A/N: I posted 2 chapters. Please read chapter 13 first.

Thanks again for reading.

Part 5: Sound and Color

Chapter 14

Sunday, March 7th, 1982

Arthur tossed me the keys. "Drive," he said.

We didn't go home. Instead, I drove us across the bridge and kept going until I got to the Port of Long Beach. We had two warehouses. One on the Port of Los Angeles and the other out here in Long Beach, which was just over the bridge from Los Angeles. Further along the pier were the warehouses and shipping yards of the ports. Five minutes later we arrived at a warehouse with the company name printed across the brick wall. Monarch Coffee Company. Officially, and legally, we imported coffee.

Entering through the doors of our family business, I spotted several employees—Carlos and Jimmy—prying open a crate as we walked past. Under the sacks of coffee beans were packages of white powder. Unofficially, and quite illegally, we imported and distributed cocaine. Once the crates were clear of the drugs, they were put on trucks and taken to the warehouse one port over to pier one.

Getting to the back rooms, we were met by Nicholas who said, "I checked them. Charlie has a gun."

Charlie always had a gun. In the backroom were two men. The one who was standing had a tattoo on his right arm of a scorpion. He also had a gun under the front of his shirt. It was Anton's associate, Charlie, who the Russians had sent out to handle a situation that had arisen between the two. A shipment had gone missing.

Sitting in a chair at the table in the middle of the room was a scrawny, wiry, man with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes wearing a black suit and bright colorful tie. I'd seen him earlier that day at the motel when I met with Sara to go to the library. It was Mr. Bright Tie.

"Thanks for meeting with us, Mr. Grissom. I'm Stephan," Mr. Bright Tie said. "Stephan Sidle from San Francisco."

Arthur adjusted his tie as he walked over to the table. He draped his trench coat over the back of the seat.

"Who's he?" Stephan asked Arthur as he looked my way.

"My chauffeur," Arthur said. "Don't mind him. You set this meeting, so…What'd you want?"

Stephan glanced over at Charlie before saying, "I'm here because–"

"You're here because Charlie vouched for you. That's why you're here. What I asked is, 'What do you want?'"

Stephan shifted in the chair. "Your shipment isn't missing. It's been stolen."

"Ah, hell," Arthur said as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. His face was flustered as he started to sweat. There was a tremor in his hand. It wasn't from nerves, but the lack of alcohol.

We were a go-between of Anton in West Hollywood and Stephan's employer Neil in San Francisco. Arthur didn't know it, but there was a very good reason why Charlie had set the meeting. Nicholas had learned that Charlie had been stealing portions of our shipments for his own use and personal gain. Anton didn't even know it, and that was what was causing the problem.

Anton thought we were shorting him, but we weren't. Charlie was stealing, and his new partner was Stephan. They were trying to push us out so they could take over. Start a war; one that we would be sure to lose.

Nicholas had come to me, not Arthur, to notify me of the theft. He provided the evidence and then asked what to do about it. And that was why at two o'clock in the morning, Charlie, along with Stephan, were at our warehouse along the waterfront of Long Beach. I didn't like making decisions and running the business behind my father's back, but Arthur's drinking had become a huge problem along with his frequent absences.

Arthur pulled his handkerchief from his suit breast pocket and dabbed his face. "A new shipment's gonna cost you 60k."

Stephan shook his head. "The last one was twenty."

"Now it's sixty. Twenty for this one, twenty for the one you lost, plus fifty percent interest."

Stephan glanced up at Charlie and then asked, "Can you give us a moment to discuss this? In private."

"I'll step out, but my chauffeur stays," Arthur said.

"I said in private."

Charlie said, "He's deaf. He can't hear us."

Stephan regarded me and smiled. "So, it's true. I heard the rumors. Deaf and dumb. All he can do is watch."

I only blinked in response. I learned a long time ago that people underestimated me due to my deafness. They thought I was stupid and of little to no threat. When people underestimate you, they let their guard down. Letting you get in close. And once you got in close, that's when you could inflict the most pain. The most damage.

After a moment of consideration, Stephan nodded, saying, "Yeah, okay."

Arthur stood and glanced my way before walking out of the room. Leaving me alone with Charlie and Stephan. As they continued to converse, I watched Charlie. Charlie's attention was solely on the man seated at the table.

Charlie said to Stephan, "He's highballing you."

"Yeah," Stephan said back.

"The way they cut their powder, it's worth less. If you don't get them to lower the price—"

Stephan was getting upset. "Let me handle it."

