Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to American Love by Hasten The Day
Warning: This chapter includes vague descriptions of rape and less vague descriptions of child abuse and molestation.
A/N: Let it be known that I hate child molesters and abusers even more than I hate rapists, but it aids the story and understanding of the characters and none of it was written lightly. Even as I wrote it my own stomach clenched.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Fourteen
_____________________________________________________________________________________
"Why don't you two walk me out to my car." Al said and Sara and Jim followed.
The journey out to the parking lot had been silent. There were too many ears and Gil's business was non of theirs. When they reached his car Al turned to face them and leaned back against the vehicle. He looked at the ground, deep in thought, for a long moment before he spoke.
"Gil's going to need a lot of help to get him back to anything resembling a normal life." Sara and Jim nodded their agreement. "He's going to need a lot of therapy. Sara," He raised his eyes to look at her. "You really need to find a therapist for Gil."
She slowly nodded her head as she remembered some of the sessions that she had been through after her mother had murdered her father.
"He's going to need it soon, Sara." He continued. "He's obviously depressed and showing a strong self-hatred. I fear that it won't take much to send him over the edge to becoming suicidal… if he isn't already."
The end of his statement sent shivers running through her as it presented her imagination with many images. Al didn't miss her reaction and pulled her into a gentle hug.
"We're all here for you." He said softly, while trying to maintain an even tone. "Both of you."
Neither Jim nor Sara missed the single tear in the older man's eye as he climbed into his car and drove away.
A black Denali pulled up and the three CSI's inside waved to Al as they passed and he returned the gesture. Nick drove the truck into the empty spot and shut off the engine.
"Good morning." Nick said as he climbed out of the drivers seat.
"Hey." Sara greeted.
Warrick and Catherine walked around the SUV and joined them.
"Hey girl, how you doing?" Warrick asked.
"Okay."
"How's Gil?" Concern was evident on Catherine's face.
"Not good. Doc Robbins did his exam a little while ago and said he was healing fine, but mentally and emotionally…" She trailed off and wiped a tear from her eye as her voice was reduced to a whisper and more tears threatened. "He's… so broken… and I feel so helpless to help him."
"Hey," Warrick said softly as he wrapped his long arms around her and she thankfully returned the gesture. "We're gonna get him through this. We're all gonna get through this."
He held her for a minute more as she calmed back down and the others silently waited. When she was ready she stepped back and after thanking Warrick she blew her nose on the handkerchief that Jim had offered her.
"Thanks." She smirked as she held it out to him. "You want it back?"
"That's okay." He looked disgusted but chuckled. "It's your snot rag now, sister."
"Ewww." Nick and Catherine said at the same time.
"Greg didn't feel like coming?" Sara asked, wanting to change the subject.
"No… he, um…" Nick started.
"He's taking this pretty hard." Warrick finished.
Sara looked between her friends for clarification and it was Catherine who offered it.
"He still blames himself for what happened to Gil."
"Did you tell him that it's not his fault?"
"Many times." The older woman nodded.
"Yeah… he's been spending what little time he's allowed to spend at the lab in Grissom's office." Nick interjected. "Taking care of his bugs and cleaning up and stuff."
"Yeah, Griss will be surprised when he gets back." Warrick chorused, trying to be optimistic. "Greggo filed all that paperwork on his desk."
"How's the case going?" Sara asked after a long pause.
An uncomfortable silence fell over them, but after a long moment they began to tell her of the new evidence. Sara listened quietly as they explained the blood and semen evidence and the torture devices. When, lastly, they told her of the broken video camera she steeled herself and asked about a disc.
"Yeah, there was an intact video chip." Nick answered.
"What was on it?"
Nobody wanted to tell her, but they all knew that they couldn't just lie to her and that she deserved to know.
"Ecklie didn't want to give it to any of the AV guys to analyze," Nick stalled. "And he didn't think that he would be able to do it after watching the first one…"
Sara didn't like that they were reluctant to answer her question and she turned to Warrick.
"Who analyzed the tape?"
"Me and Nick." He answered after a long beat. " The first video on the chip… O'Tool…" Tears formed in both men's eyes. "Made him beg."
"Beg for what?" Fear gripped her heart and breathing became a struggle.
