Grissom stood alone in his office. The folded card hung loosely in his fingertips. Tears stinging behind his eyes. He could hear her voice in his head as her written words sunk in further.
Gil,
You know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired. Out in the desert under that car that night, I realized something and I haven't been able to shake it. Since my father died, I've spent my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close, toxic friends and out in the desert it occurred to me that it is time for me to burry them.
I can't do that here. I'm so sorry. No matter how hard I try to fight it off, I am left with the feeling that I have to go. I have no idea where I'm going, I just know that I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I will self-destruct. And worse, you'll be there to see it happen.
Please know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. Our life together is the only home I've ever really known. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I will miss you with every beat of my heart. I love you, Gil. I will always love you.
I'm so sorry.
Goodbye—
He braced himself against the edge of his desk. His heart was breaking, physically breaking. He could feel it crumbling in his chest. He thought about the events over the last day as they played like vignettes in his mind:
How she requested to take the Marlon case. That look in her eye that she would't back down, she needed it. She promised him she was okay. Promised him she could handle it.
Getting the heads up from Greg about her interrogation of the sister. Greg telling him again that he was worried—but he wouldn't hear it.
Watching that interrogation, how she lost her temper with Hannah, still very much a child.
Confronting her as she exited that room, her anger directed toward him now. Harsh and unforgiving. Her temper was taking a front seat in ways he hadn't seen in a long time. He hardly recognized her. "I'm worried about you." He'd said to her before she cut him, "That just makes this worse."
Seeing her walk toward him as he spoke to Hodges in the hallway. His eyes had softened as he saw her approach, but quickly changed to confused as she placed her hands on his shoulders, behind his head, and kissed him with an unbridled intensity that made him absolutely melt. When she broke the kiss, she lingered a moment to look into his eyes as if studying them, memorizing every hue and value. And what he saw in her's scared him. She wasn't herself. Her eyes harbored a level of resigned sadness he'd never seen before. They they were both full of intense emotion and void of any at the same time. After a quick squeeze of his shoulder, and a quivering smile, she left him to watch her walk way and disappear down the hallway.
He was left standing there confused and speechless next to Hodges.
He could barely breathe there was so much pain sloshing around in his chest. Then he heard two voices in the hallway just beyond his office door.
"Have you seen Sara? I need her to sign off on this case." It was Ronni talking with her supervisor, Mike Davis.
"I have not. I think she wrapped up the case she's working on for Grave though. She may have gone home for the day." There was a pause before Mike continued on, "I heard you two had issues earlier."
"Not issues, no." Ronni's voice was perky as always as she continued, "We were called out to a 225, domestic abuse complaint off Cannery Road. The wife had been stabbed with a knife in her back, it was still inside her as she spoke with us."
Grissom's face drained of all its color. He began to piece together the puzzle. To realize what Greg had meant about not being able to protect her if she wasn't on Grave. Since learning about Sara's past over three years ago, Grissom made a concerted effort to avoid putting her on cases that could spark that trauma. But once he stopped being her supervisor, he failed to realize all the ways in which he had used that position to protect her.
"So, what was the issue?"
"Sara said there was nothing we could do to help. That we'd be back for their bodies next month. On my own time I helped the wife get into a shelter. Sara seemed—pessimistic."
"Alright. Next time come to me first and we can all chat about what our role is here."
Grissom listened as the two scurried off in opposite directions. The timeline laying out in his head caused him to realize this event had happened prior to handing the Marlon West case to her and that she had chosen not to tell him. She knew he'd be keenly aware of the effect such an event would have on her—especially now. He would have pushed for her to take a day off. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. His migraine free streak folded. The sharp and intrusively painful surges rounded the corners of his head. He sat down, feeling light headed and silently he stayed there staring through the letter just breathing. By the time he decided he needed to go home, nearly an hour had passed.
He had managed to leave the lab undetected. But it wasn't until he stepped through the door to their home that it became real. He walked through the loft slowly as if he were at a crime scene, piecing together what was different from the last time he'd walked through that door. What was moved or shifted.
