Cardinality
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the citizens of Las Vegas. Started out as a case file but the G/S aspect demanded equal representation. This is the edited version for this site. The complete version can be found at my web site.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Many thanks to Burked for teaching me how to be a serial killer, among many other things.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, certain characters would be getting more screen time – together!
"I cannot help it; in spite of myself, infinity torments me." – Alfred de Musset
Chapter 19
Grissom frowned as he picked up the note from his pillow, crumpling it as he made his way into the kitchen. Letting out a huff, he tossed the paper away before tapping his fingers distractedly on the counter.
When hunger woke him earlier, he remembered the sad state of his pantry. Before heading to the store, he'd left the message for Sara. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution.
Sara hadn't been joking about her lack of tolerance to painkillers. She'd been asleep for nearly ten hours. Given her normal sleep patterns, it was enough to be disconcerting. His own anxiety didn't help.
Returning to the kitchen, he tried to keep himself occupied with various chores. In between tasks, Grissom found himself drawn back to the bedroom, needing to reassure himself that Sara was fine.
I'm overreacting. Look at her. She's content, resting peacefully. She's beautiful.
Let her get all the rest she needs. She's been through hell. This is probably the best thing for her right now.
Grabbing a bottle of water and his cell phone, Grissom plopped down on his couch. He asked Catherine a series of perfunctory questions, needing to talk to someone more than being interested in what was going on at the lab.
"How's Sara?" Catherine asked when he ran out of diversions.
"Physically? She's out cold. Bastard broke two of her fingers and bruised some bones in her hand. Emotionally? I don't know."
"Has she talked about it?"
"No."
"She will when she's ready. How about you?"
"I've been better," he answered dryly.
"I bet," Catherine chuckled. "You need anything?"
"I don't know how ... I keep recreating what happened to her, Catherine, what could have happened. I can't make it stop."
"That's normal. I had the same problem after Linds was in that accident. It goes away in time."
"I know. Imagine what it's like for Sara."
"She's strong."
"The guy got to her a second time, even with police protection. That has to be scary."
"Look, the guys found where Peddicord was hiding. His truck and the stolen van were in a garage. He rode a bike to the crime scenes. Pretty good disguise. Who notices delivery guys?"
"They're everywhere," he agreed.
"Exactly. Anyway, they also found a journal, I guess you'd call it. Peddicord wrote down all the details about how he poisoned them. It's … disturbing," she said softly.
Catherine refrained from telling Grissom the particulars, knowing the information wouldn't help in his current state.
Peddicord had poisoned food he knew each of the victims would like. He brought Morabito laced soup, pizza for Smith, and beer for Wilson; they knew him and didn't think anything of sharing a meal with him.
Wallace was trickier. He ordered the man's usual dish, then showed up at his apartment. When the insurance salesman explained he hadn't ordered the food, Peddicord told him it must have been a mix up. He gave it to him, saying it would only be thrown away if he had to take it back.
He came back later, but not to kill them. The warfarin was to thin their blood to make it easier to collect, not to poison them. Peddicord seemed to think his victims were already dead, but they didn't realize it yet.
No, that was something Grissom didn't need to hear.
"Yeah, the guy was … thorough," she offered.
"Make sure copies of that get to Philip."
"Already done. Look, both Ecklie and I double-checked every piece of evidence. Everything is logged and labeled. We have him nailed, and there's no way he's getting out. She's safe."
"I know. It's…"
"Gil?" she asked softly when he hesitated.
"I don't know if I'm really helping her any. I'm a mess," he sighed in disgust.
"Nah, you're just human. Humbling, ain't it?"
"Catherine," he warned.
"Relax. No one has all the answers. The people who think they do don't even understand the problems."
"I know the problem all right – Sara's been poisoned, then attacked, by a lunatic, and I have no idea what the hell to say to her. I don't want to make things worse."
"Then don't say anything. Trust me, Gil; it's less what you say than what you do. You've already shown her you care. Keep doing that."
"And if that isn't enough?"
"Follow your instincts. Everyone has them, even you," she said kindly. "Keep that head of yours out of the microscope for a while longer."
"Uh, huh."
"Gil," she chuckled. "I think you're doing more than you realize to help Sara. Trust her; she'll let you know if she needs anything."
"I hope you're right."
"I usually am."
