A/N: I appreciate the reviews; it lets me know that you guys are enjoying what I'm writing. I posted 2 chapters this week so please be sure to read chapter 7 first. Thanks again!
Chapter 8:
Walking into their house, Gil felt the emptiness immediately. It was an eerie feeling, being alone and feeling its weight settling onto his shoulders. He'd gotten used to his own company and never thought he'd ever feel the emptiness of a house ever again. Not since he was left on a beach in Florida had he felt this eerie weight called loneliness. He should have stayed at the lab. He'd gone back there to drop off the evidence he'd collected from Nathan Cole's apartment but decided to finally go home while everything was being processed.
He needed a shower and a change of clothes. He needed to eat. Mostly, he needed to sleep. He was exhausted. As he spotted the empty dog bowl on the floor in the kitchen, his cell phone rang.
It was Detective Nowlins. He almost sighed as he thought, what now, before answering. "Grissom."
"Hope I'm not waking you."
"Please tell me there isn't another dead body—"
"Thankfully no. I just wanted to inform you of the talk I had with the employer of Nathan Cole. I talked to his manager, a guy named Alan Franklin, and based on everything he told me, our suspect could've passed for the real deal."
"How so?"
"Didn't you find a photo of Nathan Cole skiing? The guy told Mr. Franklin that he'd been skiing in the Rockies. Had all kinds of stories that he spun but they all sound like they could've came from the real Nathan Cole."
"So, he knew his life and told it as if it were his own?"
"Seems that way."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing yet."
"Okay." He then asked, "Have you heard from Agent Collins?" He would have said Kevin, but he liked to keep things professional when talking with another member of law enforcement. He didn't want to sound like he was playing favorites or being a concerned father. Though, he was.
"Not a peep since this morning. You?"
"He told me he was going to all the victims' residences."
"I'll give him a call. Get some rest."
He told him the same then ended the call before going to the bedroom. He started undressing down to his boxers as he headed to the master bath. They'd done some remodeling since they bought the place and the bathroom now had a walk-in shower with sliding glass doors instead of the regular tub. Pulling the door open, he reached inside and turned on the water to let it warm up.
Turning to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, he stilled as he saw a blurred face staring back at him. It looked as if he'd moved his head the moment a camera flashed. Then he blinked and it cleared. It'd been a long time since he'd seen his own reflection looking so unrecognizable and distorted.
He stepped up to the counter and rubbed his hand over his bearded jaw as he stared into his eyes. The words he'd read in the suspects journal earlier that day ran through his mind. "He saw a door to his face, reflected in the blade, and felt the same thing he's heard all day, "take the knife out and open it'."
Their suspect also had a distorted view of his face as well. Take a knife and cut it open…and then what? Expose what was underneath? Show the world the true self? Or was there another reason for taking the face off?
So many questions swirled around his head but the only two he needed to know the answers to were: What happened to the real Nathan Cole? And who had taken his place?
He leaned on the counter as he felt hot. A heat that started on his fingertips. It spread down his fingers and over his palms as if his hands were being engulfed in flames. "I have a migraine of the mind. I think, I think, I think…Would it be better to touch it, to beat the terror, or, to just drop into the fire and—Reborn! Up from the flames, life."
Reborn out of flames? Like a phoenix? The rebirth of the Phoenix through fire came from ancient Egyptian mythology. It'd been inspired by the Benu, an African heron that Egyptians associated with Ra, the sun god, and Osiris, the god of the underworld.
Lifting his eyes into the mirror again, he saw standing behind him the Dragon. His dark shadow. The Dragon looked like the body of a mythological creature. It was half man, half dragon with wings protruding out of its back. Crooked fanged teeth smiled and he saw red blood in its mouth. There was black blood covering the bare body. Hooves for feet. And glass eyes that if he turned to stare into them reflected his own. All the representations of all the serial killers he'd brought down as Will Graham. Hobbs, Dolarhyde, and Lecter.
He hadn't seen his shadow since France. Hadn't paid it any mind at all for months. It'd gone away. Or, at least, he'd thought it'd gone away. This case, getting into the mind of their serial killer suspect, was bringing it back out of the dark. The Dragon lifted his hands and he saw them chained together like in the sketch from the notebook. Then, he watched as his hands burst into flames. The flames died down and left behind scars, just like their suspects.
