The two story sprawling brick apartment complex had probably been the gem of rentals when it was built thirty years ago. It had that quality of having at one time been a place of pride. Time and use had weathered it some and its sparkle was not as bright as the newer, fancier complexes being built by the dozen. Still, it wasn’t a fleabag residence and it still had some of the qualities that had probably attracted people to it so many years ago.
Walking past the single story building that acted as a manager’s office and community room, Sofia led Greg and a young police officer through the wrought iron gates into the inner courtyard of the complex. The complex was set up in a horseshoe, the office sitting at the open end and in the center a rectangular pool with lime green and pink lounge chairs surrounding it. Black wrought iron made up the gates and railings adding contrast to the whitewash of the brick of the buildings.
According to Sofia’s information apartment number 27 had shown up sporadically in Scott Abrams background and according to the apartment manager it had been rented by the same guy for the last six years, a Derek Lopez.
“Here we are number 27,” Sofia said knocking on the door as the uniformed officer took up a spot on the opposite side, Greg stayed behind Sofia and out of the way.
After a second set of knocks on the door it opened to reveal a young man in his mid-twenties. His black hair was long and wavy and hung down to his shoulders, his dark eyes momentarily startled by their presence at his door scanned the three in quick succession. “Yea,” he said his hand hanging on the door knob while the rest of his body blocked the view within his apartment.
“Derek Lopez?” Sofia asked in a voice that belied her increased wariness. Lopez’s body language said he was hiding something, whether that was a guilty conscious or a guy with a gun she didn’t know.
“Yea,” Lopez shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.
“We understand that Scott Abrams lived here,” Sofia purposely kept her information vague, better to let them trip on their own lies than to use her information.
Lopez’s unease at the door increased. He bounced from foot to foot as if he was an hour past the need to use the restroom. “Scott doesn’t live here,” he declared trying to move farther out into the open air hall.
Sofia remained where she stood making it difficult for the man to get out of his apartment. There was obviously something the man was hiding inside.
“Are you hiding something, Mr. Lopez?” she asked giving Greg and the deputy a knowing look. “Do you mind if we check your apartment?”
“Wha…why?” Lopez stammered.
Sofia gave the man an enigmatic smile, “Why not?”
“Ummm…” Lopez glanced through the crack of the door, obviously unsure of what his next move should be.
“I tell you what,” Sofia said pulling her cuffs from her belt and spinning Lopez to face the wall. “Why don’t you stay here with Officer Benoit, while I call in a search warrant,” she explained placing the cuffs on the man’s wrists.
“Okay, okay,” Lopez tried to turn and face Sofia decided he didn’t like the option she had presented. “What do you want to know?”
Sofia glanced over her shoulder to Greg, a knowing half-smile playing out on her face. “I’d like to take a look at the inside of your apartment. You can either invite us in or…I get a warrant and make life a little less comfortable for you,” she raised her brows in a look that told him he would not like the latter option “What do you say?”
Lopez rolled his head downward, a gesture of defeat as he mumbled his assent to enter the apartment. Sofia motioned for Benoit to keep an eye on the man as she entered the apartment, pulling her gun from its holster at her side.
“There’s nobody in there,” Lopez proclaimed. Sofia gave the man a skeptical look as she continued her walk through.
The apartment was moderately picked up; a few dirty dishes littered a coffee table along with a couple of plastic pop bottles and two game remotes. Sofia noted that the furniture was simple and sparse and over all the apartment didn’t have much of a lived in feel to it.
The living room led to a kitchen dining room area with a sliding glass door that exited onto an enclosed balcony. At first blush the kitchen looked much like the living room, a little messy but otherwise ordinary. But first blush could be highly deceptive and Sofia’s eyes were drawn to a wooden bread basket sitting on the counter near the sink. Everything else about the kitchen was low key. Cheap, opaque plastic containers and re-used coffee cans seemed to be Lopez’s decorating style but the bread basket looked like a woman’s touch with its colorful picture of wheat stalks accenting the swing down door. Sofia grabbed the small knob between her forefinger and thumb and lowered the door. There stuffed in recycled plastic bread wrappers was a Glock 9mm.
“I’d be nervous too,” Sofia muttered looking back towards the front door of the apartment.
“I found that,” Lopez blurted out.
Sofia gave the man a look that told him exactly what she thought of his excuse. “You found it?” Sofia asked moving to one side to let Greg through to the kitchen.