"Yeah," he replied sarcastically.
"Don't worry, Gil. About any of it. She's a survivor. And everyone knows it was self-defense. Sara won't have any problems with the Shooting Board."
"Good."
"I called the hospital. Peddicord's injuries weren't critical."
"Sara'll be glad to hear that. It'd bother her if she killed someone. That's something she swore she'd never do."
"That's true. Hey, the guys want to know if you want to meet for breakfast after Sara's interview."
"I'll ask her when she wakes up. I'll get back to you."
"Sure. I'm going on a lunch break soon. Want me to bring you anything?"
"I have food here. Thanks, Catherine," he said, hanging up the phone.
Letting out a sigh, Grissom collapsed on the couch, covering his eyes with his arm as he went over Catherine's advice. His mind drifted back to a conversation he had with Sara at her apartment before the poisoning.
Sara said I didn't trust her, and she was trying to trust me. She took me as a lover. Sara's discriminating that way. She must trust me some. But enough to let me help? If not, is she going to regret this?
I don't want her to ever go.
How do I keep her? She said to trust her. I can do that. But what else?
Brandenburg would know what to do. Hell, he'd probably even tell me if I asked. He'd find it amusing.
Damn him.
Lost in his thoughts, Grissom jumped when a hand brushed softly against his arm. Opening his eyes, he saw a contrite-looking Sara kneeling beside the couch, dressed in a t-shirt and his robe. She was watching him carefully, smiling kindly as she stroked his arm softly.
"Sorry. Are you okay? Migraine?"
"No, just thinking," he said sheepishly. Sitting up, Grissom reached over to pull her onto the couch beside him, running his hands lightly through her tussled hair. "How are you?"
"Fine. No, really," she added when she saw his questioning look. "Sorry I zoned on you earlier. Guess I was still trying to process it all."
"You probably still are trying to process it."
"Yeah. But I'll be okay," she said, giving him a shrug. "It's … hard to put into words. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. I'm not sure how."
"I can understand that," he said, giving her a wink before pulling her in for a gentle kiss. They both pulled apart and chuckled when her stomach growled loudly.
"Part of your anatomy seems capable of vocalization."
"I haven't eaten in over twenty four hours," she pointed out.
"I think I can take care of that. Stay there."
Grissom set their lunch on the coffee table, unwilling to allow the extra physical distance between them that sitting at the dining room table would require. From the way Sara leaned into him as they ate, he gathered she was drawing comfort from the contact as well.
"These are good," Sara said as she reached for another piece of pita bread, filling it with the roasted, marinated vegetables, hummus and feta cheese. "And they're easy to eat," she said, lifting her bandaged hand.
Grissom shrugged and smiled, pleased that she'd noticed his intention. He realized her hand would be bothering her and wanted to prepare a meal that required the minimal use of utensils. This was vegetarian, and it was a nicer meal than pizza.
They leaned back on the couch after the meal, Sara resting her head on his chest as her fingers moved lazily over his shirt. Grissom kissed the top of her head, smiling as his hands roamed across her back.
"Have you ever shot anyone?" she asked softly.
"No. It was a clean shoot, honey."
"I know. Really. If the circumstances were the same, I'd do it again. He didn't give me any choice. He wouldn't stop."
Grissom wrapped his arms around her tighter when he heard the catch in her voice.
"I've seen people who were shot. I can't even begin to count how many. But I've never seen someone being shot. It's different."
"True," he said, remembering watching when Catherine shot a suspect who had attacked him.
"He wouldn't stop. God, even after I shot him, he tried to crawl back up the stairs. He was crying, but it wasn't from pain. He said he needed my blood. He was going … He was going to…"
"Shhh, it's all right. It's over. He's never going to get out. He can never hurt you again, sweetheart," Grissom said soothingly, moving his hand to the back of her neck.
"I know. But I'm kinda afraid he's going to come back. It's really stupid. Sorry," she said, blushing as she pulled away from him.
"Hey. It's not stupid. I'd be upset if you weren't bothered. Hell, it's bothering me."
Sara smiled as she let him pull her back against his chest. "Thanks for letting me stay here. It's a lot easier knowing I'm not alone."
"You never have to be alone again," he said lowly.
"Neither do you."
Grissom continued to rub his hands over her back. When she remained silent for a long time, he wondered if a diversion would help.