Her running shoes were gone. Her books from the coffee table too. A framed photo from the side table of them with Hank. Hank.
"Hank?"
No trotting, No collar jingling. As he placed his keys in the bowl on the table, he saw the note with her best attempt at legible handwriting, Sitter dropping Hank off at one.
He exhaled and continued on. Her silky robes were still in the closet. He wasn't sure why, but that gave him a great deal of comfort. His fingers lingered momentarily on the cuff of her black one. She'd been wearing it the last time they had sex.
The bed was undisturbed. But her bedside was altered. The book she'd been reading was gone. As were her reading glasses. He opened a dresser drawer to find half her clothing gone. Her duffle and suitcase left a void in the closet.
His computer chimed, breaking his concentration. He moved toward it and took note of a new email that had come through. It was from Sara.
Gil,
By now I trust Judy passed along my letter. I can't speak with you on the phone, I fear if I hear your voice I will come back. However, I did want to let you know I ended up going back in The Bay. I'll be staying with Dave and Susan for a little while until I figure out what's next for me.
I will call you when I'm ready. Please don't worry about me.
With love,
Sara
He touched his forehead, his eyes, then his own lips. He could still feel her lips on his. He shut his eyes hard when he realized that was a goodbye kiss. He touched his lips wondering if that would be the last time he would experience it. The idea of which knocked the wind out of him. But he felt a small amount of comfort by her second communication. He was grateful that she was with the Crows.
He tried to go through his post-shift routine. But being home was feeling suffocating. So he called up the sitter to extend Hank's stay and went back to the lab where he locked himself in his office and buried himself in work.
Grissom walked through the halls of the lab at a diligent pace, Brass keeping in stride. "Ecklie's been on my case to get through the monthly stats so I need a list from all the lab callouts as soon as you can." His speech was pointed and unwavering.
"You'll have it by the end of shift tomorrow."
"Thanks."
"So you've been pulling a lot of doubles this week?" Brass glanced Grissom's way. His speech denoted a question but it was meant as more of an observation as the two turned the corner.
"Yeah. It's about all I do." Grissom spoke with exhaustion as clearly prevalent in his tone as was on his face.
"Have you been in touch with Sara?" Brass took a chance to ask.
"We've talked a little." Grissom spoke honestly. He was getting tired of answer the same questions from anyone brave enough to ask him.
"So? Where's she at?"
"San Fransisco. Visiting her mother."
"No, no. I mean that's nice—" As he spoke, Brass remembered Sara's familial situation. How Grissom was her only emergency contact, dating back even to her first year in Vegas. "But I meant, where is is at emotionally? With respect to the two of you?"
Brass should have known that there were better ways to get Grissom to open up. An outright overt emotionally charged question is the last thing the detective should have utilized. But when it came to his friend, his police hat that held all the interrogation tactics and knowledge dissipated. He just spoke with him man-to-man. Even if it meant fruitless answers.
"I can't speak for her."
"So speak for yourself."
Grissom breathed in deeply, feeling as suffocated in this moment as he did when he was at home among her memories and things. "I can't talk. I really busy." He gave a final glance toward Brass before walking off. Escaping another unbearable moment.
Sara's sudden absence in the lab was quick traveling news on its own. The kiss she left him with added another level of gossip for everyone to feast on. He couldn't escape her. At home, at work. He had no safe place to hide from the heartache he couldn't bare to sit with.
"That's it for me, boss." Grissom looked up from behind his desk to see Nick in his doorway.
"Alright, have a good day." Grissom went to return his attention back to the case file he'd been reviewing.
"You know—" Nick started causing Grissom to return his attention back to him, "I'm going to head to Franks and grab breakfast. I'll probably be there for an hour or so if you'd like to join. We don't need to talk about anything specific. I just don't think it's good for a person to be alone so much." He paused, unable to read Grissom's expression, "If you come, cool. If not, that's cool."
Grissom signed. How could he possibly use work as a distraction when his colleagues were each constant reminders of her absence.
