Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: Indus
Pairing: None yet, but eventually Greg and someone else.
Rating: R
Category: Slash, drama, angst
Status: WIP
Archive: Here, Tayla's archive, ff.net
Feedback: on list or [email protected]
Disclaimers: I have no connection to anyone involved in the production of CSI and have am not writing this for any financial benefit. I have no rights to anything of any real value, especially not the number one watched show in America.
Authors Notes: Ok, this didn't start out as slash, but seems to heading that way. Still, you'll have to wait a while for the slash. It's way more of an angst story, revolving around Greg.
Summary: The worst nightmare of any CSI when coming across the crime scene of an unidentified body- that they can identify him/her.
Warnings: Eventual slash, themes of child sexual abuse, a couple of really dark chapters up ahead.
Spoilers: Umm, everything in seasons two, three and through Insatiable Evidence.
Authors Note for Chapter One: I was online 5/7/02 and I happened to discover on CBS.com that it was Greg's birthday. Perfect time to start a new fic I've been thinking of writing. And then I read his bio and he graduated from the university I study at, UC Berkeley.I just want to reiterate a warning, there are dark themes of child abuse (not mentioned in detail- I've worked with victims and I won't use their stories for a fic) ahead, though not for a couple of chapters at least, so if that bothers you please don't read this fic.
Death Visits a Technician
By Indus
Chapter One- Already Personal
Greg walked back into the lab, stretching and smiling in anticipation. Soon, Catherine would be arriving with the cake while everyone else sang and applauded. Some people were a little embarrassed but Greg wasn't one of those people. He had always liked the attention, especially when it came from Sara and Catherine.
At the door, he was almost knocked down by Sara, Catherine and Grissom. Warrick and Nick were not far behind.
"What's the rush?" Greg hoped this did not mean they were on a case that might keep them out until after his birthday.
Catherine's words dashed his hopes. "We got called on a case."
"All of you?" Greg followed them to Catherine and Grissom's cars and talked while they loaded the trunks.
"Yes, apparently it's a pretty big one," Catherine responded, flashing a smile at Greg. She didn't want him to be scared by her next suggestion. "Why don't you come with us?"
"What is it?"
"Big pile-up on the freeway after a Chevrolet in front of a big rig spotted a naked, dead body on the side of the road. She's a Jane Doe; they'll take her and try to get her identified as soon as we take a look at the scene. There were an additional three deaths after the big rig slammed into the Chevrolet and then the car behind joined the party. That's the Chevy driver, person in the seat next to him and the driver of the last car. I think the big rig driver is okay."
"Why do you want me?" Greg asked nervously, plainly wanting to be anywhere but with them. Catherine winced as she realized just how much his experience had disturbed him. "In a case like this, we need all the hands and legs we can get to take evidence back to the lab and process it. You can do that while we CSIs gather more stuff. We need to be done with the crime scene as soon as possible. It's a busy road and they want it cleared yesterday."
Catherine was telling the truth, but she would never regret anything in her checkered life the way she would regret her decision to bring Greg with them.
***
Catherine parked her car next to Grissom's on the side of the road. The six people from the crime lab met Jim Brass as they walked to where the corpse of the woman was given a preliminary examination before removal.
"So what have we got?" Catherine asked Brass.
"Jane Doe, late forties to early fifties, blond, beaten to death and ditched naked on the side of the road. Car going 60 on the freeway- young man sees the corpse and slams on the brakes, forgetting about the big rig right behind. To give the driver his credit, the big rig tried very hard to miss the Chevy, but he spun out of control and ended up hitting the car in front, killing the young man and his companion instantly. The little car behind just happens to be a Bug. It hits the big rig and crumbles, killing the young woman immediately. She was just a college student, out in her new car and enjoying the first week of summer vacations."
"Umm, Brass, the summer hasn't started yet. I think it's more like young woman, ditching classes, goes out for a ride and gets into an accident." Everyone turned to look at Catherine; she wasn't normally so brusque with Jim or the dead.
"Catherine, are you all right?" Sara looked at her friend, confused. She and Grissom generally got along with each other best, but Catherine was the team mom and when she hurt, they all hurt.
"I'm sorry," Catherine said, snapping on her gloves. "I just think of how this could be Lindsay in another 10 or 11 years, and then I wonder who to hold responsible?"
"What?" Nick asked. He thought the answer to that was clear. "Why would you blame anyone for an accident?"
"This accident could all have been avoided by the absence of the body. So the killer is obviously somewhat responsible. And while slamming on the brakes is a perfectly natural response, the first driver should have checked to see if it was clear behind him. Can you imagine what would have happened when the big rig spun if the other side was not clear? We could have had a half-dozen people dead, easily."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Warrick's gentle voice broke in. "They're going to remove the body soon; we need to see her there."
They all walked to where policemen and paramedics were surrounding the body of a woman. The people turned at the sight of the CSIs, and moved aside, giving the six new arrivals their first glimpse of the unidentified woman.
Sara heard a muffled groan, followed by a gasp, coming from somewhere behind her. Oh, no, she thought, Greg is going to upchuck again. But then he spoke, and everyone turned.
"Mom?"
