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An online haven where Grissom Sara Romance is free
to flutter ... By KMnO4 Grief's Possession Rating- PG 13 Summary- Witness the woman who loved a man
so wretchedly and dishonestly that she could not be at rest until she defiled
him; she forced him to lie with her, and afterwards, to make up the measure
of her wickedness, she hated him more than she had ever loved him before. Emily Dickinson, Maya Angelou, Christina
Rossetti, C.S.Lewis, R.S.Thomas, and numerous biblical writers, leant me
their words. The
bullet I
felt a funeral in my brain, And
mourners, to and fro, Kept
treading, treading, till it seemed, That
sense was breaking through. It was just a flash. Cold steel blazed a
jagged path across the room and heated itself with momentum. By the time it found
the delicate cavity of his chest, it was molten. The pain burst before her
eyes and bloomed suddenly across his face. It was then that time stopped
ticking. And
when they all were seated, A
service like a drum Kept
beating, beating, till I thought My
mind was going numb. The angry crimson stain spread quickly
over his shirt and clumsy hands could not stem the flow. Now the crying
began. In waves that rolled with an unrelenting beat against the shore of her
cheeks. It was not helping him, but she could not stop even as the tears
began to cloud her vision. And
then I heard them lift a box, And
creak across my soul With
those same boots of lead, again. Then
space began to toll A girl sat whimpering in the corner, but
they were too preoccupied to care. Her with the brightness of his blood, and
him with dying. It descended in a steady flood which trickled over her
fingers. Warm like a slaughtered animal beautified for the plate of a
dignified diner. As
all the heavens were a bell, And
being but an ear, And
I and silence some strange race, Wrecked,
solitary, here. Then her mouth opened and sound poured
forth. So it was there they found Sara, screaming like a banshee, soaked in
the lost life of Nicky Stokes. The
burial Abide
with me, fast falls the eventide; The
darkness deepens, Lord with me abide When
other helpers fail and comforts flee Help
of the helpless. Oh abide with me. It was singing in her ears. The voice was
her own and it mixed with those gathered around her. Clusters of people,
disjointed groups, huddled inside of a tiny church. A single thread running
through them all had brought the congregation together and would now tear
them apart with its absence. Nicholas
James Stokes was a beloved son, brother and friend. In death he was as
valiant as in life. Striving once again to protect another. He is a hero and
that is how we must remember him. I am certain the world which awaits him is
far better than our own. We commend his body up to our heavenly Father and
pray for his sweet release. They were just words. Sara was sure the
minister must have voiced them hundreds of times before, and though he was
sincere in his delivery, the speech had lost its lustre. It was not what she
wanted to hear. It was not Nick’s voice echoing in her ear. It was not his resurrection. It was not good enough. Nick
was my friend. No. He was more than that. He was my best friend . I can’t
believe he’s gone and I’m still here. He gets no more chances and I get the
rest of my lifetime. It doesn’t seem fair. I watched him pass away. It
happened long before his time and that makes me angry. I just wish I could
have said goodbye, but I was too busy thinking about my own pain. I should
have told him everyday how much he meant to me, but I didn’t. Instead I stand
here now delivering my little tribute and all I can say is that I miss him
almost unbearably so, and I will never ever forget. She sat back down in the decrepit pew and
felt the light pressure of a hand over hers. But the clamped embrace of slender
digits could not disperse the suffocating blanket of isolated grief that
hovered over Sara like a holy plague. Still, Catherine smiled obliviously,
blinking back the sorrow which threatened to spill down her face in messy
streaks. A time
to be born, and a time to die… A time to kill, and a time to heal… A time to
weep, and a time to laugh… A time to mourn, and a time to dance… A time to get,
and a time to lose… A time to love, and a time to hate… I have seen the travail
which God hath given to the sons of men… I know that there is no good in
them, but for a man to rejoice and to do good in his life. It was a stony face. One void of any show
of emotion. The only thing that would not betray her. For Sara had not cried
since that day he had died, and would not do so again as long as she could
help it. She floated through the service and the cemetery like the spirit of
Nick himself, but a steady set of eyes were fixed on her throughout, burning
blue within her darkness. The
bedroom Wore
me like a silken knot, Changed
me like a glove; So
now I moan, an unclean thing, Who
might have been a dove. She did not want to talk about it. Sara
only wanted to know if he would hold her until she fell asleep. So,
reluctantly Grissom had agreed because she was hurting and it was the least
that he could do. But from the very beginning something was out of place. He
felt it in the purposeful stroking of her fingers. The
neighbours call you good and pure, Call
me an outcast thing. Even
so I sit and howl in dust, You
sit in gold and sing: At first Sara thought she was trying to
capture a piece of his forgiveness. She wanted her heart to be as big as his,
but the kisses failed to take the hate away. It burned with more fervour than
ever before, and contorted itself into loathing. As Grissom entered her
gently, it spread itself outwards and encapsulated him too. “Get
up, and get out.” Sara voiced with the calculated coldness of an ice queen. She pushed his naked body away from her
and turned from the sting of his face. There was stuttering as he redressed,
then confusion as he made his way to her front door looking like an angel in
his funeral suit. Evident pain transcribed itself across the lines of his
face, as Sara firmly rejected him with the slam of oak and final click of a
metal lock. The
bitch When
great souls die, The
air around us becomes Light,
rare, sterile. We
breathe, briefly. Our
eyes, briefly, See
with A
hurtful clarity. Our
memory, suddenly sharpened, Examines,
Gnaws
on kind words Unsaid,
Promised
walks Never
taken. Sara spoke only when she was spoken to and
even then her tone was harsh. It was a scraping of words roughly forged
together. Eventually she would work alone in the silence of the layout room.
