CHAPTER SIX: Little E
May 16, 2005
It was funny how most of the littlest things could be vivid in a woman's memory bank, and then how the most important sequences of her life could emit nothing but emotions –-- nothing concrete, only overwhelming feelings and grief.
There was that song in the bus towards nowhere, and it was always as crystal as it was years ago when Stella first heard it gurgling through a speaker's lousy volume. It was her favorite, Joni Mitchell's Case Of You. There was the pencil she used to write that deranged letter - a cheap, yellow one she picked up while working in the library of her former university. And of course, the necklace … she probably would never forget about it as long as she lived. She loved it the first time she saw it, despite her nagging ignorance at what the golden words had meant. She wore it as if it could somehow sum up who she was, as if it could dictate what her destiny was: where she came from and where she should go.
Then, at nights when it would bother her, she would try to remember the mornings she woke up and realized that she was all alone in a foreign city. There were the new sights and unfamiliar, frightening sounds. But she never could remember. All she could grasp was the feeling of need, the feeling of wanting to go back home where she belonged, but then again, she never did really belong anywhere.
And the most important memory she tried to resurface probably was of the pain and the passive realization that she could never, ever go through her life with what happened to her. She only could remember taking off her necklace, giving it away, but never what the receiver looked like --- never her laughs, her cries, her dry tears. Only the death of her own soul, the optimistic thoughts that what destiny brought her were for the better, always for the better.
Stella stared at the photograph of the little girl they found in Mrs. Seferhs' house, and as much as she wanted to touch the photograph - to feel the rough edges and the wear and tear of time on it -, she was held back by the plastic barrier, one that rudely cited it as 'evidence'.
There was no doubt in her mind that this girl was the Little E the ransom note had pertained to. It was odd that there was absolutely no trace of her existence – no birth records, even baptismal records -, just a bunch of code names that they couldn't even find anyone to translate. It may have been an underground adoption of Mrs. Seferhs from her living relatives, or from a friend, but still … wasn't it strange that someone THIS rich and prominent wouldn't even bother to let the world know that she took under her golden wings an unfortunate being?
Stella knew that if she had THE money and fame, she'd do exactly just that. This was New York, anyway.
The fact that Mrs. Seferhs had few living relatives didn't help further their investigation. This morning, she wanted to push for the 'Little E' lead, but Mac wanted for them to pursue a more concrete evidence instead: the darn monkey print.
While Danny (and Chad, in his seemingly helpful- unhelpful way) tried to make sure that the blood drops leading towards the playground was not a match to Mrs. Seferhs', and while Mac and Aiden grossed over which zoo was better than the other for the monkey print like hyped-up children, she decided to take a break. That was, a break inside the evidence room, just to please the deafening thoughts inside of her head. There was a calling for her to sit down and reassess all her growing turmoil.
Stella sighed deeply, the sound echoing like a thousand petulant drums inside the dimly lit room. She usually was a team player; she loved her work environment and had always told herself how she easily fit in – especially when she had practically spent most of her life searching for a milieu to sink herself in without being thrown out. This was, as far as she was concerned, the only place where she could establish herself without ruining her credibility.
But since the start of the case, her feelings had been hopeless. First, it was that peculiar house Mrs. Seferhs had retired in, then the nature of her death (when more violent crimes hadn't fazed her before). Mac and his imposing orders hadn't helped either, and so was this picture that she desperately wanted to touch, to feel, to run her fingers on.
Suddenly, a flash of irrationality burned her.
She studied the sealed plastic edges with renewed fervor. She wasn't Stella Bonasera, Crime Scene Investigator anymore. She wasn't this woman who dedicated her life to meaningless hours of work and to a man who barely knew how to deal with her. She wasn't this woman who memorized every law of the United States of America and kept a copy of it under her pillow at nights, just to make sure she would remember where the lines shouldn't be crossed. She wasn't this woman he made anymore, she could breathe.
She was now the anonymous girl who was still called 'girl' despite being over- twenty, the girl who could starve three days straight and then eat as if calories were nonexistent. She was the girl who danced to disco, who loved the evenings, who never cared about her appearance. She was the she before he came along.
With shaking hands, she unsealed the plastic bag and reached in …
"Stella?"
The voice shattered the whole revered silence, making her skin jump out of her system. Sealing the plastic bag as quickly as possible, she faced the direction of the crime lab's entrance. As she did, intimidating white lights flooded the whole room.