The CSIs and Brass all froze, and Greg ran past them.
Grissom was the first to come out of his daze. "No! You'll contaminate the evidence. Stop, Greg!"
Nick ran and tackled the lab technician, forcing him to the ground a few inches from the cordoned off area. Greg lay in the dirt on the side of the freeway, his breath coming out in gasps. Dimly he heard voices echo around him, and he was barely conscious of being helped to his feet. He couldn't take his eyes off his mother's dirt-covered but so familiar face.
"He's going into shock. Greg, snap out of it!" Catherine slapped him gently on the face until finally a paramedic brought out some smelling salts.
"What�" he mumbled, looking at them, still slightly dazed.
Brass hated to do this but the woman was still not identified. "Are you saying this is your mother?"
Greg's mouth trembled slightly as he looked at the corpse. "Yes, she is. Her name is Sara River Sanders, and she is my mother." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, but everyone ignored it. It was their collective worst nightmare to go out on a case and recognize the stiff. Nick had once experienced it too, but then again there was a vast deal of difference between new girlfriend/hooker and mother.
Catherine drew him away before he looked at the corpse too long. The woman appeared to have been beaten to death, and her face was the only part of her someone had left intact. It was not a pretty sight, especially for someone who had loved her.
While the others examined the area for evidence, Brass and Catherine asked Greg if he would answer some questions. He agreed quickly.
"Your parents don't live around here, do they?" Brass took out a notebook and started writing.
"No, they must have been on their way to visit me. I guess it was a surprise for my birthday. They must have been staying with my sister."
"You have a sister?" Catherine looked interested as she realized she knew less about Greg than she had thought.
"Two, but Alex is little. She's only eight, and she has Down's syndrome. I haven't seen her for a while; she was born after I went to college. But the one who is living in the area is Gracie. She's my twin, but we're not very close. The only reason she moved out here is to get away from the parents and live off of me."
"You support her?"
"No, she makes enough to live. I support her drug habit. I always want to say no but she doesn't ask for very much and has the best reasons. She's very convincing." Although his tone was exasperated, it was also affectionate, and Catherine thought the twins were a little closer than Greg claimed, or thought.
Jim paused for a second before asking the more difficult questions. "Why do you think her disappearance hasn't been reported?"
Greg blinked a little and it seemed as if the question had roused him from his trance. "I don't know. She usually likes to shop in Vegas, so I bet she went there and my Dad and sister are just starting to get worried."
Brass took a breath and released it slowly. "Do you know of anyone who might have�?"
Greg shook his head. "She was a great person, and I have no idea why anyone would kill her."
For some reason, Catherine was sure that he was lying.
END CHAPTER ONE
Authors Note for Chapter Two: There is a little political content in this fic, but believe me I wrote this guy as an ultra ultraconservative, and not as a criticism of a particular party or reasonable and kind people who might not agree with my admittedly left of liberal ideas.
Death Visits a Technician
Chapter Two- Meetings in Memorable Places
He sat quietly in a corner of the waiting room, huddled under a blanket and sipping the coffee that Catherine had given him. He looked like a lost little boy, and she could not help feeling a little maternal. Someone had been sitting with him every minute of the two hours since he had found Sara Sanders' corpse, talking to him quietly, but Grissom was sure he had not heard a word. He showed no reaction when people came and went, but kept his eyes fixed on the door to the morgue where his mother lay.
The sound of running footsteps caught Grissom's attention. A young woman ran in, brownish-blond hair flying and tears running down her cheeks. Two things were immediately obvious: she had to be related to Greg, and she was most definitely high. This must be Grace Sanders.
Nick intercepted her before she ran straight into the morgue. "Ma'am, she has already been identified. You do not need to see her. Your brother, on the other hand�"
"Where?" she asked simply, and Grissom was relieved to see that she was not as high as he had originally thought.
Nick took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face Greg. She walked slowly up to her twin, and knelt at his feet. "I called Dad; he was out meeting a Congressman or something. He and Alex should be here soon."
Greg seemed to come out of his trance, but he did not respond to her statement. Taking one look at her, and especially her eyes, he groaned. "At this time? Jesus, Grace, you're stoned."
Casting a nervous eye at the people around them, she corrected her brother firmly. "It's just some eye drops, you know that."
"Did you drive here?" He was in shock, and denial, preferring to think only about the familiar and not the horrible tragedy that was going to tear his family apart. They had spent so many years and taken so many pains to keep it together.
"No, I took a cab." She gave up trying to hold a conversation, and sat down next to him. Looking at Catherine, who was seated nearby, she asked what everyone was waiting for.
"We have some questions to ask you and your family. If it is all right, I'd like to start now�"
Grace's eyes flashed, but whether it was with fear or anger Catherine could not tell. "Now? Can't you give my family some peace?"
"It's best if these things are done as soon as possible. We are waiting for your father, so in the meantime let us try to get some information clear."
This time Grissom was sure he saw fear in her eyes. Why was she avoiding Catherine's questions? He hoped for Greg's sake that Grace would not be a suspect.
"Ok, I guess. Are you a cop?"
