sorry I took so long to update. I just found this chapter very difficult to write. I'm not sure if this is moving at the right pace, but I will keep on going. Uni just started back up again, and I don't know how often I will be able to post, so you will have to bear with me.