He'd been reborn, hadn't he? Out from the ashes of his old life, a new one. His own becoming. This killer had become something else as well. Lyrics to a song by The Doors filled his head. "The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on, he took a face from the ancient gallery, and he walked on down the hall…"
Beside him in the mirror, a dark figure formed. One with burned hands and a distorted face. In one of its burnt hands was a mask. He watched as it slipped the mask on to hide the distortion. But the mask wasn't white and smooth like the one that the other killer wore. It appeared ancient, like that of an Egyptian God. A falcon head and in the middle of it a single eye. A single eye…Ra. The Sun God.
The killer had left the jacket and the shoes at the park and had disappeared. He'd taken his old face off in order to put on a new one. The answer formed in his head as he stared into the dark figure's reflection in his mirror.
"You killed the real Nathan Cole, so that you could take over his life. You shed your old face, your old life, like a snake shedding its skin, so you could become someone else. A new identity. A new life. Reborn like the Phoenix. That's what you do."
He wondered how many times the killer had done it. He doubted Nathan Cole was the first. And he certainly wouldn't be the last. The killer was on the run. He'd be looking for a new identity. Leaving the dark figure in the mirror, he stepped away to take a shower.
Feeling the hot spray pounding down on his shoulders and back seemed to relax him but only momentarily. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep breath as he tried to push out the burden he felt, the stress of the day, as he leaned against the wall.
"Gil? Babe?"
His eyes snapped open as he pushed off the wall and looked around the bathroom. It was empty, but he'd sworn he'd heard her voice over the pounding of the water. Realizing that Sara wasn't there, and he'd only imagined her voice, he felt the emptiness creep in once again. PIcking up the soap and washcloth, he tried to wash the feeling away along with the dirt and sweat of the day.
As he sat on the bed after changing into a pair of sweats and t-shirt, he felt an ache in his body that was hard to ignore. It wasn't lust, but sorrow. A deep sorrowful ache that started in his chest, his heart, and worked its way up into his head. And in his head the sorrow was making him doubt.
In the quiet of the house, he heard water drip. A single drip into a puddle. It vibrated in his head like the ripples the drop made in the puddle.
Drip…
He was afraid that she wouldn't come back. Afraid that somehow he'd caused her to go away without him. She had written him a letter instead of talking to him face-to-face. That meant she couldn't face him. She'd also been afraid.
Had she only been afraid that he would have talked her out of it, or afraid that—She had told him that she would never be afraid of him, but now he wasn't so sure. Closing his eyes against the pain in his head, his heart, he tried to push it away. He'd never be able to sleep if he couldn't get his mind to stop doubting.
…Drip…
There was a breath on the back of his neck, a pair of arms wrapping around his chest, his waist, and he felt her warmth against his back. Then, in his head, he heard her voice say, "I've missed you." Keeping his eyes closed, he lifted his hand up and placed it on his side where he felt her hand. For a brief moment, he felt her warm skin, her delicate fingers, and smelt her scent before it was gone.
He opened his eyes into the dark and empty room as the ache grew. Turning the bedside lamp on, he went to pick up the book he'd been reading when the picture of Sara that sat on the nightstand caught his attention. Grabbing it instead, he stared at her face, her smile, and longed to hear her real voice. Maybe he should call her? Picking up his cell phone, he dialed her number.
It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. She was probably busy, or eating dinner. Ending the call, he tossed the phone on the bed and looked at the picture of Sara again.
…Drip…
He felt something wet on his thumb. The frame was wet. Water was under the glass, rising up out of the frame like a rising tide. It leaked around the edges of the frame and dripped down to the floor.
…Drip…
In his head, a voice said, "Show me that beautiful smile." His eyes followed the water drops as the dripping echoed in his head as a puddle formed on the floor of their bedroom.
He knew the water wasn't real, just as he knew that Sara wasn't really there in their house. Yet, he could feel her, hear her, smell her and if he wanted to he'd be able to see her as if she'd never left. But she did leave, and in the emptiness of their house he was torturing himself because of it. Doubts plagued his mind just as easily as his fear once had. Maybe it was his fault she was gone?
