A/N: First, Thank you for reading! Second, my whole entire heart goes out to Los Angeles. I hope with this story being set in L.A. that I do the city justice.

Also, I feel like I might need to explain this story a little bit. It's a spin on CSI that is heavily influenced by not only neo-noir, like Drive (for 1982) and True Detective (for 2002), but cyberpunk elements as well, like Blade Runner. Cyberpunk stories are usually science fiction and examine the impact of technology, drug culture, and the sexual revolution in a dystopian future. With this story, I decided to ground those concepts in reality instead of sci-fi. Every time I write a new story I want to use it to explore different genres; it's one of the reasons why I always write AU. I hope I'm doing a good job. All I know is that it's a lot of fun to write.

I do truly appreciate all the love, comments, reviews, and those who favorite and follow. Thanks again.

Part 3: In The Cold I'm Standing

Chapter 9

Wednesday, March 10, 1982

My feet pounded over the concrete sidewalk. With each step, I knew I was running out of time. Chest heaving in and out as I spotted the black Supra on the corner. I made sure to park it away from the club with a quick exit. Nothing to block my getaway. The moment Anton told me to run, and keep running or else I was dead, I knew what I had to do. I wouldn't be able to keep running. I couldn't live like that. But I had a plan.

By the time I reached the car, my lungs were burning as sweat coated my face. I was in panic mode. Getting the driver's door open, I dropped in, started the engine, and shifted gears.

~"I hear a voice, from ten thousand miles away

I have no choice, our love was meant to stay…"~

As the tires spun, I saw headlights of another car in the rearview. In the side mirror, I saw Anton's men climbing into the red Nissan Skyline. The Toyota Supra shot up the avenue as I hit third gear. I sped past tree lined streets, bright lights from the light posts, headlights and red brake lights, as I weaved in and out of traffic.

One hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, my body, like the car, was a well-oiled machine. Foot off the gas, float to the left, tap the clutch, shift, hit the gas, float right, clutch, shift, gas. A steady rhythm as I dodged stationary objects, moving cars, and bullets of on-coming traffic.

~"With or without, it's easy for me, without a doubt

As I spend my days, searching for ways

Love is on the go, so is radio…"~

I knew I had to make it to La Cienega Boulevard, which would be busy, but with multiple lanes I'd have better maneuvering ability. The map of the city was in my head, and I knew these streets well. A route was laid out before me as I followed the streetlights like the guiding stars in the sky.

~"Russian radio, how will we ever believe you

Radio, now that we've learned to deceive you…"~

Up ahead the light turned red, I hit the gas and laid on the horn. Cars were braking at the intersection as the Supra sped through. The Skyline weaved behind me, barely missing the Mazda I cleared in the intersection. Its lights blinded me in the mirrors as it weaved from left to right until it got close enough to tap the bumper.

~"There is a sound, it's underground

Moving out for miles around

There is a sound, it's underground

Let's move it out boys…"~

I dodged a Buick who braked to make a left turn and hit fourth gear to gain ground on the car behind me. Pushing out a deep breath, I saw the left turn coming up. My hand gripped the steering wheel, the gear shift, as my heart thumped in my chest.

~"I hear a voice, from one hundred miles away

Getting so much closer, everyday…"~

I downshifted to second and made the wide turn. The car nearly came up on two wheels as I spun into the intersection and up onto the sidewalk. Slamming the gear back, I hit the gas, shifted into fifth and rocketed up La Cienega.

~"With or without, it's easy for me, without a doubt

As I spend my days, searching for ways

Love is on the go, so is radio…"~

I was flying through the tree lined lanes of the boulevard. With the moon in front of me like a beacon, I easily flowed between the red taillights as headlights faded into the distance. I didn't see the red Skyline in the rearview or the side mirrors.

~"Russian radio, how will we ever believe you

Radio, now that we've learned to deceive you…"~

As I approached La Tijera, I felt a bump that vibrated up into my chest. The Skyline was back. Fuck. I saw the right turn but didn't downshift as I kept the car in fifth gear. Taking my foot off the gas as I hit the wide right and drifted, letting the car's momentum do its thing as I kept in control of the steering wheel. Never over-correcting, I turned the wheel left to straighten it and hit the gas.