As the morning went on Grissom finished up a handful of case reviews. He took a lap around the lab's hallways to stretch his legs a bit.
"Oh hey." Catherine joined his stride down the hallway. "How are you?"
"Why?" He snapped a bit quickly.
"I can't ask how you're doing?" Catherine defended.
"I'm sorry." Grissom softened his tone and slowed his pace a touch. "I've just had a lot of, uh—" He motioned to indicate the interpersonal borage he'd experienced the past few shifts. "I've been busy." He finally added.
"Okay, well. Maybe you should take a few days off for once in your career. I mean you've got enough stored up." She paused briefly, making sure he was really listening to her. "Go after her."
"That's not what she wants." Grissom quipped back.
"And what do you want, Gil?"
"I want her to be happy." He responded with a thick layer of desperation lacing his words. "I want her to be okay."
"Then you should go after her."
"Cath—"
"You may not think that's what she wants. She may say that's not what she wants. But as a woman and as a woman who knows Sara... You should go after her."
Grissom furrowed his brows and simply shook his head. As if his hands were tied.
"Gil," She continued, using his first name again to really hone in on his attention, "What you're feeling right now, this is called heartbreak." She spoke sympathetically, knowing he was experience the depth of these emotions for the first time as a middle aged man, "It will be excruciatingly painful... until it's not." He simply nodded in understanding, "When you do realize that you should go to her, don't fight it. Okay?"
He signed and nodded and left Catherine standing there, much like he did with Brass earlier in shift. As he continued to walk he passed by Greg.
"Goodnight, Greg."
"Yeah, whatever." Greg retorted with distain.
As Grissom glanced bak at the CSI who was already far down the hall, he caught site of Hodges in the break room.
"What are you doing?" Grissom questioned.
"I was, uh, just trying to develop a board game." Hodges spoke tentatively as Grissom entered the room to get a closer look at the board and pieces spread across the table. "You get evidences, scenarios, and you try to solve diabolical murders."
"Grissom took another scan of the board. Finally. He thought. Something to reoccupy my mind. "I like games." Grissom spoke as he took a seat at the table.
"Really?" Hodges couldn't disguise his delight.
"Yeah." Grissom picked up one of the board pieces.
The next day Grissom arrived at the scene to find Warrick still had not arrived. Greg had showed up to fill his spot. Grissom was increasingly irritated with Warrick lately. He was late, distracted, unprepared. His mind was elsewhere, and Grissom had no tolerance for the sloppiness these days.
"Where's Warrick?" He sputtered as he arrived on the scene.
"I've been calling him. No answer." Catherine responded as Greg continued to snap photos of the first DB, not acknowledge his supervisors presence.
"Hey Griss, Sorry I'm late. I had some business to take care of." Warrick began apologizing profusely as he excited the SUV.
"This is your business." Grissom snapped back. "You were first up. That means you're supposed to be here first. You get to process the truck."
Grissom left him there to process the garbage truck by himself. Their paths crossed again a few hours later when Grissom decided to help Warrick process the truck that he'd towed to the lab's garage.
"Griss—about me being late earlier."
Grissom found himself irritated that Warrick kept calling him that. Sara and Warrick were the only two who regularly used the shorthand for his name. He was unsure who copied who. But it was associated with her now regardless. And each time Warrick used it, he found himself feeling more short and cross.
"You have a cellphone. Paid for by the department." Grissom cut in, "You call. You say you're running late." Warrick simply nodded in turn before Grissom added, "What has been going on with you?"
"I don't know." Warrick hung his head a big, "This whole divorce thing has taken the wind out of my sails. I used to have the team to distract be from all this but, with Sara gone now…"
Grissom grew more irritated with his favorite CSI. Using Sara's absence as an excuse for his poor performance at work. To him, of all people.
"I feel kind of disconnected." Warrick added on.
"You have your work. Don't screw that up." Grissom retorted coldly. As he spoke his words he realized he was unsure if he was talking to himself of Warrick anymore.