Charlie was disappointed. "I knew he should have sent someone else or let me handle it. You're such a pushover—"

"Hey," Stephen yelled, then caught himself.

Their eyes met mine, but I didn't look away. I kept my eyes on them, head tilted down, the way it always was in a show of submission. My arms were crossed in front of me at the waist. I barely moved, like a statue. A ghost.

Stephan ignored me and said to Charlie, "I'll handle it."

Charlie glanced my way before saying, "Anton's been talking. He's wanting to expand by taking over their territory. They're only two guys. A drunk old man and his idiot deaf son. I say we kill them; tonight—"

"Look, man," Stephan said. "I'm all for us doing our own thing on the side, but murder? I'm not—"

Both men stopped talking as they looked past me. I turned and saw the door open. Standing in the doorway was Nicholas. He waved me over. I hesitated a moment, glancing between the open door and the two men, before heading towards the door. Once in the hallway, I shut the door and saw my father leaning with his back against the wall. He was coughing into a handkerchief.

I read up on alcoholism, cirrhosis of the liver, cancers, and Arthur had signs. I loved my dad, but I knew well enough that one day he'd be gone. With his drinking, that day wasn't too far away.

Straightening against the wall, Arthur stuffed the handkerchief into his suit pocket as sweat rolled down his face. /Well?/ he signed.

/They've been trying to start their own business by using our product against us. Charlie wants to kill us./

Arthur laughed. Then coughed some more. Once he settled down, he closed his eyes and said, "I miss real businessmen. The art of negotiation. Making deals over cigars and Whiskey Highballs. Nowadays, with these lowlifes, they'd rather kill ya than use their heads."

I waited for him to open his eyes. They were red, his face pale, and he had blood on his bottom lip. He was sick, but too stubborn to do or say anything about it. Reaching over, I removed the handkerchief and dabbed the blood off my dad's lip. Arthur didn't stop me. Nicholas had already left the hallway. It was just the two of us.

I signed, /I'm the one who took the shipment./

Arthur let out a breath and asked, "What?"

/Nicholas came to me a little over a month ago with proof of what they were doing. I set it up to get our own shipment stolen, forcing them here so we can confront them. The crates are in a storage unit./

"You? You set—" he pushed off the wall and studied me as if he'd never seen me before in his life. Then he laughed as he slapped my shoulder. "Look at you. Taking charge." I've never seen my dad look so proud of me before. "Okay, since this is your plan, what're you going to do about it?"

/We need to talk to Anton. Let him know that Charlie's been the one skimming from his order./

"Okay, and once we do? Then what?"

There was really only one thing to do. It had taken me years to learn how to live with the demands of this job. There was absolutely no pleasure in taking a life. None. I had learned to shut myself down, to not feel it, to not think about it, as I did what I had to do. I remembered my father's words from years ago, he'd said: 'This is the price of doing business, it's nothing personal.'

There was no one else in the world I had, no other life I knew. This life, this job, was really all I had. It was all I ever had. So, what was I going to do about it? I'd set this all up. I got Charlie and Stephan here. Why? What was the end goal? I had to save my father, myself, and the business. I had to protect it all. That was my job.

However, I didn't want it. I'd rather be lonely and isolated than to live like this for one more day longer than I had to. My father was dying. His time was over. And when I dreamt of my future, this was not it.

I did this. I intentionally put us into a zugzwang. It didn't matter the next move we made; it was a bad play. We lose no matter what.

I told my dad, /I don't want this life./ I shook my head. /We should talk to Anton. Let him buy it from us. We can walk away. Even if it leaves me broke, I don't care. I can't keep doing this./

Arthur gripped my shoulder and gave a nod. That heaviness that I'd seen earlier on his shoulders was gone. It was as if whatever my father had been carrying upon them was gone. "I am sorry, Gil." I was confused by that because he looked more relieved than apologetic. "I wish I could have been a better father to you. Offer you something other than this. The cards we're dealt in life aren't always the best hand. I did the best I could. If your mother…" He stopped and shook his head. "I just want to say…I'm proud of you. The man you are. You're not useless. I'm sorry I ever said that."

I didn't know how to take any of that. All I knew was how I felt. I loved my dad, and that meant a lot. But like with every feeling that welled up inside my chest, I pushed it aside as my mind took over. At that moment, I knew. Arthur knew as well. Even if they both survived tonight, my father was done. This was it for him. Not just physically due to his declining health, but mentally. It was too much for him.