~"I feel our love, is only a smile away

Getting so much closer to me every day…"~

I was getting close. Down the long stretch of the boulevard, I knew what was coming up. The wide right turn before the sharp ninety degree left. My stomach tensed as I pushed out a deep breath. Once I hit Sepulveda, hopefully I'd be home free. That left turn was a bitch. After that, a right turn into the airport where I could lose them for sure…if they didn't crash their car.

~"With or without, it's easy for us, without a doubt

As we spend our days, searching for ways…"~

Under a sea of lights, palm trees, and the moon high in the sky, I took the wide right and held my breath. Clutch, downshift, and pulled the parking brake as I yanked the wheel left. The car spun, wheels came off the ground and I prayed I didn't flip.

~"Love is on the go, so is radio…"~

The car stalled and dropped back to the ground and stopped. I let out a breath as I dropped the brake, tapped the clutch and shifted, and hit the gas. The car didn't move for a second as the tires spun before it shot up the street. God, I really loved this car. Catherine would've killed me if I'd wrecked it.

~"There's a sound, underground…"~

I made the right towards the departures, Terminal 1. The car slowed to a stop at the end of a row of cars parked in the lower-level parking garage. I made sure to back into the parking spot so I wouldn't need to back out. Sitting for a moment, I fought to control my breathing as I turned the car off.

~"There is a sound, undergro—"~

Getting out of the car, I pocketed the keys and started for the stairwell when I spotted the Skyline shooting through the parking garage. I took off running, my legs taking me as fast as they could to the 'stairwell' sign at the far end of the garage. I felt the heat of the car on my legs as I sprinted up. I spotted the mounted circular mirrors on the pillars and the view of the night sky through the openings in the walls. The LAX parking garage had open stairwells.

A couple floors up I darted across to the far end of the garage. There was another stairwell at the other end. They'd be looking for me, probably both on foot and in the car. Searching the floor, I ducked behind a car as I spotted movement. Lying on my stomach, I saw the black boots and legs of Anton's men. Six legs in total. Three men, and they were splitting up. I pushed up off the ground and kept low as I maneuvered around the cars towards the opposite end of the garage. So far, I was ahead of them, I planned to keep it that way.

Getting to the open stairwell, I had two options. Go up to the top floor, or down. I bet the car with the driver was down. There was a railing running along the ledge of a wall beside the stairs. Beyond the railing was air. At the bottom was the ground. Instant death if I fell, or at least broken ankles.

Scaling the railing, I dropped down each rung until I grasped the edge of the concrete, my shoes slipping on the wall until it touched a small indentation running along the length of the concrete wall. And there I waited. Arms bracing, fingers gripping and back sweating as I saw through the huge circular reflective mirror mounted in the corner, Anton's men running towards the stairwell. They had guns.

My chest heaved as I fought for breath. As they neared my position, Catherine's words entered my head. She said that everything made a sound. My breathing that pushed out and wheezed in was stifled as I caught my breath by burying my mouth into the sleeve of my jacket. Sweat dripped off my face as the boots raced past my fingers that held tightly on for dear life. Two went up and one went down. Once they were gone, I climbed up the railing and headed back the way I came.

I darted back across the floor and nearly jumped down the stairs. Getting to the ground floor where I parked the car, I didn't see the Skyline. Taking a breath, I sprinted as fast as I could and slid across the hood of the Supra to the driver's side, got in, and started the engine. I shifted into first and eased the car out of the garage. Hopefully the assholes would think I left the state, took a flight to anywhere but here.

That meant I could never go home again.

Saturday, March 9th, 2002

Sara sat in her dad's chair, at his desk in his study in their house. He was at work, and her mom was asleep. She'd let herself in. It was a waiting game now and she didn't want to wait at the department. She wanted to be here, surrounded by her family, when the call came in. She stared at the framed pictures that littered the desk. Her dad was a very sentimental guy. Picking up a frame, she touched the face of her dad and then her mom as the tears stung her eyes.

~"I'm trying not to stare, it's too late

The blanket's over there, if you like…"~

She was taken as a child by a monster. Her mom murdered, father missing, and…Did she ever have time to grieve for her lost parents? Her lost childhood and self? Had they comforted her in times of anguish and turmoil? There was a memory in her head. When she first moved to their house, she would arrange the stuffed animals, all in a line, in front of her door. It lasted for about the first year. She also never spoke a word.

Jim had told her that several times over the years. He made it into a joke whenever she ragged him about something. 'Remember the time you were eleven and never spoke for an entire year? I miss those days.' She would laugh at his teasing.

