Impact
Chapter 7
Grissom follows the Christmas tree signs, which lead them onto an unpaved, dusty road. As Catherine points out, there are indications that a vehicle recently traveled on the same road, and the disturbed earth gives them some hope.
Greg phones Nick to update them on the situation. Nick's had no luck scouring the immediate vicinity of Route 95, so he replies that he and the cop will meet up with them soon.
The road takes them into a rather hilly area, and for a while they sit in a charged silence while Grissom maneuvers the tight turns. Finally, unable to bear this particular combination of heightened anxiety and newfound curiosity about his supervisor's life, Greg speaks.
"So are we the first ones to find out about you and Sara?"
Grissom grunts in annoyance, but answers anyway. "Brass knows. And the sheriff. And my mother, and our neighbors-"
"So basically, we're the last ones."
"It's a touchy subject, Greg. I'm her boss. If a defense attorney finds out about it, he could use it to question our work at trial. That's why she's kept up the rent on her apartment."
"And you both live in the townhouse?" Catherine asks, throwing him a sidelong glance.
"No, we bought a house together. It's in a quiet neighborhood, big backyard."
"For the kids?" Greg cracks. When there's no response from Grissom, his eyes widen. "You guys are really planning to have children?"
Grissom doesn't say anything, just slows the car down until it comes to a complete stop on a sharp turn of the hill. His hands are shaking violently as he takes them off the wheel.
"Gil?" Catherine asks softly.
He still doesn't speak, just swallows hard and points a finger just ahead of them, where the road has crumpled away from the hillside.
o-o-o-o-o
When you're in my line of work, you think about death more than most people. And, if you're lucky enough to have someone special in your life, you might talk about it with them, too.
I remember one day, as we curled up together in bed, I asked Grissom what he thought death would be like.
"I figure. it'll feel like I'm becoming nature," he said thoughtfully.
I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. "Metaphorically? Like. being returned to the earth? Flesh feeding the living creatures?"
"No," he replied. "Becoming nature, literally. Not just being aware of all things, but actually being all things."
To be honest, I'd thought it a nonsensical answer, until this moment. The less I breath, the less pain there is, and the more I feel myself spreading out. I can't just hear Warrick's calls; I am his calls.
I am the air, and the ground, and the group of ants under the rear right tire. I am the sky and the wind, and the hot tear trailing down Grissom's cheek as he catches sight of the smashed car.
I am a sliding, sloping path down the hill. I am indecision and panic, life and death.
I am my father, and I am my mother.
The only thing I'm not is breathing.
o-o-o-o-o
"Sara!" Grissom calls, stumbling his way down the side of the hill. "Sara, can you hear me?"
Greg is quicker, sliding down nimbly and sprinting over to the car. Catherine is just behind him, and catches the sound of his curse as he looks into the car's interior.
Warrick is draped partially over the dashboard, his face bloody and swollen. "She won't wake up," he says weakly, his eyes flooding over. "She was awake and then. she. you've got to help her."
"Sara," Grissom gasps, reaching the driver's side. I can't look good, not with the way he's reacting. He feels for a pulse while I stand beside him, all spirit and soul. Hey, that's the way he always liked me.
"This is CSI Willows," Catherine shouts into her phone, her hand pressing against her forehead. "We need an ambulance here, now."
She's giving them directions while Greg paces and Grissom keeps feeling for a pulse. Between the slickness of my blood and the coolness in the air, he can't figure out if I have one, so finally he leans in through the car window, shards of glass scratching at his shirt. He cups the back of my head gently and blows into my mouth once, twice, three times, four.
He can't feel the sharp pain from the glass shards, and I can't feel the soft pressure from his lips. Neither of us can hear the sirens as they approach.