Title: In Hell With Love
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan.
Author's notes: It's been almost 3 years since my last update for this story and I must say, what a long period it has been. I could imagine the annoyance and frustrations that readers go through whenever the stories they have read never seems to come to an end. To be honest, I have been suffering from what most writers in this website have gone through: the lack of inspiration. I have been quite uninspired for a while now, but I have never forgotten this story or the readers who had reviewed each and every chapter with thoughtfulness and praise that I obviously do not deserve. A sudden urge to read the reviews again had me inspired again. I pray that you forgive my absence, and just understand there's a reason behind everything. I hope you haven't forgotten this story, because I'm extremely sure I haven't forgotten about you…
Chapter 24
"Sorry to keep you waiting. It has been a really busy day."
Despite the grim environment that lined the walls of the institution, the jolly, plump figure of a nurse was as cheerful as the flowers outside. Sara noticed them as she stared out the window. Their tiny stalks sticking out of a patch of ground in the safe distance, in front of the lush emerald green rows of trees. Only the weeds and thorns seemed to grow in close proximity to the building responsible for trapping about a thousand oddities and enigmas.
"…So you're here for a visitation? Excellent! Right this way… sorry about the construction outside. We're building a new wing due to the increase admission of patients." The nurse laughed, matching the tempo of a machine gun. Sara couldn't help but feel a little more insane that when she first passed through the institution's large oak doors.
"We hardly get any visitors on that side of the building. Its interesting that you would want to visit anyone there—bringing a child with you, no less." Sara's line of sight was right at the nurse's rear end. Watching it sway from side to side gave it a hypnotic rhythm, that Sara couldn't help being annoyed by it. She gripped tightly to her social worker's hand, afraid to lose her in the heavy air of insanity.
"Children shouldn't be allowed here… they shouldn't be exposed to this world at such an early age." She shook her head slightly. Sara knew that the nurse wasn't talking to her; just stating a comment to a world who doesn't care. She had never felt so invisible in her life. She clenched her hand just a little to let her social worker know that she's there. The tall, skinny woman squeezed back.
"Watch out for the patients. Generally, they're harmless, but when provoked… let's just say it won't be pretty…" she laughed again. Sara wanted to slap her, even though the nurse was twice her size, both vertically and horizontally.
The nurse continued to make useless comments about the institution. The social worker nodded along, occasionally looking towards Sara to make sure she was okay. She wasn't. With her age and height, the beige walls seemed to close in on them, its narrow length disappearing at the central point of perspective. The walls were old, and the paint was peeling in some areas. Their corners were crowded with mould and decorated with brown watermarks. As they walked through the narrow corridor, Sara grew increasingly afraid. There were patients loitering around, their eyes watching her with the desire of torment. They wanted what she had – life, sanity, freedom. A natural, innate response to desire what they do not have. Their presence made corridor enclosed and tight, the walls and ceiling maintaining their slant positioning as their lines converged into one point, failing to provide the illusion of depth and distance.
She couldn't even imagine what terrors lie await within the rooms. A cry that sounded like a mangled animal erupted behind a closed door. Yellow crime scene tape covered another. One of the rooms had its door removed, revealing an emaciated person staring out through a barred window. Several orderlies and nurses rushed into a room, each taking turns, holding a struggling patient down, while a masked doctor held out a syringe like a trophy. The jolly nurse walking with them waved and some of them nodded in acknowledgement, and upon noticing Sara, closed the door with urgency.
Sara looked away from the door and onto the ground. They were going to see her mother, but she could not understand why she didn't want to do so. She stared at her shoes, bought by someone else with money that was not intended for her and wondered if her mother would buy her a pair when she got better and out of this mad place. She felt sad at the thought and as they walked towards their destination, she turned her glaze towards a flight of stairs. The sign above had the word "EXIT" in caps and with her tears coating her eyes, the laminated sign seemed almost heavenly. With her short stature, the sunray shining thought the window at the top of the stairs was beckoning her to run up to its warmth. One day, she told herself, she will run up those stairs and be happy. Wherever that leads, if there's a door, there will be only joy waiting for her behind it…
Run up. Run up the stairs. It's the only way out of this place…
She awoke to the sound of her own heavy breathing, and though she did not know if minutes or hours had passed she knew that she was more hurt than before. The side of her face had a bloody crust and her nose was bleeding onto her lap. The only thing keeping her from falling face first onto the ground from the wooden chair she sat on was the ropes that held her wrists to its respective hind legs. She moved her head slightly and was surprise at the pain that emitted from her neck to her entire body. Like the electricity that flowed through her synapses to trigger her sensory receptors, she was struck by a sudden recollection of trying to escape this place. For a moment she could not understand how her –what seemed to be at the time— flawless plan went wrong. She took pride in that plan. She took a few minutes to come up with it and a few weeks to gather the strength make it right. She had somehow managed to knock her tormentor out with her bare hands and ran as fast as she could to the stairs.