~"I'm broken and I'm colder than hell

I should've said I'd not come back here…"~

Then he said one day she spoke, and her new thing was trying to save every stuffed animal. He'd told her it was like she had tried to save all of them because she couldn't save her parents. That had nearly broken her, but it had also propelled her in the direction of public service. She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to save as many people as she could, anyway she could. She couldn't let the victims go.

At night, after sitting out on her balcony to just breathe, she'd go to her bedroom, lie down in bed and turn on the police scanner. Listening to it put her to sleep and, in her sleep, she dreamt of saving everyone. And when she couldn't, she'd wake up startled, gasping, as tears broke.

~"Your breakfast will get cold

I really have to go…"~

In her dreams, in order to save people, she also had to kill people. Killing someone, even justified in the eyes of the law, was always the last resort, never the first option, but she ended up having to kill in order to save lives. At the end of the day, that was what mattered. Those lives saved were what counted. At least, that was what she had to tell herself to wake up in the morning in order to clip her badge and gun to her belt and walk outside to do her job.

The tears broke. Reaching up, she wiped them away as she put the framed photo down. Her eyes traveled over the pictures of the last nineteen years of her life. Framed were moments frozen in time since she became their daughter. Christmases and birthdays, graduations and vacations, all of them looking so happy and normal. A regular loving family.

~"It's easier to lie and be safe

Time and time again I'm half stalled…"~

She hated how much it hurt to think about her biological parents. Hated the pain it brought her and the sadness and the anger. A part of her didn't want to feel that pain in order to spare her the grief. Then she thought, she never wanted to go through the rest of her life not thinking about her real parents. That would be the worst thing she could do. Yet, she held no memories. Not even a photograph.

~"One giant leap of faith is easy

When everyone you ask is so sure…"~

They were just…blank faces in a sea of darkness. A hazy dream, an unsettled feeling, and a regret. All her memories were of Jim and Annie. All the talks they had, and their laughter, and the way her dad hummed when he cooked breakfast, or the way Annie looked in her big floppy hat when she tended to her garden.

She grabbed the glass of wine that was on desk and took a drink. Her mind went back to Grissom. He knew her, knew her past, and he was full of regret and guilt. Though the words she heard in that song he played for her weren't his words, or his voice, they were his thoughts. His feelings. And it pained her to think that he'd been living this whole time which such pain attributed to something that'd happened to her, in her past, that she had no memory of. That he'd suffered due to lies, accusations, and slander. His note to her was in her pocket. Those words cut across her heart like a knife.

She nearly jumped at seeing her mom standing in the doorway. "Fuck," she gasped as she placed a hand to her chest. "You scared the hell out of me."

~"Just give a second thought

What if we don't get caught?..."~

Annie gave her a soft smile as she entered the room. "I didn't want to interrupt," she said as she walked into the room. "What were you thinking about?"

She wanted to lie as she took a drink of the wine, but she never wanted to lie to her mom. "Just everything. This case, my life…I'm waiting on Greg to call with the DNA results."

She'd noticed that her parents' relationship had grown tense over the last couple days ever since this case started. Something was going on between them that she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever it was, it'd put a wedge between the two. She wanted to ask about it but knew it wasn't her place. It was between the two of them, and they'd work it out. They always did.

~"Just say you love me now

And forget this whole row…"~

Her mom looked worn down. The past days had driven her to many sleepless nights, she was sure of it. She was worried about her. Annie always couldn't sleep when it came to her. There were plenty of times over the years when she arrived home late at night after a date only to find Annie sitting up waiting. Jim was a night owl, he preferred nights to days. That meant her mom had to deal with her sneaking into the house past curfew.

She sat down on the couch along the wall. Sara got up to sit beside her. Pulling her feet up under her, Annie grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and they both snuggled under it. She took a sip of the wine, and they waited together.

~"Just save your energy

For making up with me."~

Annie was lost in a memory as she told her, "Before you came to us, I was pregnant."

Sara stared at her mom and held her breath. How come she was just learning this now? And wait, what? "I thought you couldn't?"

Annie shook her head, saying, "I was so overjoyed to be a mother. We poured over names for weeks. Jim came up with Ellie for a girl. We both fell in love with that name." She looked over at her as she took her hand and held onto it. "It wasn't meant to be."

She felt the tears break and wiped them away. "I'm sorry."