In a solitude that was never intentional. She longed for the company of
others, but they would only serve to remind her of what was missing---- Nick.
Great
souls die and Our
reality, bound to Them,
takes leave of us. Our
souls, Dependant
upon their nurture, Now
shrink, wizened. Our
minds, formed And
informed by their Radiance,
Fall
away. We
are not so much maddened As
reduced to the unutterable ignorance Of
dark, cold Caves.
It seemed to her that no matter how hard
she tried, the stains on her hands would never be cleaned. Sara became a
modern day Lady Macbeth, awoken at night by her own strangled howls of
unease. Crying for release. Until the nights evolved into days, spurning
weeks which finally broadened into months that she tallied on her walls. Pain
has an element of blank; It
cannot recollect When
it began, or if there were A
day when it was not, Through the murky depths of her own
discontent, she witnessed the healing of others. It confused and enraged her
that they could be so humble. Slowly she became the flip-side of their piety.
She was steadily sinking into the abhorrence of all that her friends had
forgiven; the killer and the innocent victim. Sara did not attend the trial,
and refused to bear witness. It
has no future but itself, Its
infinite realms contain Its
past, enlightened to perceive New
periods of pain. Of course there was one face in particular
that Sara could not stand to see. When Grissom's gaze fell on her, it burned
with an intensity that scorched the frost of her skin, and she fled from the
warmth. The glare. The heat. It was only from time to time that she would
allow herself to recall the second before she had banished him so wickedly
from her life. It was the instant he had loved her completely. The
bones I measure
every grief I meet With
analytic eyes; I
wonder if it weighs like mine, Or
has an easier size. A pile of unidentified remains brought her
back. There was something different about her on which Sara could not put her
finger. It seemed she had a sadness that could almost match her own. Tragic
loss circled like a bird pf prey, and it was Catherine who finally alleviated
the mystery when she disclosed the fact that Terri Miller's husband had died.
I
wonder if they bore it long, Or
did it just begin? I
could not tell the date of mine, It
feels so old a pain. Sara watched her work. She was bent over
the autopsy table speaking into a Dictaphone. Terri's voice had lost its
knowing edge, and she seemed less sure of the facts she divulged. After sensing
Sara's approach she looked up and surveyed her sympathetically. They
exchanged the expected condolences yet she seemed unsurprised that the gossip
mill had scattered, so quickly, the ashes of her life. I
wonder if it hurts to live, And
if they have to try. And
whether, could they choose between, They
would not rather die. The case closed itself with the arrival of
the tormented murderer and there seemed no reason left for Terri to stay. But
nevertheless, Sara found her hovering outside of Grissom's office poised to
knock. The new woman that she had become felt no guilt in eavesdropping, and
so she listened intently. The fury that had been dormant for awhile returned
afresh at the sound of Terri's whispered request of a position in Vegas. The
bastard Two
mutual tormentors, each raw all over with the poison of hate-in-love. She would be taking Nick's place. It was
shouted loud at the top of her lungs into Grissom's face. He recoiled as if
stung by her contempt. There seemed no way he could explain; Sara was unable
to grasp this foreign concept of moving on. Her empathy became destructive.
Greg would be joining the team as a full CSI and Terri had been placed in the
morgue with Doc Robbins. It was simple, to him. Each
ravenous to receive and implacably refusing to give, jealous. Sara wanted to know if he was looking for
a good screw; If she had left him wanting more, but with no-one around to
deliver. It was out of line, but she could not find it in herself to care.
She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel the way she felt. Make him bleed to
better sympathise. Rack him with the guilt that she felt in order to share
the burden. Determined
to be free and to allow no freedom. Grissom stopped listening. He tuned out
the bitter shriek of her voice as he told her to go home. She left amidst a
flurry of passionate insults, and it was only after her tempered departure
that he allowed himself to think back upon the smile she used to own. The one
that had warmly illuminated rooms which now lay in morbid darkness. The
benediction Reality
never repeats... that is what we should all like. The happy past restored. Sara sat watching without seeing. The same
pews. The same church. The same blasphemous man of God. Today there was no
coffin in front of the assembly. It had long since been placed in the ground.
