Title: In Hell With Love
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan.
Author's notes: To everyone who waited for me to update this story, you have no idea how grateful I am. I know it has been more than a year, but I've never forgotten about you all.
P.S I know I'm a slow writer and my stories may take a long time to get somewhere (too much emotions, draggy storyline etc.). I must apologise. I really like focusing on emotions and feelings – one of the beautiful traits that we have as humans. I don't like to rush stories so please don't tear me up with this chapter.
To whashaza (I'm sorry for not making your hope a reality, hopefully this chapter will make up for it. Here's another hug for you –hugs-), vans65 (I know I said that this chapter would be out sooner, but something got in the way. I wrote this chapter longer than normal just for you. I'm really sorry I kept you waiting with the lack of updates. I'm quite honoured with what you did actually – so don't feel bad okay – hugs and grins-) apcJodi (I hope you haven't forgotten this story. I've always looked forward to your encouraging and thoughtful reviews.) xoSnickersxo (miss you loads. I apologise for the slow updates) 34bubbles (It makes me happy when someone new reviews my story. I hope you'll get to read this chapter) Mma63 (Thank you for your review. It's really hard to update sometimes and it's wonderful to have someone understand what I'm going thru. Hope you're not too disappointed with this chapter) eanalay (Thanks for reviewing –hugs-) chloeeleanor (Love your name. I glad you're enjoying the story so far. Hope you'll like this one) bene (I'll did my best to involve Catherine a little more in this chapter. Just for you –grins-) jdcocoagirl (Nick seemed like the best person to understand Sara, since he had been through so much. Thanks for your review dear –hugs-) CSIvHP11 (Oh no. Hope you'll still review this chapter. Sara will get better. I'll make sure that happens.) msbetty (thanks for that review. It made me happy –hugs-) thealycat (I'm glad you liked it. I love to focus on emotions whenever I write a story. One of my weaknesses. Hope you'll like this chapter too.) CookiesAreAlwaysFood (I agree with your name wholeheartedly. I'll try my best to finish this story asap. I don't like to rush things – another one of my weaknesses- so sorry)
To necira-skies (One of the reasons why I posted this story today is because of your review. I thought that everyone had forgotten about this fic. When I read your review, I felt inspired to write. I've spend quite a bit of time on this one. I really hope you like it. Everyone here should thank you for the continuation of this story –grins and hugs-)
To the everyone reading this chapter (Thank you)
Here goes...
Chapter 23
There was a knock on the door…
"What is the meaning of this? Did you not hear what I said?" The voice that came through the door had an intensity derived from a rage capable of destroying anything in sight. Tables, chairs and stacks of papers would have been thrown onto the ground if not for the confused acknowledgement of a face that looked up from the desk.
"Might I remind you who's in charge here? I've told you from the very beginning that your team is to undergo a psychiatric evaluation before handling the case – this case! Did you not hear me? Is your hearing as bad as I imagined?"
Grissom stared at Ecklie from behind his desk. Eyes burning and nose flaring, Ecklie looked like a man whose head was one notch away from exploding. His bald spot allowed Grissom an unprotected view of his enormous vein that pulsed like a separate entity.
He greeted him with normalcy, regretting almost immediately as he realised his tone may be mistaken as a way of pissing his superior off. Ecklie wasn't in the mood; his demanding stance prompted an explanation.
"A psych evaluation is useless if it's not what my team needs. What they need right now is closure. When Sara went missing, most of their time was used contemplating what went wrong – how could this happen, why did it happen—and now that she's found, their thinking still remains the same. It would haunt them till they find the person responsible. They would rather risk insanity, knowing that they're protecting someone they love, than to use up whatever precious time they have talking about themselves and how they feel. You can at least give them that. Don't take this away from them… Let them deal with it this way… it's the right thing to do. Even you know that…" As Grissom spoke, Ecklie's shoulders tensed, knowing that there was an undeniable truth behind what he was saying. He dropped his shoulders and relaxed his back as much as he could, trying, in vain, to appear unfazed by Grissom's words. He pointed his index finger at Grissom, hiding his conscience behind his gesture.
"It is not your call to make. I will not allow your team's personal attachment to the victim to compromise this case – or this lab's reputation. You will get your team evaluated. I do not care if it takes days or weeks – you will not touch this case until you do. Do I make myself clear?" With each sentence that was said, Ecklie increased his tone and added a pause for emphasis. His finger jerked forward repeatedly as he spoke, as if challenging Grissom. "The psych division will handle it from here. I suggest you pack it up and say your good-byes to the victim…"
Grissom stood up, not hiding his anger well. "This 'victim' that you are referring to… don't act like you don't know her."
"But I don't, Grissom… I don't know her. " Ecklie turned towards the door, pointing to the stack of evidence files on his desk on his way out. "It seems… neither do you. Not anymore."
There was a knock on the door…
Nick stood up and held his stance, praying with all his might that the person behind the door wasn't from the psychiatric division. He felt like a giant next to Sara who remained seated on the ground. Confidence began to build within him, knowing that he was probably capable of protecting her this time. His back was tight and straight and he clenched his fists. He was going to make sure that there was no chance of her being taken by anyone without going through him first. He leaned closer to the door, without moving his feet from their spot, hoping that Sara was watching him.