"Aiden," she gasped out, barely able to collect her fast heartbeat. She blinked profusely as the lights momentarily blinded her, baring white spots in her vision. Her co-worker regarded her with worry, which she vehemently ignored.
"What brings you here? Did you, um, find the zoo where the monkey came from?"
"Uh, yeah," Aiden replied, brushing away her bangs from her eyes. "There were new shipments of Wooly Monkeys to the Central Park Zoo just a week ago. They reported of a break- in four days ago, and local NYPD have looked into the case. Three Wooly Monkeys were stolen."
She laughed, "As if this case isn't getting as bizarre as THAT. Don and I are going to look into the case right now … as for you," she stopped, clicking her tongue and pointing a folder in her direction. "Mac wants you in District Attorney Mike Keith's office pronto. There was a memo a while ago and it seems … urgent."
She nodded awkwardly and stood up, stumbling on her steps as she tucked the picture inside the case file's folder. She left it on the table, and three steps away, she decided to bring it (since it was what the new District Attorney probably wanted to talk about). Clutching it close to her, she passed Aiden with a shiver escaping her.
"Hey, wait," her friend called out, catching her by the shoulder.
Stella faced her and inhaled deeply, stubbornly.
"I," Aiden started, frowned, and then tried to revive herself with a lopsided smile. She dropped her hand back to her side. "Don't worry, okay? I won't tell Mac about what I saw. I won't tell anyone."
It barely made her feel better, but the consideration did give her some assurance.
Before she knew it, Irrationality fled her small world, making gravity pull her back down to earth. Her two feet planted firmly on the ground, and with just that, she was Stella Bonasera again. Her name was returned and tattooed on her olive skin.
"Thanks, I really appreciate that." She returned Aiden's smile and rushed out of the room.
Stella always thought that the latest addition to the roster of DAs, Mike Keith, was too devastatingly handsome to be an investigator's whistleblower. For years, the CSIs had been living on the policy that the higher ups (including very well the DAs) were their worst enemy – it wasn't the suspects or the mind boggling crimes, but the Big Brothers.
Together with Mac, she entered the young man's newly painted room, her nose recoiling at the smell of solvent in the air. She glanced at her partner, trying to catch his eyes and motion at the new facilities, but she saw that he was busy trying not to gag.
Keith raised his eyes from his paperwork, and for a moment, Stella felt straddled by the dizzying blue sapphires that seemed to pierce her whole body in a tight embrace. He flashed them his trademark impish grin (that had infamously sent most of the female CSIs swooning), brushing away strands of blonde hair from his porcelain face. He debonairly motioned for them to sit on the new chairs in front of his also new Oak desk.
They sat down primly, and Stella reminded herself why Keith wasn't meant to be a DA --- it was impossible to hate him. He was bound to break the age old tradition of bitterness between the two departments.
A few steps away from her, Mac cleared his throat. She looked at him questioningly, only to blush later on when she realized that he was silently reprimanding her for gaping at the DA.
She sank into her chair and hugged the case file close to her chest. She had no intention of looking at her partner, or else she would disintegrate into a tiny little pieces. Not that she had a crush on Keith - like most of the women had -, but he was just too beautiful to not look at. He was the perfect epitome of an eye candy: deliciously tempting.
At her peripheral vision, she could see Mac regarding Keith with annoyance. His eyes were figurative daggers stabbing the guy over and over again.
Well, Stella thought wildly, at least the men wouldn't have any problems when it comes to hating the DA.
"Detective Bonasera," Keith said, interrupting her thoughts, his voice low and throaty. It was as if he was talking to her in the bedroom and not in a public government office.
Stella blinked hard to stop naughty thoughts from ripping her head apart.
He nodded in her direction, and then turned towards Mac, "Detective Taylor; good afternoon. I won't beat around the bush, I'm sure your team is busy with the Seferhs case."
"Yes, sir," Mac acknowledged, and Stella wondered if she actually heard the dripping hint of disdain in his last delivered word. She shrugged - maybe it was all in her imagination.
"We reviewed what you have presented us recently, and we decided to look into a very prominent matter in the whole case. The Pink Spanish Heart Diamond, through some private records we were able to obtain from Mrs. Seferhs' bank, wasn't liquidated, like most of her possessions."
"Which means that the Pink Spanish Heart could now be in the hands of the perps," she concluded, more to herself than to the group. Keith nodded again, his thick eyelashes batting unintentionally in her direction.
