CHAPTER 3: See Part 1 for disclaimers: Catherine drove her small compact up the long, narrow driveway to her condo at the rear. The building was sheltered beneath a canopy of trees, reducing the heat of the hot Vegas summer. Catherine parked the car in front of a single, lock-up garage. "Nice," Sara commented, appreciatively. She got out of the car, the early morning Vegas air warming her quickly after the cool, air conditioned atmosphere inside Catherine's car. Sara looked around, slowly absorbing the wonderful beauty of the small landscaped garden that bordered the double storey house. Splashes of bright colour danced vividly against a sea of green. Fern fronds draped themselves lazily over the myriad of small flowers, the diversity in types complimenting each other and giving a textured feel to the garden. "Do you do the gardening?" "Yeah. Although, it's more a case of planting as much as I can so that weeds can't take up residence in their place." Catherine gave a small laugh. Gardening was a form of release for her. After a bad day, she would often come home and give Lindsey a big hug before she headed off to school. It was then that Catherine took out her anger on the green villains taking up residence in her garden, their evil spreading at a fast pace throughout the balanced society she had created. Each thrust of the shovel succeeded in casting out another blight on the landscape, and exposed the weed to a tight, stranglehold of satisfaction before it was tossed aside into the garbage. "My Mom used to do the same thing." A wistful smile played across Sara's face. Catherine gave a small smile in return, happy to see that whatever Sara was remembering was good. In the last year, she had seemed to retreat a bit within herself, her smiles fewer and farther between; her laughter that had often filled the halls of the CSI labs came infrequently these days. Catherine wasn't sure when the change began. She could easily pinpoint Sara's anger at Grissom; her application for a Leave of Absence had been proof of that. But other than that, Sara was very hard to read without backing her into a corner and forcing her to open up. "Come on inside, it's already getting hot out here." Sara didn't disagree. Vegas in the height of summer was not a place you wanted to be outside by choice. She didn't think she would ever get used to the oppressive heat, which seemed to double in intensity when on asphalt or in the desert. It seemed such a contrast to the cool coastal fogs of Tomales Bay, where she had grown up. Sometimes the longing to breathe the sharp, clean air of the sea on those long, hot Vegas nights, would almost cause a physical pain inside her. Catherine put the key in the lock, opening the solid wooden door. Cool air floated around them as they entered, the fingers of cold air caressing their bare arms. "Hi Danni. Everything okay?" Catherine spoke to the young woman who came into the hallway at the sound of the key in the lock. Long black ringlets framed a flawless, coffee-coloured face. Large black eyes swept over Sara, her gaze stopping notably on the injuries to her face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, before returning her attention to Catherine. "Fine. Lindsey's in the kitchen eating breakfast." "Danni, this is Sara. She works with me. Sara, Danni." An awkward small exchange of introductions took place, both women unsure of the other. Catherine walked into the kitchen, dumping her handbag onto the coffee table to the left as she walked by. "Hey kiddo." Catherine bent over her tow-haired child, giving her a quick kiss and hug. "Mommy." Lindsey cried out in delight, turning to return the hug and almost sending her breakfast across the table. "Careful. What've you got for breakfast?" Catherine asked as she rescued the errant plate from disaster. "Cap'n Crunch with Apple Jacks." "Interesting combination. I'm glad that you're going to be at school today." Catherine rolled her eyes at Sara, feeling sorry for Lindsay's teacher, Mr. Rubinstone. She picked up the kettle and ran hot water into it. "Hurry up and eat, Linds. It's not long before you'll have to go to school." Lindsey actually had over an hour before she was due to leave, but the reminder was an age old parent thing. "Mom, can't I stay home with you and Sara? Hi Sara." The blonde-haired child gave a cheeky grin at Sara. "What happened to your face?" "I walked into a door." "Mommy used to do that all the time," Lindsey told her matter-of-factly. "Now, she's learned to miss them. You'll have to learn to avoid them too." "I'll try to remember that. I'll have to speak to your mother about how to avoid them." Sara gave Catherine a knowing look, reminding her of the conversation that was promised in the locker room. "Catherine, I'll get going home," Danni broke into the conversation. "Thanks again, Danni. We'll see you tonight." "See ya, munchkin." Danni gave one of Lindsey's plaits a small tug of affection, teasing her. "I'm not a munchkin. Bye, Danni." Lindsey retorted and waved goodbye. "Bye Catherine. Nice to meet you, Sara." Catherine saw Danni to the door, automatically locking it and putting on the safety chain. "Do you want some coffee?" Catherine asked as she returned to the kitchen. "Please." "Cream and one sugar?" Catherine confirmed before placing each into a coffee mug. "Yep." Sara sat down on the bar stool beside Lindsey, blatantly watching the child eat her breakfast with vigour. Sara swallowed and grimaced as she thought of the high sugar content contained in each breakfast cereal. The combination was unthinkable. "Mom, I've finished my breakfast. Can I watch cartoons?" Sara admired the tone in which she asked the question, a perfect balance of whine versus pleading. "Have you got your school bag ready? Text books packed, lunch, library bag *and* book." Lindsey's head nodded ferociously with each