She wasn't. And he couldn't comprehend why that saddened him greatly.
"Who's there?" He said, hoping that this time, she would hear him. Sara responded by shifting her legs closer to her body.
"Mr. Stokes. Could you step out for a moment? A member of the psych division is here to see you." The voice behind the door belonged to a woman. Only then did it occur to Nick that there was more than one person along the corridor. The shadowed figure was still by the window.
"What do you want?" He asked, his heart sinking as low as it could go. He knew the answer to that question, and the feeling that he had overstayed his time with Sara crept back into his soul. With his confidence heading out of the door, a sense of urgency filled his gut as he wondered if he should have drilled Sara for an answer; to force something out of her that would call for his presence or that would require his skills as a CSI. He had been so caught up with the feeling of exultation at the thought that he, though alone and useless, singlehandedly got Sara to trust him, that he had forgotten his purpose for being there. A sense of pain connected with the future remained in the room and he knew that being with Sara was the only way he could keep himself from lapsing into the guilt and loneliness that haunted him for such a long time. He felt the unnecessary need to stall, knowing that he wasn't needed anymore, that he was more a hindrance rather than a help.
The voices behind the door began conversing among themselves and for a moment Nick had hoped that they have forgotten about them. As he waited, he took a step towards the window, curious of the identity of the shadowed figure, wondering why his presence had made his dear friend so terrified. He craned his neck at an angle where the reflections were least prominent, but the figure moved towards the door, its face just out of his range of sight.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
Nick jumped and instinctively turned towards Sara to see if the high-pitched noise had scared her. Sara's shoulders jerked in shock and the beats of the heart monitor didn't do much to hide her fear from him, and as she dragged herself back into her lonely corner Nick cursed himself for not silencing his phone when he had the chance to. Its vibrations merged with the tingling sensation crawling up his spine as he fumbled for the device, its cries hovering murkily around his ears. He wanted nothing more than to throw his phone against the wall and hold Sara's hands just like before, wanting her to stay the way she was just minutes ago. But fearing an important call or that the caller would not call back had left him standing where he was, prompting him to answer the phone.
"Stokes..."
"Mr. Stokes..." Nick frowned as the voice continued. "It's great to finally talk to you..."
"Who are you?"
"I think you know who I am..." The voice replied. "...haven't you been expecting me?"
"You're..."
"Yes, yes. I'm Sara's dreaded PEAP counsellor." He mocked and laughed before continuing. "Don't act so surprise. I'm here to inquire about my patient. Has she said anything to you?"
"We're still unsure of whose responsible if that's what you—"
"Right..." He interrupted, dragging the word; the tension in his voice melting away. "The psych division is taking over from here. I would appreciate if you leave. Your presence here is no longer needed."
As Nick tried in vain to put a face to the voice on the line, he was surprised at the lack of compassion and gratitude that he had in mind for a person of that profession. He had hoped for an understanding voice; one that he could plead his worth to this case, knowing that he may be expecting too much.
"Wait— don't you want to know how she's doing?"
"Mr. Stokes, I do not go to your crime scene telling you that you have missed a spot, so don't tell me how to do my job."
"But I- I can help. S-she knows that I'm here to help her. She knows me."
"And that means something to me.... how?"
"Just give me a little more time. She'll talk to me about what happened."
"You can't just force something out of a person who has undergone the trauma that my patient has gone through. The ability to repress is an important survival tool. She would be dead without it."
"But she responded to me. She held my hand and looked at me..."
"You grabbed her hand and she was complied to look at you..."
"She tried to communicate with me by squeezing my hands..."
"Reflex..."
"She knows me. She did all those things because she knows me! She knows it's me!" Nick vehemently replied in a tight whisper, so that Sara wouldn't hear. He turned away from her towards the window facing the city, and found that he could not stand the sight of it despite of how beautiful it was. The sky was fading to grey, and he could not understand how the day could pass the time over to night so quickly. He hated the day for leaving, knowing that like the sun leaving the blue sky, he too would have to leave the room.
"Yes... well, I'm sure she knows you... but might I remind you who gave you that deep scratch in the middle of your face..."
"That wasn't her fault. She only did..." Nick argued, speaking over the voice.
"...which, by the way, you should get that checked out... a blow to the head may cloud judgement... She is considered..."
"...that because she thought she was in danger. She was..."
"...a danger to herself and others. By law, any signs of suicidal and homicidal tendency would mean that she'll have to be committed to the care of the psychiatric division..."
"... scared. I didn't mean to scare her like that..."
"Mr. Stokes!" An angry sigh emerged after both of them stopped talking. "You're testing my patience. I have been kind to you and your colleagues, giving you several hours alone with my patient. My patient! Do you know your kind is not even allowed here? You and your team have not undergone a psych evaluation, and even that does not confirm that you are fit to be part of this investigation. I can take you out anytime I want, and I'm doing it now. She is my patient and mine alone. You have been taken off this case as of today. I have already informed Conrad Ecklie, and as we speak, he is alerting the rest of your team..."