The rest of shift was an exhausting cascade of worsening events. Warrick had not taken Grissom's warning to heart and instead, got himself into a level of trouble that neither understood the depths of yet. Grissom stormed into the strip club where the cadet who called him said Warrick was seen.
"Pay the bill and let's go." Grissom spoke with an anger and sternness he hadn't had to use in a long time with him.
"C'mon Griss!" Warrick slurred. "Why don't you sit down and have a seat. Have a drink with us." A dancer was hovering close to Warrick. "You must need to blow off some steam with Sara gone."
No Grissom was fuming. "Do you want to get fired? Get. The. Bill."
Warrick flagged the bartender down, "I'm racking up a bill to refuse to pay. See what they do to me."
"You think they're that stupid?" Grissom nearly rolled his eyes. What had happened to his favorite CSI? Who was this stumbling idiot in his shell.
The waitress came over and handed Warrick the tab, fully paid for. "On the house."
"Well now you have to pay for it. We can't accept gifts." Grissom pulled him to standing and lead him out of the club and threw him in the back of a cab.
Back in the lab now Grissom sat at his desk and reflected on Warrick's behavior. He hadn't seen him act this recklessly since Sara joined the team originally. Was that a coincidence? He wondered. Or had Sara been keeping him in check all these years? Was Warrick's comment about the team being less then whole not actually a jab at Grissom's loss, but a revelation about the effect Sara's void was having on Warrick himself?
His cell began to ring causing Grissom to throw his head into his hands. What now.
He looked down at his phone and his whole face softened. His heart jumped into his throat.
"Hello?" He spoke softly, tentatively.
"Hi." Her voice sang through the phone. It moved him to tears.
"Sara." Her name slipped from his lips.
"Is now an okay time? I know you're probably close to wrapping shift—"
"No, no." He quickly interrupted, "I can talk."
"I'm sorry it's taken me over a week to call you. How have you been?" It was the first time he heard her voice since she left. He could barely breathe he was so glad to hear from her again.
"I'm okay."
"Pulling a lot of doubles?" She asked. Her voice remained soft, kissing his ears.
"Yeah." He admitted. "Where are you?"
"I'm still in San Fransisco. I've uh—I've gained some clarity in being away. I've been feeling a little more grounded." Her speech was slow, and words chosen with deliberation. "I miss you something awful, though."
The lump in his throat began to grow. "Me too." He managed.
"I'm going to stay out here for a while. It's been good to be around Dave and Susan. And Harry will be home for break soon." She paused, "I've been thinking of visiting with my mother. But I'm not quite ready yet."
He nodded as if she could see him, but she knew him well enough to have envisioned the very response.
"If I called you too soon, I was afraid I wouldn't really leave. It may have been the hardest decision I've ever had to make." He could hear the emotion thickly painted in her speech, "But," She paused again, unsure how to word her proposition, "But I, I'd like to have more contact now, now that I'm a bit more myself again. Would you want to—I mean, I understand if it's too hard—I know you're busy—"
"Yes." He spoke almost desperately. He'd give anything to talk to her more. The week of silence had been splitting him in pieces.
"Okay." She smiled against the phone. "Did you do this week's crossword yet?"
He exhaled a weight and leaned back in his chair. The tension in his body began to melt slowly, "I started it." He reached for the puzzle from the left of his desk.
"55 across." She directed. He glanced over it, having not yet gotten that far and thought for only a moment before smiling.
"Desidero te." He breathed into the phone. Latin for I long for you. The simple exchange re-cemented something he'd never questioned. She was the absolute perfect person for him.
They chatted for nearly an hour without much lull. He'd almost forgotten she wasn't really here.
"You're still at the lab aren't you?" She cut herself off when telling him about a particularly interesting critter she'd seen on a hike two days ago.
"Yeah."
"You should go home." She urged. But neither one wanted to hang up.
He lingered a little longer, "I suppose you're right."
"We can talk next week?"
"I'll look forward to that, darling."
There was a long silence now. Neither could cut the line. "Gil." She finally spoke, "I love you so deeply."