"O'Tool made Griss beg to suck his…" Nick trailed off again then continued. "To end the pain."
It took them all several minutes to process what had been said and then the two men told them about the second video containing Gil's whipping.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I Never Should Have Let You Go
I Never Should Have Let You Slip Through My Arms
I Never Should Have Let You Go
As The Sun Sets Tonight, I'll Hold You With All That I Am
I Never Should Have Let You Go
I Never Should Have Let You Slip Through My Arms
I Never Should Have Let You Go
Promise Me, You'd Stay With Me Forever
I Never Should Have Let You Go
Forgive Me For Running So Quickly To The Outside
I Never Should Have Let You Go
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Reggie Shelling sat in the small, dimly lit motel room. Two hours ago he had tried to contact his brother, John, at the state prison only to be told of his murder by his cell mate. In his right hand he cradled a small glass of whiskey and in his left hand he held a picture of he and his younger brother that he had pulled out of the shoe box that sat on the table top in front of him. He downed the shot and poured another, quickly throwing that one back too.
He could remember when his mother had brought John home from the hospital. He had only been five but he remembered his mother placing the tiny baby boy in his arms for the first time and being so awestruck by the little life that he cradled.
"Do we get to keep this one, mama?" He looked up at her with hopeful eyes.
Her previous pregnancy had miscarried when her husband, Mitchell, had gone into a fit of rage and kicked her down the stairs. She cried out in pain with each step that she hit and when she finally landed on the floor below she had just enough strength left in her to lift her head and see little Reggie standing in the doorway, tears of fear streaming down his face.
"Yes, honey, we get to keep him." "What's his name, mama?" "His name is John."
"John." He said with wonder.
Reggie had prayed every night that God would give him a little brother. Someone that he could share his secrets with. Someone that he could cry in front of when daddy hurt him.
He never questioned that his mother loved him, but she always told him that he wasn't supposed to cry. Daddy didn't like it when he cried. It made daddy more angry. So when daddy hurt him, or worse when daddy touched him, he would squeeze his eyes shut and pretend he was somewhere else, just like mama said to do. As he looked at his baby brother that day he vowed that he would protect him from daddy any way he could.
Reggie poured himself another shot and pulled another picture out of the box. He remembered the bed that he and John shared until he graduated from high school and his father kicked him out after informing him that he wasn't his problem anymore. The two brothers would lay in bed and listen to their parents fight. Eventually the arguing would end with their father slapping their mother several times or throwing her on the bed and brutalizing her before rolling off and falling into a deep, satisfied sleep. Then they would listen, trembling in each others arms, as their mother cried herself to sleep.
Reggie had been true to his word. Many times he had gotten between John and their father. Whether it be beatings when he went into a rage or touching when he'd had too many drinks. He couldn't save his brother every time though. He remembered being chained to the radiator and gagged with a dirty sock one time when he had tried to intervene. John had also been gagged and thrown face first onto the bed. Reggie's screams couldn't make it passed the lump in his throat and tears flowed from his eyes as he watched their father brutalize his beloved brother. He tossed back the shot of whiskey, hoping it would drown out John's screams of pain that he still heard now, twenty years later.
He had tried to convince John not to marry the woman that he claimed to be in love with. John was desperate to wipe away the shame that their father had instilled in him. Desperate to wipe away the title of 'faggot ' that their father had endeared him with he decided to buy the woman at the end of the bar a drink and it had been the beginning of his ruin. Reggie had seen it a mile away and had tried, on several occasions, to convince his brother that he was making the wrong decision. John was too desperate to hear the wisdom of his older brother and married Margie anyway. Several short years later she had spent all of his money, slept with all of his 'friends', berated him constantly and had given him three daughters that were no different from their mother. Reggie had given up on his brother and stepped back in aggravation, for the first time in all their years, and left his brother to his own destruction. Which had happened and Reggie could never forgive himself for it.
He fondled the handle of the eight inch bowie knife beside him and gripped it with all of his strength. Gilbert Grissom may have gotten away this time, but he was no invisible man. Reggie had been patient for the past two years and he could be patient a little while longer. He brought the knife down on the table, stabbing it through Gil's face on the picture in front of him and pinned it to the wooden surface.
