Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to mingsmommy for the wonderful beta and princessklutz04 for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

Sorry for the delay! But I'm finally finished with finals, so I'm hoping I can write more!

I can't think of another point in my life when I've felt this pathetic. I haven't done much in three days except lie in bed, occasionally getting up and joining everyone for dinner. But my appetite was lacking and I all I did was move the food around my plate.

My mind wanders constantly. The focus I once possessed seems to have disappeared with my old self. Books don't hold my interest, TV shows and news programs only remind me of all the horrible things in life and conversation with other guests is dull at best.

Besides telling Grissom nearly three years ago, I haven't really thought about my childhood. I tried my hardest to push those thoughts from my mind; the past was in the past. But ever since I asked Mary about the house, my brain hasn't shut off. Images and memories from this house and others rush back at me.

The woman—I don't even remember her name—leads me up to the house, her hand resting almost protectively against my shoulder.

Ringing the doorbell, she smiles down at me. "I know this is scary, but you're going to like it here."

Somehow, I don't believe her. I continue to stare at my feet, wishing I could disappear. Or be with Daniel. I don't even know where they took him.

The door opens and a short, stocky woman stands before us. She doesn't smile, her beady eyes looking down at me with mild curiosity. I feel like a bug in a jar, being looked down on by everyone in disgust.

The woman beside me nudges me forward and I take two shuffled steps into the house. Stocky Woman moves aside, but barely, and I enter a house full of noise and chaos.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to erase the memory from my mind. Sitting up, I stare at myself in the mirror across from me.

I don't even know myself anymore.

I touch my face, almost expecting my hand to go straight through the image of my face. It's like some weird reassurance I still exist.

Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I push myself up and stretch my muscles for what feels like the first time in a decade. A groan of satisfaction spills from my lips and for the first time since I left Las Vegas, I feel like a human being.

Peeking out the door, I make sure no one is coming and double check the main bathroom is unoccupied. Satisfied I won't be interrupted, I grab the only towel I managed to shove into one suitcase and make my way down the hall.

Once safely inside the bathroom, I check the toiletries offered and am relieved to find shampoo and soap sitting on a small ledge in the tub. I almost sigh at the thought of being able to use them; in my rush to leave, I forgot some of the most basic necessities.

I make a mental note to find the nearest store and stock up.

I run the water as hot as I can tolerate and allow the tub to fill. Stripping off my old clothes, I gingerly step into the tub and sigh as shivers of delight shoot up my legs. Molding completely with the contours of the tub, my toes curl and I'm completely enveloped in warmth. My muscles scream with relief; I feel boneless.

Resting my head against the ledge of the tub, I stare at the ceiling and count the number of bumps covering its surface. From all around me, I hear small noises of my past ebbing from the walls mixing with the modern din of the house.

Being here isn't as strange as I thought it'd be. But it doesn't make my being here any less distressing. The house is just a house, a structure of walls, plaster and paint. My memories make it my challenge to overcome.

I flick my gaze towards the faucet and watch as a drop finally falls and lands in the water with a soft 'plop'. I shudder as I realize this is where I first found my mother the night she killed my father.

Softly, I walk towards the bathroom door and open it no more than an inch, the door creaking under my efforts. My mother's scream of surprise almost sends me backward.

"Who's there?" she calls out, fear and agony in her tone.

I clear my throat. "It's me. It's Sara."

"Oh, Sara," she wails.

Pushing the door open the rest of the way, I find her kneeling beside the tub scrubbing furiously at her hands. Steam rises from the water pouring from the faucet and looking down at her hands, I noticed she's almost scrubbed them raw. Touching her wrist gently, I try to pull her hands away from the water, but she doesn't move.

"Mom, what happened?"

She stops and buries her head in her hands. "I…oh God, Sara!" She looks back at the bathroom door and then back at me. Moving quicker than I've ever seen her move, she stands and heads towards the door. "I need to call the police."

I follow her, almost running to catch up, to the kitchen, but stop short before I even enter the threshold. I can see and smell the blood, a warm, metallic odor, from where I stand, and I look up at my mother in disbelief.

She's standing next to where my father sprawled on the ground, wringing the cord to the phone in her hand and mumbling as she waits for the call to go through. I look between her and my father lying still in a pool of blood and listen as she calmly tries to get help.

Once she sets down the phone, she looks at me. "I had to, Sara," she starts softly, "I had to."

The intense urge to leave the bathroom nearly consumes me, but I fight off the urge long enough to quickly wash my hair and myself. Not caring if I've washed out all the shampoo in my hair, I step out of the tub and watch the water swirl down the drain.

Hugging the towel to my chest, I gather up my old clothes and make sure the hallway is deserted before leaving the confines of the bathroom. Half running, I quickly shut the bedroom door behind me.

I finish drying off and throw on a pair of sweats and a shirt. I never was one to overly care about my appearance, but I know I've been lax lately. Using the towel to dry my hair, I see my phone sitting on the small end table next to the bed.

Picking it up, I sigh.

I haven't talked to Gil since I left. Guilt grips at my conscious as I flip open the phone and turn it on. I expect to find several missed calls and maybe a few voicemails, but there's only the one from him I ignored at the airport.

I glance at the clock.

6:42 PM.

I feel like my stomach is going to fall through my ass, and without thinking, I dial his work number. I know he won't answer unless he's working a double, but somehow this seems safer…he won't know it's me.

He answers on the second ring. "Grissom."

My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat. His voice sounds tired, but it's the most beautiful thing I've heard.

"Hello?"

My voice cracks as I speak. "Hi."

I can hear him sit up and after a few seconds, I hear the door to his office close. "Sara?"

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Where are you? Are…are you okay?" he asks, his voice softer.

I blow out a breath. "I'm in Tamales Bay. And I don't know."

The concern in his voice grows. "Are you hurt?"

A small smile forms on my face. "No, no. I'm…I'm just tired."

"I…I, uh, got your letter," his voice dropped and I hear him shift in his seat. "Are we okay?"

Even though he can't see me, I nod. Tears burn at my eyes and roll down my cheeks. "I love you. I do," I choke out. "And I miss you, a whole lot, Gil, and being away from you is hard. But I need to do this, I need to be here."

He sighs, "I know." Pause. "I love you, too."

Wiping at my tears, I keep talking. "I'm staying at my old house. It's, um, weird. All my memories are here even though everything's different."

"Is it helping?" Even speaking about something so close to both of us, so emotional, I am not surprised at the scientific curiosity I hear in his tone.

I shake my head, "I don't know. But I need to bury my past."

For a few moments, we remain silent.

"I'm glad you called," Gil finally says.

"I needed to. I…I needed to hear your voice," I sigh. "It sounds so good."

"Are you going to call again?"

I smile weakly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll call again."

He sighs heavily. "Okay." In the background I can hear the door to his office open and Gil quickly mumbles, "I have to go," before hanging up the phone.

Looking down at the phone in my hand and watching the flashing numbers signaling the end of the call, I realize for the first time in my life, I'm not alone.