"I picked up a movie while I was out. Figured it would help take our minds off of the case."
"That sounds great. Yeah," she said, mustering a smile as he moved to the DVD player. "What movie did you get?"
"Silence of the Lambs."
"What?"
"What?" Grissom parroted, wondering why she seemed shocked. "You and Doc seemed to think it was a movie I should have seen."
"Yeah. It's a good movie. To take our minds off of a serial killer," she said, a smirk forming as they lay back on the couch together. "You'll like it. There's even an entomologist in it."
By the time the movie reached the autopsy scene, Sara could feel how tense Grissom had become. Sitting up, she used the remote to turn off the movie and the television set.
"That was not a good movie to pick," he groaned in embarrassment.
"Don't sweat it. I would have warned you if I knew it would bother you."
"I'm sorry. I thought it would be a nice distraction."
"Hey, come on. It's the thought that counts," Sara said.
"It wasn't even my idea," he admitted sadly. "Brandenburg suggested it. Of course, he'd have picked something appropriate."
Grissom sat up, resting his elbows on his knees. His face soon disappeared into his hands.
God, I can't even pick up a damn movie without making things worse. Am I the only one who doesn't know what that film was about?
Dammit! I only want to make things easier for Sara, and I'm screwing that up. I should be taking care of her. She's the victim, but I'm the one who fell apart in the shower. Hell, she's even trying to cheer me up now.
She could have done better. How long until she realizes it?
I can't lose her.
"Hey."
Grissom finally looked up when Sara sat on the coffee table in front of him and pulled his hands away from his face. He gave her a bashful shrug before breaking eye contact.
"Guess I'm not very good at this. You'd probably be better off if you had picked…"
"Dammit, Gil!"
He turned to her in surprise when she used his given name. His embarrassment turned to shame when he saw her tears.
"Don't do this to me. Please, don't."
"Sara?"
"Don't run away from me. Don't shut me out. Not now. Not after everything that's happened."
"I'm not. I swear I'm not. I don't know how to help, Sara. God, I want to. I want to make your pain go away. I want to make you feel safe, to be happy," he said softly, reaching a shaky hand to brush away her tears.
"I don't know how. I don't know if I can. And I don't want to think about what it's going to be like when you realize that," Grissom added, his voice wavering slightly. He dropped his head back into his hands, silently cursing himself.
Sara pulled his hands back again, and then untied the belt of the robe, opening it so she could straddle his legs. Sitting on his lap, she lifted his face to hers, watching him intently, her thumb rubbing his chin softly.
"I'm right where I want to be. I'm with the guy I want to be with. That's all I want," she said moving to unbutton his shirt. "You're all I need."
Sara rested her forearms on his shoulders, her uninjured fingers running through his curls. Her kiss was deep and passionate, her tongue hungrily moving over his lips before slipping between them.
Their first lovemaking had been slow and tender, an expression of their love. This time was different, raw, with a sense of desperation behind their motions. It was an affirmation of their needs: the need to feel alive, to take comfort in the other, to give comfort to the other.
They stayed huddled on the couch, their breath ragged as the intensity of the experience faded. Grissom eased her away, smiling as he pulled the t-shirt down, all the gentleness that was missing earlier evident as he lifted a stray lock of hair away from her face.
"God, I love you, Sara," he whispered when he caught his breath, pulling her close against his chest.
"I love you," she answered, running a finger lazily through his beard.
They sat together for a long time before Sara leaned back, her head cocked in thought.
"I lied earlier. There is something else I need."
"Oh?" Grissom said, trying to keep his tone light. Her words made him nervous, but her expression was teasing.
"I need a shower," Sara said, lifting herself off of him. She reached her uninjured hand out to him. "Wash my back?"
Brass was waiting for them outside of the interrogation room with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Sara, giving her a supportive smile.
"Hey. You ready? We don't have to do this now."
"Let's get it over with."
"Sure. If you don't want me as your union rep, we can get you another one. We can stop the questioning at any time. You are entitled to have an attorney present," he said gravely before giving her a wink. "You won't need one. I have to tell you all this stuff."
"I have my trusty union rep to protect me," she said, grateful that he was trying to put her at ease.
"Don't forget dapper," Brass quipped, picking an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. He gave her another smile before turning serious again. "Look, these guys get their kicks making other people miserable. Don't let them get to you."
