| Part two of Grissom's Demise and some rant |
[Jan. 6th, 2009|06:35 pm] |
The next morning, Gil and Sara did not speak to each other. Sara helped the kids get dressed while Gil made them breakfast. And while they ate, Gil wordlessly slipped away to call Nick Stokes.
As soon as he'd dialed Stokes' number, however, he noticed his fax machine whir to life, spinning off page after page of something he couldn't quite make out from where he stood. What he could tell was that, whatever it was, and whoever had sent it, was wasting a good color ink cartridge. He walked closer, looking down at the paper suspiciously as his phone rang for Stokes.
“Hey Griss, almost didn't recognize your number,” Nick said, his familiar Texas accent suddenly filling the speakers of Gil's phone, but Gil didn't notice. There he stood, inches from his fax, staring down, in horror, at the pages that had just come through. “Boss? Hey, Grissom! What's going on?” Nick called, wondering why he hadn't gotten a response when he answered the phone.
Gil shook his head, picking up the stack of papers from his fax machine and held his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Nick, hey, when do you guys want me to come down to the lab?” There was a note of confusion and worry to his voice. “You don't happen to have Jim's new number by chance?”
Gil made sure to take the faxes with him when he left for the lab. He tried to hug Sara, just to reassure her that everything would be okay; to reassure himself that everything would be okay, but she just shrugged him away. “I'll be home in a few hours,” he sighed, just trying to make eye contact, to get any sort of assurance from his wife that he wasn't banished permanently to the doghouse. He got none.
“Just don't do anything stupid, Gil. Not that this isn't already proof that you really are an idiot,” Sara sneered, flipping the television channels, “Luna's in the SUV waiting for you to take her to school, by the way. I figured you could this morning since it's on your way.”
Luna! His thoughts turned back to the faxes, tucked under his arm- his briefcase having long-since been turned into a tarantula habitat. As he walked out the door, one of the sheets of paper slipped from his grip, fluttered in the temporary breeze created by the hot desert air colliding with their air conditioned home, and landing neatly at Sara's feet.
For a few seconds, while Gil was still visible through the front window, Sara debated notifying him that he'd dropped a paper, but the thought crossed and left her mind quickly. Curious, she kicked it to a point where she could reach it without causing discomfort to her pregnant belly. The side that had been visible when it landed was blank.
“I shouldn't get involved,” she reasoned with herself, “I'll be a hypocrite.” But, even as she spoke, she found herself turning the paper over and examining it. On it she found what appeared to be a photocopy of a crudely-drawn picture; it took her a few minutes to figure out that it was a map of their neighborhood. Each house had a small amount of handwriting on it; most was very crude, but on theirs someone had taken the time to write nearly the equivalent of a novel. There were stats for each room, both yards, and all four family members.
“What the-?” she muttered, looking more closely at it, analyzing the handwriting. She didn't recognize it as belonging to anyone in the family. Even their young son, Warrick, had better handwriting than the crude scribblings she was staring at. She pushed that thought out of her mind, however, since ruling out Warrick as the potential author meant that someone had intimate details on her and her children.
She heard soft footsteps behind her and turned, expecting to see her son, and shrieked.
My most vivid memories are when I'm being dumped. I really could probably not tell you that much about my previous relationships other than the very beginning and the ass end of them. That is, except the one with Jonathan. I've spoken of him previously in here too. The rapist, abuser, and gentle lover all built into one. He was the first serious relationship I was ever in.
I wish I could get rid of that fact. |
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