They both could empathize, feel what the other was feeling once they opened themselves up to it. She hadn't wanted to be there if she self-destructed. She didn't want him to feel that. Her pain and self-destruction would have plagued his mind like the emptiness was right now. It would have seeped inside of him, darkening him and reaching out to darken her just the same. Maybe she was right to leave?
…Drip…
What if the reality of being with him wasn't what she wanted? Sara had loved him for years, long before they ever got together. She had a lot of time to wonder, to fantasize, about what that meant. How it'd be once they got into a relationship. She had hopes and expectations that he was certain he was not living up to. Reality rarely, if ever, lived up to the fantasy.
If he tried to sleep, he knew what he would see. He was already seeing the water soaking through Sara's picture. The voice in his head was a threat to his dreams. He didn't want to see what it would do to Sara once he closed his eyes. He's dreamt of her death once before; he wasn't doing that again.
…Drip—
He sat the picture back down on the nightstand and stood. His keys were by the front door and he grabbed them along with his wallet pulled on his shoes, and left the house. He wouldn't be able to sleep. Not there anyway.
He got into his car and drove until the city of Las Vegas was in his rearview and in front of him a house. His car kicked up sand and dirt as he pulled alongside her house and parked. From out of the trunk of the car, he grabbed a bag that he'd forgotten to drop off when he'd dropped off his dog a day ago. Before he reached the door he heard barking. Smiling, he opened the front door without knocking and was instantly greeted by Hank.
His dog's tail wagged happily as he knelt down and petted him while calling out, "It's me."
By the door was a tin full of dog treats and he took one out which made Hank sit immediately as he waited. After giving his dog the treat, he ventured further into the house. First in the sitting room where he opened the closed blinds to let in the late afternoon sunlight. Soon it'd be dark, but for the woman who lived there it wouldn't matter. She's been living in the dark now for seven months.
Taking the bag with him, he headed down the long hallway into the kitchen and sat it down on the table. There was no dinner being made and after checking the refrigerator and cabinets he decided to make a lasagna with the ricotta and feta cheese, fresh garden tomatoes, mushrooms, olives and spinach, and a jar of homemade pasta sauce.
He was boiling the noodles and dicing all the vegetables when he heard her coming around the corner into the kitchen. Glancing up, he watched as Heather stopped by the counter, using her cane and fingers, and nose as a guide, and smiled. "Hope you didn't have dinner plans."
"I didn't. I was wondering when you'd be back to get Hank."
Hank was lying on the floor near his feet and lifted his head up at the sound of his name. He went back to dicing the tomatoes as he told her, "I wasn't. I, uh…There's a serial murder case I'm working on. It's taking all my time. If you don't mind—"
"I don't mind," Heather said as she made her way around the kitchen to the table and pulled out a chair to sit down.
In front of her was the bag he'd brought, but she didn't see it. Over her eyes was a pair of thick, dark glasses. They weren't for her benefit. Lecter had removed Heather's eyelids, and since they don't grow back, and the surgery didn't work, she was left permanently blind.
"Grissom?"
"Yeah?"
"Where's Sara?"
"What makes you think—"
"Well, for starters, you're here cooking me dinner and not at home cooking her dinner. Hank's been here since yesterday. I figured one of you would have picked him up by now. And if Sara was able to, then you wouldn't need me to watch Hank while you work."
Going back to cooking, he told her, "She's in San Francisco. Visiting her mother." And getting as far away from him as she could.
He shook his head of that intrusive thought as he went back to cooking. They didn't speak again until after he put the lasagna in the oven and sat at the table to wait. He'd poured them both a glass of the red wine she had but barely sipped it.
Grabbing the bag sitting on the table between them, he opened it and pulled out the books and cassette tapes along with a tape player and brand new headphones, in case she didn't have her own.
"What'd you bring me?"
"Books on tape and books written in braille." Heather smiled slightly. "When I was losing my hearing, I, uh…I had a choice to make. I could either have surgery to fix it or I could let myself go deaf."
"Was it a choice?"
