CHAPTER 27
Grissom stared with disinterest at the breakfast tray that had been placed in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably in his hospital bed. His body still felt like a mass of pain, despite the painkillers that he'd received. Nothing seemed to help that dull throbbing of his knee, the swelling of the welts on his back or the pounding headaches that plagued him.
Nearing the end of her nursing shift, Monica Harris had good news to share with a patient who needed good news. She gave a faux salute to the guard at the door before she entered.
"Good morning, Mr. Grissom," she said cheerily.
Grissom looked up but didn't muster a greeting. The pain and frustration and uncertainty he felt made reciprocating a good mood an impossibility.
His mood and lack of greeting didn't surprise Monica. She came to the top of his bed at the right hand side. "I know you're still in a lot of pain, but I do have some good news, Mr. Grissom," she commented as she glanced at his notes. "Dr. Tanner signed off for you to move out of intensive care. We're going to get you to the third floor this morning. Before that, she'll probably want to have a chat with you."
This time he mustered up a nod. "Will Sara be here? My wife?"
The reply made Monica smile. "I hope she will." She noticed his breakfast tray. "You've not eaten very much. Would you like something different?"
"I'm not hungry," Grissom mumbled, turning his head slightly and refusing to look at her. He silently wished she would just leave him alone.
"OK. I'm not going to force anything," Monica replied as she did some routine checks. "One last thing before I leave. I need to record your pain level. Can you give a number for me? 1 is good and 10 is the worst."
He bit his upper lip. He'd not slept well the previous night, with both the pain and nightmares of Rory looming over him. He'd woken gasping for breath, and soaked in sweat. The anxiety of returning to prison was constant. He knew he wouldn't survive if he was targeted again. "I hurt. I just… I just hurt."
"I understand, and I know the question might seem useless, but it helps with monitoring your pain medication," Monica soothed. "Try to give me a number."
"I … I don't know. It just…"
"Hurts… Just try to express how much."
"How much?" Grissom snapped harshly as he glared furiously at the nurse, as if blaming her for the source of his ill mood. Despite the groan of pain that accompanied his grand gesture, he swept his left arm across the table sending its contents clattering to the floor.
The commotion didn't frighten Monica, but the officer posted outside his room rushed into the room.
"Are you alright?" the officer asked of the nurse, who had remained in her spot by the top right of the bed.
"I'm fine," Monica nodded, knowing the guard's intrusion would just make matters worse. "Thank you for your concern for us, officer, but we're fine."
Despite being called off by the nurse, the officer directly addressed the patient. "Any more of this, Grissom and you'll find the handcuffs can just as easily return, as they can be taken off."
"Officer, if you don't mind, we have it from here." Monica's voice was stern.
The officer left, but not until he gave Grissom one more glare — one that Grissom reciprocated. But once he left, Grissom's face fell. He felt remorse for what happened, but just couldn't stomach the urge to apologize.
The nurse for her part, returned to her notes and gathered up her things to leave. "Dr. Tanner will be around soon, Mr. Grissom. Try and rest."
She turned to leave, but before she reached the door she heard a timid, single word. "Eight."
When Monica turned to look back at Grissom, she immediately saw him cast his eyes downward. Despite that, Monica went to the dry erase board and wrote the time and the number uttered. "Thank you," she said kindly before quietly leaving the room.
Dr. Tanner was at the nurses station checking over some notes, when Sara was allowed into the intensive care ward, an hour and half later.
"Mrs. Grissom, I was hoping that I might catch you before I spoke with your husband. Could you spare a few minutes?"
"Is Gil okay?"
Dr. Tanner smiled and shook her head. "I assure you, he's getting all the care that he needs. I just wanted to speak with you in my office for a few minutes."
Tanner led Sara to the same small office she used to speak with her and Jacobsen two days prior. Sara took the seat that Tanner indicated, wondering what it was that the doctor wanted to discuss. She hoped they weren't discharging Grissom back to prison already. She was still waiting to hear back from Jacobsen. They were meeting just after lunch and she hoped he'd have some good news.
