A/N: Sorry this took so long! RL interfered.
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Present Time
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The sun continued to beat down, parching the land, drawing every last drop of moisture from the surface of the sand, up through the roots of the thirsting plants, out of her skin. The temperature continued to rise, passing that of the human body and continuing to climb. As her lips cracked and skin peeled, lacking the water to produce cooling sweat, Sara's temperature too started to creep slowly upward, dissolving her straining control over her thoughts. Shying from the sun, now pounding on her back, Sara staggered slowly eastward.
Images, some kept at bay for years, assaulted her mind, the reality of the desert blurring in the glare of the sun and the distortion of the rising heat. Cammie, trying so hard to describe her killer, blood rushing down her neck, saying goodbye to the daughter she never got to see... We got him, Cammie. We got him, but he fooled me too... Holding his hand in the ambulance. Clammy, cold... Not like Gil. Her mind snatched feebly at the comfort of Grissom's hand clasped in hers, and for a moment she could almost feel him there.
Pain seared through her arm as she stumbled, loosening her control once again, and a procession of ghosts returned to haunt her memories. Linley Parker, strong enough to identify her rapist, providing details enough to find the man, pointing him out in a line-up, the perfect witness -- killed when the evidence failed to support her... Suzanna Kirkwood, almost the antithesis of Linley, unable to gather the strength to confirm her attacker's identity -- killed because they failed to find the evidence to hold him... Pamela Adler... Kaye Shelton...
Sara tried to force her mind from this waking nightmare, away from death, remembering instead the steadying presence of Grissom's hand in hers, toward the joys of the last two years in his arms and away from the pain of the past. At times, she would succeed for a short while, then images of death would return, chasing away the temporary peace. She stumbled onward.
Tripping over a bush, Sara bit down on her cracked lip, and the metallic taste of blood filled her senses as a sharp pain shot up her arm, triggering even more deeply buried memories to surface. Hiding never worked, but I always tried. He would find me anyway, once he finished with Laura. Only bruises if I was lucky, or maybe another trip to the hospital... Blood, there was blood everywhere... One step too far, and she snapped, beyond yelling this time... NO! I've gotten past this!
Forcing herself back to her feet, Sara pushed thoughts of her father from her mind with renewed strength. To keep from slipping back into the abyss, she concentrated not on fluid memories, but on precise recollection of a series of memorized facts. The first law of thermodynamics states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed... The heat continued to pulse around her.
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April 4, 2007
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Flashing lights, blue and red, screaming sirens, Ambulance, Police, Fire and Rescue, closing off the streets, yellow tape blocking the alleyway. Red Mustang, wheels in the air, shattered glass littering the street. Man in a white T-shirt, right arm torn and bloody, dead on the asphalt. Police techs taking photos, moving around the scene, images of the car, the body, the crowd.
Grissom. He's here, not looking for me. He knows he was wrong, Chloe told him. Why is he here, not with me? I'm special. This is easy -- drunk man with car. Why is he here?
A hand reaching out for a camera, hazel eyes in a face framed with brown hair looking up to meet blue through the dark mask of their sunglasses, a shared smile, a hidden caress. Hidden, but not from her.
No! No! Why her, not me? -- SIDLE.
Flash
Blue jeans with a patterned pocket, black vest, Crime Scene Investigation across the back, wavy chestnut hair covering her face, sprawled across the sand, right arm groping from beneath a battered red Mustang, trapped.
Ernie went away. Sidle needs to go away.
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April 5, 2007
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Large swinging glass doors, people entering and leaving, carrying silver kits, talking on cell phones, sometimes Grissom, sometimes Sidle, sometimes in pairs. Police coming and going. Everyone with a badge or pass.
The sun slowly setting over the strip, people continuing to come and go, a city that never sleeps has a crime lab that never sleeps, but the flow of people slowing to a trickle. The cars in the lot dwindling. Grissom is still there. Sidle is still there. She stays, waiting, watching.
A large white van, Platinum Maids in black letters above the silhouette of a woman with an apron and a vacuum cleaner, two women climbing out, unloading their carts, and strolling into the building. The small receptionist looks up, and waves. They enter unhindered, carts unchecked.
Platinum Maids.
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April 6, 2007
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"Ooh-ee! Izzy Delancy! Hoity-toity, hmm? It's a real shame what happened to him, huh? Were you there for all that nonsense?"