Annie smiled slightly and said, "I shut down after that. Your dad, he, uh, he did everything he could to try to pull me out of the darkness I slipped into. We were in a bad place in our marriage. We never told you because the day you came into our lives…We didn't save you, Sara. You saved us."

She put the glass down and pulled her into a hug as tears flowed from her eyes. It was hard to breathe; to even think. All she knew was that she did love them.

"I just don't want you to forget that."

"I won't. No matter what, I love you." She loved her mom. She loved her dad. They were her parents. They held onto each other until the cell phone rang. Answering it, Sara said, "Greg, what's the verdict?"

"Negative," he answered. "It's not Grissom's DNA."

She let out a breath of relief before that old feeling of disappointment. Relief it wasn't Grissom but disappointed that their last lead was a dead end. "Good work."

"Don't hang up yet. A few more things. I've already submitted my report but never got to tell you in person. The hair found in the trash bag is a positive match to the hair DNA found in your dad's case. XX. Female."

"What's the other thing?"

"So, I ran Grissom's DNA through CODIS and found another case from 1982, a homicide, but it's sealed. There's not much I can tell you. I'm not sure if it's relevant or not."

"Thanks, Greg," she said before hanging up. Telling Annie, she said, "Grissom's innocent. He's not a match to the semen found in the original case."

Annie nodded. There was no surprise or disbelief, almost like she was expecting the results.

"Grissom's DNA was a match, however, to a homicide case. 1982–"

"What the hell is Greg doing running his DNA through CODIS?"

"I asked him to," she said. "He was only arrested once, so…What aren't you telling me?"

Annie removed the blanket and stood, saying, "There's a lot I'm not at liberty to say. Just know that I'm not only your mom, but boss, and I'll always do what I can to protect you."

"Is it me you're protecting, or yourself?"

Annie stood over her and said, "We're not having this talk, not tonight. Get some sleep. You can stay here or go home. Your choice."

She chose to stay. Upstairs, her old bedroom had been turned into a guest room. She laid awake, staring at the ceiling, as the darkness crept into her vision. In the back of her mind, she heard a little girl screaming.

Sunday, March 10th, 2002

It began as any other day. She went for a run, this time around her parents' neighborhood of Walnut Park. A suburb of palm tree lined streets and bungalows. As pink clouds mixed with blue sky, she ran past streets with names like Oak, Olive, Hope, Grand and Flower. When she got to Walnut Street, she turned around to head back. Getting to the mediterranean style beige colored bungalow with two palms in the front, a patch of green grass with garden fencing wrapping around the perimeter and trimmed bushes, she went through the gate that stretched across the driveway.

Past the gate were potted plants, an ivy wall, the garage, and backyard with a flower garden. There were many around the neighborhood who traded in the green grass for concrete slabs and pools, but not Annie. She had to have her garden. Through the back door, she entered the kitchen and saw Annie at the sink, staring out the window to her garden. She was drinking a cup of coffee and ready for the day.

"Do you and dad ever see each other anymore?" she asked as she grabbed a cup out of the cabinet.

"Plenty. We have lunch together. Have a standing dinner invitation every evening at Musso and Frank…Sit through meetings together, and we have our days off. Vacations. Just because you're with someone doesn't mean you have to spend every waking moment with them. We know how to connect when it matters." Her cell rang. She grabbed it and said, "Phone calls," before flipping it open to answer. "Hey, we were just talking about you," she said into the phone. "Sara's here."

As her parents talked, she poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a banana to go out onto the back patio to eat. It was a beautiful morning.

Before she got the back door open, Annie called out, "Sara." Stopping, hand on the door, she turned to face her mom as she said, "You have a ten o'clock with the Chief today."

"The Chief? Today? It's Sunday."

Annie only said, "Bureaucracy doesn't stop of Sundays, you know that. Hey," she said as she leaned on the counter. "Let's do brunch. After your meeting with the Chief, come by my office."

"Okay," she said as she pushed open the door and went outside, trying not to be too worried.

It could be for a number of reasons that Chief Irvin wanted to speak with her. The last time they spoke was at her graduation ceremony. It was Sunday. Usually, she and Warrick rotated who went into the office and who stayed home. She didn't do much yesterday. Warrick dropped her off at home after the drive with Grissom and then took the envelope to the crime lab for Greg to process, which took all day due to backup. So, she agreed to go in today, at least for a few hours.