/Bring the price down, appease them…let them walk away. I'll go to Anton myself and…/ I shrugged. /See what happens./

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Okay. You're the boss."

I opened the door as we walked back inside the room. I shut the door behind me as Arthur headed to the table and sat back down. Once again, I positioned myself next to my dad, my head lowered but my eyes stayed on Charlie. My hands rested in front of my waist, crossed at the wrists. Very relaxed and patient. Waiting and watching.

Charlie's eyes were blinking faster as sweat appeared on his forehead. His jaw tensed. Fingers flinched and then clenched. Stephan stopped being able to make eye contact with Arthur as they talked. The decision had been made before we returned to the room. There was no more talking to be done.

Charlie only wanted to do one thing. Kill, or be killed.

Charlie pulled his gun as I pulled mine. Stephan stumbled back out of the chair that fell backwards to the floor. I saw the muzzle flash before Charlie's head bent backwards along with his body as blood sprayed out the back of his head.

I watched as the blood pooled on the floor around Charlie's dead body as I holstered the gun. Stephan stood gasping, frozen in fear. Turning to Arthur, I saw him on the floor. Blood covered his chest. My heart plummeted into my stomach as I dropped to my knees and placed my hands over the gapping bullet wound. Blood pumped out of it, squeezing up through my fingers. It must have hit something vital. The heart?

My heart? The fearful pleading in my father's eyes as he grasped my shirt, pulling me close, broke it. Blood was in his mouth. I felt the staggering breath push his chest up and down before it stopped. Everything stopped.

Arthur's eyes were unblinking, and, in the orbs, I saw no life. His chest was as still as a slack tide on the water. His skin felt clammy. There was no heartbeat. The blood that was supposed to be pumping his heart was spreading across the floor. He was dead.

The entire world disappeared as I tried for over five minutes to bring life back into my father's eyes and make his heartbeat again, but it was no use. Sitting on the floor, holding him in my arms, I vaguely remembered the door opening. Carlos caught Stephan as he tried to run out the door.

My mind raced, thinking, as I tried to figure out what to do. Their eyes were on me now. Carlos and Nicholas, along with all the others. Eyes fearful and wondering.

Lifting my hands, I saw blood coating them. Blood was all over my shirt, my jeans. I was soaked in it. There was only one thing I could do. Clean up the mess I'd made. I felt numb as I stood.

~"Welcome my son…"~

First, I went to the janitorial closet and washed the blood off my hands. Then I filled the mop bucket up with a mixture of bleach water. I grabbed a box of latex gloves on the way out. Pushing the bucket out into the room, I strained the mop and handed it to Jimmy as I walked over to the table. After I tossed the box of latex gloves on the table, I pulled out a pair and slipped them on. Going back into the janitorial closet, I grabbed the box of trash bags and zip-ties.

~"Welcome to the machine…"~

I went through the dead man's pockets to empty out any personal belongings. I tossed Charlie's keys to Carlos. They all glanced at one another before Carlos turned to leave.

My vision blurred as the pain hit me in the chest like the bullet I'd used to kill Charlie. I was so sorry. There were justifications spinning in my head. He had killed my dad, and he was going to kill me. As quickly as the guilt invaded my mind, I pushed it down like I did everything else as I went numb again.

I had to think.

~"Where have you been?

It's alright we know where you've been…"~

Charlie's head was wrapped in a trash bag and zipped shut around the neck to prevent blood leakage. The shell casings, wallet, and gun went into another trash bag. Pointing at Jimmy and Juan, I waved them over as we grabbed up Charlie's body and started for the backdoor.

~"You've been in the pipeline, filling in time

Provided with toys and 'Scouting for Boys'..."~

Nicholas already opened the trunk of the BMW that Carlos was driving. After we dumped the body back into the trunk, I went back into the warehouse and grabbed my father's keys out of the trench coat and hurried out the front door. I got into the Jaguar and drove it around back. The other car was already gone.

I parked the Jag and opened the trunk before walking through the back door once again.

~"You bought a guitar to punish your ma

You didn't like school…"~

The trench coat went into the trunk along with the trash bag full of evidence. I grabbed the roll of duct tape and stuffed it in my pocket. Kneeling next to my father, an ache settled into my heart once again. The blue eyes that stared unblinking had once held a depth to them that conveyed his intellect, his humor, and now there was nothing.

There was so much that I never got to say to him. Mostly, I wanted to tell him how much I was going to miss him. He wasn't perfect, and there had been times that I had to pray for his forgiveness for the things he did to or had me do. But I still loved him. And his absence, his death, was all my fault.