A warm wave of adrenaline spewed into Nick's body at the thought of his friends packing up the evidence and allowing people he did not know to take them away. He was certain that they would put up a fight, but they were in a bind just like he was. They could not disobey or defy authority, knowing that they had the power to take Sara from them indefinitely, as well as blaming them for making things worse when it was time to apprehend a suspect. He was torn. He promised that he would make Sara's tormentor pay for what he did to her. And everyone else had made that promise too. They have to be careful not to break it. Nothing's worse than broken promises. He could hear nothing else as the phrase went through his head like a mantra. Even as the voice rambled over the phone, the only thoughts that flowed mercilessly into his mind were thoughts of betraying Sara again. They ended with a painful grip of fear of losing her; his conscience playing a part in reminding him that he'll be fully responsible for that if he didn't do what he was told. The best thing he could do now was to try his best to salvage the situation, taking what he can.
"... I told her I would stay..." He blurted out
The voice stopped in midsentence and paused before replying. "We shouldn't make promises we can't keep Mr. Stokes. You know that. You are no stranger to false hopes."
"...You don't know me."
"I beg to differ. I've done my research... I know you well enough. Shall I give it a go?
The voice made him nervous and uncertainty clenched tightly around his chest. Nick turned back to look at Sara and did not know if he should sit close to her with her PEAP counsellor over the phone. Her body was leaning heavily against the wall, her blistered toes curled on the floor, and she was staring blankly at the white wall. He noticed that the more he talked, the wearier and lonelier she became. He moved as if he made his decision, but at the last moment changed his mind, knowing that at the end of the day, no matter what he did, he was going to betray her. His throat hurt as he swallowed. For a while he looked at her; then he no longer knew where to look.
"... You don't know me."
"I know all about you Mr. Stokes... you always seem to need to have some reason to hate yourself, something to make you feel eternally incomplete. You try to be the nicest person around, trying to smile all the time, going out of your way to do something for someone. You act that way, thinking that if you offered everything you had to the world—all the care and love and help— that someday you'll be given the same things. That someday, everyone will see what you have done and like you. They'll all like you and you'll finally be somebody. It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to do your job. You tell yourself that, even though it hurts so badly, you're going to do the best you can. You smile, making people think that you're happy. You laugh so they will not see you cry. You live your life knowing that it kills you. But you keep going. You know that this world is not like you, that you'll never get what you want, but you still believe in hope. And the pain of never finding it is.... unbearable."
"Anything else?"
"My patient is providing you with this hope, isn't she? Before she was taken, she was just like you. She acted the same way and wished for the same things. She gave you what you wanted and you gave her what she wanted. She cared, loved and helped you and you cared, loved and helped her. Now, after she was taken, you tried to give her all these things again and found out that she was incapable of giving them back to you. Not that she wouldn't, but couldn't. You are alone now and there's no one left, and it makes you want to die inside. You can only forget about your problems when you're being useful to someone. You feel that if you stayed that you could change things; that you can restore her back to what she was before. You think that, by doing this, you can to save her but you're looking for a way to save yourself. You do not want to be alone, do you Mr. Stokes? You're making excuses to substitute the real problem..."
He felt himself trembling with old nervousness. He never thought he was doing anything selfish until this moment. He thought that all he wanted to do was to help her become the person he had known again, and leaving the room would mean accepting that she would never again be the friend he remembered. —That's justifiable, right? It's not selfish...or is it? — He wanted nothing more than the voice to stop talking. He wanted the eyes of the shadowed figure that he imagined looming about him to go blind.
"......You tell me that you want to protect her, but in reality, you just don't want be away from her..."
"Anything else?" Nick replied with sadness and tears in his eyes.
"Leave this room and get yourself evaluated. There's nothing more you can do here."
An albatross began to form around his neck. He felt all hope seeping away and decided to make one final grasp at it. "Is there— tell me if there is any way I could stay. She's my dearest friend and I can't break anymore promises to her...because she doesn't have anyone..."
"A man who can't even control his emotions like that can't possibly save a person whom he cares about. She'll have me, Mr. Stokes. And I'll make sure she's well taken care of... Say your good-byes, we're done here."
The line went dead, and Nick noticed that the shadowed figure was no longer by the window.
There was a knock on the door…
The first thing Grissom noticed as he walked through the door was a thick forensic book lying on the ground. Its spine was horribly broken; its wings left pages leading to its final destination, looking like a dead boxed bird. Not too far away, a chair was positioned on its side. Its backrest dislocated and its seat distorted due to the brute force that hurled it to the corner. Warrick stood facing the board, his back towards Grissom. His shoulders rose and fell as his breathed.
"I presumed Ecklie has already told you..."
Warrick ignored him, staring at the Sara's pictures as Grissom walked towards him. The papers on the desk detailing Sara's case were left unharmed, and the board, which happened to be the largest target in the room managed to escape Warrick's wrath. It stood on its wheels as if trembling; the only thing preventing it from being thrown to the ground was the fact that Warrick could not bear to hurt anything that reminded him of his long lost friend.
