June 2015
White, a hauntingly boring color her eyes had been overexposed to in this wretched place. A month now, she couldn't believe it, well, three months but only one month actually conscious and aware, a terrifying implication that made her tremble when she was left alone and dwelled on it. Trouble was, she was hardly left alone. Even while hovering between the sleep and wake state, she would hear the usual rustlings of people coming and going, her silent visitors, her night nurses, an occasional doctor or two, a medical student being summoned to study her, like the freak she felt she was now. Nothing but a science experiment, a medical mystery, she couldn't use the word miracle in good conscience because she didn't think what was left of her soul after this could tolerate the notion.
Her body ached with every move she made. The hours she spent smacking tennis balls into oblivion that strengthened every inch of her had now been unraveled right in front of her. She could hardly watch her own limbs fail her with each infuriating physical therapy session they forced her into. The irony of not being able to leave until she was strong enough did not escape her, but she had all but given up on the reality in front of her. She didn't live anymore, she just existed. Her brain could not grasp a single moment into the future, all she saw was white fog.
On one such post therapy sulking session in her bland hospital room, she clung to a worn plush teddy bear gifted to her from Russell, whose duty had now exceeded that of most of his furry companions, soothing her in this relentless hell. She clutched a hard plastic remote, absentmindedly flipping through TV channels, her brain rotting with each passing second she let herself sink into this depression. After a lifetime of refusing to be knocked down, she had finally crashed and burned.
When Russell came strolling into the room casually, like he did everyday since February, she couldn't find the strength to lift her gaze to greet him. The arrival of a stranger behind him, however, grabbed her attention, a gray haired woman, pulled back in a bun, loose strands of hair falling at random, a leather purse slung over her arm. She wore a blouse and business casual pants, looking like some sort of secretary or office person.
"Hey kiddo," Russell greeted her as if this was just another day, and technically it was, but he wasn't surrounded by a brutal dense fog like she was.
"Hey," she mumbled back nonchalantly.
"Therapy go ok?" he inquired.
"I'm still here, what do you think?" she bit back, knowing it wasn't his fault but needing an outlet to rapid fire her simmering rage upon.
Russell glances at the strange woman beside him who remained silent, holding their tongue for the right moment, Finn wondered, didn't care.
"I can stay if you want," Russell offers to the woman who shakes her head and tells him gently "We'll be fine."
Finn scoffs, finally reacting to the situation, knowing this stranger visiting has something to do with her and her current mental state.
"Let's just get this over with," Finn clicks the television off and hastily forces herself into a sitting position as opposed to slouching like a slob.
Russell politely excuses himself from the room and the mystery woman takes a seat by the bed.
"Psychiatrist or psychologist?" Finn asks her, crossing her arms in defense.
"Neither," the woman says "Lieutenant Jane Gribbs, LVPD, well former, retired."
Finn just shrugs and shakes her head, struggling to make sense of this information.
Jane sighs as she reaches into her purse, pulling out a printed photo, one that is rather worn and wrinkled in the corners and edges. She hands it to Finn who studies it. There is a woman with brown hair, slightly curled, a red shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a chain ID badge around her neck. The date in the corner is stamped "Holly, October 2000"
"That's my daughter," Jane explains clasping her hands together "she was twenty five when this was taken, when she died at the hands of the Las Vegas Police Department."
Finn feels her neck crack as she turns to look at Jane, stunned, confused.
Jane doesn't wait for Finn to speak before she continues on with her story.
"She was a rookie CSI left alone to process a scene that had not been properly cleared, the suspect returned and shot her, she died at the hospital, the CSI that was supposed to be shadowing her that day was CSI Warrick Brown."
Jane speaks so quickly, Finn can tell she's been dying to let all this out since she entered the room. For Finn, the overload of information, both old and new, assaults her already fragile mind. She shakes her head, trying to make the fog disappear. But now there was a rising ache in her chest.
"I'm sorry," Finn tells Jane.
"Save it," Jane says curtly, taking the photo back suddenly. "I've been hearing that for fifteen years, it's done."
Finn squints at her, confused at her dance back and forth between cold, demeaning, yet vulnerable.
"Warrick Brown died," Finn tells Jane the only thing she thinks will comfort the woman now.
"You think I didn't know that?" Jane bites back "oh believe me I was one of the first to know, never thought I'd live long enough to hear those words."
The malice and smug satisfaction flickers across her face for a fraction of a second before apparent remorse overcomes her. She sighs and says "It's wrong to feel that way, I know, especially since the man was framed for murder, Lou Gedda was a powerful bastard back in my day, Brown should have known better than to mess with-
She pauses in her ramblings, clutches a hand to her chest to regain control of her emotions.