Lopez stared directly into Sofia’s eyes, making the police detective’s grin even wider. Criminals just didn’t get. Try to hard to maintain eye contact, you’re guilty. Too little eye contact…well, Lopez was guilty period, Sofia thought.
“I didn’t want any of the kids to get it.”
“Well, aren’t you a good citizen,” Sofia began coming to stand next to the man. “I tell you what; I’m going to have Officer Benoit escort you sown to the station. On the way you might want to think up as much information as possible about that gun and, oh yea, Scott Abrams otherwise…you better pray that gun is clean.”
Sofia kept Greg company as he processed the apartment. As Greg went about collecting prints, Sofia searched the apartment more closely. Walking through the first of the two bedrooms, Sofia noted it was much like the living room, sparse. A double bed was the only furniture within the room and closet was pretty limited as well, having a half a dozen shirts and a couple of pair of jeans hanging within.
The second bedroom reminded her of a hastily established command center with a folding table in the center of the room and a large dry erase board hanging from one wall. On the table were a multitude of cellular phones, a small stack of bills and various motorcycle magazines. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Sofia went through the bills.
“Do you think this guy actually lived here?’ Greg asked as he entered the room.
Sofia gave Greg a quick glance before she placed the bills back on the table. “No, I think this is a flop pad,” Sofia replied as her attention turned to the dry erase board that Greg was investigating. “DiSilva out of Narcotics says this guy is a low end middleman but they’ve never really been able to pinch him on anything big or worthwhile. My guess is this is his office.” Sofia made a sweeping gesture with her hand, indicating the apartment as a whole.
“Looks like some kind of code,” Greg said as they glanced over the white board on the wall. “Not really Gink work.”
Sofia frowned slightly while pulling her small notebook from her back pocket. “No, maybe deliveries or shipments. Can you get me some shots of this, Greg?” Sofia asked as she jotted down some quick notes.
Greg nodded, slipping the camera from his shoulder and snapping off some pictures of the dry erase board and the table before turning his attention to a few pictures that had been tacked up on the wall near the board. Noticing a picture of a group of young men in full motorbike gear standing next to a new bright yellow sport bike, Greg lowered the camera
“Sofia,” Greg said his attention fixed on the photograph as he plucked it from the wall with his gloved hand “Does that look like it might be Abrams?” Greg asked pointing to the tallest of the young men standing to Lopez’s right. He had a dark bandana covering his head and he was squinting against the sun light that was shining in his face.
Sofia took the photograph and had to admit it did look a lot like the photograph that she had seen from Abrams arrest jacket. “Awfully cozy aren’t-“
Greg looked up from the picture to see a slowly growing look of surprise begin to diffuse over Sofia’s face.
“What?”
“Bathory,” Sofia whispered as she pointed towards an older man in the picture and away from the others.
Greg looked at the man Sofia indicated with her finger. Standing slightly apart from the enthusiastic cyclists, his pale eyes completely washed out by the flash of the camera was the man they all were looking for. Even in a photograph the man seemed to exude malevolence and Greg fought the shiver that threatened to trace up and down his spine.
“It will be interesting what Lopez has to say about this,” Greg half-whispered.
“Yes, well, I just hope he doesn’t try and tell us he found it and wanted to save the neighbor kids from it,” Sofia sarcastically said.
Greg smiled and nodded. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed working with Sofia more now that she was a detective. She had been a good CSI but a little intimidating, which seemed strange since Greg was most intimidated by Grissom but loved working with him. I guess a little hero worship can go along way, he considered as he left the apartment. With any luck he could meet up with the rest of the team before the end of shift and fill them in on Scott Abrams, Derek Lopez and Richard Bathory.
*******
Trooper Ken Fry was making his way along Seven Sisters Road on his way back to I-93. It was a barren stretch of a road that had been made during the days of the silver mines that had sprung up in the area. Long since mined out, it was now a shortcut back to base. His night had been relatively uneventful aside from a warning ticket to a couple of speeding teens, when his head lights caught a man stumbling along the side of the road.
“My first party hound of the night,” the trooper thought out loud. Pulling off the road, just ahead of the man, calling into dispatch as he did, Fry sighed and got out of his cruiser to deal with the wayward drunk.
“Hey buddy! What you doing out here?”
Nothing.
