Impact

Chapter 9

Warrick's sedation doesn't last long. All too soon he's waving goodbye, and I'm standing by myself again. I start wandering through the hospital, wondering when my body's going to get here.

I hate hospitals. Always have. Especially the smell - that stale, sour combination of antibiotics and soiled laundry.

So I stick to the ER waiting room, settling into an empty chair. Greg and Warrick's wife Tina are in here too, filling out paperwork together. They speak in hushed tones, which makes no sense since they're the only ones in the room.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

Greg and Tina don't react to the voice, and when I look up, there's a young woman standing in front of me, staring at me intently.

"Are. are you talking to me?"

She sits down next to me, smiling pleasantly. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Now that she mentions it, she does look familiar. But I can't place her. "I'm sorry, I don't."

"You worked my case a few years back," she says. "A gang member tried to kill me. Left me in a vegetative state."

My eyes widen as I catch sight of her Saint Catherine pendant. "Oh my god. You're Pamela Adler."

"See that? Your memory's not so bad after all," she laughs. "And call me Pam, everyone does."

"It's nice to meet you, Pam," I reply, smiling back. "I'm Sara."

"What are you doing here?"

"Car accident."

"Ugh," Pam groans in sympathy. "Those are brutal. You met Jenna yet?"

"Jenna? No."

"Come on," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "I'll introduce you around."

o-o-o-o-o

They're gathered in a deserted lounge on the fourth floor. Two of the guys are playing poker, while a man and two women watch General Hospital on the mounted television set.

"Everyone, this is Sara," Pam calls, gesturing to me at her side. "Car accident early this morning."

The others look up at me with interest. One of the poker players lays his cards down, reaching out to shake my hand. "Garrett," he says warmly. "Kidney transplant."

His fellow gambler nods and smiles at me. "Pete, accidental drug overdose."

"Jenna," one of the women calls. "Car crash, two days ago."

"I'm Mary," the other woman says. "Suicide attempt."

"Jonathan," the man waves. "Mugged outside a casino."

"It's. nice to meet you all," I reply, feeling a little overwhelmed. "And, um. sorry, Mary. About the suicide thing."

"Nah, it's fine," she says cheerfully. "Just a cry for help. I have a much better shot than Jenna."

"I've got massive internal bleeding," Jenna nods. "It's pretty ugly. Want to go look at my body?"

"Uh, no, that's... that's okay."

"Suit yourself!"

Pam motions toward Pete. "He's in and out of this place even more than I am."

"Why are you here?" I ask her.

"Bedsores are a bitch," she sighs. "Do you watch GH?"

"No, not really."

"You totally should, it's a great show. I mean, if you're looking for something to do later. Or you can stop by my room - 107. My husband comes in after work and reads the editorials aloud." She pauses, looking nostalgic. "I always loved the editorials."

The others have returned to their poker playing and soap watching, the novelty of my arrival wearing off.

"How long do people stay here?"

"Anywhere from a few minutes to a few weeks," Pam says. "They never seem to remember being here, though."

"Yeah, I only remember when I land back in here," Pete calls. "Then I'm all, Dude, I need to stop doing that stuff. 'Course then I wake up and I've forgotten. Vicious cycle, man."

"Have you ever seen anyone die?"

"All the time," Pam nods. "They just get really calm-looking, and then they're gone. Do you think you'll die?"

"No way. I have too much I need to do."

All six of them break out in laughter.

"I do," I insist, growing angry. "I have to marry Grissom, and I have to help put criminals away-"

"Yeah, and I have to have three kids and move out to the suburbs," Pam giggles. "Doesn't mean it'll ever happen. You could end up here for good, like me."

"No," I say, shaking my head and backing down the hallway. "I don't belong here. I'm not one of you."

"Sure you're not," she replies with a smirk, then calls out, "Remember, if you get bored, editorials in room 107!"

o-o-o-o-o

I can't tell if my body's arrived yet, but I know Grissom has. In a blink, I'm in the emergency room, watching him holler at the intake nurse.

"She got here fifteen minutes ago, I want to know her status!" he bellows, banging a thick fist on the counter.

"Look, sir, if you don't calm down-"

"Jim Brass, LVPD." Grissom and I spin around to see Brass standing behind us, holding up his badge. "Answer the man's questions. Now."

The nurse frowns deeply. "All I know is that they took her right into surgery. It could be hours before we know her status. If you'll take a seat in the waiting room-"

"I want to know the minute you hear something," Grissom snaps. "Or my friend here will arrest you under code 442B."

Brass nods menacingly, then leads Grissom into the waiting room. Once they're out of earshot of the nurse, he whispers, "Gil, 442B is the code for a possible plane crash."

"Yeah, well." Grissom slumps into a chair, looking despondent.

Brass sits next to him tentatively. "You all right?"

"I should've married her, Jim."

"The intake nurse?"

"Sara. I should've married her years ago."

Brass sighs. "I know, pal."

The three of us sit together in silence. My hand creeps up to rest Grissom's shoulder, and he rubs it with his palm as though he can feel my touch.