Run up. Run up the stairs. It's the only way out of this place…
She made it to the doors, but it wouldn't open. In a state of panic, she pushed the red button repeatedly that she was sure it would break in her hands but the doors wouldn't budge. She held onto the 3-point handle of the vault doors as she would hold the saving hands of a friend and pleaded it to open, leaning her head on its cool metallic surface. She swore she was fast enough. She was sure everything will be all right the moment she ran up the stairs and to the doors. She had made it this far. She almost made it out. In a final desperate attempt, she made a fist and banged on the doors. But the very last thing she remembered was an extremely swift blur of images before looking at the vaults doors from the bottom of the poorly made stairs, as well as the sight of her tormentor at the top of it.
"…You shouldn't have run. You're making things worse for yourself…"
She heard him say as he lolled her head back and inspected the wound on her face. The flow of blood changed and began to crawl along her jaw and down her neck. A separate stream made its way from the side of her face and into her ear, making her world sound like it was submerged underwater. He gently held the back of her head with his hand and that strange movement made her mouth open slightly and caused her to look down towards her nose involuntary. She moved her eyes, and noticed the vault doors at the top of the stairs were opened. They were open! Why weren't they opened before? Triggered by sadness and pain, she inhaled sharply as he turned her head to the left slightly, and then to the right, before putting her back in the position she was before. Blood dripped down her nose again and hit her pants with an audible plat…plat… plat
"What do you want Miss Sidle?" He asked. The question seems misplaced, dropped onto their state of being like a sudden idea, like a sequence of a dream injected into the subconscious. She closed her eyes and opened them for a moment.
"… I want to… get out of here…"
He took out a box of gloves, "Where do you want to go?"
"… Home…"
"This is your home. You're mine. You belong with me."
She swallowed hard before saying, "…I'm not…"
"What are you then?"
"…I'm not… I'm not yours." She felt an unexplainable weight hanging from the back of her throat and the bottom of her heart. A sudden wave of extreme hopelessness made her way towards her.
"Then… what are you doing here?"
Her mouth opened slightly and she started to sob. "I don't know…"
The gloves stretched from the opening of the box and into his grasp with a quick snap. She watched tiredly as he put them on: his fingers wriggling like the legs of a capsized bug, whose struggles are only stopped once the glove reverted back to the shape of a hand.
It's going to start again, and it will only stop when he says so. She can only hope to pass out before that. She closes her eyes and repeats in her mind the words that she still thinks will save her someday…
Pancho, pancho, pancho…
Sara opened the bathroom door and jumped to her feet. She staggered for a second as a wave of dizziness almost dropped her, but she forced herself to recover quickly. She rushed out of the room and hurried along the narrow corridor. Her heart was racing and her leg muscles tremble with exhaustion. Dizziness struck her again like a tidal wave and she felt weak and drained of every scrap of remaining energy. For a moment her legs refused to hold her up and she fell, but she managed to catch herself by grabbing hold of the railing that lined the hospital walls.
Stop here and he'll see you…
She took a deep labored breath and push herself up, using the railings and her IV stand for support. She slowly straightened out her legs and stood up with her knees bent. She limped awkwardly at first but slowly got into a painful, intermittent gait. Her bare feet made an irregular rhythm as they hit the floor. She moved as fast as she could but every move she made felt like she was waddling through quicksand, with shards of glass mixed in with the grains. The tingle of pain stayed behind her knees and there was tightness in her calves, but they were nothing compared to the fear she had in her heart. As she quickly turned a corner, the tubes connecting her to the IV stand got tangled around her foot. It fell to the ground with a loud crash, crackling like lightning. The stand broke into two, separated from its adjustable knob like an open fracture.
Make a sound and he'll hear you…
The crash had increased the intensity of her fears and she stood frozen in her spot, wondering if anyone heard it and had come running towards her direction. They would see her and drag her back into her room, and if she put up a fight, they would have to sedate or restrain her. Looking for someone was out of the question and it would be of no use if she went to any of the nurses or doctors for help, as all lines will lead her back to her tormentor, her PEAP counselor. An uninvited flicker of a memory came into her mind of the nurse that waved to the doctors and orderlies in the room with the struggling patient when she was young. Another flicker came and this time it was the doctors that came to sedate her whenever she awoke – how terrible she felt after that; how she preferred death than to the heaviness of her body pinning her to the ground.
Think it's scary being lost? Wait till you're found…
Her tormentor's voice came in at that last thought. Her body ached. As the horrors of her memories flooded over her once again, her stomach rebelled. She raised her hand weakly to her mouth and leaned heavily against the hospital wall. The fear that filled her numbed her fingers, closed her throat and for a split second, she was unable to breathe. She needed to run. She needed to get out of this place. Hands shaking, she grabbed the top half of the IV stand and limped down the hallway, moving fast, not caring about the physical pain her rush produced. Sara didn't stop running until she made it onto the hospital's stairwell.
Run up. Run up the stairs. It's the only way out of this place…
She bolted up the stairs. It had been out of pure animalistic terror, the absolute horror of being caged and helpless.
Fear hijacks reason…
Emotion trumps logic…
"Sara? Sara!" Nick yelled upon entering Sara's room.
