The pictures blurred, expanding into one large gray mass.  She wiped at her burning eyes, and wished fervently that she'd slept just a few more hours.  Sleep had become increasingly hard to come by over the last few years, and the nights were punctuated with dreams; vivid, horrific dreams.  The more she learned, the more terrifying they became.

            Blinking her eyes open and shut tightly several times, her vision cleared.  The pooled bright red blood was the first thing to come into sharp focus.  This picture lay off to the side of her pile on the table.  She picked it up and stared at the victim, her platinum blonde hair, splayed limply out from her head while she laid face up, eyes open.  In her wildest dreams, Sara never could imagine what hell a woman goes through when a man took out his anger on the weaker sex.

            Weaker sex… bullshit.

            A hand suddenly clamped down roughly on her shoulder.  More surprised than shocked, she turned to face the trespasser.

            "Sorry." A chuckle escaped between his smiling lips.

            "Damn you, Jack," she cursed.

            He glanced over her shoulder, noting the scattered pictures.  His gaze fell back to her eyes, the redness standing out in stark contrast to the whites of her pupils.  "You're exhausted, Sara.  Go home.  This isn't going anywhere," he instructed, gesturing toward the pile behind her.  "They'll be here in the morning."

            "I just –"

            He reached out, cupping her shoulder gently this time.  "No, go home.  I need you in tip-top shape tomorrow."  When he noticed her about to argue again, he touched her lips with his index finger and shook his head.

            She sighed, and then gave a resigned shrug.  "I guess that's my final cue.  All right, I'll see you in the morning then."

            Slowly, she trudged through the halls of the San Francisco PD Crime Lab, her energies nearly completely drained.  Jack was right, she really needed to get some rest, and she just hoped that sleep, and not her recurring dreams, would actually find her this time.

            As she pulled out onto Bryant Street, a brief thought of going to the supermarket flittered into her head.  It flittered out just as swiftly.  She was truly exhausted, even worn-out.  She wanted her warm bed, fluffy pillow and darkness.  The only thing she really needed was an ice-cold bottle of water, and that was waiting for her at home.

            On nights like this, the air dense with fog and a cold breeze coming off the Bay, there was nothing better than lying in her bed with a good book.  Of course, this time, she'd leave off reading the book.

            She came to a stoplight and while she waited for the light to turn green, she tugged at her trench coat, loosening it from her weight.  She hated the long coats, but they were appropriate for the cold drizzly weather they were having.  It wasn't winter yet, but it damned near felt like it.

            The light turned green and she put her foot on the accelerator a bit too quickly, and then slammed on the brakes as the car in front of her remained still.  She honked her horn, cursing once again.

            Ten minutes later, she pulled into her driveway.  The short walk to her front door felt like a ten-mile hike through the hills.  The cold bottle of water, sitting on the top shelf of her refrigerator, called to her.  She opened the door quickly, dropping her bag to the floor, but not bothering to divest herself of her coat.

            The light from the refrigerator illuminated her face as she opened the fridge door and the bottle stood just as she remembered it.  She pulled it out, opening it with a quick twist of her wrist and lifted it to her lips, stopping just as it touched her bottom lip.  She stood motionless, listening beyond the kitchen.  Thinking she'd imagined the noise in the hallway, she continued to tip the bottle and swallowed the water as it poured out.

            Her thirst now quenched, she drew in a long breath and wiped the dribble from her chin.   The bottle still held some water; so she recapped it and opened the fridge again to place it back inside.  Before she could set it on the shelf, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.  She looked at her fingers, stunned at their numbness.  A shuffling noise from behind her alerted her to another's presence.  She swung around to face the intruder, but the numbness that was in her fingers had branched out, setting her equilibrium off balance, and her hurried movement sent her in a dizzying spin to the floor.

            Not truly understanding what was happening to her, she reached out with her arm, grabbing at the floor in front of her, but the numbness in her fingers gave her no leverage.  She felt a sharp pain on her right hip and tossed her head to look behind and saw ominous, black eyes staring down at her.  She was roughly flipped over onto her back and could now see her assailant clearly.

            Suddenly, sheer black fright swept through her as she realized she could no longer move.

            She couldn't move, but she could see and she could hear.  The gibberish coming from his mouth wasn't understandable to her, the ringing of her ears masking his words.  His face was flushed and he continued to move her with a roughness that, given the fact that she was inexplicably unable to fight back, she felt was unwarranted.  That is until he held himself above her, both hands on either side of her head.  It was then that she understood he'd removed her jeans.