"Right."
"Hey, it might be justifiable, but it wouldn't look good if you beat the snot out of them. That's all I'm saying," he teased.
"Jim," Grissom said shortly. He knew the detective was trying to lighten the mood before the questioning started, but the reminder of the attack wasn't helping him any.
Sara could only have her attorney and union representative with her during the interview. Grissom knew that she would be cleared – it was as obvious a case off self-defense as you could have.
But he also knew Sara was still on edge. She hadn't said anything, but she had been uncomfortable whenever someone walked up behind her as they made their way through the hallways. The reaction may have been natural, but it still brought out his protective side.
Grissom gave her a wan smile as Brass escorted her through the door. He moved to the observation room, surprised to see Robbins and Catherine already there. The trio watched in silence as the legal formalities were taken care of, and Sara began to recount the events leading up to the attack.
"Owww. Damn good thing that the warfarin was out of her system," Catherine said, wincing when Sara described Peddicord's attack.
"Hmm," the coroner agreed. "Her head hitting door would have been enough to kill her."
The two didn't notice the irritated look Grissom threw at them.
"Lucky she didn't react as badly as Max did to the poisoning."
"Luck had little to do with it. He had knee surgery before he joined the case and would have been given an antibiotic as standard treatment. It kills the bacteria in the digestive tract. Those same bacteria excrete vitamin K."
"We get vitamins from bacteria…"
"Feces. Yes."
"I'll never look at my One-A-Day's the same," she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Max's vitamin K levels were probably still low at the time of the attack, so the warfarin worked faster on him. Is Sara on the pill?" Robbins asked suddenly, causing Grissom to give him a petrified look.
"I don't know," he admitted nervously.
Catherine chuckled, guessing the cause of his discomfort. "It never came up in conversation. Why?"
"Some forms of oral contraceptives interfere with warfarin. That could help to explain why it didn't affect her as badly. Plus, Brandenburg ate quite a bit more of the poisoned food, and he's recovering from a massive blood loss."
Grissom flashed the two another look before turning his attention back to the window, feeling his agitation grow as Sara was asked to go over the attack again.
Catherine saw his reaction, and she pulled him out of the observation room. They were going to make Sara describe the shooting several times, and it wouldn't do any good for Grissom to have to listen to it repeatedly.
They waited quietly in the break room, watching the weather report on TV. One by one, Greg, David and Warrick joined them, none of them willing to break the silence.
Grissom sat stoically until Brass and Sara returned. He gave her a brief smile, getting up to fix her another cup of coffee as her co-workers alternately fussed over and grilled her.
"Nick will be here in a minute. He's wrapping up some evidence," Warrick told her.
She smiled as Grissom handed her the coffee. He then turned to stare pointedly at Greg who had taken the seat beside Sara.
"Do you like working here, Greg?"
"Yeah," the tech said, hopping out of the chair quickly, smiling nervously as Grissom settled into it.
"Hi, Sara. Glad you're all right. This came for you last night," Judy said, leaning in from the hallway to hand her a manila envelope.
"Thanks. It's from Convesco."
"What do they want?" Greg asked.
"Sara?" Grissom asked when she stared at paper in her hands.
"It's a check."
"They're afraid you're going to sue," Warrick said, nodding his head.
"It wasn't their fault," she said, continuing to stare at the paper.
"Yeah, well, when has that ever stopped anyone from suing? Besides, some people think they can buy their way out of all their problems," Catherine said thoughtfully.
"They weren't kidding about their record. I checked with the state. They've never been cited for any violations," Warrick said. "But that doesn't mean a jury won't blame them for not noticing the warfarin was missing."
"It's not their fault. I don't want their money."
"Hey, why fight it?" Brass asked.
"Seriously! Use it as a down payment on a house," Greg stated, moving to look over her shoulder. His eyes opened in surprise, and he let out a low whistle when he saw the check. "Or several. That's a lot of zeroes."
"I don't want their money," Sara repeated, turning to Grissom for support. The company had done nothing wrong. She didn't expect them to pay her off.
"You can send it back to them later," he said, looking up suddenly at the bellow coming from the hallway.