statement. "All right. Brush your teeth first, though," Catherine called out after the golden-haired tornado that spun out of the room whose screams of delight that "Mom's the best" were left to float in the air along with the high pitched squeal of the boiling kettle. "You've made her very happy." Sara gave a small grin. "It makes up for all the times when I have to say no." Catherine placed the cup of coffee in front of Sara and pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen bench. Catherine wasn't sure how to broach the subject she wished to talk about with Sara. She had just gotten the courage to jump in when Sara surprised her with a question of her own. "Why?" "Pardon?" Catherine inclined her head slightly to the right, her eyes narrowing as she sought an explanation to the open-ended question. "Why do you still take it? The abuse." Sara's brown eyes met with Catherine's, the dark depths swirling with confusion. "I don't..." Catherine shook her head slowly, denying the accusation. "Don't you? I saw you with him today. You didn't fight back." Sara shook her head, affirming her disbelief of Catherine's attempted denial. "Lindsey's comments tell me that his abuse was regular; regular enough for her to remember. You separated when she was what - four, five?" "She never witnessed it," Catherine told her quickly, too quickly for Sara's liking. "Are you so sure?" Sara looked down into her coffee, her right hand stirring the creamy substance to create a gentle whirlpool. "Children may not see the abuse, but they're a party to it. Locked in their bedrooms, they still hear the sounds; the screams of anger that always come before the sound of knuckles meeting flesh - the cries of pain and the words 'I'm sorry' filling the air. They can hear and they can see the results." Catherine found herself sitting up straighter, watching the emotions flicker across Sara's face as she detailed a child's anguish. Not just any child, Catherine knew intuitively. "Who was it?" Sara whipped her head up, the words stunning her into silence. She realised that her passionate words had given away much more than she had intended. Now she was caught with only one direction to go, to reveal the truth. "Your parents?" "No." Sara shook her head. "My parents were children of the sixties - free will and all that. Both of them are passive." Sara said her last words with derision. "Who then? Because I know you have witnessed it." "My aunt." Sara ran her finger around the rim of her mug, her eyes searing the murky depths hoping to find an answer to the questions that had been torturing her for over a decade. Catherine let Sara's revelation hang in the air, hoping that she would elaborate without being pushed. Her hopes were rewarded. "She just took it. She didn't fight back. She even defended him. It was as if she believed it was all her fault - that she'd asked to be hit," Sara said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Sara, you know as well as I do that abuse is not only physical but emotional. Most husbands who abuse have picked women who will be dependent upon them and have no way of breaking free. They have had their contacts with their family and friends reduced or severed completely. Those women carry a hell of a lot of guilt and don't know how to break free of the bonds that tie them to their husband." Catherine reached out to stopl Sara's hand from tracing yet another circle around the mug. Sara dropped her hand from the rim, resting it on the table. Catherine's hand still covered it, the warmth of friendship radiated through the small connection. "So how did you do it? I mean, look at the women we've both seen on this job. Those who have lived with abuse; been shattered by it. I can't see how you were ever like them. How could they ever get to the point where you're at?" "Because I had someone who cared enough to tell me to get out." Catherine gave a small smile, remembering the trust and faith she had placed in those words of support, spoken at a time when she needed them most. "Grissom." "Yes and no. He was part of it." Catherine pulled her hand back from covering Sara's, taking a sip from her coffee. "It was actually the drug rehabilitation program that made me see what I was doing to myself, to my family and friends. It also made me a stronger person. Eddie's abuse wasn't anything I hadn't seen before in my own house as a child, nor in the club scene. It was only once I started working as a CSI that I began to understand that I didn't have to take *any* abuse - I was able to see clearly what Eddie was doing to me." "But you didn't leave him immediately." Sara was trying to reconcile the strong, independent woman before her today with a younger Catherine who would accept being hit by her husband. It was a hard pill to swallow. "Sara, it's not as easy as you think." Catherine tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "You've got to remember that I had a young child. I worked weird hours, hours when you can't get childcare. I had to look for someone else to look after my child. It was easier to stay with Eddie." "But he was in the night club scene. He would have worked the same hours you did," Sara contradicted quickly, unable to accept Catherine trying to validate her acceptance of abuse. "Not when Lindsey was a baby. My pay was much better than his..." "Hasn't it always been better than his?" Sara interjected. "You've got a good point there." Catherine ran her tongue over her teeth, giving her colleague a small grin of appreciation at the compliment. "Anyway, in the first couple of years after Lindsey was born, he cared for her while I worked. It was only as time went on that I was able to see how detrimental our relationship was, not only to me, but also to Lindsey. A combination of things fell into place at the one time; my sister moved to Vegas, I became a CSI Level 3 and Eddie