A year ago today, she repeated to herself like a mantra, as she wondered when
the hurting would finally stop. And
that, just that , is what I cry out for... She lit her candle following its flickering
dance with her eyes. Haunted by its reflection. Profound words of wisdom were
once again spoken in an attempt to soothe them like a balm into numbness. The
others clung to tissues like drowning sailors tugging frantically at flimsy
lifelines. Sara did not dampen her face with wasted tears that no-one would
ever understand. With
mad, midnight endearments and entreaties, spoken into the empty air. Once again restored to the safety of her
bedroom, she slid down beneath a heavy weight of sheet. It was then that Sara
began to shake with a rattling magnitude that spread in waves across her
womb-like enclosure. The sorrow arrived and clung to her heart almost like
the twist of a knife or possibly the searing greed of Nicky's bullet. The
bigamist Heart,
we will forget him! You
and I, tonight! You
may forget the warmth he gave, I
will forget the light. She saw them together. It was outside a
mini golf course. Sara tried hard not to look surprised, even managing a
tense wave of acknowledgement. She had been told. Everybody had warned her.
They all said the same thing in hushed conspiratorial tones as though secret
war plans were being discussed. Terri and Grissom. The combination of names
rolled like acid off of her tongue. When
you have done, pray tell me, That
I my thoughts may dim; Haste!
Lest while you're lagging, I
may remember him! Later that night in his office, she saw
him battle over his words. There was no need to go into detail. Sara did not
want to know. She hoped that they would be very happy together. She wanted
Grissom to get on with his life. All the things she said quickly without
meaning a word, and he knew she was lying, but he took them anyway because it
was all she was willing to give him. I
sleep, but my heart waketh; It
is the voice of my beloved That
knocketh... Her time was spent picking at signs,
observing them both for betraying glances of affection or worse, of love.
Just when Sara had assumed the ache and the venomous working of her mind
could grow no greater, they blossomed into a spite made up of such inky
blackness that it was impossible to hide. Catherine tried to talk to her, but
finally gave up, unable to tolerate the profanities returned. I
have put off my coat; How
shall I put it on again? I
have washed my feet; How
shall I defile them? Sara had been reduced to adolescent games.
The calls Grissom would receive, ending after only a few rings, were hers.
The pointless excursions to his office for files that had mysteriously ceased
to exist. The brushing up against him whenever they worked alone. Together.
Close by one another. In secret like a clandestine letter--- read with shame
but never thrown away. I
opened to my beloved; But
my beloved had withdrawn himself, And
was gone... Finally he asked. There was the gentle
grasp of her wrist while she twisted and contorted to be loose, almost
breaking down with panic. Grissom would not let her go. Sara was afraid then,
not of him, but of herself as she struck him hard across the face and cursed
his name aloud for all to hear. She didn't know what he was talking about.
She hadn't been toying with him. On and on, she lied. My
soul failed when he spake: I
sought him, But
I could not find him I
called him, But
he gave me no answer. Then came a calm. It stilled the lab for
days, and when the winds rose up again a shift occurred. There were no more
dinners. No more dates. No more movie trips. Terri was leaving just as she
had arrived, because of a stack of bones. In I
charge you... If
ye find my beloved, That
ye tell him, That
I am sick of love. It happened one Friday in spring. Sara had
stopped in the break room to satisfy her caffeine cravings, and for some
inexplicable reason after two years of nothingness, Greg made a pass at her.
And she laughed. Hard and loud, for the first time in an eternity of sadness,
but as soon as she realised herself, a crushing slap of guilt arrived; later
in the barren toilet stall her voice rang out with racking sobs. The
baby Remorse
is memory awake, Her
companies astir,- She came to his grave to lay flowers down.
Sara hated the thought of leaving him there in an earthy cage of consuming
predators. For a moment she allowed herself to wonder over his destination,
and in that brief second did not dismiss the lingering presence she felt in
the air. If it was possible, he was close. If it was not, then she would
cling blindly to that hope, nevertheless. A
presence of departed acts At
window and at door. A voice was softly calling for her
attention, and she turned to face the owner. It was the girl. The huddling
thing in the corner, all grown up with the most beautiful newborn Sara had
ever seen in her life. She began to say how grateful she was and how great
her life had turned out and how she came to visit the grave of her saviour as
often as she could. And Sara let fall the weeping forgiveness she had thought
would never arrive. The
burden Take
me, accept me, love me as I am; Love
me with my disordered wayward past. Love
me with all the lusts that hold me fast. Sara was at Grissom's door, frantically
knocking until she saw his sleepy face appear. Her hug was fierce and knocked
them backwards into his townhouse. His arms enfolded her and she sighed with
years of unbearable grief. He gathered her up in his embrace and carried her
towards the open door of his bedroom. Love
me as flesh and blood, not the ideal Which
vainly you imagine me to be; Love
me the mixed-up creature that you see. This time she was scared. So afraid that
they had lost the beauty in their first disastrous plunder. That she had used
up his passion for her and that all his tenderness was spent. But the hands
which walked across her body with light pattering urgency whispered to her of
other things, and shone the undeniable light of truth into the cave of her
heart. Beneath
my earthy, sordid self , your love Discerns
capacities which rise above The
futile passions of my carnal mind. The rock of Grissom's consuming rhythm
lulled security back into her life. The burden was happier to be borne as it
claimed two souls in their union, and the sparking wrench when he withdrew
from inside of her caused Sara to hold his crushing weight upon her chest
until breathing became an alien concept. That night no star-crossed lover was
shown the door, and peacefully they slept. The
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