"But that is not the reason why I called you in. I'm sure you could figure that out on your own. There is one important information that we found included in the bank statements for the Pink Spanish Heart. It appears that Mrs. Seferhs had a heiress to the Diamond."
Mac's eyebrows furrowed and he leaned forward. "Mrs. Seferhs had a daughter?"
"No, not like that," Keith sighed. He opened a folder in front of him, which Stella didn't notice beforehand. The DA scanned the first page and pointed at a handwritten portion as his reference. "She cared for the little girl AFTER she bought the diamond. We believe that she obtained the girl solely for that reason, and had deliberately hidden her from public records to secure the diamond in the Seferhs' possession. And to protect her 'family' from schemes. The girl is not named in these records, not even in Mrs. Seferhs last will and testament. She is only referred to as Little E. Seferhs. Not legally a Seferhs, but your victim thinks so in her own right." He flashed a dazzling, too- white and pasty grin, "Rich people - they think they can do almost anything they desire," he commented disapprovingly, and with a tiny smidgeon of amusement.
"It looks like the perps are holding 'Little E' captive, then." Mac drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair thoughtfully. "If that is so, why murder Mrs. Seferhs? Where does murdering Mrs. Seferhs fit in all of this?"
"That's your job now, Detectives," Keith expressed, then raised a perfectly- structured finger in the air, grinning. "The Diamond is very well known everywhere – in jewelers and banks, anything of the like. If someone cashed in the stone sometime in the last three days, surely, the original bank would be alerted – especially if the person isn't a Seferhs. So far, there had been no alarm. We're guessing that the Diamond is still inside Mrs. Seferhs last land possession in the United States."
Stella grimaced. The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle Mrs. Seferhs created were now being pulled together to create a flamboyant picture, but gaps were still present. There were still missing pieces that they had to dig for, and the most essential piece was an improbable reality. Who in their right minds would keep a Diamond THAT precious and THAT huge in one's house? In one's abandoned house?
"Detective Bonasera? Do you have anything prominent in your mind?"
Snapping out of her trance, she trailed her eyes on Keith's questioning demeanor, then on Mac's encouraging façade.
"Yes, I do," she voiced out, her tone weak. She cleared her throat and continued with more force, "Isn't there a possibility that the Diamond is in the perps' hands by now? Shouldn't we be engaging efforts in locating the little girl first?"
"She has a point," Mac said, and this surprised Stella. She deathly wanted to look at her partner and see the validation on his face, but Keith answered them both immediately.
"The Diamond will answer our questions about the little girl. Since we virtually have nothing on this 'Little E", I suggest that you both go to Mrs. Seferhs' residence and start tearing it apart. I've assigned Detective Flack to go with you, and had asked Detective Maka to accompany Burn to look for our Wooly Monkey." The DA gave them a little smile, and pushed the folder on his desk in Mac's direction. Mac accepted it cautiously, as if it was a time bomb that could explode any second.
When the file was secured under Mac's arm, they both stood up and started to walk out of the room. Before they could exit, Keith reminded them to 'be careful'.
Stella didn't know what that implied, but her gut instinct was warning her to take that to heart.
"You know what I hate?"
Stella blew a wayward strand of curly hair from her face. She adjusted her latex gloves and snapped them for emphasis. It was getting unusually hot inside the damn house.
Beside her, Mac smoothened his hands on the floorboards of one of the house's many bedrooms. While she was busying herself with the walls, pushing and prodding for anything that might be a secret compartment or a hidden entrance to another room, Mac had gotten down on his palms and knees to pat the wooden boards. He had remained suspiciously silent as they ravaged the first floor, with Flack cracking jokes as their background 'music'. The three of them had diligently finished the whole floor, and as they were about to start on the second story, Flack felt hunger pains.
The first two rooms were spent in uncomfortable silence, and when she heard the first strings of Mac's voice, she couldn't help her heart jumping in relief.
She coughed before speaking, "Other than disorganization, impatience, and psychedelic ties, what else do you hate, Mr. Taylor?"
He slid a little further towards the end of the room as he continued to dig his fingers in between the floorboards. His eyes were glued to his task, but his mind was obviously rationalizing something else: "I hate imposing District Attorneys that think they know everything we should do in an investigation. I am especially not fond of the way they retract my orders and change it to their own."
Stella kept a smile to herself. Power- hungry Mac was always at its best when his pride was threatened.