An hour later, she strolled through the Homicide Division with a cup of coffee in hand. Warrick was there, hanging over a cubicle wall and talking basketball with a couple other detectives. Sanchez was handing him a pair of tickets. She caught the words "Lakers" and "Knicks" and "tonight" as she neared her desk.

Teasing Warrick, she said, "Ah, now I know why you came in today. Sanchez offered a bribe."

"One I'm willing to take, any day. Shaq, Kobe. It's the year of the Dynasty," he said.

On top of the desk, she spotted a packaged envelope with her name on it. There was no return or forwarding address, no stamps. Just her name. "Warrick," she asked as she sat her cup down to pick up the envelope. "What's this?"

Warrick craned his head around to look, saying, "That was there when I got in. Figured you requested something."

"I didn't," she said as she used a letter opener to slice through the package. Sitting down, she removed the old journal and note. The note read, 'This should help.'

~"Something is coming now…"~

Holding the book in her hands, she eyed the black words. 'The Next to Nothing Book'. At the bottom, with some words underlined by a blue pen, was a message: 'For: Poets, cooks, travelers, writers, diarists, students, comedians, grandparents, decorators, kids, tourists, doodlers, secretaries, list-makers, forgetters, gift-givers, brides, businesswoman, businessmen, artists, sketchers, minimalists, and all of us who've ever wanted to do a book.'

"That's a blast from the past," Warrick said as he sat down beside her. "I haven't seen one of those since the 80s."

Opening it, she saw the handwritten note on the first page: 'Happy Birthday, Sara, I hope you like it. Now you can write your own story. Love, mom.' It was dated 9/16/1981. Her birthday. Sara. Was…Was this her journal?

With a shaky hand, she turned the page. There were diary entries along with drawings, pages full of stickers and stamps, and various messages from friends. Several kids, all on February 3rd, 1981, wrote messages. John wrote, 'Good luck in L.A.! I'll miss you.' Emily wrote, 'Here's my number, don't forget to call and write. We can be pen-pals.' and a teacher, Miss Miller said, 'I've loved having you in my class. San Francisco just won't be the same with you. Good luck in Los Angeles. Keep reading!'

The diary entries were sporadic, littered between the drawings, stickers, and thoughts like 'Should I make this a stamp book?'. She smiled. That was random. Once she got to the end of February, the diary journals changed.

She read: 'We're in L.A. now. The motel we got is called La Vista and it only has one bed. I have to sleep on the floor. It smells funny. Best part is a library not too far away. If mom lets me, I'm going to walk there every Saturday to read. Hoping she says yes!' The next one read, 'I met a friend!'

~"Something is coming now…"~

She didn't read the rest of the message as she saw the glued piece of torn paper attached to the entry. On it was a handwritten note. 'Call me Gil.' She nearly dropped the book as she stared at the words. This was hers. She was Sara, and that's Grissom's note.

Then she came upon Saturday, March 6th. 'Today is our day. I want it to stay that way for as long as it can. Saturdays are the best days because of my friend. The only peace and quiet I'll get all week is when I'm with him at the library.' She read about the dream before, 'He reminds me of Jean Valjean, from the book Les Misérables. I just finished it. Valjean was just trying to live a normal life, but a normal life wasn't for him. When I think of Gil, I think of Valjean and what had been written on his gravestone: Quoique le sort fût pour lui bien étrange, Il vivait.'

She said, "Although his fate was very strange, he lived."

"What?" Warrick asked as he looked up from his casefile.

"Les Misérables," she answered.

She went back to reading as she turned the page. It went from happy, to horrible.

On Monday: 'I don't know where I am. I'm so scared. The bathroom door is locked and it smells bad. I don't know what to do. He told me that he was my dad now. Where's my dad? Where's my mom? I just want to go home. Flower won't let me do anything alone. She tried taking my book but I got it away from her. She said I won't need it now. He took her into the other room and now I'm alone.'

On Tuesday the fear turned to horrid desperation: 'I hate him! I hate him! I screamed all night until my throat went raw. I can't get out. He hit me when I tried to run away. He told me he wouldn't feed me until I did as he says. He touched her. Flower. He hurt her really bad. It's no wonder she's so quiet and still. She's also mean to me when he's gone. She tore up my book. I just want to leave. Go home. Why did this happen to me?! What'd I do? Where's my mom? Mommy where are you? Daddy, please! Help me!'

