A/N : Danie is the best. Period.
She already gave me the chance to be thrilled all day long yesterday, and now, she also made my day, sending me the second chapter. We must all bow deeply.
And you guys, you're awesome, too!! I really am overwhelmed by the really positive response I got for the first chapter. I'm so glad that the (cough) Grissom/Sofia thing didn't turn you off :)
I hope you'll be enjoying this chapter as well! Reviews are really loved, and don't forget your vow of devotion to LSI :-D
Category: Romance/Angst/Action
Pairing : GSR
Raiting : T
Disclaimer : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.
Spoilers : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )
SUMMARY : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP
Deadly Neglect
Chapter Two
Sara let herself into the studio apartment and closed the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she smiled dreamily. James, who was on the bed reading, looked up, his eyes widening in delighted surprise when he saw her.
"It's the first time I see you come back from one of these seminars in a good mood," he remarked, chuckling at her blissful expression. "Have you finally figured out that they can be interesting if you actually stay awake for them?"
Still smiling, Sara pushed herself from the door and near floated over to the bed before collapsing next to him. "Do you believe in love at first sight, James?" Her voice had an equally dreamy lilt to it as she stared up at the ceiling in a daze.
He smiled. "If you'd asked me five minutes ago, I would have said 'no'. But looking at you now, I think I'll say 'yes', without hesitation."
She threw him a skeptical look. "I thought you fell in love at first sight every week; at least that's what you keep telling me."
He laughed and ruffled her hair. "You know, Lya, I think I may exaggerate at times. Sure, I've met some drop-dead gorgeous men, but once I get to know them, they always lose their charm." She smiled, but he could tell she wasn't really paying attention to much of what he was saying. "Okay, Sweetie. Tell me what is so special about this lucky guy?"
"Tall…witty… intelligent…very charming smile… And his eyes! Oh, Jamy, you should see his eyes…" Sara punctuated her sentence with a soul shattering sigh that filled him with tenderness. He'd never seen her react this strongly to a man before.
"And this fabulous guy—who, by the way, you'd do well not to introduce me to unless you want me to steal him away from you—does he have a name?"
Her smile widened. "Grissom."
"James, I'd like you to meet Gil Grissom, my boss. Grissom, this is James MacDouglas. He works for the FBI."
The two men politely shook hands, James more enthusiastically than Grissom who was definitely scowling. James, however, smiled warmly.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grissom. I've heard a lot about you, and not only in the press."
Sara discretely elbowed James, but Grissom had to have noticed. To draw attention away from the heated flush she felt on her cheeks, she smiled widely at James. "It's really wonderful to see you again, James. It's been, what?..."
"At least six years, if not seven. But just so you know, I've been framing all your letters and I re-read them every night before going to sleep."
He winked at her and Sara drew him into another hug. She couldn't help it. She really couldn't have been more pleased to see anyone.
Grissom interrupted the moment by clearing his throat. "I'm sorry to break up this fascinating little reunion, but I must remind you that you're still on the clock, Sara, and we have an autopsy report waiting for us."
If she hadn't been on cloud nine, the coldness in his tone would have hurt. But she wouldn't let him ruin the moment. Ignoring his sullen expression, she nodded. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."
He pursed his lips, as though holding back another comment, but finally, he sighed and left. Sara watched him go, and then looked at James, an apology in her eyes. "I hate to leave you so soon, but he's right. My shift ends at seven; what would you say to breakfast?"
"Perfect," he replied. "I have some important things to tell you." Sara apologized again and gave him the name of a restaurant where they could meet later. And as she was about to leave, Jamy leaned in and whispered, "You know, I think your boss hates me."
Sara walked away and then turned back. "No one can hate you, Jamy. You're simply too adorable."
Grissom and Doc Robbins were waiting for her in the autopsy room. Grissom shot her a look filled with annoyance when she came in, which made Sara's anger return in spades. Seeing James had helped her momentarily forget the painful discovery she'd made a few hours ago, but alone with Grissom again, all the hurt was resurfacing. She returned his look with a cold one of her own, internally grateful that at least she wasn't the only irritable one. She was aware of how childish a thought that was, but she couldn't help it. Turnabout is fair play, Griss.
Doc either missed the tension between them, or ignored it and immediately launched into his report. Removing the sheet covering the victim's body, he drew their attention to the two stab wounds on the woman's abdomen. "She suffered several injuries, but this is what killed her. The first hit perforated a lung, the second a kidney. I estimate time of death at around nine Thursday night," he concluded.
"And what of the mutilation?" Sara asked.
Robins gestured to the victim's face. "Post mortem," he said. "She was fortunate. The killer removed her eyes, severed her ears, and—" he pried open the woman's mouth inviting them to take a look…
"He cut off her tongue," Grissom added and Sara couldn't hide her disgust.
She understood what the doctor meant when he said that the woman had been fortunate, but what would have really been fortunate was for none of this to have happened in the first place.
Doc was grasping the woman's right hand. "The tips of nine fingers were amputated, leaving only her right index," he continued. "Again, post-mortem." He shook his head, his own disgust showing. "The nut who did this to her knew what he was doing. These situations often turn into butcheries, but in this case, the killer used a very precise object to cut her up. Probably a scalpel; and he knew how to use it."