~"…And you know you're nobody's fool…"~

My entire world was less-than without him in it. A part of my own soul felt missing and broken. A feeling settled inside as my world grew smaller. It felt hollow and empty as my insides burned and ached with grief. With Nicholas's help, we picked Arthur up and carried him out to the car. As we placed his body in the trunk, I felt the tears sliding down my face.

Standing in the alleyway was Jimmy and Stephan. Jimmy had a gun on Stephan. My notepad and pen were bloody as I wrote a note and handed it to Nicholas. He nodded.

Nicholas grabbed Stephan and took his keys from his pocket and left. Jimmy kept Stephan at gunpoint as we all waited. Stephan's eyes were as nervous, jerking everywhere as his body shook.

Minutes later, Nicholas arrived driving Stephan's car. I pulled out the duct tape. Stephan's eyes grew as wide as saucers as Nicholas yanked his arms behind his back. I taped his wrists and his mouth before Nicholas shoved him into the trunk.

~"So welcome to the machine…"~

Almost twenty minutes later, I stood on the pier in only my boxers as I stared down into the dark watery grave and thought about how this was going to change everything. My entire life was ahead of me, and this one mistake was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Nicholas appeared at my side with the house keys and a bag. Inside the bag was a change of clothes.

I couldn't wear the ones I had on. They had blood and gunshot residue all over them. I dressed in a pair of jeans, button-down dress shirt, and pulled my black leather jacket back on.

Behind me in the 55-gallon steel drum, were the contents of the trash bag, clothes which included my own, and the bloody latex gloves. Out of one of the cars they siphoned gas that was then poured into the drum. Nicholas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a book of matches. I watched as he ripped one out, lit it, and then tossed it into the drum. A fireball lit up the night.

As we watched it all burn, Nicholas handed me a notepad and pencil. The ones I had were in the fire. They were waiting on me to make a decision. Now with my father gone, and even though I'd been the one in charge for the past five years, they were scared. We all were. The Russians would be after us for Charlie.

Looking at me so I could read his lips, Nicholas said, "You know I'm with you, Gil. We all are. Whatever you want to do."

They all nodded. The thing about Arthur was he hired good people just trying to make a living. These weren't career criminals. These weren't dangerous men. They were men who were desperate to put food on the table, pay their bills, and nothing more. Men who could walk away.

I've known Nicholas for a long time, since we were teenagers. When most bullies liked to shove around the deaf kid, Nicholas was the bully who shoved around the bullies to protect the deaf kid. I wanted to protect him, give him a future that I no longer had. I wanted them all to be safe. Carlos, Juan, Jimmy, and especially Nicholas. He's always talked about the coffee business, wishing it was clean so he could take it over one day and run it. Nicholas had ideas, big plans for Monarch Coffee.

I knew what I had to do. I had to burn it all down to the ground. There was always a canary in this business. Someone always snitched.

Let it be me.

Nicholas spoke the words that I had written to everyone else. It was over, but at least they would get out alive. The only one that the Russians would be gunning for was me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Sorry about Arthur."

The only two cars left after everyone drove away was Stephan's Nissan Skyline and Nicholas's Buick. He was waiting for me.

I gave a nod and Nicole opened the trunk. Stephan's fearful eyes blinked up at me as I reached down and yanked him out. Stephan's face was pale and grim. An edge of the duct tape was open. He'd thrown up a few times in the trunk. I was going to have to clean that.

I had no problem with Stephan or Neil in San Francisco. Charlie was the one who'd been stealing and wanted to kill. Nicholas cut off the duct tape from his wrists and ripped the piece off his mouth. We'd only taped him up so we wouldn't have to deal with him while we dealt with everything else.

'You have a family?' I asked Stephan by showing him the note I'd written.

Pulling out his wallet, Stephan flipped it open. In the back was a picture of his family. He handed it to me. I froze when I saw the girl. She was younger, but there was no question who it was I was staring at. It was Sara. He was her father.

My eyes met his and I felt a cold hard rage fill my head. Stephan should have stayed in San Francisco. He should have been home, with his daughter, and making sure she wasn't walking alone to the library. He should have been protecting his family. And now they were in danger. The Russian mob was about to be all over the both of us.

I told you I had three things that I hated the most in the world. Number one was sexual abuse on children. Two, were men who abused their wives and children. And three, men like me.