"Mark my words, Grissom." His tone was bitter and his words were coated with venom. "You will pay for what you did to my brother."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
They had come to see Gil but thought maybe they shouldn't after hearing his demands to be left alone. Sara had insisted that they come up, at least for a few minutes, so he could see that they cared and supported him.
When they walked through the door to his room they were surprised to see that he was no longer laying in his bed. He sat in front of the large window, his back to them, looking at the city but not seeing it.
"Feeling better, honey?" Sara asked hopefully as they came to a stop inside the door.
"I h-heard y-you." His voice was thick with emotion.
"What are you talking about?" She replied cautiously.
"I h-heard J-J-Jim a-and A-Al. Y-You g-g-guys w-watched m-me…" His voice trailed off for a moment before it had a chance to break. "W-Watched m-me d-d-do it."
Sara looked at Jim fearfully and he shook his head in disbelief. She looked at the other, hoping for a little help, but everyone of them looked and felt like they had been caught in a dirty act and none of them knew what to say.
She had never been able to lie to him, he had always been able to see right through her and she was afraid that it would damage him even more if she tried. She hated the thought of telling him the truth but she knew they could never start the healing process if they were not going to be honest and he needed to know that it didn't matter that they had watched, because they loved him and they cared about him and they were going to help him get through this. She was in inner turmoil when she answered.
"Yes…" She began reluctantly and almost stopped when she saw him stiffen. "Jim was sent a disc by one of your kidnappers… we didn't know what it was until we watched it."
"Who w-w-watched it?" He was barely able to keep himself from going over the edge.
"Jim and the team." Her voice was barely above a whisper and she stood in fear of his reaction.
The thought of his closest friends watching his worst shame destroyed what little desire of life that was left in him. They would never look at him the same again, not after watching him do those things. They would never respect him again. They would always be nice because he was the boss but talk secretly behind his back. Now it was just pity and that was something he did not want. He would not be a charity case. A burden. He would be sure of that. He was alone now, that much he was sure of, and the sudden feeling of complete hopelessness fell so heavily on him that it was like a giant rock slowly crushing him and he felt like he was lost in total darkness.
He didn't feel Sara's arms wrap around him as he buried his face in his hands and wailed his despair. He didn't hear her tell him that it wasn't his fault, what had been done to him. He didn't hear her say that they all loved him and wanted to help him get through this. He didn't feel their many hands on him, lowering him to the floor as his body was taken by another grand mal seizure. All he felt was his dark despair and his need for the end.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The next two days were a blur to Gil. Tests were run. Evaluations were made. Exams were performed. Prescriptions were written. He was given pills for his pain, pills to make him go to the bathroom, pills to make him sleep, pills to chase the darkness away and pills to keep him from thrashing on the floor.
The first day that Al had examined Gil he developed shakiness in his hands that had not left him. The following day his symptoms had worsened when he lost his equilibrium and began having dizzy spells. Then they gave him pills to make the world stop spinning. The combination of his ailments made even the simplest of tasks impossible for him to perform on his own.
Although he had no appetite it was insisted that he eat and he complied with little care to do otherwise. He had not realized the total effectiveness of his symptoms until he tried to eat the chicken and rice soup that had been brought in to him for lunch. His shaky hands caused him to spill the soup down the front of his hospital gown before it even reached his mouth and the dizziness kicked in the more agitated he became and the spinning in his head made it impossible for him to properly aim. He drove the spoon into his chin…nose… and cheek before he slammed the utensil down on the tray in frustration.
Sara and Jim had been sitting at his bedside, eating their own lunch and trying to engage him in light conversation. They had taken notice of his struggle but said and did nothing. Doctor Kitts had met with Sara and Jim that morning and discussed his brain injury and possible side effects. When it came to his shakiness and the possible loss of his motor skills, which had not happened yet, she explained that if it happened they would have to be patient with him and not just take over and do things for him. It was important that he be allowed to maintain independence and dignity as much as possible. They would have to explain to him that it was okay if he made a mess, messes were cleanable, and by all means they should try not to be exasperated or annoyed and try not to make comments or gestures that would make him feel any worse about himself than he already did.