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned the page. Paperclipped to the last journal entry were two photographs. The first was a black-and-white photo of her as a kid. She was giving the peace sign as she stood in front of a mural of Bob Marley. The other one was a black-and-white still of her entering the police department a day ago.

Twenty years to the day, she'd written…

~"Something is coming now…"~

Wednesday, March 10th, 1982

Journal Entry:

Valjean, please, you're the only friend I have left! I know you're out there! He said he killed my mom. She's dead. I don't know what to do. I am so scared. He calls me Flower, says we're all his flowers. He's crazy! I have to be a good girl or else he gets mad. He hit me that last time. We have to sleep on this stupid stinky mattress on the floor in the bathroom. I just want to go home! I don't want to be here anymore!

Please, please, Valjean, find me.

~"Something is coming now…"~

There were lights blinking, all the colors of the rainbow spinning, circling the floor, tables, and chairs. A vibration rattled my teeth, thumped my chest, and tingled my palm as it rested on top of the table. In front of me, spread out over the surface, were pictures. All the photographs I had taken while waiting for Sara in the parking lot of the La Vista Motel.

I picked up the beer and took a drink, felt the condensation on my hand as a drip landed on a photo. I wiped the water away as I stared down into her eyes. She was so young, such an innocent kid, and something very bad happened. I couldn't let it go.

Why should I even care? We spent a grand total of eight hours together over the course of four days. Every Saturday for a month. I barely knew her. She wasn't my child. The police were investigating it and they'd find something or they wouldn't. My bet was they wouldn't.

Chaos Theory. A stranger took her. It wasn't her dead mother or her missing father. The police would be stalled with nowhere to go. Seemingly unrelated events conspired to the kidnapping of Sara Sidle. It'd be an unsolved case, sitting in the back of Detective Kramer's drawer, and I would never get the chance to apologize. Was my own guilt the culprit to my longing to find her?

I picked up a photo and stared at it. The brown 1982 Chevy Impala. There was a little girl in the front passenger seat. She looked…odd. Neither happy nor sad. Blank faced. No emotion at all.

Mr. Red Shirt. Curly, wavy, hair like how mine would get if I didn't keep it cut. Glasses, not thick, but thin. There was something about his eyes that I didn't like. There was a saying that the eyes were the windows to the soul. "Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely…" Mr. Red Shirt's was empty inside, soulless.

Taking a sip of beer, I saw Catherine on stage. She was dancing in time to the flashing, circling lights. Bra-less and shaking her barely clothed ass in the faces of men. Men who sat and stared, gawked, as they tossed money at her like she was some…thing, instead of a person. A beautiful woman with hopes and dreams. I never understood the monetary value put on sex or nudity, but people loved to pay for it.

I would never judge Catherine for doing it. Sometimes life dealt you a hand that had strings attached before you were ever born. You become trapped in the invisible hand that puppeted your life. Due to circumstances, as well as greed and the sinful nature of man, people had to do things they never thought they'd do. Bills had to be paid somehow.

I should tell her. Tell her the one who distributed her bag of cocaine with the butterfly twist-tie was me. That my invisible hand stretched far and wide across the state, all the way to the Russians in West Hollywood up to the hippies in San Francisco, and out to the mobster casino owners in the deserts of Las Vegas. The business that my father started and that I was finishing, reached out and touched her, and now it owned her.

I was so damn sorry.

This was nothing I wanted. The cards I'd been dealt in life were beyond my control. They'd been handed to me before I was born. My parents, their genetics, had all conspired against me from birth. Around my neck I felt the chain that held the pendant that my mother had given me long ago. With its weight, I felt her love and protection. The words she told me before she died ran through my head and I knew that all these twisting, twirling bright colors of disillusionment that hid this dark and bleak world was not going to lie to me, nor break me.

My unconquerable will has studied revenge, my blood boiled in hate, and I had the courage to never submit or yield. I knew that in time, I would make this right. That the invisible strings that made me dance in these pits would be cut so I could go through and out into the sunlight of a new day.

It was going to leave me out in the cold, but I was okay with that. I was already there. It had started with a handshake in that fire red night club in Las Vegas that led to a confrontation under the cold blue lights of a Russian dance hall, and it was going to end with them. Sara and Mr. Red Shirt.

I would find her. I'd get my forgiveness. God would hear my unspoken penance.

TBC…

Disclaimer songs used: "Russian Radio" by Red Flag, "Grazed Knees" by Snow Patrol, and "In the Cold I'm Standing," by M83.