"Where's everyone?"
He shrugged, as if not caring. Warrick rubbed his eyes with one hand and resumed staring at the pictures. Grissom sighed, and didn't know if he should leave his friend alone with evidences that will eventually drive him to madness. He placed his hand on his shoulder. Warrick, as if by reflex, shrugged it off.
"You're directing your anger at the wrong person. I'm not the enemy here." Grissom said calmly. "Remember that I'm on your side."
A painful constriction emerged right behind his face, above the roof of his mouth. Before he could apologise, Grissom walked up towards the board, standing right beside him, staring at the pictures. "I've spoke to the head of psychiatric division. They are going to allow us visitation rights. It's in the works right now. They have her on a 72-hour hold. We should be able to see her in a couple of days."
"...A couple of days is a long time..."
"I know... but that's the best I could do."
"What happens if we force our way through to get to her?"
Grissom thought for a moment, "We could be charged with trespassing, maybe even arrested, and our visitation rights will be removed until further notice."
"It's like they're keeping her away from us."
"It would seem that way."
"...But I don't want to be away from her."
As Warrick spoke, Grissom could tell that he was getting more depressed than angry. The mental strain of losing this case was taking its toll on the younger CSI. The team has noticed his emotional deterioration whenever he left the house in the middle of the desert. He had been in that house longer than anyone else, thinking that he could find a common bond to Sara by being exposed to the same atmosphere that housed her existence all these years. It wasn't easy. His eyes played tricks on him. Every grime and smudge made him sick. Random sounds and silences left him on edge, which during a moment of weakness, led him to draw his gun at an officer who wandered into the room. Every time he went in, he could smell the poisonous air, see Sara's blood, touch the choking walls, hear the whispers and echoes and taste the rancid bile in his throat. There was nothing that could stop his thoughts and imaginations as he investigated that room.
For every waking moment he was in there, he couldn't help but imagined the many horrors that were inflicted upon Sara. He imagined her begging for her life and death. He imagined her crying out to him, to the team to come and save her. He imagined her awake while they slept, starving as they ate, parched as they drank, alone while they got together and restrained as they roamed free. There was a time when he thought that he would be happy once he found something that would help. But every gravitational drop of blood he found suggested where Sara was placed, how she was hit, what was done to her. Every physical evidence he found gave him a glimpse of the kind of monster she had to live with all these years. Evidences that he assumed he would find drove him into a frenzy, desperately seeking nothing. The longer he stayed, the more enraged he got. The more he investigated, the sadder he became for Sara. At the end of every day he resents himself a little more. Whenever he got out of the house, his only thought was to burn it down; to destroy it with his bare hands, and imagining himself going to the hospital, presenting his broken hands to Sara as a tribute to her, hoping that she would be proud of what he has done. But now he has nothing. As the case was being in the process of being taken away from him, he felt his spirit going along with it.
"I didn't want to be away from her either." Catherine said as if appearing out of nowhere. She was leaning against the door frame as she spoke, and the men could tell that she had been crying. But taking a cue from her attempt to be supportive, they decided not to ask or comment on her appearance.
"When did you get back?" Grissom asked.
"Not long." She shook her head slightly, looking to the ground. "I was told to leave the premises immediately. I wasn't even allowed to enter her room to say good bye. Believe me... I've tried. Apparently, Sara's floor is off-limits to visitors... an order issued by her PEAP counsellor."
"What about Nick?"
"He's still with her. But he's going to have to leave before the end of today."
Grissom and Catherine conversed a little more, asking questions that served merely to fill the silence.
"Is Sara—how is she?" Warrick interrupted, feeling ambivalent, not knowing if he should be asking a question like that.
Catherine looked at him with sympathy, knowing that Warrick hadn't seen Sara since she was rescued. In his mind, she was still wearing her time-eaten clothes, covered in blood and grime. His refusal to enter her hospital room until he had something was the biggest mistake he had ever made; taking for granted of the amount of time he had to see her. He took it upon himself to be the person who stayed in the lab, going over evidences that would eventually lead them to her tormentor. If he had known he would lose her this way, he would have stayed by her side, like a big brother. He constantly wonders if she was hurt by the way he avoided her, whether she felt rejected because he never came to see her since she woke. He thinks back to the day she was rescued, already a fickle, a distant memory; of how she was ready to be taken to the hospital, and he didn't go with her, choosing instead to stay behind to investigate that damned house. As Catherine filled him in with what she knew, doing her best not to leave anything out, Warrick listened as if he was living within her description. His features soften and the corner of his lips moved as if to form a smile but didn't quite make it. As Catherine told him about her current situation, he looked towards the board at a picture of Sara and gently held the board's metallic frame, imagining holding her hand, letting go only when the longing for her became too great.
Before she could finish, a commotion was heard down the hall. The orderlies from the psychiatric division have arrived to take the case away...