In Stephan's case, he already had two strikes against him. I'd seen the proof of the abuse he'd inflicted on his wife and child. Top it off, Stephan was a drug dealer and thief. His third strike was that the Russian mob was going to be after him, and if they were after him then they'd be after his family. That put Sara in danger.

I had a dilemma. A question I had to ask myself. Was his family better off without him in it?

Under the orange glow of the pier lights, I wrote a note and showed it to him. 'Anton's not going to be happy. Your best move is to get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. Go back to San Francisco. Take your family.'

Stephan shook his head as he said, "Fuck you, man. Who cares about them?! It's my head I'm worried about. You think I care if the Russians find out about my wife and kid? Anton can have 'em if it means-"

I hit him as the rage exploded.

I hit him again before tripping him to the ground where I kicked him. I kicked him for myself, and for Sara, and her mother. For my father. What a piece of shit. I smelt the stench of urine as he peed his pants. He was terrified that I was going to kill him. But I wasn't.

I pocketed the picture of the family. I wrote another note and shoved it into his mouth. My mind was made up. Sara and her mother were better off without him in their lives. The note read: 'Get as far away from this city and your family as possible, because if I ever see you again, if you ever hit your wife or daughter again, I will kill you.' I meant every word.

We left Stephan withering in pain on the ground as I got into his car. Nicholas got into the Buick and followed as I left the pier.

~"Welcome my son, welcome to the machine…"~

Nicholas gave me a ride home from the motel after parking Stephan's car. I cleaned the trunk and, in the glovebox, left the picture along with some money. It would be enough for them to move on and start over. At least, I hoped.

The front porch of my father's house was dark. We never bothered to turn the light on. There was never anyone expected nor wanted.

Nicholas lit a match to light a cigarette, and before he blew the flame out, told me, "I'll make sure the word gets out that it was you."

The flame was blown into a puff of smoke and drifted off into the night. I watched it until it disappeared. That was what I wanted. Everyone else would be safe. But I had a plan. I always did. We shook hands before he walked away.

After Nicholas left, I waved down a cab and got in. I didn't want to be at the house. The cabbie asked me where to go. I could go to my sanctuary and drink out on the balcony, but I realized that I didn't want to be alone.

Pulling the napkin with Catherine's address out of the jacket pocket, I handed it to him.

~"What did you dream?

It's alright we told you what to dream…"~

The sun peeked over the palm trees and port cranes as I leaned against the window and watched as the world blurred in my vision. Words from Arthur came to mind. "In this world, people come ready with knives behind their backs." Or guns in their waistbands.

My heart was breaking all over again. The wet blurriness of the outside world filled my vision as I cried. Taking a breath, I tried to calm down. Closing my eyes, I worked to think of something else, anything else but his death. Dead eyes haunted my thoughts, my mind. It was all I saw. It never went away. How could they?

~"You dreamed of a big star

He played a mean guitar…"~

Images played through my head, the memory of my father coughing up blood. His smile as he laughed. The weight of the silence that suddenly pressed down on my shoulders was going to split me open. I could still smell all the blood on the floor, my hands, as I tried to pump life back into his body.

~"He always ate in the steak bar

He loved to drive in his Jaguar…"~

Words I read came to mind. I saw the images of the passages. It was Shakespeare. "Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break."

I couldn't voice my grief. It ached so deep inside that I thought I was going to die. It shook all the way into my soul. I was desperate to get it out and for someone to listen. The sudden realization hit all over again.

I was alone now. I had no one.

~"So welcome to the machine..."~

The cab stopped and I saw the address, the blue gate, and thought that at least for today I wouldn't be alone. After that, I didn't know.

Wednesday, March 13th, 2002

The file, transcript, and handwritten confession laid on top of the table next to the forgotten cup of coffee. Sara read it over three times and each time it seemed more surreal than the last. There had been so many thoughts, questions and emotions that she had to take a break as they all clashed together. It was hard to wrap her head around.

Trying to distance herself from it, she thought about it all like a detective would. First was her father. Stephan had been a drug dealer and had worked with some guy named Neal in San Francisco. He had also been abusive to her and her mother. On the night before she'd been taken, he was in a warehouse on the pier with a man named Charlie who worked for a Russian named Anton. Charlie and Stephan were conspiring to double-cross Grissom and his father. Charlie then decided to just kill them, like Anton wanted to do anyway, and take over their territory.