At this point, Brass stepped in. "I am, and these people are all Crime Scene Investigators. We all work closely with your brother, and would like to first say how sorry we are for your loss." He then introduced everyone in the room. She jerkily nodded her acceptance of his condolences and said a general hello.
Taking out his notebook, Brass began. "We'd like to start with your parents' presence in Nevada. Greg did not seem to know that they were here, but they obviously are. Did you know?"
She began to search for a cigarette but Grissom subtly drew her attention to the no-smoking sign on the wall. Shakily smiling her thanks, she answered, "Of course I knew. They were staying with me. It was a surprise for Greg's birthday."
Catherine broke in. "I'm sorry, but isn't this your birthday too?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but one of us had to know they were coming to put them up, and they contacted me because they believe that Greg is the only one of the two of us who deserved a present like that. I'm in trouble for being the junkie."
There was enough bitterness in her voice to attract the attention of all the investigators. Grissom sighed to himself as he realized that she was now at the top of his relatively short list of suspects.
Brass continued his questioning. "And where did Mrs. Sanders say she would go today?"
"Shopping. She loves to come to Vegas for the shopping. And she takes hours, so we don't worry. She also has some old friends here, and she visits them sometimes. So we weren't worried. We saw her last at about eleven this morning."
"But didn't you know something was wrong when your mother did not come back in time to celebrate Greg's birthday? If you worked this hard to surprise him, surely you intended some grand meeting as a surprise."
Gracie laughed unsteadily, and her hand trembled slightly as she brushed it through her hair. "This isn't the first year that they have done this, but what keeps it a surprise is that Greg doesn't know what day we will show up at his doorstep. This year we planned it for tomorrow, so you see how we would not be concerned at eight pm."
Her answers were all reasonable, but Catherine was sure that there was more. It was almost as if Grace and Greg were communicating together telepathically, getting their stories straight just by looking into each other's eyes. But she was sure of one thing: both of them were deathly afraid.
So she decided to shake them. Abruptly breaking in, she asked, "Who wanted your mother dead?"
Her face turned even paler than it was before. She gulped a little, and then her shaky gaze firmed. Glancing once at Greg, she straightened her shoulders and answered Catherine. "Maybe you're looking at the wrong person. Perhaps this was geared towards my father, not my mother. Do you know who my father is?"
Warrick gasped, while Nick whirled around to face the lab technician. Grissom, the only one present who had known because he was privy to Greg's file, kept his gaze steady on Grace while Brass and the rest of his team looked at her twin brother. Sara was the first to break the silence. "Is your father Assemblyman Sanders? The one who will run for Governor in 2006, and probably try for the Presidency in 2012?"
Greg nodded, unable to look the others in the eye. His father was generally considered a shoe-in for Governor, and as a great believer in Conservative Reforms, his name was often bandied around the office. While their political views differed widely, Greg's father had made some comments on the morals of "women who exposed themselves to men," and because of Catherine CSIs tended to take that personally. Although he had never actually participated in bashing his father, his liberal beliefs and background at Berkeley led the others to think that he had taken part in the conversations. Anyway, he had never attempted to stop them or correct their opinions of his father, and as a result they were all a little disgusted with his lack of filial loyalty.
Perhaps Grace saw that in their eyes. She immediately proved that loyalty was indeed a Sanders virtue. "Expecting Greg to admit to it freely? I can tell you now that if the victim was my father, Greg and I would be at the front of the line of suspects, but we loved our mother. Neither of us would ever have hurt her."
"Front of the line of suspects?" Brass raised an eyebrow. "I know some people take politics a little too seriously, but murdering one's own father seems a little over the top."
Grace's eyes were hard. She was no longer a grieving daughter; hatred had eradicated all traces of sorrow. "His vision of the future is quite idyllic, but there is no place for prostitutes, homosexuals and junkies, or the mentally ill. But this isn't all about politics. It's about being a hypocrite. He gives wonderful speeches on family values, but ask him what he was doing when his children were growing up and he'll probably ask `what kids?'"
"But your father is fine," Brass pointed out gently.
Grace's mouth twisted as she fought back tears. "That's why Greg and I did not do this. But you might want to look for people who have a grudge against my father and don't have any feelings for an innocent woman like my mother. Now come on, Greg, let's go and see Mom."
As they watched the two walk away, Brass whistled. "I know everyone has skeletons in their closet, and deadbeat dads are a dime a dozen, but I have to admit that I never saw anything like this with Greg."
Warrick murmured his assent, but Nick looked a little disgruntled. "We've always gotten along"- this was no surprise since there were few people Nick did not get along with- "and he never let on about who his father was."
Grissom turned to Catherine. "Well, what do you think?"
Her eyes narrowed as she kept her gaze steady on the twins. "I think she was lying when she said that she would not kill her mother. It's very common for children to take out their resentment of their father on their mother, especially when they feel she did nothing to alter the situation." She spun around and looked at the group ahead of her. "I think we have to face the fact that at the end of the day we may be arresting someone Greg loves."
"Or Greg himself," Grissom finished.
END CHAPTER TWO
Death Visits a Technician
Chapter Three: End of the First Act, and a CSI's bitter pill
His team was stunned to hear what he had said. Catherine, in particular, looked flabbergasted. "Gris, you don't actually think our Greg killed his mother, do you?"