It was. Heather didn't have a choice. Her eyesight was taken from her. "I was raised by a deaf parent; my mother. She taught me that everyone's the same and that her deafness wasn't a disability. It was just another way of living. When you can't hear you rely more on your other senses to get by. She's an artist. She's a fantastic chef; taught me everything I know. Once I realized I was losing my hearing, I went to the deaf college and started taking classes. I was learning to read lips and brushing up on my ASL. Surgery was an option, but so was not hearing."
"Why did you choose to have the surgery?"
He knew why he chose surgery. "After work one day, Sara came by my office and asked me out. At the time, I didn't know what to do about it. I mean, there I was, going deaf, and debating the rest of my life. Trying to figure out what I wanted to do about her, us…That was just one more thing that I didn't want to deal with. I honestly didn't know what to do. I wanted to say yes, but then I was so afraid that my life without the job, without the ability to hear…"
"That it wouldn't be the life that Sara would want to spend with you."
"Exactly. I got the surgery not solely because I wanted to keep my job, but…the possibility that one day, I could take the risk and be with her. One day I'd say yes to dinner, and a future, with her."
"And you're doubting that now?" He wasn't the least bit surprised that she'd picked up on his doubts. "This trip to San Francisco isn't entirely about visiting her mother, is it?"
He rubbed his head as he felt all the fear and doubt once again clench his chest. "No, it's not. But I didn't come here to talk to you about me and Sara. I wanted to bring these and to let you know that I know what it's like to have your entire world flipped upside down by having a sense taken away. Not just your sense of sight, but of self. I want to help see you through this–"
"I'm not your responsibility, Grissom."
"I know, but…I'm your friend. You don't have many, and, neither do I." He saw the truth of those words on her face as he felt them in his heart. They were so much alike in that regard, and it hurt them both.
A single tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away. "Thank you, for the books. And dinner."
"Just you wait. You haven't had my garlic bread yet. Sara says it's to die for."
Sara had been in many awkward situations throughout her life, but never one this tense. She could cut the tension with a knife. The restaurant by the bay was crowded and lively, but she was tunnel-vision on the man sitting across from her. Doug Wilson appeared very much the same as he did nearly seven years ago. He was still tall, athletic build, brown hair and blue eyes. And a smile that could knock any girl off her feet. Sitting next to her was her old colleague Jane, who had decided for some reason that this would be a good idea.
Clearing her throat, she said to Doug, "I thought you were out east?"
"I was for a while," he said with a nod as he fingered the beer bottle in hand. "Jane called me—"
She glanced at Jane who had an innocent look on her face.
"—and said that you were in town—"
Jane interrupted him as she said, "That's not why I called—"
"No, she made some excuse of needing to review an old case of mine…" Doug said as he looked at Jane.
"I did. It's approaching trial and you were the lead CSI."
He smiled and said, "It doesn't go to trial for another month."
"I'm getting a head start," Jane defended herself.
It didn't matter the reason why Jane had called Doug; he still got on a plane and flew out to San Francisco. She could only think of one reason why. He wanted to see her. She cleared her throat and said, "Did uh, did she tell you I was engaged?"
His eyes went to her left ring finger. "She did. Congratulations." They way he said that made her think he wasn't too excited about it. "When's the big day?"
"We, uh…haven't decided yet."
Neither her nor Gil were good at planning things like weddings. They didn't want a traditional one. She wasn't about to buy a white dress and walk down the aisle. Gil also didn't want a wedding and said that they should go to the Justice of the Peace. Then he changed his mind as he realized that he didn't want to have a Vegas wedding, no matter who performed the ceremony.
They've been considering other places. California, maybe. His mother still lived in Los Angeles, and it was where they were both from. They also talked about Paris. They could get married and honeymoon at the same time. She considered it, but she was in no hurry to get back to France.
The server returned to the table and wanted their meal orders. All they'd ordered so far were drinks, and she was no longer hungry. Jane asked, "You're not going to try the vegan cuisine?"
"I'm not really hungry." She made sure not to look at Doug when she'd said those words, but she could feel his eyes on her.
She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and pulled it out. It was Gil. She wanted to excuse herself and answer it. She was missing him horribly but ignored it as she put it back in her pocket. Now wasn't the time to talk. When she talked to him, she wanted to be alone so they could be alone. Right then, Doug kept his eyes on her as she returned her attention to the two of them.