There was a knock on the door…
Nick looked out the window and opened the door for the nurse coming in for her routine checks. She walked by him as if he wasn't here, beginning by reviewing the charts at the end of the bed and then proceeding to inspect the clear fluid inside Sara's IV tubing. She wrote her observations and signed the charts, looking at Sara briefly with pity before finally acknowledging Nick's presence on her way out. At first, she gave him a look as though he was impeding her from making a clean getaway, but softened her grazed after he asked if there was anything wrong. She replied as she headed out the door and reminded him that she'll be waiting outside to escort him out of the ward once he's well and ready. The door opened and closed in a smooth motion and with the nurse gone, the two of them were alone again. Nick stared at the door, knowing that within minutes she would come back again and ask him to leave regardless of whether he's done with his good-byes.
In the room's stillness, he looked at the window and took a glimpse at its reflection, not recognising himself. His face was pinched and unshaven, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He wonders if that was the reason why Sara flinches whenever he got close to her. He reasoned with himself that, since she could not see him clearly, due to the ocular damage she sustained from being repeatedly beaten as well as being kept in the dark for so long, there was no need for vanity. But as he turned away, he wished that he had cleaned up for her, or at least present her with a face worth remembering.
He whispered her name as he crouched down beside her. Sara's eyes were closed at the time, and when she opened them, he noticed that the whites of her eyes were still red, camouflaged by the bruises on her face. She flinched as expected and he quickly reached out to wrap his hands loosely around her wrists, tracing the curves of her fingers.
"It's okay. It's just me."
They said nothing for a while, drawn together in wordless mediation, as the sounds around the room re-entered their consciousness, and established themselves there, bringing the grim situation to life.
"Sara..." He said, finally. "I know...you don't want to... or rather... can't talk about what happened, so I'm not going to use this time to ask you anything about it. But I need you to know... that what I'm about to do isn't your fault; that you mustn't blame yourself for what's about to happen next. I need you to trust me. I need you to be strong now. And when there are things on this earth that makes you want to cry and you are afraid of dark, don't forget that I'll always be there. I'll always be there for you Sara..."
Nick felt something rising in his throat, and felt himself wanting to cry. He leaned forward to get close to her, hoping in his heart that she would hug him. To tell him that it's okay to say what he was about to say, that she understands why he has to leave. He hoped for her arms to wrap around his neck, her skinny hands on his back, feeling her cheek against the side of his face. But when nothing happened and the silence seemed interminable, he tightened his hold of her, fearful of what was to come but every instinct reaching out to protect and comfort her.
"But right now, something has come up and I have to be somewhere. I have to be somewhere else, and I can't take you with me... I would if I could...Believe me; I did all I could to stay here with you." His voice began to quiver and decided to rush what he needed to say. "I'll come back, Sara. I'll come back for you. Just wait for me, alright? Just wait for me..."
He hated the way he sounded. His words felt like a person picking on a broken vase, not knowing when to stop touching the pieces, before finally causing it to crumble. As he spoke, Sara's mind guessed where he was headed before he even got there. Her eyes filled with tears again, despite her trying so hard to stop them. She couldn't tell if it was because she was sad he was leaving—or terrified. Part of her wanted to pretend that he didn't say anything. Another part of her wanted him to say something else. She thought about all the things that were said to her earlier, realising that some of it wasn't going to come true. That things weren't going to turn out the way she had hoped. She held her breath as her tears flowed quietly down her face. A fresh wave of anger filled her body, causing her ribs to hurt as she took gulping breaths of air. A sudden bout of pain struck her at the back of her head.
It felt to Sara like she was suddenly dropped into an ocean of pain, hurt and anguish. Even though her eyes were closed shut, her tears continued to flow and she bit down on her lips to prevent her sobs from turning into wails; horrible sounds that would clearly express what she was feeling. Everything she felt was blinding, utterly blinding that she couldn't see beyond it. Her chest tightened suddenly and her breathing came in short, sharp breaths. She tried to pull her hands away from Nick to get the tube out of her nose, but failed as she still hadn't gotten used to the splint on her left arm. The wires and tubes were getting tangled in between them, restraining her as they tugged at her skin. Nick called out her name over and over— not too loud— worried that the nurse would come in, syringes in her hands, blaming him for her distress. His arms felt heavy and somehow strangely distant, as he tried to stop Sara from hurting herself. Her pain, hurt and anguish were laid out before him, and they tore into his own heart.
In her last ditch effort to breathe normally, Sara reached behind her ear, held on to the tubing for her nasal cannula and pulled, successfully bringing it out of her nose. She took her hand away from her face and cleared her throat deeply. She coughed and then grimaced at the pain that shot through her abdomen. She brought her hand to her chest and touched the sides of the electrodes monitoring her heart before peeling back their adhesive hold on her. The rhythmic patterns of her life disappeared across the small screen as each electrode screeched vulgarly at being removed. Now, the only foreign object protruding out of her body was the IV needle on the back of her hand, held down by a surgical tape that had been wound so many times that half of her palm was covered. It would be extremely difficult for her to remove it on her own. Nick felt somewhat responsible for that. If only he had allowed her to get accustom to being rescued; if only he knew when to keep himself away from her...
Nick tried in vain to still the situation. He felt complied to say things that would justify his actions; desperately saying words that he thought would comfort her, but in reality meant nothing. His heart seemed to him to be beating in his chest so loudly that he was sure Sara would be too distracted to listen to his well-worn, meaningless words of consolation.