“Got a name?” the trooper asked raising his flashlight at the man tripping his way along the desert road. He hated dealing with drunks, dreaded it really. He was never lucky to get the funny, happy drunks. No, he always got the “cry in my beer” ones or worse “the looking for a fight” ones. With a sigh he wondered which one he had gotten tonight.
His speculations ceased and his heart stopped when his Mag-lite caught the man’s appearance. Grabbing his walkie-talkie he yelled, “DISPATCH: 10-52 MY LAST LOCALE!” He shone his flashlight wildly in the dark trying to see if there was any hidden danger, his right palm coming to rest on his service pistol at his hip.
“Sir,” the stumbling man was covered in blood, his face was one giant bruise and his feet were bare and raw. “SIR,” he said more forcefully. The man was in a daze and did not even seem aware of his presence or that of the flashing red and blue cruiser just a few feet ahead.
“Sir” The trooper reached up to place the palm of his hand in the man’s chest to halt his stumbling. He could feel the faint, erratic heart beat within, like the wings of frightened baby bird. “Have you been in an accident?”
The man’s confused blue eyes looked at the trooper’s hand on his chest. Following the hand to the arm, to the trooper, he stared as if he had landed in an alternate universe. His eyes were dark and glossy before his head rolled heavenward and he began to sink to his knees.
With a rushed expletive, Fry reached out and grabbed the man, trying to gently lower him to the side of the road. He checked his carotid pulse before reaching for his walkie-talkie at his shoulder. “DISPATCH, where is my ambulance?” he yelled heading for the cruiser for his flares, medical kit and a blanket.
“AMBULANCE IS 15 AWAY FROM YOUR LOCATION” his radio belted back.
“I have a male 45-50, unresponsive, pulse weak and thready.” Fry knelt down next to the man after setting out the flares along the road. He could see the head trauma but there was an awful lot of blood covering his shirt. Pulling up his shirt Fry was aghast, “Jesus!” he exhaled. He couldn’t tell where the blood started and the wounds stopped.
“Multiple wounds to the thoracic and head…major blood loss…pupils appear uneven,” the trooper panted.
Grabbing a 4x4 gauze pad from his kit, Fry applied pressure to what looked like the worst of the wounds. At the pressure, the man sucked in a rattling breath. His glassy gaze swung wildly with his head. His hands flailed weakly as he tried to pull away from the trooper.
“Hey buddy, stay with me okay,” Fry said trying to ascertain all the man’s wounds. The trooper had thought the man may have been in an accident but if so where’s the car? Nothing had passed him coming from the opposite direction for miles and there wasn’t much else out here that he could recall.
The man’s movements began to slow and Fry knew that he was losing him.
“Hey, hey!” he shouted giving the man a robust shake “Stay with me, okay, just stay with me.” Fry could see the flashing lights of the approaching ambulance. From the distance he guessed they were four minutes out. “What’s your name?”
The man’s blue eyes tried to focus on the trooper kneeling above him. “Grissom,” he choked and Fry could see blood had begun to from at the corner of his mouth “Gil… Gris-som.”
“Okay, Gil, I’ve got an ambulance on the way. We’re going to take care of you.” Fry could feel the man’s choppy intakes of breath. Come on damn it! “Gil, you got any family?” he asked trying to keep the injured man from slipping away.
Grissom’s head lolled on the gravel, his arms waving and flopping, as he raised and lowered his knees. “Fam…fam…ily?”
“Yea, family,” Fry repeated watching the ambulance come to a quick stop next to his cruiser. Fry motioned frantically for the paramedics.
Grissom grabbed the trooper’s wrist as he rose to get out of the paramedics way. “Baa-rass… Brass, Vegas… hom, homiiiicide.”
Fry nodded as the paramedics took over. “Okay,” he said reassuring the wounded man “Brass, got ya”
Trooper Fry could hear one of the paramedics ordering air lift which didn’t sound good for Gil Grissom. He’d follow the ambulance into the rural clinic to find out if the man made it long enough for the MEDIVAC Chopper to take him to Vegas or not-afterwards…
“Brass…”
*******
At 6:40am the graveyard team along with Captain Jim Brass sat around the long glossy table that took up the center of the conference room. They had gone through all the evidence old and new, had sported theory after theory, had argued, stormed off and returned again to start from the beginning. Until now they spoke in forced sentences, not being able to stand the silence that felt too thick in the air.
“Cath, do you remember the Fearsome Four,” Warrick asked trying to ease the tension in the room.