Grissom shot and killed Charlie in self-defense, but Charlie had gotten off a shot that had killed Arthur Grissom. Four men had entered a room, and only two had walked out alive: Gil Grissom and Stephan Sidle. Since Grissom had met her, her mother, then he knew about the abuse. He knew what kind of husband and father Stephan was and—

She pushed out a deep breath as she felt the tears on her face. She wiped them away. She didn't know what it was that made her cry. The truth of who her father was? The realization that if he hadn't had been at the pier, or if he hadn't left, then maybe she wouldn't have been taken the next morning. She'd been taken on a Sunday morning. Grissom even wrote in his statement that Stephan should've been with his family.

Did her father simply leave the state? Did he even try to get back to her? Could she trust Grissom's account?

The only possible way that she could see her mother offering a deal was that the story was collaborated. There were witnesses, everyone there that night, and the evidence that was found. It had to be true. Grissom had cut a deal with the D.A., he became a C.I. and then an undercover agent with the LAPD. They had to have something that proved that he'd told the truth.

Picking up the cup of cold coffee and the pile of papers on the table, she walked back inside. She emptied the cup into the sink, rinsed it out, and placed it upside down on the drying mat.

Leaning against the counter, she went over everything once again. The events, the letter Grissom had written to her. She understood his hesitation. She could've blamed him, but in doing so she would've had to blame the whole damn universe. The swirling, chaotic chain of events that led to a faithful night which affected the morning that left her vulnerable to a serial killer that no one, not even Grissom, knew presented a danger to her and her mother.

It would be wrong to blame Grissom. He hadn't known. In fact, he thought he was helping them by getting rid of the man who did present a danger to their lives. And once Grissom found out about her disappearance, he took it upon himself to find her. Whether from guilt or friendship, or both, he did something about it. He tried to right a wrong, and in doing so he had found her. He had saved her life.

His search for her, and the outcome, had helped him to move on to a better life for himself. A life where he worked undercover for the LAPD instead of working against it.

And now, here they were. What was she going to do about it? She figured it all depended on what was in the warehouse.

Five minutes later, he sent a text. 'When you're ready, I'm at the side gate. Joni is also welcomed.'

She smiled at the text. It was her choice. Go with him or end it right now. She grabbed her keys and dog leash.

Shutting the gate, she saw him get out of the car. He'd changed clothes. Earlier, he'd been wearing a black button-down and slacks but now had on a pair of jeans and grey t-shirt with the same leather driving loafers. Sunglasses covered his eyes. He opened both passenger doors. One for her, the other for Joni.

Once she had the dog clipped into the backseat, she shut the door and faced him. His face was stoic, eyes hidden, but she knew he was worried.

She told him, "I don't blame you, Grissom. It was a long time ago, and…my father made his choice. You left him alive, and he made his choice not to come back. If it's all true, then you did your best given the circumstances. I'm sorry about your dad."

His throat grew tight and red as he nodded. A small smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. He pulled out a notepad and pen from his jeans pocket and wrote something down. 'He also made his choice.'

Ever since she met him at the diner, there had been an almost instant connection. She'd felt it. There had also been a near instinctive attraction. A pull towards him that she couldn't explain. Before the results of the DNA test that cleared his name, she already knew the answer. Deep down, she knew this man was safe. She didn't know how she'd feel until she saw him again. Now that she did, she knew that it didn't matter. The past was the past.

Still, she had to say it. "I will have to know what's going on in that warehouse to be sure of this assignment. If I continue or not."

He gestured for her to get in the car. It was a little odd being with a man who couldn't speak. She figured she would have to rely on who he was, the things he did, and how she felt to determine if she could continue on or not. That's why it was important for her to see the warehouse. He kept it a secret from everyone. Catherine didn't even know about it, and even though she hadn't brought it up to her mom, she knew that Annie wasn't aware of it either.

After several long minutes of driving with the windows down and only hearing the cars out on the road, she asked when they stopped at a red light, "Why no music?"

Grissom made a swirling motion, tapped the seat, and then 'blinked' his hands. Then he smirked in amusement at her confusion. He patted his leg and then snapped his fingers before gesturing to the dog.

Putting the rapid hand movements together with the added mention of her dog, it was either due to Joni's presence that kept him from turning on the radio, or it was too much chattering going around them. Blinking hands, flickering lights, swirling lights, and thumping seats. Okay, she understood now. He did think Joni might freak out.

Less than a mile before they reached the warehouse, he pulled into a diner that also offered drive-in and carhop service. Making a U-turn, he backed in under the awning beside a menu and speaker, making sure that she would be the one to order the food. On the notepad, he jotted down his order and put, 'To-Go'.