"Don't look so worried, Mrs. Grissom." Tanner's voice broke Sara's thoughts, who didn't even realize she'd allowed her mind to wander.
"Sorry. Habit these days."
"I understand," Dr. Tanner said. "First, some good news. I'm satisfied Mr. Grissom is well enough to be moved from intensive care to a standard room on the third floor. We're actually moving him in a few minutes, but before we do, I'd like to have a chat with him, and examine him. When I do, I'd like for you to be there. His nurses have commented that your presence soothes him, even calms him."
Sara's ears pricked at the news. "Isn't that a natural reaction after everything he's been through?" Sara questioned. "That some one that he's familiar with..."
Tanner nodded. "Yes. You are correct. However, it also makes him a little unpredictable. This morning at breakfast, there was a minor incident. Your husband became quite agitated and set his breakfast tray flying across the room. The officer posted on his door, felt the need to intervene."
Sara's eyes widened in shock. "Doctor, I know all this looks terrible but, please know, Gil is not a violent man," Sara began, but Tanner held up a hand, cutting her off.
"What needs to be understood, is that your husband has been through a terrible ordeal. That much is clear. He's suffering from a concussion that was quite possibly exacerbated by the minimum care he received while he was in prison and coupled with the further injury from the bus accident and the subsequent beatings he endured. Have you heard anything about where he might be sent after discharged from this hospital?"
"I am hoping his lawyer tells us that today," Sara said. "I just don't know…"
Dr. Tanner could see worry etched in Sara's face and the weight of the world on the woman's shoulders. "I hope you find some resolution soon. I can only imagine what you're feeling."
Sara nodded. She didn't want to focus on herself. "As far as Gil is concerned, do you think that incident this morning was just an isolated incident?"
The doctor stood from her chair and took a seat on her desk next to Sara. "There was clearly some delay in treatment, which makes it possible that the treatment he's receiving now may take longer. I can't say for certain whether that was a one time occurrence or not. But it is most likely that while he heals he will be prone to mood swings. They are quite normal under the circumstances, but their severity and timing could be unpredictable. I believe with rest and adequate pain relief, he will make a full recovery in time."
"But it will take time," Sara added.
"Yes," Dr. Tanner said as she glanced at her watch. "Let's get to his room so we can get him upstairs."
Once they entered his room, Sara hurried to Grissom's side. She kissed him gently on the forehead in greeting, a gentle smile on her face as she took the seat next to his bed. She grasp his hand in hers, reassuringly, but he didn't return the gesture.
His face was sallow and marked with exhaustion and pain, but the swelling in his face had reduced some. The pallid hue of his face made the bruises seem darker than they had been. His broken nose still looked quite painful, and Sara noticed that he favoured his left arm and shoulder more than the right. He looked uncomfortable and miserable. She truly hoped during the meeting with Wilbur in a few hours Grissom would hear some good news.
He needed good news. They both did.
"You mother and Daniel say hello and they miss you," Sara said, the fingers of her other hand, brushing lightly on his forearm.
Sadness in his eyes, Grissom turned away. His lips narrowed in a thin line and he remained silent.
"Well, you're moving to the next step Mr. Grissom," Tanner said, as she approached the bed. "But before we move you, I'd like to do a quick examination of your knee, Mr. Grissom."
Sara felt Grissom tense, before he relaxed slightly as Dr. Tanner carefully pulled back the covers. The bruising on the left knee was evident, but the severe swelling had reduced.
Satisfied, Tanner nodded. "You've really been tough on those knees of yours," she mused.
Grissom huffed humourlessly at Tanner's choice of words, as he thought back on the times that other people had managed to hurt his knees at one time or another. Mike Garrett had set the trend. During a desperate fight with Garrett while rescuing Sara, Grissom landed heavily on the knee. In prison, he'd been forced to his knees while being half drowned, tripped numerous times and beaten up. While being restrained by guards after his fight with Tait, he'd been forced to his knees. And of course there was the moment he was tossed around in a bus crash.