Grissom was about to answer with one of his typical we-are-not-here-to-judge speeches, but something about the day, the expressions on the twins' faces, and the years he had spent working with the energetic but harmless tech forced him to tell the truth. "I honestly can't see Greg beating anyone, least of all his mother, to death and dumping her on the side of the road. But if nothing else, experience has definitely taught me that few people can envision someone they care about doing the impossible."
None of them were comforted, and if they were brutally honest, they knew a part of it was that they agreed.
***
The CSIs were sitting with Brass when the twins came out of the autopsy room. They were waiting for their father and sister to say their last goodbyes before finally stepping out into the rain. After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, broken only by the awkward platitudes that people use to reach out to the bereaved, the Assemblyman walked into the hospital. Holding his hand tightly, a little girl younger than Lindsey with the blunt and childish features that characterized her affliction moved in something not quite a run to remain by his side. He didn't seem to notice; he certainly never slowed down.
He saw them almost immediately. The five CSIs felt his gaze take in every facet of their appearances, categorize them and find them wanting. Then, he looked at his children. Even before his face tightened in silent condemnation of his daughter's condition, Catherine was wrinkling her nose in disgust. What kind of a father walked into the morgue to identify his wife's body and didn't look at his children before studying the rest of the people in the room?
The tension in the room was building, but no one wanted to break it. Warrick could feel the hairs on the back of his hands rising as the air became electric. He wasn't quite sure who would explode first, but Greg looked as if he was one step away from dissolving into tears, and his twin's face was becoming redder by the minute.
Then the child, who was obviously a little lost and disoriented by the news of her mother's death, noticed her brother. "Greg!" she shouted in the thick tone that was another sign of Down's syndrome. Greg, who had been staring at his father, looked at her and his face seemed to light up immediately. His arms opened and she leaped into them.
Grace softened as she watched them, and for the first time Nick could see some similarities between this family and the warm, affectionate one he hailed from. The two younger siblings murmured to each other, while Grace handed her house key to her father and told him that she and Alex would stay with Greg so that he would not have to worry about caring for his youngest child in his, as she put it in a mildly sarcastic tone, `hour of grief.' Although Catherine didn't think much of Grace and her inappropriate sarcasm, she was disgusted with the way the man seemed to not care where his children would be while he made preparations to bury his wife.
"Can we go now?" Grace asked them, while Greg seemed to only look at the little sister he obviously adored. And yet there was more than adoration in his gaze; he was worried. There was a bone-deep weariness in his expression that reminded Catherine rather strongly of a homeless man she regularly passed on her way back from Lindsey's school. Her precocious daughter had once insisted on getting out of the car to give the man a piece of candy that her mother had not allowed her to eat because it would give her too much energy at nap-time. I think he needs it Mommy, because he always looks so tired.
Strange, how much more wrong it seemed to be seeing the same look on the face of this boy who should have had everything in front of him. Shivering slightly, Catherine vowed to give some money to the homeless man that night.
***
The next day brought few surprises. Sara Sanders was beaten to death, and the object that was used for the murder was, in detective stories-fan coroner Mary Reshon's opinion, a blunt instrument. Once the outraged duo of Nick and Warrick brought home to her that this was not a case they could laugh at to get rid of the tension, she quickly began to study the woman's skin for traces of what the instrument was. Although she was not Al Robbins, who was busy on another case and only had time for a cursory review, even her worst critic could not find any faults with her work.
In the meantime, the press reacted to the Sanders' tragedy as if it were manna from heaven. Reporters camped outside of Greg's apartment complex, that of his sister and even his place of work, much to the chagrin of the CSIs who now had to fight their way in. Still, every time someone groaned and began to complain, one of the members of the night shift gently reminded them that Greg could only wish that their comfort was his greatest problem right now. And someone from the night shift was always at hand to remonstrate with selfish coworkers; they were blessed by a rash of cases that required little forensic science and a great deal more detective work (Gil chalked it up to the heat wave that caused busy hours for the day shift but cooled down rapidly every evening) and everyone was devoting their free time to the Sanders' case. Even if Greg hadn't been as liked as he was, most of them would have worked on it because that was what they did for one of their own. For those who Greg had only rubbed the wrong way, this case was too high-profile to give up.
However, even with the extra manpower, there was little progress made on the case. They had no idea what the weapon known simply as a `blunt instrument' was, and there was no concrete forensic evidence on Sara Sanders' body or the crime scene to link anyone to her murder. Moreover, all three of the cars (Greg's, Grace's and their parents) were clean, but only of blood and not in an obviously washed way.
There was also a distinct lack of alibis as Greg's shift started several hours later, Grace was apparently just `driving around'- Catherine translated that to mean buying illegal substances- and the Assemblyman claimed that he was at a local library, returning his daughter's books and reading. His elder daughter's card did prove that he had returned Grace's books less than an hour before the murder and checked more out around the time the body of his wife was discovered, David Sanders had just enough time to kill his wife in between. It would have been difficult, considering the savagery of the attack and the lack of any forensic evidence, but it would have been possible. The library was only eight or nine miles away from the mall where he had dropped his wife before coming to the library, and the crime scene was somewhere in between. Alex, the only member of her family who was not a suspect, was also the only one to have an alibi. She had been dropped off to a local center for disabled children early in the morning and not been picked up until Sanders was informed of his wife's death.