As her fingers inched towards the needle on the back of her hand, he made a grab for them. "Don't... Please don't do that." Don't hurt yourself because of me...he thought, thinking that she would run away from him the moment she was free from all the tubes and wires. Flashbacks from what happened earlier were still fresh on his mind, causing the scratch on his face to pulse. It was only when she looked back at him did he realised that her response was not to get away but a desperate final attempt to be with him; to stay with the person who promised to keep her safe; to stay with the only person who promised to protect her. Without her wires and tubes, she thought that it would be easier for him to take her away from this place, and knowing that he would never be able to meet up with that expectation made the both of them cry.
The door creaked opened and Nick began to feel tense, fearing that there wouldn't be enough time to complete what he needed to say. The desire to comfort her eclipsed his own sadness. He let go of both her hands and put his arm around her, pulling her against him. She grabbed the sleeves of his shirt and he was so afraid that she would struggle to get him off her. He held her tight as he felt her shaking with grief and terror, but the fact that she didn't pull away; that she wasn't repulsed by his comfort, made his heart melt.
He took and deep breath and whispered into her ear. "I can't leave this room with you thinking that I have abandoned you. I wanted to be with you much longer. I wanted to stay with you... and care for you... and make tomorrow all right for you. There were so many things that I wanted to hear you say... and there were so many things I wanted to tell you..." He tried his best to collect himself. "Please understand that I did all I could to stay here with you. I'll come back for you Sara... I'll come back to get you... Please remember that I never wanted to be away from you."
He felt the nurse – after having repeatedly called his name – seized him by the arm, prompting him to stand. He frowned and kept his eyes upon her for some time, and then with tears that came from his sad heart, Nick slowly let Sara go. He stood up and looked over her as the nurse spoke. Though he could not hear what she was saying, he knew better than to touch Sara again.
His copious tears rolled onto the path of his bandaid and began to soak into it. He baulked for a moment and then took a step forward to follow the nurse.
Please remember that I never wanted to be away from you...
Sara's lower lip quivered as she reached out and grabbed the leg of his pants with her good hand. She wept and held him, clenching her fist around the fabric. Nick listened as last bit of hope drained from her. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. His throat seared, trying to keep his emotions in.
"I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry."
Nick heard a broken sob, and felt the grip on his pants weakened as she let him go.
He was escorted out of the room into the lonely corridor. There, he was lead down the hallway, past the empty nurse's station and into the elevator. The nurse beside him punched a button, causing the machine to emanate a decisive bing. Nick, in his sadness, took one last look at Sara's room. As doors began to close, he noticed the shadow figure emerging from behind the station, heading towards her room, and letting himself in...
There was a knock on the door...
"Grissom? Gil Grissom?" Someone asked. There were three of them standing by the doorway, looking extremely out of place, wearing a white outfit resembling a short-sleeved spacesuit which, from a distance, made them look like siblings. The voice came from the one holding the chart that was hooked onto his belt. He was the smallest out of all of them and seemed to be the leader. He had on a pair of tinted shades, despite the lab being as grim as death. The two orderlies by his side could not be bothered to tell him how ridiculous he looked and were impatiently waiting for their orders. Grissom frowned before acknowledging. While therapists and counsellors are well respected in the department, it was the orderlies that are known for their bad behaviours and attitudes; acting like they own the place, as if their uniforms made them deities and somewhat untouchable.
"Uh-huh. I'm here to collect a case from you..." He said with an air of arrogance as he looked at his chart. "Case number ten-thirty eight-forty six..."
"Could this wait a minute?" Grissom replied. "You caught us at a bad time..."
"No. We're off our shift in five..."
"He asked if you could wait a minute!"
All eyes turned towards Warrick, who said those words with his teeth set together. His eyes were still looking at Catherine, as if waiting for her to carry on talking about Sara.
"What—" The shorter man retorted.
"Give us a minute. Till then, don't you dare take those pictures out of this room!"
"Warrick..." Catherine said, surprised at his outburst. "What has gotten into you?"
He did not reply. Instead, he walked towards the board and stood by it.
The orderly wasn't about to get provoked into submission. He scratched his hairy arms, pointing the corner of the chart to Warrick. "We have direct orders from the psych division to take this case!"
"I asked if it could wait." He clenched his fist and took a step towards him. "Why can't you just wait?" He cried fiercely. "Why can't you just wait a minute?"
"Warrick!" Grissom exclaimed, getting in between them. "That's enough."
"A minute was all we asked. That's all the time we need to pack her things into this box over there. That's all the time we'll get..." Warrick moved closer to where Catherine and Grissom stood, the bags beneath his eyes were wet. He spoke with more his breath than his voice "I just need minute... I worry that... if I do not have this one last minute with her things I might forget her completely". There was a heaviness in his friend's tone that made them reluctant to put him off.