He wasn't tough on his knees; the universe was.
But he didn't voice any of that. He simply let the doctor drone on.
"Once the swelling has gone down a little more, I'd recommend a brace to help stabilize the knee. I wish circumstances would allow for rehabilitation..."
Grissom finally spoke. "In prison?" Grissom glared defiantly at the doctor for the first time maintaining eye contact with her.
"As I said, I wish the circumstances were different," Dr. Tanner said, her voice stern but compassionate. "But I see no reason you cannot be fitted for a brace. I can personally make sure no matter where you are, that will be a reality, Mr. Grissom. Despite what you might think, I do want to make sure you are not suffering from too much pain and you have treatment that will prevent further injury."
Grissom shook his head in such a way it seemed to create more pain than help him get a point across. A voice inside his head kept telling him how no one cared about him and his pain would only get worse.
This was the unpredictable mood swing the doctor spoke about. Sara gently tried to coax Grissom out of his mood. "Gil, please. We need to take this one day at a time."
Grissom, shook her hand loose off his arm, with a hiss of pain, as he jerked his shoulder. "It's not that easy, Sara!" As he snapped at her, his face drained of even more colour, if that were possible. "I'll be back in prison, so nothing is going to help."
"We don't know that yet," Sara tried to soothe him. "Wilbur had a meeting with Judge Carrigan yesterday. He's coming by this afternoon, and wants to discuss a few things with you. He's hopeful that you won't be going back to prison."
For a moment, Grissom raised his head and saw both women offering sympathetic, honest looks. He so wished he could believe them.
A knock at the door let the trio know the CNAs were ready to move him. Sara rose to her feet and both she and the doctor moved out of the way.
Dr. Tanner put her hand on Grissom's good shoulder. "Good luck, Mr. Grissom. I mean that. Good luck."
Grissom looked up at her and nodded weakly. She knew that was the best he could do as far as thanking the doctor for her support.
But that wasn't true for Sara, who caught the doctor's arm and kept her in the room while Grissom was wheeled out.
"Doctor, he's not like this. He's a kind man. I'm sorry for the way he's acting," Sara said, trying to hold back her tears. "You all have been so wonderful to him and I don't know how to thank you."
Dr. Tanner put her hand on Sara's. "Don't apologize for him. I understand. We all do. We're not here for accolades. We just want the patients to get better. But thank you, Sara, for your kind words. And I have a feeling your husband would be offering thanks too, if his heart, body and mind weren't in so much pain."
Sara nodded. "He would."
"Between you and me, rehab is truly important for him. It could help him because there is a chance he could do worse damage to his leg," Dr. Tanner said. "But just like you said—one day at a time."
Those words weighed heavily on Sara's already burdened mind.
Knowing that, Dr. Tanner offered a kind smile. "Go catch up with him. Your presence will make things better."
Sara paced the foyer of Desert View Hospital as she waited for Wilbur. She sipped on the mango smoothie she'd gotten from the cafeteria, as her anxiety grew. She wasn't sure how she and Grissom could face any more bad news.
When she spotted his tall form pass through the sliding doors of the hospital entrance, he hurried to meet him. He smiled at her warmly as he patted her hands affectionately.
"How is Gil doing? I'm sure you're both anxious for some news."
"We are," Sara said. "I'll catch you up as we go upstairs."
Sara spoke about Grissom's condition and anxiety the whole way to the room. But once she saw the armed guard standing sentry outside Grissom's room, she paused in the corridor. Wilbur watched as Sara seemed to gather herself as she prepared to enter her husband's room. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
"You're not alone. We're in this together, my dear," he reassured her, in a low voice.
Sara nodded slightly, as she offered him a quick glance. Taking a deep breath, they both headed towards Grissom's room.
Sara was quick to note the alarm that flashed across her husband's face as they stepped into his room, his breath catching in his throat. He relaxed when he realized that it was Sara and Wilbur.