"So, what have you been doing?" she asked him as she finally took a drink of her white wine.
Doug took a drink of the beer before answering, "I was working for Homeland in their DC office for a while. Got a new job offer with the FBI. Hunting down terrorists."
"Really? Where? Quantico?"
"No," he said as he leaned back in the chair. "Counterterrorism field office in Nevada."
Her eyes shot up as she said, "Nevada?"
He smirked slightly, saying, "Las Vegas."
She nearly gapped as she asked, "Did you take it?"
He shrugged. "I'm thinking about it. It's a nice little office job. Great pay. Then, of course, there's the city. Are you still there?" He once again looked at her engagement ring.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm still there."
He smiled. "I am happy for you. You deserve to be happy. You are happy, aren't you?"
She looked away as she suddenly felt like she didn't know the answer to that question. She didn't know if she was happy or what she deserved. Did she deserve being taken by a serial killer and locked away in a dungeon? Did she deserve all the nightmares that ripped her from her sleep every night? Did she deserve Gil's loving arms and reassurances that it'd all be okay? Because right then, she had no idea.
Maybe this guilt she was feeling was what she deserved. And that's what she'd been feeling for days, weeks, and months. So much guilt. She knew the truth; she knew her answer. She wasn't happy. If she was, she never would have left.
She wanted to apologize to everyone in her life, including the man sitting across from her. She knew she put that anger in his eyes all those years ago. She'd broken his heart. Just as she knew she was breaking Gil's. Instead of apologizing, she finished her drink, paid, and then left. She couldn't sit there any longer in that awkward tension.
The sun was starting to set again over the ocean as she left the restaurant. Crossing the parking lot, she heard footsteps behind her.
"Sara." It was Doug. She stopped and turned to face him. He was a lot taller than Gil. She had to look up into his blue eyes. With his back to the falling sun, they appeared so much darker than she remembered. Despite the dark, she saw an apology in his eyes and that hurt worse than the anger. "Hey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine—"
"Sure you are." He didn't sound too convinced. "Look, I know you. I know when something is wrong. It was him who called, right? Are—Is everything okay? Do you need anything—"
"Don't do that, okay?"
He shook his head, obviously confused as he asked, "Do what? I mean, what am I to think with you showing up here asking about me? Jane told me. Then I see you ignoring his phone calls—"
"Why I'm here has nothing to do with you, Doug. And me and Gil are fine."
"Gil?" Doug said. He hadn't known. Jane didn't tell him who she was engaged to. He nearly looked crestfallen. "Gil Grissom? I was wondering who—"
"Doug, I—" I'm sorry, she wanted to say but stopped herself.
He gave a nod and stepped away, saying, "Sara, no matter what, I'm here if you need me."
"I don't need you." And she didn't. There was only one man in her life that she needed, and it wasn't him.
Doug smiled again. It was soft, and kind, and reminded her of how and why she'd been with him in the first place. "I hope he's everything you ever wanted, Sara. I mean that."
She didn't quite believe him because she knew why he flew out to San Francisco. "I highly doubt you mean any of that. You came out here for me. You still have feelings for me. That's why you're considering the Las Vegas job offer." And that was why she couldn't let herself apologize to him. He was still in love with her.
She turned around and left him standing there, watching her leave him, again.
She got back to the hotel, took a long hot shower, ordered takeout, and then made a cup of hot tea. One sip of the tea had her missing the specialty mixture that Gil always made for her. He never told her exactly what was in it, but it was the best tea she ever had. The English Breakfast tea the hotel had was okay.
While she waited for her food, she eyed the boxes on the floor with trepidation. Going through boxes of family mementos and home movies shouldn't have caused such fear, but with her it did. Her whole family terrified her. Not wanting to dig any further into the past today, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed a number.
She wanted to call Gil back, but she couldn't talk to him. The last time they had talked, he said exactly what she'd thought he would say. He loved her, and she could take all the time she needed to find closure. He would still be there when she was done.