"Hey. Hey. Show us some respect over there. This case is ours. That means all your evidences, your killer and your victim belong to us..." The orderly wriggled his fingers towards the tiny box bearing Sara's name, while the others laughed and made remarks about a grown man being close to tears. "I don't even know why you guys are so attached to these things. These boxes...We have a million of those, stacked one on top of the others in storage. If it makes you feel better, we'll not stick this one at the bottom of the pile. Consider that a favour..." He turned and just as he was about to 'high-five' one of the orderlies, he was suddenly jerked forward as a hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away.
"What did you say?" Warrick shouted at him, dragging towards the table as if he weighted nothing at all.
The orderly struggled to try to free himself. "Let go of me—"
"What's her name?"
"–Excuse me—?"
"Her name! This victim that belongs to you! What is her name?" Warrick yelled as he grabbed Sara's picture and shoved it into the shorter man's face. The others merely watched, paralysed by indecisions.
"How should I know? I'm only following orders—!"
"That's the problem..." Warrick cut him off, as he pulled him across the room. The orderly was stunned; all he could do was stare up at Warrick's angry face. He lifted his arms in surrender, as a gesture of placation. But Warrick grabbed onto him tighter, hauling him roughly, his gut was hanging out from under his shirt.
"You see this! Your victim wrote this about your killer! Are you seeing this? 'No-man-sinned'. Tell me what this means! If this case is yours, then tell me what this means!" The side of the orderly's face slammed against the board, jarring his senses. His tinted shades lay crooked across his face, revealing his fearful eyes. Warrick stared into them from a moment before his eyes caught sight of the shade's reflection.
Catherine came up behind him and laid a hand on his tense shoulders "Warrick, please let him go."
The man was pleading for his life, swearing that he was out of line as Warrick held him. His eyes were fixated as if fuelled by the devil's trance. After a moment, tears began flowing out from his eyes. "I think I know what Sara's trying to tell us..."
He grabbed the shades before discarding the shaken orderly back to his friends. And while Grissom reasoned with them not to report what happened, he showed Catherine what he saw.
"D-e-n-n-i-s N-a-m-o-n. Dennis Manon?"
"Sara's PEAP counsellor." Warrick and Catherine turned as one to find Greg entering the room. "He's one of the counsellors that Ecklie assigned to talk to us. Have you spoken with him yet?"
Warrick ignored his question and told him everything he knew up to this point and what he assumed Sara was trying to tell the team with her cryptic message. As he listened, Greg tried to disguise his worry as best as he could, but whenever Sara's PEAP counsellor's name came up, his face etched with dread and he would steal a glance towards her picture.
"Are you alright?"
When he opened his mouth to speak, Greg's voice trembled. "You don't understand... I just talked to him a few hours ago!"
"What did he want? What did you say?" asked Catherine, grabbing his arm.
"He wanted to know....he-- he asked me... about Sara and the case..."
"What did you tell him?"
"He wanted to know if she said anything... our progress... what we're going to do next... he told me it was normal in cases like this... to get information from the inside. I didn't mean it... I didn't know."
"Greg!"
Warrick shook the shoulders of the younger CSI, rattling him out of thought. Greg stared back at him, as if awoken from a dream. His eyes opened wide and his mouth agape, as he looked back at the face of guilt that would forever plague his memory.
"Greg... What did you tell him?"
Greg swayed slightly in his spot, as if the earth was shaking beneath him. He looked away from the team to the board where Sara's pictures hung. And at that moment, he understood, that those conversations had not been real; that he had been talking to himself all this while, that all he said to the 'supposed' expert were like meaningless sounds. He felt like someone who was babbling about a nightmare he had over breakfast to a listener who was bored by the details of something he helped create. He looked at Sara's picture. The tears in his eyes made her wounds seemed bigger, redder. Her blood appeared to trickle down the sides of her skin onto his hands that held the imaginary knife that stabbed her in the back.
"I told him everything... I told him everything he wanted to know."
"Get Nick on the phone this minute." Warrick barked, even if it was him who picked up the phone. He dialled his number and cursed when his finger slipped and he got it wrong. "Come on Nick. Pick up."
He cursed again. "I can't get in touch with him. I keep getting his voice mail."
"Keep trying. Maybe his phone is unable to receive a signal." Catherine said, before reaching for her own. "I'm going call the hospital. I'm going to try to call Sara's room directly. I hope he's still there." She covered her eyes as a deep sense of dread flooded through her. As she paced about the room, she began to feel such pure hatred that she had nothing more than rancour in her heart. She remembered Sara introducing her to him once, and on another occasion, greeting him along the corridor. She recalled Sara speaking highly of him; helping her with her problems and dealing with her anger. She swore she was getting better with his help. His help! His poisonous help that he fed to her day by day like poison, not knowing that Sara was dying the second she was introduced to him.
Her thoughts disappear as the line went through and she was met with a moment of silence.
"Nick!" She cried. "Are you still there?"
There was nothing. She strained to hear for any sign of life. She increased the volume of her phone, before picking up on the faint sound of someone crying.
"Sara? Sara honey... is that you? It's Catherine. I need to know if you can hear me. Please... please tell me that you're alright."
