Impact
Chapter 1
Most people don't realize it, but Greg Sanders switched coffee brands about a year ago.
He still keeps his secret stash in the cabinet behind the paper towels (like we don't know to look there), but now the container is filled with ground Kobi Kona coffee. He claims it's fuller-bodied and has a bolder flavor than Blue Hawaiian.
This morning, he's watching the clock as he sips his fresh brew. Two hours left in the shift, and he's already giddy with excitement.
Another thing most people don't realize about Greg is how big a deal surprises are to him. When he was growing up, his parents used to ask him for an itemized list of what he wanted for Christmas. They'd then go through the list methodically and buy him the items. Nothing more, nothing less. There were no surprise parties on his birthday, no spur-of-the-moment trips to get ice cream cones or see a movie. His parents were planners, through-and-through.
So when it comes to surprises, no one appreciates them quite as much as Greg does. Which is why he's giddy this morning, waiting for me to walk in the door so he can surprise me with an impromptu Christmas gift.
It doesn't occur to him that I might have plans this evening, because it doesn't occur to him that I've developed a life outside of work. A real life, with a real boyfriend and a real house. It doesn't occur to him that Grissom and I might have plans to go out to dinner, or see a show, or spend hours testing out our bedsprings.
It certainly doesn't occur to him that I'm not coming back anytime soon.
o-o-o-o-o
It's funny, the things you think about in a situation like this.
Me, I'm thinking about nature. How there's a surprising amount of symmetry in it, and yet it's rare to find a perfect circle, or a completely straight line in nature.
We take straight lines for granted in the man-made world. Sheets of paper, cardboard boxes, roofing shingles, and garage doors. Glass windows, books, bathroom tiles, and train tracks. Things are so straight and smooth when we produce them.
I stare at a pile of rocks, and smile.
It's like nature understands the inherent beauty in disorder. Bumpy dirt roads and craggy cliffs. Individually designed snowflakes. Far from an assembly line, Mother Nature's production.
We're lucky it's not colder, really. December's been unseasonably warm this year. Certainly no threat of snowfall.
My grandmother used to say she could sense the onset of snow. "My bones can smell the flakes before they hit the atmosphere," she'd whisper to me. And sure enough, we'd see a winter wonderland within hours. Arthritis as a meteorological predictor. hardly a new concept, but it seemed magical at the time.
I should really see a chiropractor soon.
And a therapist, while I'm at it, because I'm going to have serious guilt issues after all this.
My eyelids blink a few times, but it feels like my brain is blinking. I ponder this for a minute, and blink my brain again. Cool. I blink it again, and dare to glance over to my right.
Shit.
It's still the same view. I can't help leaning over to vomit again, just at the sight of his bloodied face. Ten years as a CSI, seeing hundreds, probably thousands of bloodied victims, but this. this I can't handle.
o-o-o-o-o
"Anyone seen Sara?"
Greg is wandering the halls, a mischievous look on his face.
"Cath! You seen Sara?"
Catherine finishes crossing her latest case off the board, then turns around with a sigh. "I think they're still out on that case in the desert. Why, what's going on?"
"I scored two tickets to a concert tonight, and I'm gonna take her along."
"What concert?"
"Ah, well, there's the trick of it," Greg replies smugly. "See, I'm going to tell her that it's a Dead Baby Monkeyheads concert, but in actuality it's Dave Matthews."
"That'll be fun. Want to borrow my phone, find out where she is?"
"Tried. There's no service, I guess. Keep getting her voicemail recording."
"Well, I'm sure they'll be back soon," Catherine remarks, glancing at her watch. "I'm kind of surprised they're not here already. They must have run into something unexpectedly."