Reshon's report showed a lack of defensive wounds, and from there they hypothesized that the first attack was unexpected and severe enough to stop any resistance. None of the blows was severe enough on its own to kill her, so she must have either been stunned or knocked unconscious. Catherine, reading the report, hoped it was the latter; it was too horrible to think of Greg's mother unable to move but feeling herself being beaten to death.
Moreover, they could only track Sara Sanders' movements until an hour before her murder, when she had bought a pair of shoes from Macy*s. There were no records of her calling for a taxi and no one had seen anything suspicious in the parking lot. As there was nothing very distinct about the woman's physical appearance, and no one could have recognized the wife of another state's Assemblyman despite his growing fame, and Macy*s was in the midst of storewide anniversary sales, investigators couldn't find anyone who remembered seeing or assisting her after the purchase of her new shoes.
And, just like the murder weapon and Sara Sanders' clothes and purse, there was no trace of the shoes anywhere.
There was another mystery surrounding Greg's mother's clothes. She had been dumped naked on the side of a relatively empty road at a time when few cars were passing, but she had not been sexually assaulted so that ruled out a rape killing. Judging by the proximity of the dump site to the road, it appeared that she was probably just thrown from a car, but it could not have been one of her family members' cars since they cleared the luminal test, but showed no evidence of being cleaned recently. So someone had driven down a road, gotten to a place where there were no other cars in viewing distance, and then thrown her body out of the car. But, since she was clean of any evidence, the CSI team would have expected someone to take more care in hiding the body. In fact, that no one had seen anything unusual suggested that the perpetrator was a professional.
The fact that Mrs. David Sanders did not look or dress like a rich woman and had little money in her purse supported the theory that this was not a random crime. Moreover, no one had tried to use the credit cards even before the body was discovered.
But professionals usually executed- not bludgeoned- people. Moreover, who had hired the professional? For there to be no defensive wounds, it had to be someone she knew, but she was on vacation, and the only people with her that they knew about were her family. The police in California checked up on her friends and extended family, but found no one who was in Vegas at the time.
So it was with little surprise that the night team listened to Grissom declare the case "Unsolved" and table it while they concentrated on cases they could solve.
"I hate doing this, but I don't think we can solve this one," Grissom said grimly, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
"You think it's a professional?" Catherine looked at him, startled, after skimming his last report. "Even though she was beaten to death?"
Grissom rose and moved smoothly into lecture mode. "Actually, the method of killing her just suggests to me that it was a crime of passion, albeit indirect. The person who ordered her death was angry and wanted us to know that. Now, that would suggest her family, but then one of them, at least, would have provided himself or herself with an alibi. It could have been her extended family, but apparently she got along fairly well with them. She didn't work and she hadn't had any recent quarrels with any of her friends, as far as our counterparts in California can tell."
Nick sighed as he caught on to what Grissom was saying. "You think it was someone who wanted to send a message to the Assemblyman."
"Yes, which is why I am sending this case over to the proper government officials who are going to investigate every death threat the Assemblyman has received. Frankly, I doubt they will find the perpetrator. He's been too smart so far."
Disappointed, they filed out, but Warrick lingered for a moment by the door. "Gris?"
"Yes, Warrick?"
"I've said some things around here about David Sanders, and they weren't very nice."
Grissom looked up and smiled. "Are you confessing to the murder of his wife?"
Warrick jerked his head back and looked horrified. "God, no! I don't condone murder, and even if I did, I couldn't whack a friend's mother!"
Grissom put down the file he was holding and, leaning against his desk, he gazed at Warrick over the rims of his glasses. "No, to do this, you have to forget that someone like Mrs. Sanders was a wife and mother, and, by the looks of it, the kind of mother who made cookies for her kids and left apple pies by the window. Did you know why she came here to shop? Because the city she lives in, according to her sister, doesn't have a good, reliable center where she can drop Alex off and do what she wants. So, when the girl is out of school, or sick, Sara Sanders is there with her to tend to all her needs. That is why she obviously needs a haircut and a new wardrobe. "So to kill her, you have to forget all that, or not care. And that, Warrick, is the reason you aren't a suspect. For all his irritating mannerisms, Greg is well-liked by all the people here, and none of us could kill his mother and look him in the face ever again."
Grissom watched Warrick leave the room, and smiled slightly as the younger man relaxed his shoulders. But the smile was short-lived, for the file next to him was a painful reminder that he would soon have to tell the family of the victim that they had made little or no progress into the investigation of their loved one's murder. This part of his job was a bitch.
And the fact that in his own way he genuinely cared for one member of that family was only going to make it harder.
Chapter Four: A Yearly Event
For disclaimer and info please see chapter one.
Warning: Child Abuse but no details in next few chapters.
A/N I'm in the Peace Corps and updates are a little difficult, but I
think I've figured out a way to update fairly regularly. So keep
reading!