            Although she mindfully screamed, all that came out of her lungs was a whimper.  Then there it was; the first indication that he had began to violate her.  Each time he thrust forward she was pushed, inch by inch, backward on the floor.  Her breathing had become labored and came out in gasps.  She was unable to utter a word or scream, but her tears flowed freely, the only visible confirmation of the white hot terror that coursed through her veins.

            Just when she thought she would lose it, it was over.

            He pulled himself up, zipping his pants as he stood.  He leered down at her, his gaze nothing but contempt.  His eyes darted to the counter and then he reached for it.  The sound of metal, sliding against wood screeched out to her ears.  She recognized it - one of her kitchen knives.

            Light from the streetlight outside of the kitchen window glinted off of the cold steel.  Now that he'd done what he wanted, she knew in the deep recesses of her mind that he was going to kill her.  He'd taken from her the one thing she held most dear - her power.  Now he was going to take her life.

            Kneeling down between her legs, he raised his hands above his head, the flash of steel suddenly crashing down before her face.  She saw him trip on her overcoat, landing with the knife and impaling her.  His heavy weight tumbled onto her legs and she heard the man yelp.

            His eyes grew large at the sight of the knife sticking out of her chest.  In a panic-stricken rush, he retrieved it from her body and ran down the hallway.  Her last thought after seeing him disappear was that she never felt it.

            SHE DIDN'T know how much time had gone by when she awoke, but light had begun filtering in through the kitchen window.  Her eyes fluttered open, only to see the disturbing sight of the kitchen ceiling and not her bedroom.  A rush of memory flooded her brain, sending her synapses into overload.  The eyes of her attacker flashed in front of her eyes.  It was at that moment that her mind allowed her body to respond ­– a gasp of breath, then an ear-splitting scream.  Tears began to flow freely and she realized she still couldn't move.

            At least not well.

            Minutes followed her panic attack before she attempted to sit up.  It was to no avail.  Her body wouldn't respond to her mind's commands.  Instead, she rolled onto her stomach then pulled her knees up beneath her.  The energy she spent on this action took all of her strength.  Attempting to stand was out of the question.

            She raggedly drew in several deep breaths and taking a moment to glance quickly at her chest, the unexpected absence of blood from her stab wound somewhat shocked her.  She saw it go in, she saw him take it back.  He wouldn't have left if it hadn't.  She looked again, but still there was no blood and no pain.

            Slowly, she pulled herself along the floor, passing by her jeans, now tossed beneath the dining table.  Her crawling was slow and required her to stop and catch her breath often, her tears periodically appearing as images assailed her memory.

            Finally, she reached her bedroom and felt a rush of adrenaline at her success.  She crawled the next few short feet and began to climb up on the bed, but her exertions took their toll on her traumatized body and she fell to the floor with a crash, landing on her arm.  A cry of pain emitted from deep within and she looked to the source of the pain.  Small droplets of blood colored her white blouse underneath her arm and against the side of her breast.

            He hadn't missed.  She just didn't feel it.

            She glanced away, sniffling in her defeat and that's when a glimmer of light caught her eye from under the bed.  She looked deeper, adjusting her tired eyes to the even darker area underneath her bed, to see the barely visible portion of a knife handle, stuck up into the box springs and into the mattress.  She blinked in disbelief.

            Her assailant had left his weapon behind.  Coldness filled her heart and froze her tears before they could fall again.  She knew now her attack had not been random – she'd been chosen.

*********************************************

            She hadn't asked for the vivid memories, but the previous night's confession to her boss and the one person she looked up to above anyone else, had stirred emotions she'd long thought buried.  The fear of being found out as a fraud, an imposter, was too much for her mind to handle and she'd conjured up all the memories in a rush.

             She contributed her calm reliving of events to the feeling of Grissom's warmth next to her on her bed.  She couldn't say what kind of shape she'd be in if he wasn't there beside her.

            The pull of the blanket covering her and a tentative hand at her shoulder alerted her to his waking.  If she were a believer in telepathy, she'd believe that her thoughts of him woke him.

            The day was going to be one of the longest days of her life.  Grissom had questions and today, she'd have to answer them.  She just hoped that the truth wouldn't hinder what little friendship remained between them.