Sara immediately went to his side, grasping his hand, careful of the IV line, and gently brushed her lips against his hair, before setting down into the chair beside his bed.
Wilbur remained standing by the foot of the bed, shocked by the severity of the injuries that Grissom had sustained. If these were the visible injuries, he could only imagine the ones that he couldn't see. It was clear Grissom would have a long road of recovery ahead of him.
"I wish we were meeting under much better conditions than theses, Gil," Wilbur greeted him. "How are you feeling?"
It was clear that Grissom wasn't in the mood for visitors. Agitation showed in the way his eyes darted around the room, and the fingers of his right hand tapped on the bars of the bed railing. Although Sara had taken his left hand in hers, he didn't squeeze his hand in hers.
"I feel like I've had the shit beaten out of me," Grissom rasped harshly, refusing to look either of them in the eye. "How am I supposed to feel?"
Sara hated his harsh tone, but said nothing. It wasn't as if he hadn't spoke the truth, after all. He'd been to hell and back, and no one could blame him for his less than stellar attitude.
Wilbur seemed to have the same thought as Sara, as he smiled tolerantly at Grissom. "I apologize if my question upset you, Gil. I sincerely hope that you feel much better soon and I know this ordeal has been utter hell." He paused a moment, before slowly coming to stand at the foot of the bed, and Grissom immediately tensed, beads of sweat breaking out along his hairline.
Grissom fought to keep his breathing under control as Sara tried to soothe him, with both touch and voice.
"Gil, I know your trust in everything you hold dear is tarnished, but I'm here to assure you your safety has been one of our highest priorities. Can you believe me when I say that?"
He looked at his client who seemed adamant not to offer any semblance of cooperation. Sara spoke about his attitude on the walk up, so Wilbur was prepared. And while it is not the way he had known Grissom to act in the past, this was the situation here and now. His job was to offer his client hope.
"Gil, I had a meeting with assistant D.A. Ladd Sayers and Judge Carrigan, who presided over your bail hearing. Sayers was less than enthused to hear the judge offered to listen to our arguments on a bail hearing again, but, unfortunately the judge would not release you on your own recognizance as we hoped." Both Grissom and Sara's faces fell at the news that bail hadn't been granted. "But please, let me finish. It's not all bad news."
Jacobsen looked behind him and saw another chair. He grabbed it and sat near the bed so he could speak to the couple while at eye level. "Gil, the judge is allowing you to return home for three weeks to recover from your injuries."
That news brought a smile to Sara's face, but Grissom still seemed stone faced. Jacobsen didn't know if that was because of shock or because of something deeper emotionally or mentally, but he kept talking. "As part of the agreement, you're restricted on where you can travel and you will be mandated to wear an electronic ankle bracelet. You will be able to travel to the hospital and doctor appointments, and if you both develop a list of other critical locations, I can petition the judge about them. He seems very open to this arrangement."
"It might be good to have Gil's mother's house on the list," Sara said. "I can make a list. This is good news, Mr. Jacobsen."
The lawyer smiled. "Wilbur is fine, Sara. And a list would be great, thank you."
"What happens after three weeks?" Grissom's voice was low but reflected an air of worry and scepticism.
Jacobsen sighed. "At that point you would have to return to prison."
Grissom glanced at Sara worriedly and then at Jacobson.
"I c-can't go back to prison, Wilbur," Grissom's panic returned. "If I go back….they'll...they'll k-kill me.."
"Gil, trust me," Wilbur soothed gently, as he sat carefully on the bed. "My firm's investigator is working to find Hobson. And I truly believe Ferguson will find him. Three weeks is more than enough time to clear you of Jake's murder and find the real culprit."
"Y-you can't guarantee t-that!" Grissom insisted, with a frown.
"Gil, there is no way you are going to set another foot in prison."
Grissom huffed with annoyance, and glared with bloodshot eyes at the lawyer. "That's what Hobson said, and this is where it got me!" Grissom voice rasped. "I didn't kill Jake, but the evidence against me is solid. Even if this Ferguson finds Hobson, he's not going to roll over on Rory. I'm still going back to prison."