Greg switched on the television and twisted open a beer bottle before reaching for his mail and flipping through it. Bill, bill, bill, and� He was in the midst of a deep swallow when the announcer's words seeped through and for a minute the roaring in his ears and the bright, suffocating light blinding him were all his brain could handle before the bottle slid through his nerveless fingers and hit his left foot.
He couldn't have heard right, but he knew he had. Quickly, hating himself for what he was doing, he switched to one of the 24 hour news channels and waited for a story on the dangers of some new diet to finish.
And there it was. "In other news, Assemblyman David Sanders announced his support for the recall effort in California yesterday and pledged to run should such an election take place. Assemblyman Sanders, considered a radical in the Conservative movement, has gained a great deal of popularity and opposition because of his views. Despite the support given to him by prominent Republicans after his wife's murder last year, the Assemblyman will be running as an Independent candidate should the recall occur, according to sources close to David Sanders. Sara Sanders' case still remains unsolved, but authorities believe the murder may be related to Assemblyman Sanders' political enemies. Assemblyman Sanders joins a growing group of prominent Californians- politicians, entertainers and ordinary citizens alike- that are considering a run for Governor should the position open up later this year."
Greg tuned the well-modulated voice out as the story shifted to other contenders, and closed his eyes while he tried to think. Now all the strange stares he'd been getting all day made sense. How could he have missed this? Right, he'd been so tired after the busy shift he'd worked the night before that he had slept all yesterday until a couple of hours before his next one began, and then he'd spent that time getting ready and eating, so he hadn't watched the news at all. Moreover, he had shut off his phone, not wanting to be disturbed again, so�
The phone! Greg jumped up and ran to it, knowing the message light would be blinking, and sure enough he'd missed six messages. Some of them were telemarketers, but three of them were from his twin sister, telling him to turn on the news and progressively getting angrier as he neither picked up the phone nor returned her call.
He debated calling her; he did, but he needed time to comprehend and absorb what this would mean. There was no reason to believe that his father would win, but all of his life he had never seen the man lose at anything, least of all in getting people to think that he was God's gift to Earth. Maybe he was like Hitler- he would speak, and people would vote for him blindly and ignore or go along with� But it wasn't fair to compare his father with Hitler- David Sanders didn't commit mass murders and he wasn't a bigot in matters of race or religion, though he wasn't too fond of the irreverent or homosexuals.
Still, he was a murderer, and Greg didn't think men who killed their wives should be allowed to become Governors.
*
THE NEXT DAY
Gil was finishing paperwork on a particularly unsatisfying case, never something he enjoyed, when he felt more than heard someone enter his office. He looked up, and immediately knew that he would soon be longing for the simple tedium of filling out forms and signing on the dotted lines.
Grace Sanders was walking towards his desk, pulling a gun out of her purse, her face so quiet and composed he almost didn't notice that her hands were shaking. For a second, he wondered if this was the end, if a woman he barely knew had managed to get past security and would kill him before the world became silent once and for all. But then the moment was over, and she was placing the gun on some files before sitting down on a chair opposite him, waiting for him to speak.
He did, but not to her. Pressing some buttons on his telephone, he asked Brass to come to his office immediately. Luckily the man was in the building getting some information from a tech, perhaps Greg, and would be there shortly. Grace remained quiet, her hands elegantly deposited on her knees, those betraying hands and her pallor the only signs of her inner turmoil.
Brass walked in, looking irritated, and was about to say something when he saw Gil's guest, and the gun. He wasn't a stupid man; in fact, he was a more than decent cop, and he shut the door before pulling out a notebook and sitting on the other chair.
As if his sitting down was her cue, Grace began to speak. "I murdered my father, David Sanders, this afternoon. I pretended to get a flat tire out in the desert, and when we stopped and got out to look at it, I shot him with that gun."
*
Greg walked into the lab, amidst stares and whispers. Though he now knew of his father's decision, he couldn't quite understand the reaction. This was Las Vegas after all, and what happened in California wasn't all that important here.
Then he passed a room with the television blaring, and his world tilted again. He stood still, unable to move or breathe, and knew nothing would ever be the same. And for the rest of his life, when he walked by that room, that television, or he heard that reporter's voice, the news of his father's death would reverberate in his ears.
"Greg? Is that you?" Gil's voice was uncharacteristically uncertain, and Greg knew that whatever was going on, it was about to become a lot worse.
He should have called his sister.
But there was no point in putting off what had to happen, so he followed his boss into the room where they could quietly observe the interrogation room from behind a glass that, from the other side, looked deceptively like a simple mirror.
*
"Why don't you tell me what happened?" Brass' voice was soothing as he sat down opposite Grace Sanders. He'd calmly shepherded her into the interrogation room and Gil had made the decision to observe with Greg, who was due to arrive any minute. Nick accompanied Brass in case there was any need to take any evidence from the composed woman.
"What's to tell you?" She shot back, her voice holding enough of a hint to remind Brass of his own little girl, and the ability some young men and women had of putting up a front of defiance even when they were confessing. "I was driving him to see where Mom died. When we were nearly there, I pretended to get a flat tire. I knew he'd want to look at it before he used his mobile phone to call for a tow truck; he likes to give the appearance of being a man's man. And when he was bent over the tire, I pulled out the gun and shot him twice. In the head. He's in the trunk of my car."