Flash
Newspaper lying on the dark wood of the dining room table, breakfast of bacon and two eggs sunny-side up, untouched, fork lying beside the plate. Marble rolling pin, a few blood stains remaining, tucked into the baking drawer. Izzy slumped over the table, blood dripping from his tight cropped curls, white tank top displaying his tattoo.
No! No! I wasn't working there, that's what she means. No. Wasn't there.
"Too bad, huh?" A tittering giggle.
No, not too bad. Good. Izzy went away, it's good.
"You're a little lawbreaker. Says here, you ... uh ... prefer to be paid in cash. You like working of the books, huh? Good ol' Uncle Sam probably not too happy about that, huh?"
"Th-that's ... because... I-I --"
"Uh, uh, ooh, uh, uh." A disparaging laugh. "You speak English, you got all your papers. No, fine. It's fine. But in seriousness, you wouldn't mind having your fingerprints done? See, we were lucky enough to get a contract for the municipal buildings downtown. You know, mayor's office, police department."
"Yeah."
Flash
Fingers encased in gloves, carefully holding a small doll, painting details onto her face.
"But, you know, they require a background check for anyone going to work in that building, even temps."
Flash
Ernie pacing back and forth, back and forth, "They think I killed -- I killed all those people."
They got it wrong, not Ernie. Grissom was wrong.
"Sure. That'd be okay."
"Yeah... Listen, hon, you seem like a real nice girl, real nice, but we're called Platinum Maids for a reason. I- I just don't see the sparkle."
No! No... I need this job...
"No. No, I'm very good... And I have exceptional attention to detail."
"You clean in between the blinds?"
"No. More like memory. I can see a room one time and remember where everything is."
"After just one time?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Okay. Describe the reception area."
Flash
"There's a lavender orchid on the reception desk. Its top bloom is about to open."
Flash
"A glass coffee cup with a chip on the edge, a half inch of coffee still in the cup."
Flash
"Cut glass bowl full of chocolate kisses -- two gold, one purple."
Flash
"A glass vase with a rose etched in the glass, three leaves etched on its stalk."
"You sit tight. I got some choices for you."
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"Okay, we have contracts with the Justice Department where you mostly clean up the offices and trial chambers but not too much mess, the Police Department where you mostly clean up after drunks and disorderly suspects that have trashed the interview rooms, and the Crime Lab where who knows what you'll be cleaning up, lots of strange stuff happens over there."
"The C-Crime Lab... sounds fun."
"Okay... If you're sure, that would be great! Most people hate working there... think it's hazardous." A dismissive laugh. "Okay. Well, I'll let you know when your background check goes through and then you can start right away."
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Present Time
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The sun baked the sand, heat radiating down from above and up from below, saturating the air around them. Catherine by his side, officers following at a distance, Grissom continued to follow the trail of cairns across the desert. East, still heading east, toward the road. Each cairn raised his hopes, but provided no clues as to how long ago Sara had passed this way, and the temperature continued to climb.
Grissom's thoughts echoed Catherine as she greeted each new cairn with a "Good girl." Thank you, Sara... We'll find you, just hang on, we're on our way.
At first, what he was seeing did not quite register, a hiking boot lying discarded perhaps, some clothes nearby. He quickly brought the binoculars back toward the boot, this time seeing what lay in the place where the next cairn should have been. "Oh no." God! No! Grissom broke into a run, hoping against hope that it was all a mirage.
Frantically, he began digging around the body, Catherine joining him, neither bothering with crime scene protocol as they scrambled to gain a look at the face. Their hands brushed away the concealing dirt, Catherine confirming what his eyes were telling him, "It's not her." Not her. It's not her... Thank you God! It's not her.
Still on his knees beside the body, Grissom barely noticed as Catherine stood and radioed back to the nearby officers. His eyes continued to scan the area, relief fading slowly from his body. It's not her, but where is she? Where's the trail? Was she even the one to make those cairns? Why do they stop here? He rose stiffly as the officers arrived to begin processing the new scene and walked slowly away, gazing eastward. She must have left them... It couldn't have been that hiker, he was obviously washed down in a flash flood from somewhere higher up. Why do they stop? Did she find him? Did it disturb her that much? -- Where are you, Sara?
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April 13, 2007
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!beep! "You have .. one .. new message .. and .. one .. saved message. New message, sent .. Friday .. April .. thirteenth .. two-thousand .. seven."