Catherine threw her head back and covered her mouth. “Oh my God, I haven’t thought about them in forever” she chuckled.
“I saw Shelley Keene, not that long ago,” Brass chimed in a bemused smirk on his face “had a pack of kids in tow.”
Nick, Sara and Greg looked between the three, confused by their insider conversation.
“Who, what is the Fearsome Four?” Nick asked, slightly amused by all the chuckling that Catherine, Warrick and Brass were doing.
“They were four lab techs that worked here eleven, twelve years ago” Catherine said shaking her head at fond memories, almost forgotten.
“Man, did they have Grissom running scared.” Brass clapped his hands in amusement
“Who is the Fearsome Four?” Greg demanded. It sounded like a good story and he always enjoyed a good one of those, besides a little levity couldn’t hurt any of them.
Warrick started, “There were these four lab techs. Let’s see, Shelley Keene, nice, Tracy Bell, hot, Cassie-hey, what was Cassie’s last name?”
“Serlack.” Catherine offered.
“Yea, Cassie Serlack, mega hottie, and Penny Alder, big…” Warrick let their imaginations fill in the rest. “When I started here they all had a major case of the hots for Grissom. I’m talking borderline stalking hots.”
Sara, Nick and Greg’s eyes all widened. “This is going to be good,” Greg said nearly salivating at all the digs he was going to get out of this story.
“It was bad,” Catherine added leaning back in her chair. “It started with Tracy Bell and Penny Alder, they started around the same time I did. They did everything in their power to get Grissom’s attention and you guys KNOW what a challenge that can be.”
“Oh, I loved it when Shelley Keene was hired and got on the Grissom band wagon,” Brass said tapping his forefinger on the table in front of him. “She decided that Grissom was too skinny and took it upon herself to fatten him up. Man, could that girl bake!” Brass said closing his eyes in a display of delight.
“Well, she had a point back then. Grissom would bring a jar of peanut butter to work and just eat spoonfuls of it when he got hungry.”
Brass nodded at Catherine, “When he remembered TO get hungry. He could make you tired just standing next him back then. Just glad he slowed down a little with age.”
“You guys laugh,” Warrick said accusingly “but they were some scary women. I remember crawling out the men’s bathroom window with Grissom to try and get away from them.”
The mental picture of Grissom and Warrick diving through the men’s lavatory window, while a bevy of salivating women hovered at the door had them all chuckling.
“I think that’s why Grissom liked you so much in the beginning ‘Rick,” Brass said wiping a joyful tear from his eye “you were a partner in his misery.”
Warrick’s laughter slowed a whimsical look on his face as he remembered those moments from long ago. “Yea.” He said quietly.
Nick needled Catherine and Warrick for more information on the Fearsome Four as Brass’s cell phone went off.
“Brass,” he answered as the others conversed.
“Captain Brass, this is Jessi at Dispatch,” said a young woman’s voice at the other end.
“Jessi.” Brass greeted.
“Yes, sir, I have a relay from a Nevada State Trooper. His name is Sgt. Ken Fry.”
“Alright, Jessi put him through.” Brass had turned partially from the table to try and concentrate on his phone call, instead of the happy ruminations of times past.
“Go ahead Sgt. Fry,” the dispatcher instructed.
“Hello,” Brass began.
“Hello, Captain Brass?”
“Yes?”
Catherine was finishing up a story about a clueless Grissom and a braless Penny Alder trying to get his attention when Jim Brass erupted from his seat, sending his chair rolling across the floor to crash into the drink machine behind him. Everyone’s attention spun on the homicide captain.
“WHERE? Yes, I know where that is.” His words were curt, his face a mixture of worry and anger. “When?” Brass looked at his watch. “Alright, thank you Sgt. Fry.”
They were all staring at Brass as he flipped his phone off. “Grissom was found an hour ago,”
Not a breath was taken.
“He’s being air lifted to Desert Palms Hospital.”
The room was vacated instantly.
Markus Bathory had flown into a rage when he had discovered Grissom missing from his chains and Jake unconscious and bleeding on the dirty floor of his rustic prison. He had railed at Vonna, who was supposed to be Jake’s partner for the night. Markus had always had them work in twos just in case.
“WHERE IS HEEEE?” Markus had screamed at her the veins in his neck and temple bulging with his rage.