"Sar! Damn, you know how to scare a guy!" Nick exclaimed loudly, moving to kneel beside her chair, drawing her into a gentle bear hug. Letting her go, he grinned teasingly. "It is okay to hug you, isn't it girl? You're vicious. Don't want you to get pissed off at me."
"Way too late for that, Nicky," she said, prompting him to hide behind Catherine. Sara flashed him a smile at his attempts at humor.
"She's not the one to look out for," Greg muttered.
"Let's go eat," Grissom said, shaking his head at their shenanigans, but with a twinkle in his eye.
"What time did Kane say he would be here?"
Grissom looked up from preparing the pitcher of iced tea to find Sara leaning against the counter. They had just finished breakfast when the forensic psychologist called, asking if he could stop by.
"He was calling from the DA's office. He should be here soon."
Sara nodded, then moved to stand in front of the bookcases, absentmindedly reading the titles, wondering why Kane wanted to see them. She doubted it was a social call, or that he would come here for an examination.
She knew she was still on edge, but it was fading every day, thanks mainly to Grissom.
After leaving the group breakfast yesterday, neither wanted to head back to the townhouse. Instead, they drove to the mountains, finding a secluded area where they could soak in the sun and talk.
Grissom had proven to be a very effective listener, holding her and offering encouragement as she talked. They stayed until late afternoon, leaving after he noticed her injuries were starting to bother her.
When they got back, she needed another painkiller to fall asleep, and spent the next eleven hours unconscious. After she woke up, they made love again. This time they went slowly, using hands and lips to fully explore each other.
A leisurely shower and breakfast followed, and Sara had hoped they could spend the day on some diversion. She would probably be able to go back to work on Monday, and it could be weeks before they had more than one day off together again.
Kane's call ended that hope.
Her one lingering fear was that someday Peddicord would come after her again. It was obvious he was mentally ill. If he could plead insanity, the possibility existed he could be set free in the future.
Kane couldn't talk about the case as long as it was active. He was coming from the DA's office. They must have reached a plea agreement.
Peddicord could be set free.
"Find anything interesting?"
Sara turned to see Grissom watching her closely. She gave him a half-shrug and a smile.
"Feel free to help yourself. Make yourself at home," he urged softly.
"Do you know when I can go back to my apartment?"
"I haven't heard when they're going to release it. Why? Getting tired of my company?"
"No," she said reassuringly, trailing her fingers down his chest.
"Well, there's no rush. You don't have to leave. It's not like I snore." Grissom's teasing smile morphed to a frown when she nodded at him, giving him an apologetic shrug.
"I've heard worse," she said, rolling her eyes when his frown deepened. "My roommate in college!"
"Oh."
"I'm not leaving you. I need to get back to my place."
"What do you need? You already have clothes here. There's a bed ready whenever you want to use it," he said softly. "I even gave you my spare toothbrush the first night you stayed here."
"Attached to that toothbrush, were you?"
"Very," he said seriously. "No other woman ever got one. No other woman ever will."
"Good. But I have to go back to my place. I'm not going to let this guy scare me," she said resolutely. "Besides, I need to water my plant."
"Okay, but it's welcome here, too," Grissom said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before answering the knock at his front door.
Philip Kane smiled broadly as Grissom escorted him the dining room where he had a plate of danishes, sliced fruit and tea waiting.
"What can we do for you, Philip?"
"I finished my evaluation of Terry Peddicord and made my recommendations to the DA. I thought you'd like to know."
"What's wrong with him?" Sara asked softly.
"He's pseudopsychopathic."
"Is he insane?"
"Legally, in my professional opinion, yes he is. Mentally, he's not."
"What? Don't you have that backwards?" Grissom asked in confusion.
"No."
"He tried to frame Carrasco. He knew what he was doing was wrong. That means he isn't legally insane," Sara said hotly, wrapping her arms around herself nervously.
Kane gave her a calm smile. He suspected the news would be upsetting to her, and he wanted to be present when she found out.
"It's more complicated than that, Sara."
"The DA is letting this guy plead? He murdered five people."
"Charges haven't been filed yet. It's very possible Peddicord won't live to see a trial."
"What?" she whispered hoarsely.
"It has nothing to do with the shooting. His history suggested a psychiatric problem, not a psychological one. A brain scan revealed a large tumor affecting both frontal lobes. The doctors aren't sure they can treat it, or how much of Terry Peddicord will remain afterwards if they try."