"Natalie, this is Rochelle Dorley with Platinum Maids. You're background check went through just fine, no problems at all. Not even a speeding ticket! You can start work Monday, just give me a call to confirm."
!beep! "Message has been .. deleted."
Monday.
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April 16, 2007
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"You're the new girl, Natalie, right?"
"Y-yeah."
"Well, you can do Dr. Grissom's office... We always give that one to the newbies."
"G-Grissom?"
"Yeah, he's a bit of an odd one. Just don't throw away anything, no matter how gross it looks, unless it's in the trash already. Be careful dusting in there, lots of breakable stuff. And don't mess with his spider..."
"O-Okay."
"It's right through there."
Rows of shelves standing out from the walls, lined with jars, filled with animals, bones, unidentifiable bits and pieces. Glass cases full of butterflies on the wall, a special case with a single mounted tarantula directly behind the chair. A desk covered with haphazard stacks of paper, inbox overflowing onto the surface, a large book open in the middle, "Delusional Psychosis - the James Tilly Matthews case-study." Photos of Chloe scattered beside it.
Plexiglass boxes, all in a line. Four perfect miniatures locked inside.
Grissom. He does care. He knows he was wrong. He's looking for me.
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April 27, 2007
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Aisles of food, multicoloured, stretching in front of her. A small TV blaring in the corner.
"...stunned by the death of former top-ranked junior middleweight Lorenzo "Happy" Morales, whose body was found floating in a pool late last night at the Sugarcane Ranch Brothel in Bryant County. Morales, best known for his ability to take a punch, was reportedly attempting a comeback to boxing. LVPD is investigating the incident, which they are treating as a homicide."
LVPD. Grissom... Grissom with Sidle! No!
A clear pool slowly creeping across the floor, chasing her back. A strong, pungent smell filling the air.
Flash
The red fading, Chloe disappearing. Tears streaking Daddy's face, red tips on his fingers, sleeves pushed up, hair falling in his face, a bristled brush, spots of light appearing in the red. A pervasive, never-ending smell.
No! No! No!
A burst of fresh air, colours swirling overhead, people crowding to see the show.
Flash
Coloured spotlights flashing over the stage, steam billowing up from below, thousands of people cheering and screaming.
No! No!
Flash
Blue jeans with a patterned pocket, black vest, Crime Scene Investigation across the back, wavy chestnut hair covering her face, sprawled across the sand, right arm groping from beneath a battered red Mustang, trapped. Trapped in the desert.
Sidle. Sara Sidle. Grissom took Ernie, I'll take Sara... Then he'll just have me. Me. I'm special. His special girl.
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Present Time
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With no trail to follow, Grissom helped process the scene, trying to identify the man who lost his life in a desert flood. Thoughts of Sara stayed with him, but the familiar tasks of the crime scene helped calm his thoughts. The sun slowly sunk in the sky, but the temperature remained high.
Drinking from a bottle of water provided by a police officer, Grissom couldn't help but turn his thoughts to Sara, struggling across the desert with no relief. Even just being out here for a couple hours, I'm feeling the heat. How much worse must it be for her? Is she safe? Please let her be safe. He forced himself to return to the drowned man.
As he flipped through the wallet of the man, listening to Jim's findings, Grissom tried to keep his mind focused on the case, but he couldn't help but wonder what if... what if it had been Sara. He closed his phone and turned to update Catherine, "Park Service issued him a camping permit. He was supposed to hike out this morning."
He barely heard her reply, "Must have gotten caught in the flash flood. Couldn't make it to higher ground."
The mystery solved, he could no longer distract himself from thoughts of Sara, lost and alone in the desert. She may have survived the flash flood, she got that much farther than poor Matthew Hoffman, but where is she now? "Where is she, Catherine? It's 110 degrees. She's been out here all day, without water. She's disoriented, she's ... dehydrated."
Catherine gave him the only hope she could, "She's a survivor."
The words echoed in his head. She's a survivor. A survivor. Images of Sara flowed through his mind, Sara pushing to crack a case, standing up for a victim, shouting down the opposition, breaking away from Adam Trent... sitting on her couch, describing her childhood, forcing herself beyond the memories. Yes. She's a survivor.
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TBC
A/N: Feedback greatly appreciated! Nitpicks welcome... Go ahead... Hit that review button, you know you want to!