Donny and Scott had immediately gone looking for their escaped prisoner, assuming the man could not go far in the desert at night. This left Vonna alone with the moaning Jake and the frightening Markus Bathory. Markus prized control, had worked all his lifetime to maintain his so that he would not be ruled by his emotions like Richard had always been. So when he lost his composure it was well and truly lost.
Vonna had backed away from the seething man, well and truly frightened. She didn’t know how the man had gotten out of the tank or how Jake had ended up hurt, bleeding and out cold.
“I, I don’t know,” Vonna had stammered. She had not known Grissom was missing until she had gone to see what was taking Jake so long. “I…Jake went to pull him out of the tank…like you said, midnight…I, Jake was gone …I went to check and he was,” she gestured to the young man on the silver examining table.
Markus had taken a deep breath to collect himself and had told Vonna Jake was her responsibility. She had turned her back to Markus to take charge of the wounded man and it was the last mistake she would ever make. Slipping up behind her, the shiny, silver scalpel in his hand, Markus wrapped his strong arm around Vonna and yanked her back against his chest.
“Shhh,” he said as he had held her mouth. Vonna had struggled with every ounce of her strength, her eyes had been wide, her breathing rapid and erratic, her screams high and piercing. She had fought even as the scalpel blade split her flesh and silenced her screams, her life’s blood spurting out with every terrified beat of her heart.
Markus had stepped back as Vonna’s life poured from her and had sneered at the girl. “You fail me,” he had hissed at her “I kill you.”
Vonna eventually lost her battle to stem the blood flow and with a hollow gurgle had stumbled to the feet of her murderer. Markus had watched her with a practiced look of detachment, even as his mind soared with the sheer adrenaline spike that killing the girl had caused.
He had knelt down before Vonna brushing her blood soaked hair from her face, like a loving father and that was how Donny had found his master
“Donny, I am afraid we are going to have to change our plans.” Markus had said gently patting the younger man on the shoulder. “You know what needs to be done.”
The group of friends had run with sirens and lights the whole way, making the trip in an obscene record setting time. Arriving at the emergency room, they were told that Grissom had already been rushed into surgery. Now they sat and waited and worried some more.
For three hours they sat and paced in the waiting room. Every doctor or nurse that came within five feet had their undivided attention until they realized it had nothing to do with Grissom. The only words spoken were when someone was going to the coffee machine. So they sat or stood waiting to hear anything on Grissom’s condition.
“Captain Brass?”
Brass turned at his name to see a state trooper at the large, arched opening that separated the waiting room from the hallway. The trooper was in his early forties with short salt and pepper hair and dark eyes. He looked like a guy’s guy with a face that was more used to smiling then frowning.
“I’m Ken Fry,” the trooper explained.
Brass straightened his slumped shoulders and marched forward to shake the trooper’s hand. “Jim Brass” he said in a voice filled with appreciation.
“I wanted to check up on Mr. Grissom,” Fry explained turning his flat brimmed hat around and around in his hands “to see how he was doing.”
Brass’s features deflated some. “They still have him in surgery” he said gesturing in the direction of the operating room.
The trooper nodded solemnly as he looked at the others scattered about the room. Brass noticing his gaze went about the room introducing the CSIs to the trooper and explaining it was he who had found Gil. Nick came forward, much like Brass, and shook the trooper’s hand energetically as he thanked him. He was followed by Warrick and the rest of the team as they all showed their immense appreciations for what the man had done.
“I know it’s really poor consolation but,” Fry paused hoping he said his next words in the right way “considering the fact that they are still in there working on him is a good sign. He was pretty bad when I found him.” His last sentence was heavy with meaning.
“How bad?” Sara had to ask. They hadn’t heard anything from the doctor’s and having some information, whether good or bad, was needed.
The trooper looked at the woman with the dark forlorn eyes and hesitated, wondering if he should candy-coat his reply or lay reality out brutally at their feet.
“He coded on the paramedics while we waited for the chopper.” Fry said on a single expelled breath, deciding honesty was the least painful course at this point.
Sara nodded. Even though it was painful to hear it, she was thankful for the trooper’s honesty.
“Man,” Nick muttered angrily, pounding his fist into the wall beside him.
Greg lowered his head onto his clasped hands and looked to be praying in the corner, while Warrick leaned against the wall near Catherine’s chair- always her sentinel.
“What happened?” Catherine asked in a voice weak from worry and tears.
Spinning his hat in his hand Fry answered, “Sorry, ma’am I really don’t know. I thought he was a drunk walking along the road when I first stopped. As soon as I got him in my flashlight I could see I wasn’t dealing with a drunk.”