"Frontal Lobe Syndrome?" Grissom asked.
"Yes," Kane said. Seeing Sara's confused look, he continued.
"That's a term used to describe a variety of symptoms that can manifest when there's damage to front portion of the brain. Peddicord has several: memory and coordination problems, he lost his sense of smell, lack of emotional control and a change in personality."
"How can you know that's what caused him to murder those people?"
"We won't know until after the tumor is removed, assuming he lives and is cognizant enough to evaluate. That's why the DA is waiting to file charges. Even then, it's clearly a case of diminished capacity."
"I don't get it. He tried to frame Carrasco," she repeated weakly. "He knew it was wrong."
"As you know from your encounter, Peddicord thought he was dead. He thought his victims were also already dead. In his mind, he wasn't doing anything wrong. He honestly thought he was helping them.
"Peddicord also thought he was trapped in a type of limbo. He was being held back on earth. Until he could free himself, he was being tortured. He saw the police as part of his tormentors, trying to stop him from finishing his work."
"Trying to get rid of infinity," Grissom stated.
"Yes."
"That's too damn weird," Sara sighed.
"I've been reading his journals and old letters. From what I can tell, he was apeirophobic. He had a phobia about infinity."
"How can you be afraid of a concept?" she asked in disbelief.
"Phobias aren't rational. When the tumor progressed to the point it made him psychotic, Peddicord fixated on that. It became the root of all his problems. It was what prevented him from going to heaven."
"I ... that," Sara sputtered as she played with her glass of tea. "Why did he leave that message at the theater? That didn't have anything to do with making infinity go away."
"He considered Mr. Morabito to be a friend. He wanted to make sure someone gave him a proper funeral."
"How did he pick his victims?"
"They talked to him. He was a delivery boy. Most people ignore them. He could be in a crowded elevator, and no one would pay attention to him. Mr. Wallace talked to him when he came to deliver his food. The others knew him and reacted to him."
"That's crazy," she huffed.
"So was he," Kane said, giving her a slight chuckle.
"Will his psychosis go away after the tumor is removed?" Grissom asked.
"It should. There was a case where a man developed pedophilia due to Frontal Lobe Syndrome. It disappeared immediately after the surgery. When the pedophiliac tendencies came back, a scan showed the tumor had returned. Once it was removed, he became normal again."
"But you don't know that for fact he won't be psychotic," Sara said.
"No. Sara, he'll be re-evaluated after surgery. If there is any sign of psychosis, he won't be set free. But right now, all indications are this was a medical condition completely out of his control. I know this is hard for you to accept, but Terry Peddicord was a victim as well."
"I guess," she said.
"Look, I realize it's 'late' for you night shift folks. I'll be going. Here's my card. If you want to talk, you can call me at any time."
"Thanks," Sara said, staring out the window as Grissom escorted the psychologist out.
"Sara. Dr. Grissom, come in," Max said, waving them into his room.
"Hey," she replied.
"Dr. Brandenburg, Ms. Vale," Grissom said, nodding to the teary-eyed woman sitting in a chair beside the hospital bed.
"You were one of the people who came to ask me about Terry," she said looking at Grissom. Turning to Sara, she gave a slight shudder. "You're the lady he attacked, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Sara said, her voice catching slightly.
She still was coming to terms with what Kane had said earlier that morning. From what Catherine told her, she knew this was her attacker's ex-fiancée.
"Did you hear what the doctors said was wrong with him?"
"Yes," Grissom said, directing Sara to a chair and standing by her side, resting a hand protectively on her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry. You know, it's my fault."
"You can't blame yourself," Sara said, startled by the strength of the woman's emotions.
"I should have known there was something wrong. We were going to get married, but I really didn't know him that well. He kept to himself, you know. I thought I was seeing a bad side of him. I should have known he would never, never …" she sobbed.
"Sharon, this wasn't your fault. You had no way of knowing," Brandenburg said softly, resting his hand over hers. He fixed Grissom with a pointed look. "He kept too much to himself. If he hadn't been so private, if he had been willing to let you really know him, you would have realized something was amiss. That was his problem, not yours."
Grissom blinked, then turned to watch Vale. "Dr. Brandenburg is correct. You shouldn't blame yourself. Terry's condition is treatable."