He smiled sadly against the phone, "Me too." He nearly whispered. "Be safe Sara."
"Bye, Gil."
The line finally went dead along with any levity he'd felt while chatting with her. It was gone now, as he looked around and felt the weight of his loneliness. He stood to leave his office, grabbing his coat and hitting the lights. He nearly bumped into Greg as he exited.
"Sorry, Greg." He looked at his watch, "What are you still doing here?"
"I'm filling in on Swing twice a week. Ecklie didn't tell you?"
Grissom shook his head.
"Well, now you know." His tone was short.
"Greg. What has gotten into you."
Greg simply rolled his eyes.
"Alright." Grissom spoke sharply, reopening the door to his office, "Let's go." He gestured for Greg to follow him which he begrudgingly did.
"I've got enough going on with Warrick, now you. What is going on here?"
"How's Sara?" Greg spoke with ice in his voice, his arms crossed.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I warned you." Greg began, "I warned you so many times. And you did absolutely nothing."
Grissom's features softened ever so slightly. He took a step back and leaned against his desk. "I see." Was all he managed.
"Why couldn't you see it. It was so clear how not okay she was. We could have helped her. You could have done something. Anything. She won't pick up my calls or return my texts. God knows where the hell she is. If she's safe. If she's okay."
"She's safe." Grissom offered, Finally looking back up and making eye contact with his young CSI. He could see the pain and sadness laying behind Greg's eyes. Similar to the look he saw in his own when in front of the mirror.
"She's safe?" He repeated in disbelief.
"She is. She's in San Fransisco."
"You've spoken to her?"
"A little." He confirmed. His voice soft and quiet.
Greg slumped into the chair opposite Grissom now. Feeling the relief of knowing that at the very least, Sara was safe.
Grissom continued, "You were right, Greg. I know that now. You tried to warn me."
"Will she come back?" Greg asked, his eyes likened to a puppy's.
"I don't know." He spoke honestly. "I'd like to think so… but…"
"Is this because of what happened when she was a kid? Or is it really all because of Natalie?"
Grissom's brows betrayed him, his eyes went wide, "You uh—you know about Sara's childhood?"
He nodded, "But she doesn't know that I know…"
"Well then, how do you?"
Greg fidgeted with his hands for a moment, deciding how to explain how he'd come across the information. "Sara was the one who filled out most of the requests for DHS to send the Dell foster kid files here… someone at their office mistook her name on the request as the name to release… They sent us our records by mistake."
Grissom's brows flickered up in surprise, "Who else saw it?"
"Just me." Greg confirmed, "I was working that angle when the file came in. I had read it before I realized it was Sara's and not a Dell kid's… It's in my locker. I didn't know what to do with it."
Grissom thought about what Greg was saying, "So you'd known all of that when you asked me to pull her back on grave?"
Greg nodded in defeat, "I pieced together that she hadn't been on a domestic violence case in years. I just knew that with whatever she was battling lately, not having us there to shield her from the obvious was dangerous. And… well… I think I was right. Roni told me about the last case they worked together…"
Grissom hung his head a bit.
"I'm sorry." Greg spoke after a long silence, "That I've been a jerk to you lately. I'm taking it out on you, but I'm just upset that Sara's not okay and I feel helpless."
Grissom smiled at Greg. Finally, someone who understood exactly what he was going through.
"Me too." He offered.
"Can I give you her file, I really don't know what to do with it."
"Please." Grissom gestured. A few moments later Greg returned and handed over the thick folder with the DHS seal stamped clearly on the front. "Thanks." He called after Greg as he left for the day.
Grissom sat behind his desk now. He glanced at the clock, he really did need to get home if he were to have any chance to rest before next shift. But as he held Sara's folder, he felt the gnawing need to open it and comb through it.
He battled himself for a moment, wondering if she would be upset if he read it. Or if she would understand. Would it be a breach of her privacy?
Eventually, he convinced himself to open it.