For a moment, no one spoke. They observed the body in respectful silence.
"Anything else?" Grissom finally asked.
Doc nodded. "I didn't notice this at first, but after washing the body, I did find something else. Give me a hand," he said to Grissom, and the two men carefully turned the woman's body. Doc drew their attention to the back of her left knee. Grissom and Sara leaned in to take a closer look at the wound.
"This was probably done post mortem as well," Doc said of the small carving on the back of her knee.
Sara squinted to try to make out the small surface flesh wound, and then suddenly, her blood turned to ice. What the—
It was definitely a symbol, no more than a couple of centimeters in diameter. And it was familiar to Sara. Much too familiar. She felt the blood drain from her face as her stomach tightened. It wasn't possible; she must be imagining it. After all, she hadn't thought about this in twenty years.
"Are you alright?" asked Robins.
She looked up at him and nodded, swallowing with difficulty. "Yes…I…it's just that…" She had no idea what she wanted to say, or should say. Her brain felt scrambled. Sensing Grissom's eyes on her, she turned her attention to him. His concern mirrored Doc's, and it occurred to her that her two colleagues thought it was the state of the body that was making her ill, which didn't make any sense since she'd seen it all before.
Grissom kept his eyes on her as he addressed Doctor Robins. "I'll cast the wound," he said. "Sara, you should get some fresh air. It will make you feel better."
Sara normally would have objected, but this time, she only nodded and quickly left the room. She didn't go outside, however. Instead, she went to the washroom and locked herself into a stall. Sitting on the toilet seat cover, she bent at the waist, catching her head in her hands. She would have to look for her own peace of mind. In truth, she couldn't even remember exactly what the symbol looked like, and while hers might share some similarities with the victim's, how could they be the same? But a lump was stuck in her throat, and taking a deep breath, she lifted her left pant leg over her knee.
She ran a finger over the crease, at first feeling nothing, but eventually she found the small scar. Given its position, she couldn't see it, so she retrieved a small mirror case she often carried in her back pocket. Not for vanity's sake, that really wasn't her style, but it was often helpful on the job.
As it was now.
She positioned the mirror behind her knee and examined the small whitish scar closely. It had faded over time, but it was real, and even in the inversed reflection of the mirror she could tell that it was identical to the victim's. Except that on the dead woman's, the mark was bright red…fresh.
Sara closed her eyes. What could it mean? She tried to recall the events around which she had inherited this symbol, but her memory of it was sketchy. She hadn't thought of it since that day. Seeing it on the victim had brought those long ago buried memories of it back, but they were still blurry. One thing she was certain of was that finding the identical scar on the body of a woman who had been mutilated wasn't foreboding anything good.
She rose to her feet and left the stall. She splashed some water over her face, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror; she wasn't particularly interested in seeing her pale complexion. Then, leaving the bathroom, she headed for Grissom's office.
She observed him from his doorway for a moment. He was bent over something on his desk and her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Why did her life have to be so complicated? She wondered if she'd ever be happy, really happy. Because every time she sensed that things were getting better, something would happen to harshly bring her back to reality. She had come to work earlier feeling good about her renewed friendship with Grissom, and now, she was in pain because he had entered a relationship with a woman he'd known less than a year, a woman she disliked.
Too apprehensive of what he'd see, Gil didn't immediately look up even though he knew she was there. But eventually he did, only to confirm his fears. Although, it wasn't anger that burned in Sara's eyes now, but profound sadness. He suspected the reason behind it and hated himself. He was aware of her feelings for him. Unlike him, she had never really attempted to hide them. She had even tried to initiate something by asking him out to dinner once, an invitation he'd refused with no tact whatsoever. She'd also admitted a few months ago that she had moved to Vegas because of him. And what had he said? Nothing. As usual.
Gil was uncomfortable with human emotions. His own made him feel weak and out of control. And Sara…well, she managed only too frequently to make him feel those things, which was why he tried to maintain some distance. He'd lived too long in his shell, and the thought that she could so easily crack it terrified him. So, he would flee.
The previous year had been difficult for him emotionally. She had entrusted her secret to him and that had forced him to think. But once again, he'd concluded that he must do nothing. He was only too aware of the strange connection that had united them since the day they met, but there were too many obstacles; he was her supervisor; a romantic relationship with her could cost them both their careers; their age difference…
But was attempting to end his frustrations by sleeping with Sofia a solution? He doubted it. But at least, it allowed him to find some peace, if only fleetingly. And that was something.
So why did the look on her face right now trouble him so much? Why had he felt like strangling MacDouglas earlier? Suddenly, Sara seemed to snap out of her trance; she shyly lowered her eyes.
"Feeling better?" he asked softly, incapable of cold detachment under the circumstances.
She shook her head. "Not really."
He would have asked why but suspected that would be an irritant, so he said nothing. She approached slowly and stared at the blown up photograph of the symbol in front of him.
He shook his head, at a total loss. "I have no idea where this comes from. I researched it on the Internet but found nothing."
Sara didn't respond but continued to stare at it, her brows knitted in concentration. And then suddenly, he saw her eyes flash as though she'd remembered something important.
"I know what it means," she said softly. Gil looked at her skeptically so she picked up a piece of paper and pen from his desk and handed them to him. "Write this down: Capital J, P, and L." He did as she asked. "Now group the letters together along their vertical line." He drew the 'J' then added the half circle from the 'P' to it, and finally the horizontal line from the 'L'. His mouth opened in astonishment. This was the symbol—exactly. How could Sara have figured it out so quickly?
He looked up at her, but she appeared distracted. "What does it mean?" he prompted.
She sighed. "It means I have to talk to James."
Sara entered the coffee shop and immediately spotted James at a table. She was relieved that he'd found the place. Grissom had allowed her to leave earlier partly out of concern for her, and partly because she was impatient to talk to him.
A quick smile came to James' lips when he saw her. He rose to his feet and hugged her, and she felt some of the tension that had accumulated in the past hours leave her body. Jamy's presence had always been soothing.
They sat, facing each other.
"Everything okay?"
It was only the fourth time she'd been asked that tonight, and she gave James the same response she'd given Grissom earlier. "Not really…"
"Rough case?"
His voice was gentle, compassionate, but Sara didn't immediately answer. She tried to decipher what was going on in his green eyes, but in the end, she simply asked.
"Jamy… What made you come to Vegas?"
He was about to answer when the waitress came to take their order. After she left, he said, "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I came because I missed you." Sara smiled, but slowly shook her head. "Seriously," he continued, "I missed you, Lya. I often regret that we can't see each other more often, but…" His gaze darkened. "Sara…When was the last time you heard from Patrick?"
Sara's eyes widened in surprise. She'd been expecting some questions, but not this one. She frowned as she tried to remember the last time she'd seen him, or heard from him. She shook her head. "I don't know. Probably not since he moved to a foster home. We were what, twelve, thirteen?..."
James nodded. "I haven't heard from him since either."
Sara recalled that she and James had searched for him for a while. One member of their inseparable trio had been taken away from then, and naturally they wanted to keep in touch with their friend. But nothing came of their search. They were only kids at the time, which limited their research capabilities. Sara also recalled having more pressing problems back then. It had been a trying year for her…
Shaking off a wave of uneasiness, she looked at her friend. "James, do you know why I found our sign etched into a dead woman's body last night?" His gaze darkened even further, a sign that what he had to tell her wouldn't be pleasant.
"There have been six victims, Sara, seven with yours. I've been tracking him for six months," he continued. "He fits the serial killer profile."
"But…" she began, her voice shaking, "how did you know he'd come to Vegas."
James shook his head and leaned forward over the table. "That's pure coincidence, Lya. I came to Vegas because you're personally involved in this…as I am."
Sara swallowed painfully. The waitress came with their coffee, but neither of them touched it. "Why do you think that?" she asked huskily, but she suspected what he was going to say before he said it.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his blond hair. "For starters, our symbol is etched into each of his victims. No one, except for the three of us, knows about this sign. Unless one of us talked about it…"
"I never did. In fact, I'd completely forgotten about it until tonight."
James nodded, understanding. "I'm not surprised you forgot given what happened to you the day we did this…"
Sara shuddered. It was true. That was the night her mother—
"I agree that the symbol thing is strange, but what makes you think we're directly involved?"
"His victims alternate between males and females. He kills a woman, then a man, and so on. We tried to find a commonality between the victims, other than the fact that they were all killed on a Thursday night and they were all single."
"And what do they have in common?" asked Sara after a beat.
"The three male victims were born on February 4th, 1971; the three women on September 16th, 1971." That information shook Sara to her core, and she closed her eyes. These were their birth dates, hers and James'. Opening her eyes, she met James' serious gaze. "I'm sure your victim has the same birthday."
She had always trusted James, and still did. But she needed to confirm what he was saying. This was way too serious to jump to conclusions. She took out her cell phone and dialed Grissom. He picked up after two rings.
"Grissom."
"Hey, it's Sara. Uh, I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a very important question for you."
Judging by the beat of silence, he was surprised to hear from her, probably worried about the reason for her call as well. But finally, he said, "Okay, I'm listening."
"Would you take a look at the Jessica Lown file and give me her birth date?"
While they waited, James nonchalantly stirred his coffee, evidently not doubting for a moment the information she was about to receive.
"Jessica Lown," she heard Grissom say after a brief moment, "birth date, September 16th, 1971." Sara closed her eyes once again and stroked her forehead. "Isn't that your birthday?" Grissom asked, surprised.
"Yes." Sara was too devastated to note the fact that Grissom knew her birth date.
"Is it relevant?"
"I'm afraid so. I'll call you later. Thanks, Grissom."
She didn't wait for his response. She hung up and stared absently at the phone. James gave her a few moments to recuperate then dropped his spoon. The sound of the utensil hitting the table shook her back to the present, and she stared at him. He looked as worried as she felt.
"You know, Lya," he finally said. "I think Patrick is pissed at us."
TBC