"Where is your car parked?" When her eyes cut to the right, in what he realized she thought was the general location of the facility's visitor parking lot, the veteran cop was a little shaken. He was fairly certain this was a first. "You brought a body to a crime lab in the trunk of a car?"
For the first time, he saw that she was still young, and that she wasn't as sure of her standing as she seemed. "I was originally going to leave him where he left her, but then I couldn't bear the thought of that symbolism. And besides, I never thought I'd get away with it. Greg's told me a great deal about his work, and I'm not any kind of criminal mastermind. So why hide it and put my family through some stupid investigation until you figured it out?"
"Where HE left HER?" Nick picked up on that small phrase, and jumped on it. He had liked the young woman, and the odd co-dependent relationship she seemed to share with her twin fascinated him.
Greg felt more than saw Gil tense beside him, and wanted to run away. But he needed to know what would happen, what he had to watch out for, and most of all, how he could help her. Because as much as he hated her for tearing their family apart, she was a part of him like no one had been or would ever be, and he loved her so much.
She raised her eyes, and looked straight into the glass where she knew her brother was standing. They'd never been telepathic, or anything ridiculous like that, but they'd always known when each other was nearby. Greg had once laughingly referred to it as his spidey senses tingling, but that was not a bad description. It was as if their souls were always searching for the other half of themselves, the connection they had shared in the womb, and when they were close, they recognized each other. It was as if a voice in her head was saying, with a great deal of relief, "Oh, there you are." And she knew he was there, whether she could see him or not.
"It's okay," Greg whispered, "tell him." She couldn't hear him, but she hadn't been asking his permission. She wanted to tell, needed to tell, if only to destroy the memory and the reputation of her father the way she had put an end to his life, violently and irrevocably.
"He killed her. My father killed my mother last year."
"How do you know that? Were you there?"
"No I wasn't." The sarcasm was back. "But we all knew. It was just difficult, for all he is, to point the finger at him and call our father a murderer. And we had no evidence. All we had is motive and the knowledge that our father is a monster."
"Are you saying your father, Assemblyman Sanders, beat his wife to death? Are you aware that he was at the library at the time?" Brass intentionally spoke incredulously, and didn't mention that Sanders' alibi had some holes in it.
"No I'm not saying that, and I'm fairly certain that he has an alibi, though I'd be surprised if it doesn't check out for some time before and after the murder, since my mom is- was- anything but a speedy shopper." Her voice trembled, and for an instant, but just an instant, the people watching were aware of the overwhelming grief and pain she had been hiding so well. And they were sure that her story went back to long before her mother's murder. There were tears in her eyes and voice as she continued, "She never got a chance to just go shopping, because of Alex. And she never complained, not about the time she didn't have, or the help he didn't give her. The only thing she asked for was this weekend every year or so. And we did give them. The center kept my little sister all day, but if they were closed or after hours Alex was the responsibility of her siblings. Never my father, not once did he care for her unless he knew the cameras were watching."
"That sounds like he needed her, and that she would be more likely to kill him than he would to kill her."
Grace laughed bitterly. "No, she'd never do that. She'd never open her mouth and admit to any of the grief he put her through, or the things that went on in our home when there were no cameras, and all the decent people were asleep. Not until the end, when it became obvious that his political aspirations were becoming more ambitious, and he crossed the line."
"What line?" Brass asked, passing over the hint of something darker, deeper, in the young woman's childhood for the time being.
"Alex, of course. Mom was so protective of her. Greg and I were teenagers, about college age, when she was born, and I remember when Alex was born, and it became obvious that she was going to need a lot of help, that Mom called us into her hospital room. Dad had already left, and hadn't looked at his baby girl once after a quick, horrified glance. Greg and I stood on either side of Mom, and looked down at our sister, and Mom asked us to look out for her. We promised we would, but we knew that we wouldn't be called upon to do that as long as she was alive. We just thought that would be a lot longer than it actually was. We shouldn't have left her alone with Alex, but she became so angry when we said that. She said we shouldn't refer to our sister as a burden, and she wasn't. Mom loved her so much, and I think she knew she'd do everything right with Alex that she didn't do with us, that she'd look out for the baby before everyone else, including our father. So when he used Alex for a photo shoot, and said a whole bunch of lies about what he did for her to get sympathy votes, she was very angry. They had a huge fight, and she called me that night, hysterical. She said she'd threatened to leave him and tell all to the newspapers, maybe make a movie that would play on lifetime regularly for the rest of our lives. And the thing is, I believed her. She wasn't making a crazy threat that she would never actually go through with. And he believed her too. So he played along and pretended to give in to her. Then he asked Adam to kill her."
"Who is Adam?"