She was surprised by the amount of food on the list. Once she placed his order, she placed her own. It took fifteen minutes during which Grissom grabbed a newspaper that'd been stuffed between his seat and the middle console and started on the crossword puzzle. He answered one and then passed it along to her.

Taking the pen and newspaper, she fiddled with the pen, tapping it on her leg, as she worked over clues. One clue was 'standard unit of frequency', she wrote the answer: hertz. She handed it back. It went on like that until their food arrived in foam containers stuffed into four bags. There was a carrier for the drinks. Three coffees and an orange juice. One coffee had two sugars and one cream, hers; one black, his; and the third was a vanilla latte, double shot of espresso.

Joni eyed the food, but she'd been trained, though she saw the temptation in her eyes as she sniffed the air. Grissom pulled out his wallet and handed her the money to pay. When the server went to hand her the change, he waved it off, shifted into drive, and pulled away.

It wasn't too long before he pulled into the last lot on District Boulevard across the street from the school. The grey-ish white, or white-ish grey warehouse appeared closed and vacant. The only other car parked there was the silver Chevy Impala. They got out and he grabbed the drinks while she grabbed the bags of food and Joni's dog leash. By the time she got to the front door that was next to the big bay garage door that remained closed, he had it propped open.

She entered into what could only be called an art studio. The art studio was a crazy, hectic mess but the artwork was very good and interesting. There were portraits, landscapes, expressionism, avant-garde, surrealism, symbolism, and abstract. He had sculptures of clay and metal. An area with a welding station and another for woodworking. The man seemed to experiment with all types of artistic expression.

Written over the inside of the garage door were words attributed to the artist Vincent Van Gogh: "There are idlers and idlers, who form a contrast. There's the one who's an idler through laziness and weakness of character, through the baseness of his nature…Then there's the other idler. The idler truly despite himself, who is gnawed inwardly by a great desire for action. Who does nothing because he finds it impossible to do anything since he's imprisoned in something, so to speak, because he doesn't have what he would need to be productive, because the inevitability of circumstances is reducing him to this point. Such a person doesn't always know himself, what he could do, but he feels by instinct, 'I'm good for something, even so! I feel I have a raison d'être! I know that I could be a quite different man! For what then could I be of use, for what could I serve? There's something within me, so what is it?!' That's an entirely different idler."

"Who's the dog and chick?"

The voice startled her. She thought they were alone. Sara turned and saw a young Asian man standing in a doorway at the far end of the studio. His black hair was cut short, and he had almond eyes. He wore a blue security uniform that resembled the kind worn by hotel or commercial building guards. There was a half-wall separating the studio from the rest of the warehouse. Grissom handed the Vanilla latte to the man.

"I'm Sara," she said as she discovered who the extra coffee was for. "This is Joni."

"Archie," he said as she approached. They shook hands before he gestured for her to follow him. "I'm his eyes in the sky along with his ears since he doesn't have any," he joked.

She crossed through the door that was shut behind her by Grissom. There was a long hallway in front of her and to the left.

Archie pointed left and said, "Kitchen, bathroom and supply room." As they started down the long narrow hallway, he pointed to the next room off the hallway and said, "The dark room. You see that red light turn on, don't open the door. Gil likes to develop his own pictures."

At the end of the hallway, they turned left as it opened up into the back of the warehouse. It was nothing like the front of the warehouse. This room was full of electronics, computer stations, and what resembled a conference room at the police station. A long table in the middle was surrounded by white boards and cork boards full of photographs, bagged evidence, newspaper clippings, and Missing Persons flyers.

Grissom took the bags of food from her, gave her a wink, and walked over to the table. He deposited the food and drinks on the table then sorted through the bags. She let Joni off the leash.

There was a white board dedicated to the case she was assigned to with photographs of all the people known to be involved in the prostitution ring and possible murders of the women. Some were marked with red 'X''s, some were circled, but all were associated and attached to one another by black lines zigzagging from a person to a place back to another person.

Sitting just inside the backdoor was a motorcycle and hanging off the handle was a helmet. She couldn't see it being Grissom's and wondered if that was Archie's ride. Running from the back of the computer station to the walls, and up along the ceiling, she spotted the wires. A group of wires led to a generator powered by propane. Another group of wires went out through the roof.

"Where do those go?" she asked pertaining to the wires.

"Everything here is off grid. We have solar panels on the roof."

"That's how you keep the lights on."

Grissom sat at a station and opened a laptop. In his hand was the cup of coffee.

"Don't mind him," Archie said. "He's always that way. All work and no play."