“Did he tell you anything? Say anything?”
“He told me his name and Captain Brass’s.” Fry nodded towards Brass
The smacking of the double-swing doors that lead to the operating room had everyone on their feet. A woman in her mid fifties walked into the waiting room pulling her surgical cap from her head. She had dark gray and white hair cropped very short. Her black rimmed glasses low on her nose as she looked at the anxious faces before her.
“We have him stabilized but I have to be honest, he’s in bad shape,” she announced, dispensing with introductions.
Brass wasn’t much in the mood to be a cop at the moment but knew it was needed to catch the sick bastards that had done this.
“Was he able to tell you anything, doctor?”
“No.” She repeated in a weary voice. “He hasn’t regained consciousness, which is not surprising.”
“He’s going to be okay, right? Sara half asked, half stated nervously coming to her feet.
The doctor slipped her cap into the breast pocket of her scrubs. Her body language spoke of a deep down weariness that came with battling death, a weariness they were all familiar with. “I have him on assisted breathing right now,” she informed the group.
There was a collective whoosh of air as everyone inhaled sharply. Sara crashed back down into her chair, her face falling into her hands as she began to silently sob. Greg leaned over and put his arm around her trying to console her even as he felt a tear slip from his own eyes.
“He is breathing on his own,” the doctor rushed on “but not well. Something is messing with his nervous system, causing tremors so we had to administer diazepam which may keep him under longer then expected
Brass nodded his loathing for the perpetrators apparent in the tiny snarl on his face. He knew that Catherine had collected the clothes that Gil had worn coming into the emergency room but they would need to know about his injuries. “We’ll need everything documented,” he stated flatly.
The doctor took a large breath. The list of injuries and suspected injuries her patient had could take sometime.
“I can tell you he’s been through hell,” the gravity of her voice increased as she thought of her patient. The man was obviously a fighter. “We’ll see where we stand in a couple of hours.” With that she left them slightly shell shocked but with some hope.
“Catherine?” Brass began “I’m going to need someone to come out with me to where Gil was found.”
“I got that,” Greg said forcefully. He’d find the assholes that had done this to Grissom. “You going to be okay, Sara?” he asked not wanting to leave her if she needed him.
She nodded wiping the tears from her cheeks but unable to speak.
“Okay,” Greg said leaving Sara and heading for the elevator.
“Yea,” Warrick sauntered towards the hall “I got a piece of that too. Wait up Greg.”
Brass gave a little shimmy of his head, “Okay, that was easy,” he said and followed the two CSIs headed for the elevator.
Catherine felt like a portion of a huge weight was slowly being lifted from her chest. “Hey, no point in us all sitting around here. Why don’t we take shifts, I can take first watch.”
Sara didn’t move and Catherine really hadn’t expected her to.
“Get some food, cleaned up maybe a fresh wink or two. It will help I know it will,” Catherine said preemptively.
“Alright,’ Nick relented “but I will be back in a couple of hours.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Catherine smiled. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Catherine said.
Nick kneeled down in front of Sara her head in her hands, her dark hair hiding her face. “Sara, you want me to drop you home?”
Without looking up, Sara shook her head in response. Nick wasn’t going to argue with her. She had stopped crying and he hoped that was a good sign. “Okay, darlin’ you try and get some rest,” he said rubbing her shoulders.
“Cath,” he said raising and walking over to the other woman in the room.
Catherine stood up and gave Nick a hug. “He’ll be okay, Nicky, I know it.”
Nick nodded his head as he pulled away from Catherine’s embrace. Taking a deep breath and blowing it out he let them both know he’d back in a couple of hours with some lunch in hand.
Catherine felt very alone with just Sara left. . The younger woman had pulled her knees up to her chest and sat sideways in her chair. Her head rested limply on the back of the chair while her folded arms acted as a protective barrier across her face and upper body. Catherine decided not to press her for a conversation. It was obvious that Sara needed time with her thoughts and emotions and Catherine was more than willing to give it to her. Besides, Catherine didn’t feel emotionally strong enough to support anyone, let alone the wounded woman before her.
So they sat in silence, alone with their thoughts and worries and they waited for any news of Gil’s condition. Silent prayers were given up, hopes and wishes were mentally recited and a promise for justice was fervently given. If these animals no what’s good for them, they’ll disappear down a hole so deep that they’ll never be heard or seen again!
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