"Ah, Adam." Grace's lips thinned and she sneered. "No, you wouldn't know Adam. I don't suppose his name is on any paperwork. He lives in a quiet, middle class house in a quiet neighborhood, and he's daddy's clean-up man. He gets paid quite a lot, more than enough to give up that house and move to Beverly Hills, just for cleaning up my father's messes. He's the ones who makes the deals so my father doesn't get his hands dirty. He arranges to have my father's romantic interests fulfilled when he travels, so that no one knows. And for the past few years, he's probably been arranging home deliveries too. We've known him all our lives as the man who visits in the night, when no one else is there. And when he does come at the same time as other people, he's the waiter or the butler or the cameraman unaccompanied by a reporter so no one else sees him. But we knew him, we always knew him, and I checked and found that he flew to Vegas the day my mother was murdered and the next day he flew back. You'll find him too, when you know who to look for."
Nick hadn't missed the reference she'd made earlier to her childhood, and what he'd just heard led him to suspect something sick and twisted, but something that had to be investigated. Interrupting Brass' query as to the name and contact information of `Adam,' he asked her in a voice that compelled all those in hearing range to pay attention, "What romantic interests?"
"Don't answer him," Greg whispered, but Gil and the other members of the night shift, except Catherine, who had come to join them were sure he didn't even know he'd spoken.
She pursed her lip and then smiled mirthlessly. "Let's just say he liked them young."
"And you mentioned that Adam was probably arranging `deliveries' for the past few years. Since you left home, in fact. He didn't need to make deliveries while you were there, did he? Because he had what he wanted at home. Most abusers start there, before they go out into the world." Nick's voice rose as he spoke; this was a crime it was impossible not to become emotional about.
But surprisingly, she hesitated. She wanted to say yes, but something was stopping her. The onlookers waited with baited breath while she seemed to search for the words to answer his questions. And that was when Catherine stepped forward. Greg hadn't seen her there- she was standing in the shadows, but as he took in the tears on her face his heart sank. She knew�
"Nick's close, but he's not quite there, is he? See, the thing I've noticed about you is that you're angry, which is understandable under the circumstances, but you're also anxious to speak. You burn with the need to expose your childhood to the world, and that would also be perfectly comprehensible if you were the victim. But then you'd have spoken while your father was alive, because you've been needing to burn for a while. The drugs are just one symptom of that. You'd have shouted it to the world just to see his face when he was arrested. But someone stopped you, the only person who could. And that's not your mom, or you would have spoken in the last year. It's the real victim. Because your father isn't into girls, is he? If he was, your mother would certainly have taken Alex, with whom she was determined to do things right, away from him, and you would have had all the right to tell your story. But you don't, because until now, until your life was on the line, until you could use it to explain the murder of your father, it hasn't been your story. You're not the victim of the monster, your father."
Grace leapt to her feet. "I'm not? How can you say that? Do you know what my childhood was? When we were little, he'd come into our room, and I'd pretend to be asleep while he molested my twin brother. Then, when we got our own rooms, we shared a wall and I could hear my father raping Greg as clearly as I can hear you. He begged me not to tell, so I had to keep quiet. And all the while, other people called him the keeper of moral rectitude. He may not have touched me, but I was a victim! I was a victim!"
Catherine's quiet agreement was drowned in the sound of the door slamming in the next room. Everyone turned, but before Brass could stop her Grace had run out of the door and grabbed her brother's shoulder. The night shift and Brass trooped out, unable to disperse, unable to respect Greg's privacy; they could not jump off the train even though it was heading for the end of the railway tracks at top speed.
"I had to do it. I can't go to jail. What'll happen to Alex? Who'll care for her while you're at work? I had to do it. It's been killing me for years to keep it a secret."
Her voice was raised and hysterical, and was drawing out others from down the hall. They could not have had this conversation in a less private place, but Greg and Grace were oblivious to everything and every one.
"Killing you? No, Grace, you've been killing yourself. And I've felt guilty for that, because I know my asking you to keep it a secret has contributed a little to that, but it was my right to ask. It was my secret, my life, that he ruined. It was me, it was always me. And you knew, all the while that you plotted his death, you knew it would lead to exposure. But you did it anyway, and without even warning me."
"I tried to call you! You ignored my calls, so that's�" She stopped, faltering at the expression on his face.
"And that lets you off, doesn't it?"
"Oh shut up, do you think I've ever planned anything in my life that well? I was so angry, thinking he'd get everything he wanted while I spend my days trying to shed a drug habit and taking care of his down's syndrome daughter, and you live this odd caricature of a life, throwing yourself into everything and everyone to stop yourself from making a deep, meaningful connection with anyone. And then there's mom, and Alex, who is better off than the rest of her family because she never got anything from him, good or bad."
The anger seemed to slowly slide out of his features, leaving them a little sad, and older than time. "You're wrong, you know. I had a meaningful connection with someone. I had you."
Leaning down, Greg pressed his lips to her forehead and seemed to breathe her in for a moment. Then, he turned around and walked steadily out of the building, not even seeming to notice the people who moved out of his way. And behind him, Grace didn't try to stop him, just standing still until he was out of sight. When his footsteps had died away, and people were starting to shift, she collapsed, falling onto her knees and sobbing it seemed as if her heart would break under the strain. Or perhaps it already had. Perhaps she had been broken, heart, body and soul, for a long time.
THE END. MORE LATER, I PROMISE.