"Sorry, I forgot to add 'very handsome District Attorneys' to your hate list." She knocked on a particular soft spot on the wall, but only received a thud as a response. She continued to knock on another corner - with no success. "I don't like what they are prioritizing either Mac, but what can we do? They find the Diamond more important than a human being's life."
He stopped for a second, sitting his behind on his soles. He resignedly placed his hands on his lap. Seeing that he froze his job, Stella did too herself and mimicked his pose - though she crossed her arms instead. Their eyes met.
"Are you worried about the kid, too?" Mac piped up, in such a vulnerable way that it frightened her. It was as if they were transported back in time – to a time of less complication and a lot more friendship – and here they were again, standing face-to-face in almost nothing else but just that: vulnerability.
Those scenarios were the turning points in her life, she had to admit, but most of them she wanted to run away from. However, she found herself resigning in it as if it was the norm of her whole debacle. A few years younger, she would've turned her back at Mac and his crazy ideas. A few years older, and she's still facing him despite everything that they've gone through.
It was more of a surprise than a revelation, actually. In her life, there were no revelations. Only surprises, and lots of them.
"Yes, I am," Stella answered, her voice soft. "I don't like the way they're handling the case. I want more insight on the little girl, and I've been fighting for it since this morning."
"Ah," Mac said, "no wonder you were sulking a while ago."
"I don't sulk."
"Yes, you do." He smirked and shook his head. "Believe me in this, but I firmly thought the Wooly Monkey lead would bring us to the girl. That's the only reason why I pursued it before anything else."
"I believe you, Mac." She released her arms and reached behind to touch her ankles, and to also stretch her aching back. She always believed in him like she believed in the essential truth of the Ten Commandments, but of course, she left that out.
"I'm not myself lately," she concluded, and thought that it was nice to hear that out loud.
"Is it that time of the month?" he inquired, more concerned than sarcastic. This question made her smile, and not embarrassed, she noted.
"No, it isn't." She sighed and returned to her previous search, and he did the same. With her back to him, she continued to talk, finding herself liking the familiarity of their exchange. "Something about this case bothers me, I can't put my finger on it and I'm sure you couldn't too, but it's there and it's nudging me …" she trailed off as she moved her hands down to the bottom part, where the wall met the floor. As she did so, something shiny caught her eye.
Her nerves bristled with excitement. In her head, she kept telling herself that this was probably it. This was what they were looking for.
Mac ignored her silence and took it as sign of her busyness, but despite her wanting to warn him about her find, she was unable to. She kept telling herself that once they turn over this oh-so-important Diamond, they could pursue the child and save her from those kidnappers …
She was able to get a hold of the golden chain, and in her thrill, she momentarily forgot the reality of the Diamond's weight and size. With a sweeping motion, she pulled it out of the crack and raised it to her eye level, revealing it to herself.
She was wrong.
It wasn't the Diamond at all … it was something else.
Stella felt her systems going haywire and her eyesight blacking out. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage with a force that almost threatened to break the bones, and her stomach was pushing against the esophagus, compelling her to almost throw up.
In her head, the words kept repeating like a broken record from another dimension:
No, God no, this is not happening. This couldn't be happening.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the necklace up, closer to her nose, and with a desperate gasp, she realized that it WAS happening. It was fucking happening and it was reality and she couldn't, couldn't run away anymore.
The necklace was hers, the Greek necklace that Mac had given her as a present years ago.
Her eyes madly scanned the jewelry, while her brain tried to take it all in: the dried blood on the once- shiny pendant, the rusting chain, the memories, the little girl …
A hand found her mouth. She clamped down on her cheeks hard as she suppressed a scream, but still, it found its way out of her barrier, and with that cry, her other hand let the necklace fall back to gravity.
The last thing she heard before the world disappeared was Mac rushing towards her in panic, and the necklace's metallic thump on the wooden floor.
It was funny what a woman's memory bank could store – or could not store, to be more precise.
She could remember the frantic orders he made as she blackened out, the feel of his body pressed tightly against hers as he tried to revive her, but not the way he looked as he showed her care that she knew was there but he never gotten around to give. She could vividly remember coming around outside of the house, with only his face in front of her and then, the tears came – too fast and too overwhelming. He had wanted to know what was wrong with her, and she understood him, but she couldn't remember how he had asked. She didn't remember him leaving her, but she did remember talking to Flack and asking him to collect that piece of evidence which she knew that Mac missed, despite her previous disarray. She couldn't remember how she - with that damn necklace in an evidence bag - was able to drive (let alone leave the crime scene without crossing Mac's path) and rush inside the lab, but when she faced Danny that afternoon, she vowed to remember the incoming moments from then on.