"How do you communicate with him?"

Archie sat down at a computer station that had four monitors, a gaming keyboard, and a nice leather chair. "I throw paper wads at his head." He then smiled. "I know sign language. We also text, even if we're in the same room. Makes life easy."

"How about when he's in the field?"

"Same. Through text. How else? In the old days, it was emails, notes passed in hallways, drop boxes, and markings on mailboxes."

"He's not a spy."

"The hell he isn't. Being undercover is all spy work, just with different names and initials assigned depending on the government agency."

Sara sat on the edge of the workstation as she asked, "How'd you start working for him?"

Archie turned in his seat, facing the monitors as he put the cup down, saying, "I don't work for him. I work with him." He started typing away on the keyboard.

"Why—"

"He found me," Archie said without looking up from the computer screen. "Orphaned Chinese boy out of Chinatown. You think anyone was looking for me? Gil caught wind of it and…found me. I was twelve; I'd already been missing for a year. It took him only three weeks to track me down."

"Where were you?"

Archie didn't answer, instead, he said, "A few months later, I was adopted by a nice white family from San Diego. I do this because somewhere out there are other missing children who are forgotten by the system. We make sure they aren't."

She got up to venture around the room. Grissom stood and grabbed a photo off the table. He pinned it up on a board that held a recent missing child flyer. An eight-year-old boy. Kayden Jones. There were photos of the parents, their house, a school, a playground, and then the parents again. He pinned up a photo of a car in a wooded area where a cabin sat. A lake and mountains were in the distance.

He grabbed a red marker and circled the parents, then wrote on the board next to the picture, 'Some missing kids aren't really missing.' He tapped the photo of the parents.

She caught his eyes and said, "You think they did something to him?"

He nodded then wrote, 'All the evidence says they're hiding something. I'm going to give all I've got to Detective Hernandez, let him make the call.'

"You work in conjunction with the police?"

'I'm a reliable anonymous source,' he wrote.

"Sounds more like an informant to me."

He smirked and wiped the board clean.

"This is what you do in between assignments?" He nodded and shrugged, like it was no big deal. She thought it was a big deal as she looked around at all the boards. "Why?"

He wrote a line from the Van Gogh quote that she'd read on the garage door, 'Such a person doesn't always know himself, what he could do, but he feels by instinct, 'I'm good for something.' I'm good for this.'

This once criminal had turned his life around and now dedicated it to finding missing children. In Los Angeles, that had to be a difficult task. Dirty homeless children used to line the streets of Hollywood Boulevard. Most runaways or orphaned, all lost and desperate. The city hadn't changed much. There were homeless encampments all over the city. Lost children seemed to grow right out of the sidewalks. Last year, there had been close to two-thousand reports of missing children alone.

"How do you determine who you search for with so many cases? Do the families pay you?"

He thought about it a moment before writing on the board, 'I don't get paid. And the case heavily relies on the circumstances. I don't do custody cases, kids who are taken by another parent over a divorce, or those who could've gone back to Mexico, or out of state, with a relative. Teenagers who got involved with gangs or drugs. It all depends. Sometimes, like with this case, Detective Hernandez reached out to me to take a closer look into it. He couldn't, so I did.'

"Does Missing Persons have your name and email tacked up on their wall?"

He smirked as he wrote, 'I think they do, actually.'

"Why keep this hidden?"

'The less people who know about us the better. We're off grid and unsanctioned. This is freelance work. Besides, I'm supposed to keep a certain persona for my undercover work. Criminals can't find out that I go around solving unsolved missing persons in my free time.'

He had a point. She smiled as she scanned all the other boards. "How many have you found?"

Archie answered that one as he said, "A lot, but..." he trailed off.

"Not all of them had happy endings?"

Grissom's face grew grim as he nodded his head. She understood their sudden sour moods. She's also found dead children. Among the photos on the board designated for the prostitution ring, she spotted a picture. It was of a girl with brown hair and hazel eyes.

"Who's this?" she asked as she grabbed the photo off the board.

Archie's voice came from behind her. "That's one of the girls we believe to be associated with the prostitution ring. Some men, and women, like them young."

She turned around and showed Grissom the picture. She asked him, "Who is she? What's her name?"

Grissom signed and Archie spoke his words, "He doesn't know her name. Only that she was at a party with a lot of rich men along with other girls and a few boys. Eight of them in total. Why?"

"This is my victim," she said. "This is the girl with the flower earrings."

TBC…

Disclaimer sound used: "Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd