Chapter Three: Crate and Burial
All disclaimers apply.
Sara was reading one of her old forensic textbooks while she waited up for Grissom. She wanted to be his star pupil as she had been at the seminar in California. The caustic comment he had made earlier about the Laura Garris case being real and not just a seminar had hurt her more than she wanted to admit to him or even to herself.
She heard his key slide into the lock and a moment later the room was filled with his presence and the smell of eggs, "I brought breakfast," was his greeting.
"I had half a grapefruit, but that smells good," Sara replied. "What is it?"
"Eggs, peppers, onions…" he said. "Interesting reading?"
"I've read this one cover to cover five times," she informed him marking her page with a tissue. "After today I'm beginning to think we should have profilers at every PD post like they do in D.C."
Grissom began unloading the two Styrofoam containers that contained their breakfasts. "It is not our job to be sympathetic or empathetic with victims or their families," he reminded her. "The evidence will lead us to the right conclusion. We don't need to see the inside of people's minds; their actions will show us a much clearer picture."
"Like Laura Garris?" Sara asked for clarification. "She had me fooled. She had both of us fooled."
"Not for long," Grissom reminded her passing a packet of plastic utensils. "You cracked it."
"After I screwed up earlier," she mumbled more to herself than to him.
"You didn't screw up," he corrected. "You rushed a bit because of how clean the scene seemed, but a lot of the indicators pointed your way. The altered voice on the ransom call, the amount and speed with which the demand was issued, they all said professional, it just turned out not to be true. First blushes exist for a reason, just like first drafts of term papers. They were invented to be revised."
Sara added pepper to her meal and watched as Grissom added pepper and salt, "Aren't you going to taste it first?" she asked.
"No," he answered. "I know it needs salt. The eggs from Marty's Diner always need salt."
"Too much salt is bad for your heart," Sara commented.
"Excess of any kind is bad for, Sara," was his measured reply. "Including excess in our work."
"Please," she laughed. "Gil Grissom, master workaholic, talking to me about beind excessive in one's work."
He rose and moved to the refrigerator, "Orange juice?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. "Do you really think I'm excessive?"
He poured the juice into two matching cups and resumed his seat before answering, "No, you haven't shown me a signal of being more excessive than the rest of the team in terms of hours, but in the intensity, I'll admit you have a tendency to be zealous."
"I love my work," she said biting a biscuit.
"That's good, but…How do I say this," he sighed. "On that patio last night when we found the rag you said something that…Sara, I want you to stay here and work hard for the fulfillment it brings you and the peace of mind it brings to the victims not to make an impression on me."
"It's just," Sara began. "Forget it."
"No, it's okay," Grissom assured her. "Finish."
"It's just you were the only person who ever really believed in me," Sara confided. "I don't want to let you down."
He sipped his juice and was quiet a moment, "You couldn't," he finally said. "I believe in you and trust you, not because of what kind of criminalist you are, but because of what kind of woman you are. You could be anything or do anything and I'll still believe in you. You need to take your own advice and believe in yourself."
She played with her food a second then met Grissom's eyes, "It means a lot to hear that from you."
"I'll say it anytime you need to hear it," he told her. "Just ask."
They finished breakfast discussing the details on the front page of the newspaper and laughing at memories from previous cases with bizarre endings. Sara helped Grissom clean up then went to get ready for bed. She showered then called out to Grissom that it was his turn. He did not acknowledge her so after three tries she went to the living room to be sure he heard her. He was a million miles away. "Grissom?" she said gently. "Are you all right?"
"Huh?" he sighed as her voice startled him from his thoughts.
She sat beside him, "Are you all right?"
"No," he confessed. "I'm thinking about today. I'm empathizing with the victim."
"Laura's kidnapping was staged," Sara reminded him. "There was no real victim."
"Yes, there was," Grissom said, shifting to face her. "Her husband. I'm not normally one to sit and do this, but I cannot begin to imagine the fear he must have felt thinking he might never see his wife again. You can tell when you've done this as long as I have when someone's concern is genuine and when it is not. Jack Garris' concern was genuine."
"Yeah it was," Sara agreed. "He loved her enough to fork over two million dollars without blinking an eye and I heard Brass saying he was providing her with a high dollar attorney, probably cost him $3 million by the time it's all done."
"You can't put a price on any life, especially when it is the life of someone you love," Grissom said as he yawned.
"You need to get cleaned up and get some rest," Sara encouraged.
"I will after you tell me what's brewing in your head," Grissom replied.
"I know what she did was cruel," Sara said after a minute. "Making her husband suffer like that but I can't help but think how it must have been for Mrs. Garris in that crate. I mean when she planned it out she had no way of knowing Chip Rundle would turn on her. She must have been terrified she'd die out there."
"We all pay a price for our misdeeds," Grissom observed rising from the sofa. "The fear she had to go through as a result of her own actions was, some would say, part of her karmic punishment for the fear her husband went through."
"It still isn't enough," Sara sighed shaking her head beginning to follow Grissom out of the room. He stopped and turned around, slowly reaching a hand out to squeeze her shoulder, "You can't focus on that. Our job is done; the rest is out of our hands."
"I know," she assured him then turned to her room to get some sleep.
Grissom was awakened from his sleep by the sound of Sara's voice. She was talking and crying out in her sleep for someone to help her. Quickly he got out of bed and hurried to her room. He eased her door opened and saw her fitfully thrashing under her covers. He considered calling out but he knew she was locked deep inside her dream. He had plenty of his own dreams like this. He would hear the external noises, but lack the power to fight his way out of sleep because he was concentrating on fighting his dream. He moved to her side and sat on the edge of her bed, "Sara," he called gently shaking her arm. "Wake up. Come on, now."
Grissom repeated the soft words in a coaxing tone a few times before Sara woke up shaking and gasping for breath. Grissom reached for her at the same time she reached for him. He pulled her in close, "Ssh. You're all right. You're okay," he comforted rocking her gently until finally she quieted. He only released her when she was no longer trembling and her rapid breathing had returned to normal. "What was that about?" he asked.
"It was just a bad dream," she said wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm fine, go back to sleep."
"Not just yet," he said. "Can you tell me about the dream?"
"I don't remember it," she lied and he knew it.
"Yes you do," he countered. "Come now; tell me what it was about. It will help, trust me."
"I…I was just feeling…When I was a kid my folks and I went to Kansas to visit my grandma. I was about nine and I was playing outside. I loved all of the open space she had on her farm. The storm cellar door was opened, I don't remember why and somehow the ball I was kicking around rolled in there. I climbed down and I started exploring. I had never seen a storm cellar or anything like it before, and I found it really interesting. I must have been out of view because the door somehow got closed and locked from the outside." Sara shuddered at the memory and began to tear up. Stubbornly she wiped at one tear that escaped. Grissom reached out for her, taking hold of her hand, holding it loosely as she told her tale.
"You must have been scared," he said softly as a way of encouraging her.
"At first I wasn't," she replied. "But hours passed and no one came down. I was gone half a day and no one came. It wasn't until years later I found out no one but my grandma's farm hand even noticed."
Grissom shook his head sadly, his heart aching with pain for her, "And this case, thinking about Laura Garris' fear brought that memory out." It was not a question.
"No," Sara answered. "It just made me realize that if I was ever in that position or one like it again not even a farm hand would notice."
Grissom ran his hand over her arm from wrist to shoulder, then inched it across the delicate slope of her neck until it rested on her smooth cheek, "You're wrong Sara. I would notice if you were missing. I always have."
"That's nice to hear," she said with a small smile.
"It's true. We're friends, Sara and friends look out for each other and take care of each other. If you ever are lost, I'll find you or at the very least, help you find yourself."
Sara smiled again, then yawned, "We need to get back to sleep."
"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "You lie back down. I'll stay for awhile if you like."
Sara definitely wanted him to stay, to fall asleep with the safety he offered, but her pride would not allow her to let on, "I'm fine," she assured him. "Thanks."
Grissom rose from the bed and moved toward the door as soon as she turned down his offer to stay. He paused in her doorway before leaving when he heard her whispered gratitude he answered, "That's what friends are for."