Gil looked down at his tightly clenched fists as anger boiled deep inside of him. He was losing everything, and now he couldn't even feed himself. With a swipe of his arm he sent the tray crashing to the floor, spilling soup and milk on its speckled surface. Jim and Sara jumped up from their seats, taken by surprise by his reaction and the fact that they were almost hit by the tray of food. With great force he pushed the table away, causing Jim to have to deflect it, and it too crashed to the floor with a loud noise.
"Gil, stop it!" Jim's voice was warning but he was deeply concerned by his friends reaction.
Gil threw the covers away and tried to jump out of the bed. His left foot hit the floor first and the vibrations ran up his leg sending sharp pain through his knee. He winced as he dropped to the floor and Jim and Sara ran around the bed to help him. When he felt their hands on him he fought them.
"G-G-Get a-away f-f-from m-me!" He screamed. "D-D-Don't t-t-touch m-me!"
Sara ignored his demands as she knelt behind him and pulled him onto her lap. She held him close to her chest as he thrashed in her arms, trying to get loose. Jim grabbed his flailing limbs and held him still.
"Stop it, Gil. You're going to have another seizure." Jim warned.
"I d-d-don't c-care!"
"Maybe you don't but we do."
Gil stopped and looked up at the other man.
"We care about you, Gil." Jim reassured.
He looked up at Sara and she was surprised that he held eye contact on his own.
"We all care about you and we want to help you." She agreed and he looked at Jim then back to her again.
"W-What a-ab-b-bout w-what I d-d-did?" He was fearful of her reply.
"You did nothing wrong. They forced you to do those things and if you think it's because you didn't say no then you're wrong. We still love you, Gil. I still love you." Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. "And I'm not going to let you give up on yourself. Do you understand? We're all going to get through this, together."
Gil looked away as tears began to form in his own eyes but he quickly looked back up at her.
"P-P-Promise?" She hated the insecurity that was so evident in his voice.
"I promise, baby. I will never give up on you. Neither will Jim or the team."
Gil reluctantly looked up at Jim and saw the tears in his friends eyes.
"I'm not letting you go, pal." Jim released his arms and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Gil looked away from them and nodded his head.
"I'm s-s-sorry." He felt a new sense of shame at not trusting his loved ones.
"Don't be." Sara smiled and they helped him get off the floor and back into bed.
After covering him back up she cupped his face with her hands and looked deep into his blue eyes. She felt a renewed devotion to this man who had sacrificed himself to save one of their own.
"I love you, Gil. May I kiss you?"
He wanted to kiss her, but he was scared to. He reluctantly nodded his head and she slowly leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. When she pulled away he knew that she had meant every word that she had said.
She took the wash cloth that Jim had gotten for her from the bathroom and gently washed his face with it. Then, with Jim's help, she carefully removed his hospital gown and replaced it with a clean one.
"Shall we try again?" Sara asked as she held up the dish of pasta that she had brought for her own lunch and he looked at her reluctantly. "Don't worry, I'll help you until the shakes go away. Okay?"
He still wasn't sure about this but nodded anyway. She put the fork in his hand then gently, but firmly wrapped her hand around his. She guided him to stab a piece of the ziti then guided the fork into his mouth.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
A/N: This to all of you that write or are thinking about writing. Do not let people discourage you from what you love or from attempting to try it. I love writing. I've been doing it since I was a little kid and have found that it is the perfect outlet for me. Creative or otherwise.
When I hit a deer back in October and was already stressed to the max at that point from moving and working three weeks straight without a day off I sat down and wrote about it that night. It was a tremendous help. My point is when you find something that you love to do don't let others discourage you from it. I was told that because I am not publishing this story for money it wasn't worth writing and was a waste of my time. I informed him that it wasn't about the money. The money didn't matter. It's about doing what you love and I love to write. Then when I realized just how pissed off that made me. I told him I was a goddamn good writer and that I was writing a fucking good story because there were plenty of people that had told me so! (Phew, that felt good.)
Sorry if that sounds conceded but at the moment that was what I needed. To have confidence in myself as a writer and what I wrote and believe me, you guys have given it to me. He felt like crap and what was said was amended, which is important to me because he's my brother and I value what he thinks of me.
So my point is, don't let others, no matter who they are, discourage you from what you love to do. Peace out. -Esther