chose the exact same time to be at his worst. It all worked towards my moving out on my own." "But you haven't totally broken free of him." "I'm getting there. We sold the house last year, which was the last financial tie that kept us together. I can't prevent him from seeing Lindsey, and frankly I don't want to stop him." Catherine met Sara's eyes and encouraged her to understand that it wasn't as simple as black and white. "They love each other and he wouldn't dare hit her. Sara, I accept that I was abused, but it wasn't on the scale suffered by a lot of women. I wasn't walking into work with bruises all over my body. The occasional black eye was the worst of it." "Abuse is abuse," Sara said emphatically. "I agree, and that's why I got out. One thing you have to remember is that men like Eddie and your uncle work on the feeling of guilt and inadequacy. They create a scenario that makes the victim believe that they have contributed to their beating, that they have somehow caused it. I got past that Sara. I realised that I was never the problem, it was always Eddie. But not every woman in an abusive situation manages to see this. " Catherine realised that her own story was at an end, yet she still didn't know the full extent of Sara's introduction into the world of abusive relationships. Her eyes quietly searched her colleague's sad face. "Sara, what happened to your aunt?" "She died." Sara got a faraway look in her eye, obviously recalling a moment in the past. "One day, he didn't stop the beating and continued until she stopped moving, stopped begging him to stop." "Were you there?" "No," Sara shook her head, regret filling her eyes. Catherine caught sight of a deep set anger as well. "My parents stopped me visiting after a particularly bad beating. I asked them why he did it, but they didn't have an answer. They did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her out of the abuse. They only protected me from becoming a victim as well." "Sara, how old were you?" Once again, Catherine caught hold of Sara's hand, sensing that she was in need of a life-line of reassurance. "When my parents forbade me from staying with them anymore? Ten." "So you really don't know what your parents did to try to stop the abuse." Catherine shook her head lightly. "You said yourself that your aunt took the abuse, accepted it as her due. If someone isn't ready to break free of the constraints of abuse, you can't force them. You can only try to help them see a way out." "I know. But I wish I could have done something more. All I did was stay away and let it continue." Tears filled Sara's eyes at the admittance of what she perceived to be her greatest error. "Sara, you were ten years old." Catherine gripped Sara's hand more tightly, her eyes seeking to reassure Sara that she was not responsible for her aunt's death. "If you had got in the way, you would have been hit too." "I know, I know. It doesn't make it any easier though." Sara dug into her hip pocket and pulled out a tissue, dabbing away the unshed tears. "It's why you feel so deeply for the women who have been attacked, killed by their spouses. The reason you go to bat for them every single time, isn't it?" Catherine rubbed the back of Sara's arm. "I need to give them closure, to make him pay for what he's done." "The killer or your uncle?" "Both." "Sara, fighting for all those women won't bring them or your aunt back. You need to think clearly on each case and don't cloud it with preconceived perceptions and views." "Grissom's already pointed that out." "He's right." "I know." The words came out as a low sigh. "It will take time, but the more you talk about it, the more you will be able to handle it." "It's not exactly something you bring up in normal conversation." "Sara, you can always talk to me, Grissom, the guys. We all understand. Each of us has our ghosts, even Grissom." Sara gave a half-hearted smile at that. "How about some more coffee?" Catherine didn't even wait for a response, putting the kettle on again and grabbing the cream and sugar. "Damn, I'm out of milk," Catherine said, swirling the meager contents of the carton around. "Can you stay with Lindsey while I go get some?" The look of horror on Sara's face rivalled the one she had worn when Grissom had forced her to go on that roller coaster ride years ago. "Sara, she's nine years old. She's been trained not to bite." "But I know *who* trained her." Sara smirked. "Very funny." Catherine was secretly pleased to see her smile. It was good to see Sara relaxed, especially after a tense conversation like the one that has just taken place. "I'll be back soon. It should only take fifteen minutes." "Okay, but I warn you, if you find your daughter hogtied on the couch, don't come after me with a butcher knife!" "Can you lock the door after me?" Catherine grabbed her handbag and walked down the hallway. Sara locked and slipped the chain back in place. She shook her head, wondering how she had even been conned into coming to Catherine's house in the first place. Somehow Catherine had managed to turn the tables on her and she had revealled an intensely profound moment in her life, one that helped define who she was today. Sara wandered into the lounge room and sat on the couch. Lindsey lay on the floor, her chin nestled in her cupped hands, eyes firmly fixed on the TV in front of her. Sara didn't recognise the cartoons, the bright flashes of colour and storyline appearing to have a very sci-fi feel to it. The doorbell rang., startling her from her thoughts. Sara checked her watch. Unfolding herself from her comfortable position on the couch, she went to answer the door. It was only a couple of minutes since Catherine had left. Sara assumed that she must have forgotten something. "Hey, that was pretty quick driving," Sara laughed as she opened the door, stopping abruptly as the security chain-lock