Grissom's eyes squeezed tightly shut, as he waited for a blow he was sure would come. He bit his lip and fought against the tightness in his chest. As his hands clenched into fits, his knuckles turned white. Dread gripped him in a vice grip, and threatened to overwhelm him.
Sara and Wilbur stood on either side of him. Jacobsen set a calming hand upon Grissom's good, right shoulder. Sara grabbed his left hand though he refused to unclench his fist. She settled for keeping her voice gentle and soothing, as she ran her hand over his lower arm gently.
"Gil, honey, it's okay," Sara did her best to reassure and calm him. "Just breathe, sweetheart. Gil, baby, you can trust him. He's done much more for you in the last couple of days than that asshole Hobson has in two months."
"Gil, the last thing I wish to cause you is any further distress. You have my word that I will do my best to clear all this up," Jacobsen said. "Gil, please look up at me. Please. For Sara. She's worried sick about you."
The mention of Sara's hardship did the trick and Grissom calmed down. He finally opened his eyes, looking first at his wife before reluctantly taking his eyes away from her to look at Jacobsen.
The effort made the lawyer smile, his eyes crinkling. "Gil, do you trust me? Maybe a better question is, do you believe me when I say that I have your best interests in mind? I realize after all Hobson did to you that is a lot to ask."
The silence stretched for several minutes as Grissom sat quietly. He gave Wilbur's question serious consideration. If he'd been asked that question three or four months previously, he would have answered in the positive in an instant. Hobson Nash had ended that.
Grissom glanced quickly between Sara and the lawyer. Sara smiled encouragingly and nodded her head. "Honey, I've seen first hand what Wilbur is prepared to do for you, for us."
Grissom glanced back at Wilbur, and then nodded. "I trust you."
Jacobsen was unsure if Grissom truly had trust in him or if he answered that question in the affirmative out of exhaustion and to appease his wife. Either way, Wilbur saw it as a victory and smiled. "Thank you, my friend. Once you're discharged and a chance to rest at home, we can go into a lot more details than we can here."
"H-home?" Grissom questioned, his breathing still ragged, but the worst of the panic attack seeming to be behind him for now. "W-what makes you think that I-I'll be any safer at home, with Rory still out there! Or S-Sara and Daniel! I-I couldn't defend myself i-i-in prison….and I-I sure as hell, c-can't defend myself, l-let alone….S-Sara and D-Daniel!"
"You're right, Gil, absolutely right," Jacobsen said. "My next stop is to speak with the sheriff and make sure something is done. If they can't do it, then I will make sure the firm secures private detail."
"We…we can't afford t-t-that… my job…"
Jacobsen gave Grissom's right arm a gentle squeeze. "Your job is to heal. Mine is to keep you and your family safe. Sara's safety is just as important as yours and seeing as your son was the one who hired me, he's pretty damn important too."
That line put a confused look upon Grissom's face. "My son hired you?"
"He's a sweet boy. Sara should tell you that story," the lawyer said as he stood up. "Unless you two have any other questions, I'm going to head back to Vegas."
Sara went to stand, but Jacobsen stopped her cordially. "Don't get up, Sara. Stay with Gil. I know the way out."
"OK, Wilbur. Thank you."
"My pleasure."
Jacobsen left the room with a smile, but it quickly left his face as he made his way to the elevator. Grissom's condition, attitude and agitation worried him. His client was unwell, and he couldn't help but feel responsible in some way for it.
He knew he needed to tell Grissom about Sayers' plan to press more charges, but neither husband nor wife were in any shape to hear that. And if Jacobsen had any say, there would be no charges to speak of.
Once outside the hospital, the lawyer took out his cell phone and pushed a number on speed dial. After hearing the connection made, he made no effort to disguise the urgency in his voice. "Ferguson. I need an update right now on your efforts. Whatever it takes, I want Hobson found in a week's time."