After matching the week- old blood on the necklace with the blood drops that led from the crime scene to the playground, Stella was on the verge of another breakdown. She didn't know what was right or wrong anymore, what was irrational or rational, what she should do from what she shouldn't. But as Danny read her all the information he got from the match, she tried to remain as still as possible. She contained all her emotions in a metallic box and locked it with her heart, hoping to keep them there for the meantime.
"Stella?" her colleague's voice shattered her concentration, and all her notions fell to her feet like shards of broken glass.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed a gurgle of desperation that fought to materialize. She swallowed hard, twice, "Danny, are you sure of this, information?"
"Yeah," he said, his Brooklyn accent becoming more prominent whenever he was sure of himself. "You waited two hours for it, so I've made sure that they really, really match. Where the hell is Mac anyway? He should hear –"
"Danny," she cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. The last thing she wanted to know was Mac's whereabouts. He should be the last thing she should be concerned with right now.
"I … I have a favor to ask you. I'm not sure if you'll comply and I'm not sure if I should even …" she halted; she couldn't go on. The metallic box was overflowing and she had to let a few tears out.
She inhaled deeply, painfully, and wiped the droplets away with her jacket's lapel. Danny watched her, then he placed a hand over hers and squeezed it.
"What is it, Stella?" he gently prodded, his voice soothing. "If you want anyone to break a few handbook rules, you know you found your man."
"I'm … I'm not even sure if this is right or …"
"I'm telling you, it's okay. Anything," he urged. His hold on her hand grew tighter, warmer.
Stella looked down on her feet. She didn't want to see his face, his reaction to what she wanted him to do.
"I need you to take a DNA paternity test … for the blood on the necklace …"
"Okay," Danny complied, removing his glasses. "Who am I going to match it with?"
She finally lifted her head and stared at him straight in his blue eyes. "With mine."
She did remember her friend's reaction. As much as he tried to hide the shock from his face, it showed in his eyes – shining like crystallized sin in a pool of angels. But he did as she had asked of him, and she waited another two hours for the results. She was relieved that Mac was in a conference with DA Keith and Flack, reporting about her 'panic attack', and when Aiden returned with Detective Maka about the results of their investigation, she was assured that Mac was beyond busy. He wouldn't be looking for her.
Not yet, that was.
Her back was stiff and her foot was asleep, but when Danny came out of the lab to give her the results, she jumped up as if it didn't matter at all. She hobbled to meet him halfway, and when they faced each other, Danny was unreadable. His eyebrows were knotted, his lips met in a thin line, and his irises were hollow.
"Stell," he cracked, "I don't … I double checked just to make sure …"
"What does it say?" she inquired, holding her breath.
His jaw tensed, and held the results up for her to see.
"You're the mother."
Hearing that, Stella closed her eyes and calmed herself. She wanted to remember those words forever - not because it made her jubilant, but because it signified that her past had come to haunt her once again. The past that she had tried to elude by running away finally kept up with her.
She didn't need to hear the words, she didn't really need to, just like she didn't need the DNA test. Ten years ago she wouldn't have cared – she would've taken it for what it was and then walk away. But right now, her older self was searching for something more concrete – and the concrete was staring at her in the face, about to bite and poison her with its vicious venom, and for the love of God, she just didn't know what to do.
Taking the results from Danny's hands, she drew forward and enclosed her friend in an embrace. He accepted it, channeling her courage to trample down his confusion. Stella understood his situation --- he wasn't going to ask how it happened and how she came about it this way. He was allowing her to make the decisions in this. She could tell him when she was ready to do so.
Stella pressed her lips on his cheek and then tiredly whispered in his ear, "Don't tell Mac."
She released him and folded the paper carefully. She tucked it under her jacket and walked away. She wanted frantically to run, but she knew that this time, she couldn't anymore.
END of CHAPTER SIX
C/N: Thanks to all those who took time to comment and read this story, I promise that it's about to get better and better. And a very special thank you to whoever nominated this story for the CSI Fanfic Awards. Please do vote for Intro Retrospection at LiveJournal, in the community csifanficawards (I'm not sure when voting starts, but I hope you'll support this story when it does).