"I hope he dies," she said. "I really do. I know that sounds terrible, but Terry was a sweet, sweet man. He couldn't live with himself if he knew he killed those people. That would destroy anything that was left of him. I got to go. I'm so sorry."
Brandenburg turned to Sara after Vale left, tilting his head to examine her closely.
"How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. This has been too much."
"You need a nice, long vacation. Have you heard from Convesco?"
"Yeah. You didn't take their money, did you?" Sara asked in confusion. He certainly didn't need the money.
"Yes."
"I was going to send my back. It wasn't their fault."
"That wouldn't be a good idea. They'll send you back a bigger check if you do," Brandenburg told her seriously.
"What?"
"Believe it or not, you're doing them a favor by taking the money. It's a generous amount to an individual, but to a corporation that size, it's insignificant. They would much rather reach a quick settlement than have the threat of a lawsuit over their heads."
"I'm not going to sue."
"They don't know that. And a potential major lawsuit will drive down their stock prices and their bond status, it will increase their insurance, they'll need to tie up resources for a potential settlement. Honestly, they want you to take the money."
"He's probably right," Grissom said, patting her shoulder.
"If you don't want the money, give it to charity," Brandenburg suggested. "I signed my check over to the hospital. Peddicord didn't have insurance. It'll pay for his surgery."
"That was very … noble … of you," Grissom said.
"I try."
Grissom and Sara left when the physical therapist came in for Brandenburg's treatment. She noticed his uneasiness as they waited for the elevator.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Gil."
"He's so damn…"
"Noble?"
"Yes," he huffed.
"Intelligent?"
"Yes."
"Friendly?"
"So I've heard," he groused as they entered the elevator.
"Cute?"
"I'll take your word for that."
"Successful?"
"Very," Grissom growled.
"Sociable?"
"An overrated skill."
"And I'd rather be with you," Sara said, running her hand over his cheek. "What does that make you?"
"Very lucky."
Sara sat in her Yukon quietly listening to the radio as she stared at the front of the facility. Letting out a shaky sigh, she finished her soda and walked into the building.
She needed to get this over with quickly. Grissom didn't know she'd come. She doubted he be happy when he found out. He'd been amazingly overprotective about anything relating to her attack, and this was something she had to confront herself.
A guard greeted her in the lobby. She quickly filled out the paper work necessary before following the man through the locked doors, trying to ignore the calls coming from the rooms they passed. He led her down a final hallway, nodding to the plastic chair at the table.
On the opposite side, Terry Peddicord watched her carefully. Sara took a deep breath as she sat down, watching her attacker, the monster who haunted her dreams, with open curiosity.
"You're pretty," he said, dropping his head bashfully. "My name's Terry. Who are you?"
"I'm Sara," she said softly.
"Hi, Miss Sara. I'm coloring. See?" he said, a trembling hand lifting the drawing carefully. "It's a pony. Do you have a pony?"
"No, I don't."
"Ponies are nice. What happened to your hand?"
"I had an accident."
"I think I had an accident. I have a scar," he said, pointing to his bandaged head.
"Yeah. Do you like it here, Terry?"
"Uh, huh! I get to color, and do crafts, and watch TV, and I'm going to learn how to swim!"
Sara smiled sadly as he nodded his head enthusastically. Peddicord's psychosis had vanished when the surgeons had removed his tumor and damaged brain tissue.
The crazed killer was gone, but a grown man with a child's intellect was left behind.
He had no insurance, but he required constant attention. Rather than see him sent to a state facility with limited resources, Sara had used her settlement check from Convesco to arrange for him to be sent to a private psychiatric treatment facility.
He'd never leave.
The damage had been too extensive; even with therapy, he'd never be able to care for himself again. His dreams of going to college, of becoming an engineer, of getting married would never happen.
But he was happy. He had no memory at all of the attacks, no idea of the crimes he had committed.
He had led a life of self-isolation, not even allowing those closest to him to know his true self. The similarities to her own life were frightening. If he'd been more open, people would have known he needed help.
That would never happen to her, not now. Every morning before going to sleep, she and Grissom shared a private thought or memory. They'd vowed to not let the other slip behind their walls again.
"Would you like to color? I have extra crayons."
"Sure, Terry, I'd like that," she said, wiping a hand across her eyes to brush away her tears.
It was finally over.
The End