TITLE: Inequity
AUTHOR: Melissa Rivers
EMAIL: missy@lexicon.net
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/missyliannem/csi/html
CATEGORY: Tag to Too Tough To Die (Season 1)
SPOILERS: Major spoilers for Too Tough To Die (Season 1)
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: A telephone call brings Sara face to face with
her demons.
STATUS: WIP
ARCHIVING: CSI Fanfic Archive; Otherwise, not without
permission.
DISCLAIMER:
CSI:Crime Scene Investigation and its characters are the
property of Anthony Zuiker, Alliance Atlantis & CBS
Production Company. I have written this story for
entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever
has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is
intended.
AUTHOR NOTES:
This story was well on the way to being finished when CBS
changed their website and provided background profiles
for the characters, negating what I had envisaged for the
story. Actually, it pretty much shot a lot of the story out of
the sky. So, I have adapted my original idea and let my
muse guide me. I would never have imagined the story
would go in the direction it did and I hope you enjoy it. I
have also created a couple of places to suit my needs.
Have no idea if there is anything like it in Vegas and if not,
please consider it literary licence. :)
FEEDBACK: On or off-list is fine, but please let me know
what you think. If there are any glaring errors, please let
me know as I'd like to correct any before it is put on my
website.
Intricately woven wrought iron gates guarded the entrance,
their immense size overshadowing the approaching dark
Tahoe. As the vehicle entered the driveway, the heavy gates
slowly opened. Sara drove the SUV between the twin red
brick pillars supporting the gates. Two silver lions were
crouched on the top of each pillar, stone sentinels silently
watching.
Sara slowly drove the Tahoe along the sweeping drive, tyres
crunching over the pebbled surface. Trees lined the driveway,
their leafy branches snaking out and twisting as they met their
neighbour, entwining to form a leafy canopy. Early morning
mist wove its way hauntingly through the branches, the air cool
and damp. A large, rectangular building rose majestically
above the broad expanse of lush grass and disappeared into
the low lying cloud that shrouded the city. A soft fine mist of
rain began to fall, giving the Haven View Centre an ethereal
look.
Parking the SUV in the small visitor's area, Sara noticed that
there were only two other cars. She quickly put it down to the
early hour of the morning rather than the fact that it might be
because it was the Haven View Centre. When she had
admitted to Tom Adler that she knew several people in the
centre, it had been an extension of the truth. Her knowledge
of them was limited to knowing that they went there and the
crime that had put them there. She hadn't known them before
their participation in life was destined to be limited to rely on
the consistent care of others for their every needs. None of
them had impacted the same way that Pam had; reminded her
so much of the pain she tried so hard to hide from.
Sara felt guilty that she had agreed to visit Pam. It was so far
from the truth. All she wanted to do was run away and hide,
rather than face the ghost of the past. Ever since she had
begun working on the case, memories had haunted her. They
had invaded her consciousness throughout the day and night.
It was only every now and again that a case would hit the
jagged wound that never healed, causing it to fester and weep.
Pam had brought back memories that she tried to deny
existed; memories that threatened to overwhelm and destroy.
Most of the time she managed to keep her mind occupied with
her job. But then a case like Kaye Shelton or Pamela Adler
would come along. They disturbed the structured balance,
causing fissures to fracture and fragment the wall of protection
she had built up around herself.
Reluctantly, Sara opened the door. She stepped out into the
rain, the cool, fine mist softly falling against her skin. It didn't
take her long to cover the distance from the parking lot to the
building. As she got closer, she was surprised by the way the
building had been modernised without losing the majestic grace
of the stately old building.
The glass doors slid back to grant Sara access. She hesitated.
She noted the twin cameras recording her arrival, both were
discretely tucked away high into the alcove protecting the
front entrance. Remembering the call that had prompted her
visit, she resisted the urge to turn away and leave.
Sara moved quietly down the linoleum passageway. Her
rubber soled shoes occasionally making a squelching noise
against the freshly cleaned surface. Her investigative training
kicked in and she was automatically assessing the remaining
scent in the air - the fresh smell of pine.
Stark, white walls were broken by paintings. Some were
reprints from well-known artists while others were by
unknown painters. One, in particular, caught her attention and
she stopped, frowning. Sara had never seen anything like it.
The painter had combined the abstract with the traditional.
Bright, aggressive dashes of colour filled the outer edges,
drawing attention to the painting. The wild, bold and frenetic
display harboured a deeper secret within its inner sanctum.
The pudgy yet delicate fingers of a young child linked with that
of an adult, lines of maturity and experience blending with
wonder and inquisitiveness. Both witness to the birth of new
life through experience; the explosion of colour and beauty as a
butterfly broke free from its self-made constraint. Sara looked
at the depth of passion that had gone into the painting, the
butterfly looked as if it would continue to fly, out into freedom.
"That was done by one of our patients, Liam Finch," a soft-
spoken voice said behind her.
Sara jumped, caught off-guard. She hadn't heard the
approach of the petite, dark-haired nurse. "It's impressive,"
she commented, referring to the painting.
"Yes. He was very good. It's a pity to lose such talent."
"He's dead?"
"No. But he has Alzheimers. He has lost his ability to paint.
We encourage our patients to contribute to the centre, putting
a part of themselves into the place where they live. It's their
home." The nurse looked towards Sara inquisitively. "Are
you here to see someone?"
"Ahh...yeah. Pamela Adler. Her husband said she had been
transferred to Haven View."
"Tom's with her at the moment. She's in Room 24. Straight
down the hall and the last room on the right."
"Thanks."
Sara found the room easily. Once again she hesitated before
entering, each step bringing her closer to a past she tried
desperately to forget.
"Hey. Sara. Hi." Tom's crisp voice broke through her
uncertainty.
"Hi Tom."
"The doctor was right. It's a nice place. The staff are lovely
and Pam is settling in well."
Sara frowned at his phrase. She took a look at the woman
who lay prone in the bed. Pam was shrouded beneath sheets
and blankets, neatly wrapped. The dark woman's head still
bound in bandages, nestled in a plump pillow. The nasal
canula had been removed. Pam was now breathing on her
own with no assistance. Yet, other than this single external
sign, there was no change from the time Sara had last seen her
in hospital.
Suddenly, as she looked on, past and present collided. The
memories exploded within her as she remembered another
hospice, another life that had been destroyed through the
cruelty of a vicious killer. Massive internal and external injuries
that had cut short a life that had so much potential, so much
desire to give. And such a good friend.
"I'm sorry. I can't do this." Sara saw the look on Tom's
face and felt guilty at the hurt that she found there. Right now,
she could not cope with staying, the reality of his situation too
close to what she had known. She felt the tears well up within
her chest, turned sharply on one foot and quickly headed back
to her car.
The rain was coming down more heavily now. Fat, round
drops hit her face, mixing with the salty rivulets of pain running
down her cheeks. Unlocking the car, she sat in the driver's
seat motionless. She did not want to go home, but at the same
time, she did not want to be with people either. Her refuge,
the CSI building, was out of the question. Someone was sure
to question her presence at this time of the morning. In San
Francisco, she had a haven; a place where she could go and
come away with some degree of clarity. But this wasn't San
Francisco and she needed a place, something to give her a
chance to regain her balance.
Gunning the engine, Sara reversed the Tahoe and drove,
resolving to find a new place, a new sanctuary in which to
rebuild her wall.
End Part 1/?