When he flipped the folder open, the first thing he saw was a photo of Sara clipped to the inner flap of the folder. He put on his reading glasses and leaned in to see the photo more clearly. She looked just like herself, he smiled. Her brown hair was long and all one length, large brown eyes, thin brows. But her photo was void of emotion. Not even sadness seemed to adorn her features. She was 13 here. The youngest photo of her he'd ever seen. And even with its context, it continued to make him smile.
The youngest photo he'd seen of her before this was most likely her Harvard graduation. She had a photo framed in their home with her standing next to Susan and Dave and she was holding Harry who was just a year old at the time. He always thought about that photo when he found himself daydreaming about what life would be like with kids. With her as a mother. And how she seemed so comfortable in the photo holding him. He wondered if she knew, even then, that she didn't want children.
He brought himself back from his musings to start reading the bio sheet stapled to the top of the file. The bio sheet was the great gist of what would be found in the rest of the DHS file.
He found himself reading every word carefully, even though much of the information was of no surprise to him. She'd told him so much of her story over the years now.
Sara Sidle, Ward of the State of California Effective November 10, 1983.
Age at onset of admittance: 13.
Sidle (only child) is of sound mind and has been assessed to not be a threat to herself or others. Therefore, Sidle is eligible for placement in foster homes with multiple children.
Case Background:
Sara Sidle (13) has become a Ward of the State of California on November 10, 1983 following the domestic disturbance at her residence of 4628 Canfield Road. Police Report available in supplement 3A.
The People Vs. Laura Sidle: Guilty on the count of Murder in the first degree.
Bio:
Sara Sidle (13) becomes a Ward of the State of California on the 10th of November 1983 following the stabbing and resulting death of Father, Richard Sidle. Mother, Laura Sidle, charged and found guilty of Murder in the first degree with an insanity defense. Court appointment psychological evaluation diagnosed Schizophrenia.
This fatal domestic disturbance was the eight such call in 15 years to this address. Previous calls included physical harm to Laura and Sara on separate occasions (see Supplement 2B for list of call outs). Most notably, Sara's hospitalizations during uniform callouts consisted of a broken wrist, concussions, a dislocated shoulder.
November 10th 1983 incident add's two broken ribs, stab wounds and a broken left wrist to the list.
Sara Sidle presents coherent and fully cooperative (Witness statement available in Supplement 2A).
Grissom flipped through to Supplement 2A. The statement she had given in the aftermath of her father's death.
I had been up for an hour or so when I heard my father's voice from down the hall. He was yelling. I heard an altercation, slamming and banging and crashing. I grabbed by book bag to go to school early to avoid the conflict. When I left my bedroom, I looked down the call to see my parents bedroom door was cracked open. There was a silence now. And I saw something spilled on their bedroom floor. I walked down the hall toward their room. That's when I saw my father laying on the floor. He was lifeless. Blood was everywhere. Pooling around him. On the walls. I didn't see my mother.
I clutched my book bag and ran downstairs, grabbed the house phone and called the police from inside the closet. I wasn't sure if someone else was in the house.
When my mother found me in the closet, she was holding a large kitchen knife. It had blood dripping off of it. There was splatter on her clothing, her hands, her arms. She stabbed me three times before the police showed up and pulled her off of me and out of the closet.
The CSI who collected her statement while at the hospital had signed the document. David R. Crow, SF CSI
Grissom closed his eyes hard finding the words breaking his heart all over again. He flipped through the folder again to see a list of all the foster homes she'd been subsequently shuffled around to. And then, a letter fell out of the file. He picked it up
Petition for Adoption
Grissom looked over the document to find that Dave had tried on two different occasions to adopt Sara out of the foster care system. The first attempt listed him as a single entity. The second petition listed Susan as well. He wondered if the two had gotten married during that time. There was no denial of adoption from the court in the folder. So Grissom surmised that Sara had gotten herself out of the system before the slow churn of bureaucracy allowed the Crows to.
He glanced over the list of foster home's she'd been bounced around in, the psych eval of her mother, the letters of character reference. By the time he finished combing through the file, the next shift was getting ready to start. He'd never made it home.