In a World They Forgot

My Worst Fears Are Getting Out

I was sitting on the floor of the pale yellow nursery. Greg had finished painting it three days ago and I found the shade comforting when I was losing myself in case files and newspapers dating back to long before I was born. My mom had bought me a rocking chair similar to the one she sat on when I was a baby and right now, it was my home, the files spread on the changing table that wouldn’t have any use for another four months.

“Introducing the ‘Circle of Life’ to our baby a little early?” I jumped at Greg’s voice, my hand instinctively coming to rest on my bump as I rolled my eyes at him.

“We will be if you keep trying to give me a heart attack like that.” I said, smiling as my husband stepped further into the room.

“I thought you were doing this in the study.” He said before bending down to greet me with a short kiss.

“I need you to readjust the chair again. Baby’s gone and had a growth spurt and my back just can’t take it.” I explained, putting down the files in my hand.

“And the nursery was the next best option?”

“I like it in here. It makes me happy.”

“And where murder shouldn’t follow.” He stated, but I could sense the disdain in his voice.

“It’s just another room, Greg.” I said, knowing where this would go.

“A room where our firstborn is going to live and I want that child to remain innocent for as long as possible, which is going to be difficult enough as it is with us both being CSI’s and you with two bullet scars.” He said on a sigh, crouching down on the floor in front of me.

“I’m sorry.” I took his hand and tried to find the words he needed to hear without lying to him. “I don’t seem to be taking to this the same way as you do. The pregnancy, I mean.”

“I don’t understand?” He said, eyes narrowed with confusion.

“I grew up knowing that my dad had been murdered, so maybe I lost my own innocence then, the day I found that out. Greg, we can’t keep our child in a bubble; not doing what we do. All we can do is protect them, teach them right from wrong, like my mom and Mikito did with me.”

“I still don’t want case files in the nursery. Or in the house where little fingers can reach them.” He said, sighing when he realised I was right. We couldn’t act like we lived in a perfect world, not even for the sake of our baby, not when our jobs showed us the most horrific forms of human strength.

“And they won’t be. My back was just hurting and this chair is easier to get up from than the sofa.” I said softly, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Any luck with the case?” He glanced at my notes, but by now I was writing in my own language of scrawls and incomprehensible short hand.

“I don’t think so. I’m looking over the newspapers again. I was thinking that something here might give me a clue. I mean, what doesn’t make it into the papers, right?”

Greg looked at me with a worried expression and then pulled another chair up, sitting and picking up the pile I had on the table. “Did you start with the one that led to us re-opening the case after you got shot?”

“Yeah, it just told the details, vague details, of my dad’s death.”

“Then, we’ll work backwards from there.”

“I’ve been doing that.”

“Well, a second pair of eyes might help. You’ve hardly given yourself a break with all of this.” He said, that concerned tone in his voice again that made me feel awful for focusing so hard on all of this.

“Hey, Miks, look at the personal ads.”

“Why? Am I looking for a date who was thirty one back in eighty two?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and peeking across at my husband.

“The same one appears every week right up until the week your dad was murdered.” He told me, his eyes twinkling as we found another crack in the case.

“Seriously?” I grabbed the paper from his hands and looked at the one he pointed to.

“I saw it in one from August eighty two and they carry on from there for the whole year. The same one each week.” He showed me where he had circled other copies too.

“’Thirty five year old male, athletic, blonde, green eyes seeks twenty nine year old brunette. Must have own car.’ Rather specific an ad, right?”

“The only thing that changes each time are the ages. It’s still too close to be a coincidence though, even with the change in ages each week.” Greg said.

“But then, what does it mean? The ages have to be relevant, right?”

“Maybe they make up codes or serial numbers?” Greg suggested, his hand coming to rest over mine on my bump.

“But for what? And the only way we can figure it out is to speak to someone who knows what my dad was involved in back then. It’s clear he left my mom in the dark about a lot of things, probably to keep me and her safe from whatever the hell was going to come after him.” I mused, speaking my thoughts aloud as I leaned back in the rocker.

“Your dad was a confidential informant. There should be a file on him somewhere with the name of the detective he was linked to. If the detective is still alive then maybe he can shed some light on this.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I sat up again and looked at the scattered papers. “I’ll ask Grissom and Brass if they can find the file for me tonight. I’m not working this weekend so I can do some scouting for the detective then, if he’s still alive, of course.” I declared, shoving the papers into the manila folder I was working from and then looking at Greg with a pleading expression.

“I know not to try and stop you, Miks, but be careful and at least take Nick or someone with you, if not me.” He had misunderstood the look, but I appreciated hearing that he cared.

“I was actually hoping for someone to give me a hand out of this chair, actually.” I said with a smile.

He laughed and pushed himself to his feet before pulling me to mine and holding me close. His lips found mine and kissed me sweetly before resting his forehead against mine. “I just want you to be careful. I know you like to rush into things and play the hero but this time please remember that you’re not rushing into things alone anymore.”

“I know, but thanks for the pep talk.”

“Whenever you need one, sweetie.”

“Urgh? Sweetie? Really?” I pulled a face and leaned back.

“Really? I  just find it odd that we’ve been married sixth months, together for over two years and we don’t have pet names.”

“Loads of couples don’t Greg. We don’t need them.” I shrugged and kissed his cheek. “But I can always call you babe if that’ll help you out.”

“No, thanks. I can stick with Greggo.”

“And I will always love hearing you call me Miks.” I said with a nod before leaving the room in search of some chocolate.