"My point is, this entire ordeal has been extremely confusing, rightfully so," she composes her words carefully "to lose a child to violence, then her associate is also killed in a negligent manner, it really sticks with you as a human being, you can't ignore the constant noise in your head, it's always there, like a cockroach, infesting your very soul, you never sleep, you never really live."
At this explanation, Finn feels like she now understands the reason for her visit. Damn Russell.
"You're here to tell me everythings going to be alright," Finn accuses her "keep my chin up, keep fighting for some stupid cause or some garbage."
"Hardly," Jane says, unphased by Finn's blunt rudeness "I heard about your incident from the contacts I keep in the department and I wanted to offer you my services."
She hands Finn a business card now with the words "Holly's Law" etched upon them appropriately.
"One too many like yourself have been mistreated by that police department," Jane launches her pitch "after Holly died, I started perusing old cases, officers being hurt or killed on the job, mistreated, lied to, forced to continue their work even if they wanted to pursue other employment opportunities."
"But isn't that part of the job?" Finn questions her "I can't imagine one police department having higher rates of losses than another."
Even as she says it, the math doesn't add up. In just three short years, she had indeed been involved in a multitude of incidents on the job, this attack and coma being the most violent, definitely more on the job injuries here than in her ten plus years in Seattle. And here she thought trouble just followed her.
"You think LVPD is doing this on purpose?" Finn gets to the root of the cause "knowingly putting their employees' lives in danger on the regular?"
"In fifteen years, there have been over three hundred incidents, officer involved or otherwise," Jane continues "three hundred and thirty five to be exact, whenever one of these incidents crosses my desk, I reach out to the victim, if they are still alive, if not, their immediate family or close relative, I inform them of my service and advocate for them to pursue legal action if needed."
"Has anyone?" Finn asks.
At this question, Jane stiffens in her chair.
"Unfortunately most clients feel they cannot win anything," she admits "they are always touched by Holly's story, but just like you, feel no negligence was practiced, it's always about training, wrong place wrong time, or like you said, part of the job, bias."
"Have you pursued this with other departments besides LVPD?" Finn asks.
"Absolutely," Jane says "New York, Chicago, Miami, all the major cities, and from what your colleague Mr. Russell tells me, I can certainly see a trip to the Pacific Northwest is needed in due course."
Finn shakes her head in disbelief, wondering what atrocities this woman will find if she goes digging in Seattle. She thinks of Mike, of Shaw, her heart aches.
"What do you want from me?" Finn asks now after an awkward silence.
"To offer you my services if you wish," Jane says "not many people know I'm out there, and your case, well, it resonated with me, more so than anything I've discovered recently."
"I'm trying to go back to work," Finn informs her "not sue them."
She reaches out with a shaky weak hand to give the business card back to Jane but she refuses to take it.
"Suit yourself," Jane recognizes defeat "but I would hardly call what you're doing here as any sign that you intend to go back to that job."
Jane glances around at the sullen room, the television, the teddy bear, the wrinkled blankets, the way Finn had been slouching prior to the start of their chat. It's reverse psychology, Finn knows so, and be damned if it wasn't starting to get to her.
Jane smiles now, realizing she's accomplished what she set out to do.
"Live," she tells Finn "I wish my Holly could have, then again, if she had, you wouldn't be here in this position."
"How do you figure that?" Finn asks.
"Well Warrick Brown set himself straight after they lost Holly," Jane explains "until he got caught up in Gedda's mess, but even I didn't know that shit went all the way up to McKeen, bastard, anyways, that team got sloppy, that's when your boss came along, spewing some zen harmony garbage, Conrad ate that right up, a fractured team with tendencies to go rogue being rehabilitated by the chill mushroom guy."
She scoffed at the story, recounting events prior to Finn moving here.
"I think Willow's jaunt with Mark and Laura Gabriel was the final straw," Jane added "Conrad knew nothing more could be done to stop ya'll so he let DB Moonbeam throw your hat in the ring and now, well, it is what it is."
She stands up and walks towards the door, leaving Finn to stare, to wonder, had she just been played? Motivated? Conned? She didn't know what just happened or how to feel except the fog in front of her wasn't so dense anymore.
"One last piece of advice," Jane turns back to Finn "when you finally do get out of here, the use of chainsaws on public property in close proximity to human beings does not bode well for your file at HR."
She taps her fingernails scoldingly on the edge of the doorframe, eyeing Finn up and down with a mixture of disdain, or was it affection? Begrudgingly so? Before disappearing into the hallway.