Silenti Viscus

TWO MONTHS LATER

Grissom stared at the photo longingly before flipping it over and reading the backside. Scrawled in loopy script were the words “No regrets, Grissom”. He sighed as he traced the signature with a finger. A sudden memory hit him, an image of Grissom using the same finger to doodle invisible pictures on a smooth abdomen and an ensuing giggle.

“Grissom,” Nick Stokes called from the doorway. Grissom looked up will shoving the picture back into his desk drawer.

“Yes, Nick?” Grissom asked, sounding more tired than he meant to.

“You said you wanted any updates on the Devlin case ASAP, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Nick handed Grissom the manila folder he’d been carrying and waited while Grissom quickly scanned it. The older man struggled to keep his face calm and nonchalant as he handed the folder back to Nick.

“Does the sister know?” inquired Grissom, taking off his glasses.

“Not yet. I figured that I’d let Sara since they seemed to really connect.”

“I want to go with. Just in case things get a little difficult.”

“Sure. I’ll go tell Sara.”

Nick walked hastily out of the office, trying to shake off the suspicion that Grissom’s interest in the Devlin case was beyond professional. When Grissom had first told him that he wanted to be notified the minute there were any changes in the Devlin case, Nick had written it off as another Grissom thing. But now he was spending most of his precious free time moping in his office with his depressive operas and the mysterious object he kept shoving into his desk whenever someone entered the room.

“Hey, Nick,” Warrick Brown waved as he headed up the hallway towards the locker room. “How’s it hanging?”

Nick fell into step next to him, still holding the folder from the Devlin investigation.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a question. Have you noticed something weird about Grissom?”

“You mean weirder than usual?” Warrick smirked as he slipped his stuff into his locker.

“Yeah… He’s kind of moody and secretive lately.”

“Maybe it has something to do with that dominatrix chick,” suggested the mocha-colored CSI as he started buttoning up his work shirt.

“Lady Heather? It could…Grissom did seem a little teed off last time he came back from seeing her…” Nick shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll catch you around, dude.”

“Later,” Warrick agreed. He lingered in the locker room a few minutes longer, trying to decide a course of action. He too had noticed Grissom’s change in behavior and he had been writing it off as a Lady Heather dispute for the longest time. Something was definitely up with Gil Grissom, but there was no easy of figuring out exactly what it was.

<><><><><>

The door was partly open and Alise saw no reason to knock; they were her parents after all. But as soon as Alise took one step onto the plush carpeting, she knew something was wrong. The sheets were thrown back and scattered and the balcony door was wide open. A man emerged from the bathroom, and Alise immediately knew that he wasn’t her father.

He wore a ski mask, but Alise could see his eyes. They were like twin pools of frigid darkness that seemed to say, “Your earthly laws cannot bind me.” Alise watched in horrified silence as the man reached onto the floor and picked up her mother. With one swift motion, he pulled a knife from his belt and slid it across Marianne Devlin’s throat. Then he walked back into the bathroom.

Alise crept up to her dying mother, too stunned to cry. Her mother’s shiny blonde hair looked dull and flaxen in the moonlight, and the blood made it appear like someone had attempted to give her a layered haircut and failed miserably. Marianne’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish trying to breathe out of water, and she reached for her daughter.

“Momma,” Alise whispered, clutching one frozen hand between both of her hands. Marianne could only look at her daughter with adoring eyes, eyes that never closed. When the man came back out of the bathroom, her eyes were still open and locked on the place where her daughter’s face had been.

While the man had been pleasuring himself with her body, all Alise could think about was the hopeful look on her mother’s face. She had died praying that Alise and Tracy would be spared. Alise could feel the cold steel on her neck, the sudden rush of warmth as blood was spilled. It was almost as if she was in her mother’s place…

Suddenly, Alise sat up, eyes fluttering wildly. She’d been dreaming again. Except this time, there was no Grissom to comfort her, to soothe her into sleep.

The bedside clock glared 1:33, but Alise felt fully rested. There was no way she could ever go back to sleep again tonight. She threw the covers off and headed towards the kitchen. She would never get there.

<><><><><>

Grissom’s heart stopped beating when he heard the address over the radio. It was probably a good thing that he had let Catherine drive. The ex-stripper shot a worried glance at her partner as she asked Dispatch to repeat the address.

“No, erinerine, don’t,” Grissom begged. He would drop dead if he heard that address announced in that same, uncaring voice that the dispatchers always used. In a horrifyingly detached voice, Grissom directed Catherine to the place as if he’d been there millions of times before. And in a perverse way, Catherine wasn’t so sure he hadn’t.

“You are not going to believe this,” Sara exclaimed as she ran up to the Tahoe. “The vic is Alise Devlin! How much are you willing to bet that it’s Alex Dean?”

Grissom fumbled with his seatbelt, then bolted from the passenger seat as if it was made of red-hot coals. He fell to his knees at the curb, vomiting into the grass. When he was done, he stood and wiped his mouth before returning to his seat.

“How is she?” he managed to ask without his voice shaking.

“Luckily, one of her neighbors heard screams and called 911 as she was still screaming. Apparently, her caseworker made sure that her neighbors checked in on her every once and a while. The paramedics said she’s lost a lot of blood, but she should survive,” Sara replied, excitement dancing in her eyes. “One of the cops caught Dean a few blocks away, too.”

“Thank God,” Grissom whispered, casting his eyes upward for a nanosecond of relief. Then he turned to Catherine and shook his head.

“I can’t work this case.”

“Why not?” Catherine demanded. She was loosing her patience, and fast; she could only take so much of the moody, everybody-leave-me-be attitude Grissom had lately.

“Conflict of interest,” Grissom responded simply with a shrug of his shoulders.

“What kind of conflict?” Sara interrupted, the fire behind her eyes quickly dying as Grissom answered her question nonverbally.

“Yes, what kind of conflict?” echoed Catherine, knowing full well what the answer would be. “God damn it, Gil! She’s not even 17 yet! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thin. Fo. For the first time in my life, Catherine, I ignored my gut feeling. I overrode my internal warnings and brushed aside any guilt. I felt like a normal human being for a few moments and she captured me during those precious few seconds,” Grissom shrugged.

Catherine snorted in disgust, then pulled the keys out of the ignition. She was obviously torn between saying something or nothing. The nothing appeared to win out and she tossed him the keys.

“As the second-in-command of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, I do hereby place you on administrative leave until a formal investigation is completed. And I do not want to see your face around my lab until then,” Catherine ordered harshly. Her eyes were glistening with tears, but Grissom couldn’t read the emotion behinem. em.

He had a feeling that, for the first time in years, he would be above to get a good night’s sleep.