He had never been so afraid for someone in his life. Hearing what Warrick had to say at the end of the line stopped his heart. That one person. That one living person whose action towards their friend is killing them all was here all along. They have literally handed Sara over to him. Became traitors to her by submitting to his will. Nick cursed. No wonder Sara was so afraid of letting him go, no wonder she was so afraid of being with him in the first place. She knew this was going to happen. And he allowed it to happen…
He had called her hospital room but knew that the chances of her answering again were slim. He knew because he had tried calling her several times on his cell with no luck, the dial tone mocking his attempts after he dialed.
Nick ran towards her room as fast as he could. The corridors were empty and quiet when he got onto the hospital floor. Having no idea what had happened for the hour he had left her, he grabbed his gun from this holster and walked into her room, prepared for anything that stood in his way.
He surveyed the room, looked behind the hospital curtains and behind the drapes protecting the room from the sun, hoping to find Sara's tormentor – hoping for his chance to kill the bastard. Nothing. He looked under the bed, hoping that he would find Sara there, laying on her side, waiting for him to rescue her. Nothing. As much as he wanted to bust down every door and go in guns blazing, he couldn't put Sara in that kind of danger. He has already let her down more than once; he's not going to make any mistakes this time. He worked his way around her room. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. No clues as to where she could be.
Did he take her? Had her torment found her and took her away? Was he too late?
His stomach twisted in knots. This was worse than any case he'd ever gone on in his CSI career. This was personal. His training instinct kicked in by the time he got to the bathroom door. There was blood on the ground. Sara's blood? He analyzed the small blood splatter and theorized how it came to be. What he saw made his temper explode.
Rage flared to life. He knew what her tormentor did. He knew that he came into this room –the room that Nick had tried so hard to make Sara feel safe and secure— and terrorized her. He had hurt her, reopened her wound and left her bleeding. He tightened his grip on his gun and fought the desire to punch something for the abuse that was done to her.
Emotions trumps logic…
There had to be a faint trail of blood somewhere. Nick stood up and ran so fast that the world became a blur around him. He could think nothing more than to save Sara. Then they would be free from this misery, it would be all over. No more nightmares, no more guilt.
Run up. Run up the stairs. It's the only way out of this place…
The metal door opened with a deep sounding industrial crank and before she knew it, Sara had made her way to the top of the hospital. The first thing she noticed was the dark silent sky and its otherworldly presence it radiates. Without hearing a thing, a flash of light and wisp of cool untainted air penetrated into her senses, tempting to take her soul away in a whirling gust. The silence of this world seemed to fold over her with a shiver of ghastliness, as she stood feeling the cold on her body. The suddenly feel of weightless seemed to cause everything to sway around her, so when she took a step forward, she stumbled and fell, banging her knees and elbows onto the floor. The nausea from before came back and seized her by the ribs as it squeezed her abdomen with all its might. Tears streamed down her face, tears of pain and fear and rage even as she emptied her stomach. Even then, the spasms continued, leaving her to dry heave until she thought she was dying.
One day, she told herself, she will run up those stairs and be happy. Wherever that leads, if there's a door, there will be only joy waiting for her behind it…
When the attack passed, she stared onto the ground and started to cry and began to hit herself at the side of her face, pleading to herself to wake up. This can't be happening. She ran up those stairs and there was a door, but there was nothing behind it.
There was no joy.
The door behind her rattled, and Sara could not tell if it was the wind or her tormentor. Fear and paranoia made the rhythmic thumps sound like a monster with no arms attempting to get through, throwing itself on the door's metallic frame. With nowhere left to go, Sara picked herself up to find a safe place…
Whether it was instincts or his own personal experience with post-traumatic stress, he did not know, but Nick soon found himself heading towards the rooftop. It made sense to him: To be locked up in a basement or to be buried alive, one would desperately seek the opposite. To be trapped down in hell, one would look towards the heaven. He ran up the stairs two at a time and opened the door.
In an instant, the silence that reverberated the stairwell vanished, and for some reason, Nick knew that he would find Sara here. He shouted her name as he ran, a mist of cold breath coming out of his mouth. After a few moments of searching, something caught his eye. It was far away but the first thing he could make out was the color of his brown jacket, prompting him to increase his stride. As he got closer, the image got clearer and clearer. Details came into focus and started making sense in his mind – Her hair, her back, his jacket on her back, her arms. By then he was running, rubbing his feet across the gravel between strides to make sure she knew he was coming; calling her name to let her know that he was looking for her. But as quickly as he felt the bouts of elation flowing through him, a sense of nervousness and dread begin to wash over him. As more details began registering into his brain – the splint on her arm, her bandages, the white hospital gown, the IV drip with the broken stand – he had the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Something bad is going to happen…
For as his run turned into a jog and finally into a cautious walk, Nick noticed that Sara was sitting on the edge of the building, and she was leaning forward, hands on her knees, and there was nothing to stop her from falling down onto the dirty streets below…
TBC
I'm not sure if anyone's still reading this story, but if you are, do drop me a review. I'll continue this story if I know people are still reading this :)