There were times when she could easily talk to Gil, but other times when it seemed so hard to say what was on her mind. She figured they both had a fear of being judged. She also didn't want him to try to fix anything for her. He liked to problem solve, and she didn't want to feel like a problem that he had to solve.
After a couple rings, the phone was answered. "Sanders."
He must not have looked at the caller ID before answering. "Hey, Greg."
"Sara?! Hey, what's going on? How are you?"
"Fine. Everything's fine." Why was she calling Greg Sanders again anyway? Maybe it was because over the last six years he had become her friend. She didn't have many. Letting out a breath, she rested back against the headboard of the bed and said, "You know what, I take that back. Everything's not okay."
"Grissom said you were in San Francisco visiting your mom?"
That was tomorrow. She hadn't even seen her mother yet. "I have an appointment to see her tomorrow."
Greg had to ask. "Appointment? What kind-of parent makes their child make an appointment to see them? You can't just knock on her front door?"
"No, I can't. She's, um, she's under doctor's supervision. She's schizophrenic, Greg."
Greg was silent on the other end of the phone. She thought he was going to say something like "I'm sorry" or "I didn't know". Instead, he said, "As my Papa Olaf once said, 'Å tråkke i salaten'."
"What was that?"
"I stepped in the salad, meaning, I put my foot in my mouth."
She almost laughed. It felt good to almost laugh, especially after the day she's had. "Anything new going on?" she asked after an uncomfortable silence. She really didn't know why she called. She figured she just needed to talk to someone.
"Let's see. I got a date with that new girl on Swings. Amelia."
"Isn't she a little too young for you, Greg?"
"Look who's talking. And to answer your question, no, she isn't. I'm still very much young at heart. I need someone who's just as—"
"Immature?"
"I was going to say free-spirited, but whatever." She smiled and shook her head. "As far as work goes, Grissom is teaching me all about forensic entomology. I'm supposed to start charting these bugs we collected from a crime scene when I get back to the lab. He wants me to do it all by myself and then he'll come in like a know-it-all professor ready to mark it all wrong and give me an F."
"Why is he teaching you his field of expertise?"
Greg hesitated a moment before telling her, "He didn't say really, only that, you know, he wants someone to take his place one day. When he leaves. I think he's thinking about joining you."
She stared at the beige wall in front of her as she thought about that. That didn't sound like Gil. His work was his life. "I doubt he's leaving anytime soon."
"Are you sure? I mean, if you decide to stay gone, he might. You are engaged. He loves you. Why wouldn't he—"
"Yeah, but…his life's in Vegas. His job. He doesn't want to leave. Believe me, Greg, I know. I'm sure it's more like he's wanting a student to teach, and you're the most inexperienced."
Gil would never leave Las Vegas, his work, for her. He'd wait for her to come back. If she came back. Right then, she wasn't so sure if she wanted to go back to Las Vegas and back to the world of death and killers. She was trying to let part of her life go. Her whole life had been nothing but death and killers.
She'd told Gil once that they were both saviors, both looking to save someone or something. As she continued listening to Greg ramble on about work and his life, the book he was writing, she couldn't help but think that she was trying to save someone by coming to San Francisco: herself. She felt as if she'd been drowning. For months she'd been trying to break free of the water, but it kept getting deeper, pulling her under, and she was so afraid that it'd win the fight.
"If you ever need anything, call me," Greg said once she told him she wanted to get off the phone. She was tired.
"I will. Thanks."
"Anytime. And, if it matters, I really hope you come back. Everyone here misses you."
She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she thought about the Night Shift team. "I miss you guys too."
After they hung up, she almost felt worse than before she called. Guilt really was her worst enemy, especially today. She was dreading tomorrow. It was nerve-wracking thinking about seeing her mother. Would she be angry with her? Would she forgive her? Most importantly, would she still love her? It was odd trying to understand how she felt about her now. She'd been angry for so long. Angry at the abuse, angry at the illness, angry at the death. Angry at the world. Just…angry.
She didn't want to be angry anymore. She wanted to let it go. She really hoped she could do that. She really hoped her mother could help her, because she didn't know who else could.
TBC…
Disclaimer song mentioned: "The End" by The Doors.
PS: I forgot to add that the poems from last chapter and this one, that weren't credited, are mine.