In the room, nobody moved. Even Warrick stopped dialling; the droning of the dial tone off the hook, muffled only slightly by his hands. Catherine looked about the room, her eyes stinging, as she tearfully called out to Sara again.
A beep was heard over the phone, and she never knew a simple sound like that could bring her that much joy.
"Oh thank God. Sara! We... we know what you were trying to say. We know who did this to you... But you have to get out of there. You have to get out of that room now. Find somewhere safe to go. Find Nick if you can. Don't allow them to take you—" Catherine stopped as she heard the sound of a door and felt elated at the possibility of Sara escaping her tormentor. She imagined Nick nearby, and had a scenario in her head of both of them finding each other. He'll be able to protect her while they made their way to the hospital. The case will be theirs again and they'll be able to finally prosecute the bastard.
She smiled as the rest of the team watched, relieved. But just as she was about the hang up the phone, she heard shuffling and the sounds of another door opening, before slamming shut almost immediately. Catherine tightened her hold on her phone, not knowing the extent of her actions. She stood there, the dead silence consuming her, as the disconnect tones emerged; a noise only achieved if there's a soul still in the room.
Beep, beep, beep...
There was a knock on the door...
Sara... Sara...
She leaned against the door in darkness, as the dazzling flashbacks of her memories flickered before her eyes. She had made sure it was locked, but felt complied to use whatever weight she had left to keep it closed. Her back burned like raw muscles on splinters, as she pushed herself against its wooden surface. She would have hid in the furthest corner of the bathroom floor, but could not move beyond her spot. The stubbornness of her medical IV pole had led to her confinement, choosing to stay outside the bathroom as she got in. Its only proof of its existence to her was a tube slithering from under the door like a tentacle, spitting its essence into her veins.
Did you just tell them it was me?
When the phone rang earlier, she tried to shut it up by pushing a button, only to hear a voice calling out to her on its speakers. The voice made her heart jump in a good way, causing the sides of her lips to twitch into a failed smile. She tried to call out but discovered that she couldn't utter a sound due to the tears in her throat. She reached out and pushed another button to encourage the voice to stay, but prayed for it to go just as he entered her room. She could not see him, but she recognised his silhouette by the doorway. Flashes of her painful past merged with the present almost imperceptibly, interfering with her reality. She forced herself up and retreated into the bathroom, abandoning her IV pole as it fell over and slamming the door shut behind her. She heard his footsteps coming towards the door, and hanging up the phone—her one and only lifeline to her friends.
They'll never believe you...no one ever believes a violent mental patient...
As he knocked on her door again, Sara tried to think of home and realised that she could not remember where she lived. She buried her face in her hands and prayed for the good memories to return. Try as she might, they did not arrive. Instead, it was the memory of the dark corner of her prison that provide that little comfort she needed; the place where she slept after hours of abuse, the place where he never brought her when she was alone with him.
Do you know what it's like where you're going?
She felt him tugging against the IV tubing, before yanking it at its fullest length. The surgical tape refused to let go, as if she was being punished for successfully removing it the first time. She was so afraid that she would be pulled out for under the tiny gap that, without thinking, she fought to keep her hand away from the door. She felt the needle moving in her hand, waving like a conductor's wand, dancing in its own torturous melody. It stirred her tissues and veins together till she cried out, blood soaking the surgical tape red. Still, it held onto her like an obedient minion as its master spoke from behind the door.
You know what I'll do?
I'll put you in a locked ward and say it's for you own protection, to keep you separated from the other patients.
If you misbehave, I'll tie you down with restraints.
If you argue with anyone about it, I'll medicate you, which will make you sleep too much. And then I'll say that you're depressed and give you more drugs... Just like what I used to do to you when we're alone...
She felt one last tug before the tension of the tube slackened. She cradled her damage hand into her arms, not knowing what to do next. Outside, he paced outside her door and gave it a kick, with every intention to hurt her, rattling every bone she had.
The best part is there nothing anyone can do about it...
As her thin little body juddered with both pain and fear, Sara heard him make a call to the Nevadan state, reporting of a runaway 10-96 before leaving the room. She froze in horror. Code 10-96 refers to mental subjects and act of her alleged evasion would only give the state reason to incarcerate her into the care of her primary counsellor, which is...
Terrified, she got down on her hands and knees and peered under the door. Seeing and sensing no one, she uttered a prayer before opening the bathroom door...
-----------------------
Nick was on his way back to the lab when his phone rang. The caller display told him it was Warrick. Nick waited for a few seconds before picking up, and within that stretch of time he knew that something was wrong. Even before he heard Warrick's first broken words, he knew that it was too late. He drove back to the hospital as if impelled by a magical force, pushing his way pass bewildered nurses and orderlies when he finally got here. He got into the elevator and headed straight for Sara's door, only to find her room empty.
And Sara was nowhere to be found...
TBC
Author's notes- I decided to focus a little more on Warrick in this chapter as a tribute to him leaving the show. He'll definitely be missed.
To everyone who feels like how the PEAP counsellor described Nick, this chapter is also dedicated to you. -smile-
I really hope you'd enjoyed this chapter. Do leave a review if you get the chance. It would be nice to know how you feel about it.
Love you all...