held it secure within a few inches from the door jam. "What did you forget, keys, handbag..." She trailed off as she noticed two large burly men in the doorway. They were clearly up to no good - the black ski masks over their heads gave them away. A thought ran through her head as to the incongruous situation - since when do burglars ring door bells before entering? "Shit," Sara said under her breath, the word giving full meaning to the panic she felt. She tried to slam the door shut on the men. She only managed to move the door slightly before an exceptionally large, handmade black leather shoe slid strategically between the door and the door jam. Sara gave up trying to push against the dual weight of the men, realising her best chance at that moment was to call for help. She ran into the kitchen, digging into her handbag for her cell phone. "C'mmon, c'mmon," she whispered, pacing the room. The phone rang once, then twice. The pounding on the door seemed to thunder throughout the house. It was then she remembered Lindsey in the next room. The young girl hadn't moved from her fixed spot in front of the TV. Sara decided it would be better to leave it that way; there wasn't time to do anything else. Sara searched the room, looking for something to use to fight these guys with. Hand to hand combat against two men, each easily being twice her size, was usually called suicide. Her call was finally answered, just as the front door hit the wall with a resounding crash. "Help." She let out the startled cry, dropping her cell phone to the bench and leaving it connected to the emergency service. She'd found her weapon of choice against these thugs and it needed the element of surprise for it to have a chance to work. She stood in front of the refrigerator, hidden from the passageway. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She debated her choices of hitting the first burglar or the second; which way would give her the better chance to fight? Their feet on the tiled floor sounded like a marching band heading her way. Each step was methodically in time with the other. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought only one man was coming towards her. Sara closed her eyes for a moment, hoping to gain strength from an inner source. She relied heavily on her hearing to provide her with the moment to strike. As the first man drew even with her, she threw the boiling water from the kettle directly at his face. The ski mask gave a small amount of protection, but the hot liquid had the man instantly clawing at his face and crying out in pain. Sara used the aluminum kettle to strike at the second man, colliding full on with the side of his face sending him to his knees. She then used the kettle to strike him again over the back of his head. A hand snaked out and caught her leg, attempting to pull her off balance. The bulky hand held her leg in a vice grip, each finger biting painfully into the tender flesh of her thigh. The grip tightened forcibly. Sara could imagine the look that was on his face beneath the mask, the satisfaction at hearing her cry out in pain. Renewed anger flowed through her and Sara brought the kettle down directly on the man's face, the force snapping his head backwards. His hands flew to his shattered nose. She followed through with another sharp hit to the side of his head and he crumpled to the ground. There was no time to even catch her breath as she was propelled across the room by a charging force, the snort of anger reminding her of an enraged bull. "The other guy," she thought dully as her body connected abruptly with the solid wood of the mahogany coffee table. Pain filtered through her shock at the surprise attack. Her breath had been totally knocked out of her lungs upon impact with the barrelling thug and her body now twisted in agony at the shooting arrows of pain from her side. She cursed both her attacker for causing the extraordinary amount of pain and berated herself for not keeping her eyes open for the second guy. She caught sight of the second guy out of the corner of her eye, his fist flying towards her prone form. His face was twisted in a grimace, his charcoal eyes a glittering evil. Her training kicked in and she instinctively rolled away from the danger. Sara dropped to the floor onto outstretched hands, hearing rather than seeing the fist connect with the coffee table. "One down, one to go," she thought to herself, thinking that her chances of winning this originally unbalanced fight were increasing. Her training would give her an unsuspected advantage. As she threw herself into the battle, her opposition quickly realised that this woman knew how to handle herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught sight of Lindsay standing in the doorway, her blue eyes enormous in a pallid face. "Lindsey, hide!" Sara called out, her breath coming out in short bursts. She was so intent on the child that she forgot to duck when a fist came soaring towards her. The little girl remained frozen to the spot. She watched in fear as a fist caught Sara in the face, squarely on top of the damage inflicted by Eddie earlier in the day. Her head kicked back under the force, but it was a surprise when the back of her head connected with something solid, sending a shower of stars across her vision before it dimmed and faded. Sara's feet crumpled beneath her and as she fell to the floor. Her head connected with the coffee table as she collapsed. "What the hell is going on in here?" Dimly, she heard the voice penetrate the darkness. She frowned, trying to avoid the ebbing tide of darkness reaching out about her and caressing her with fingers of tenderness, saving her from the searing pain filling her head. "Is it so difficult to get an nine year old?" With those final words and the sound of Lindsey's scream, consciousness eluded Sara. End Part 3/?