Summary: Warrick sits down for an interview about what’s come before.
Begin Transcript
Warrick Brown: So, you're a freelancer?
Reporter: Yeah, with the Bugle. I'm here to...
W. B.: To talk about the Doll House Killer, right? Tenth anniversary of what happened. Ask you a question?
R.: Shoot.
W. B.: Hasn't this story been done to death? No one cares about Robert Branch anymore. He's just another footnote in history, if that. The bastard got what he deserved. So, why are you here?
R.: I'm here for their story. Branch got most of the press back then that the real story got pushed to the wayside. I'm here to rectify that.
W. B.: You're ten years too late...what'd you say your name was?
R.: I didn't. It's Peter.
W. B.: Well, Peter, you're ten years too late.
R.: Still, don't you think the world has a right to know about what really happened that night? Why Dr. Grissom did what he did?
W. B.: You really think your readers are gonna care? Ten years, man. That's a lot of time between then and now.
R.: Humor me.
W. B.: All right. Fine. How you want to do this? Do you want to ask me questions or should I just talk?
R.: Whichever you prefer.
W. B.: Okay. Well, let me...let me set the scene for you. It was around three in the morning when the phone rings. Catherine answers, listens for a second, and then she starts screaming. It was like...I dunno...like a death shriek. Like one of those mythical banshees wailing in grief or something like that. Took me a few minutes to make out what she was saying. And when I did, I...I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't believe it. In our line of work, you never expect something like that to happen. We're criminalists. We come in after the fact. We put the pieces together so those that can't speak for themselves get justice. But this...never thought something like this could happen.
By the time we got out there, the police had the area cordoned off. Just walking past the tape, you could feel that something was wrong. The looks on all their faces as Catherine and I walked into the building, you could tell that something bad had gone wrong. I mean, not like using a couple days old milk in your cereal bad. But, bad in a cosmic sense, like God was on break and the world decided to see how much it could get away with before it got caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
We didn't know just how bad it was until we entered the room, and Grissom...God, I can still see it clearly like it just happened yesterday. He was just...still, you know? Not an ounce of emotion on his face. He just knelt there, holding her in his arms. There wasn't that much blood because she'd already bled to death by the time the cops got there. It was just Grissom kneeling in a pool of blood, holding her. Just...holding her. Her eyes were still open, stuck in that final moment. Jesus, that look.
It wasn't until Branch opened his mouth that Grissom stopped looking at Sara. Said he didn't dress her up because Sara wasn't special enough to get his full treatment. Said she enjoyed it when he raped her. Said she cried for him. And, man, I dunno. Just the look on Grissom's face. Not so much his face, but his eyes. Like someone had just flipped a switch or something, yeah? But, he just stayed there, cradling Sara in his arms, but never taking his eyes off Branch.
I'm not really sure what happened next. Catherine and I were talking to Captain Brass while Nick was just trying to get Grissom to talk. To move. To say anything. The way Brass told it, the sting had gone wrong. Somehow, Branch already knew that Sara was bait.
God, Grissom was so angry when Sara told him she was going along with Atwater's task force. I think that was the last time they spoke, now that I think about it. Sara said something like twenty-five victims was enough. Someone had to do something before there was a twenty-sixth. Little did she know. Little did she know...
I'm sorry. Where was I?
R.: Branch figured out the sting.
W. B.: Yeah. So, Branch had figured out what was going to happen. Turns out he was already keeping tabs on Atwater's task force, and eventually found out about Sara. So, instead of waiting for the show to come to him, he took the show to them.
It was later found out that Branch broke into Sara's apartment and drugged her before taking her back to the slaughterhouse. The only reason the cops found her was because of the tracker that was planted in her shoe. A slaughterhouse, man. You know, Sara was a vegetarian, right? Talk about a bad fucking joke.
That's why we never found any blood at any of the crime scenes. He bled them dry there and then dressed them up with the makeup. Made them look like porcelain dolls that way. Then he'd plant the bodies in an open area for some hapless person to run into. So the world would know about his latest achievement.
But not Sara. I dunno if he just didn't have time to go all the way with her. Maybe he knew about the tracker. Maybe Sara just put up a hell of a fight and pushed Branch too far. I like to think she put up a fight. I like to think she didn't give that bastard the satisfaction like he said she did. I like to think a lot of things.
R.: If you need to take a break...
W. B.: Nah, it's okay. When we need to stop, I'll let you know.
R.: Okay. So, you were talking to Captain Brass?
W. B.: Yeah. Catherine and I are getting the low down from Brass when all of a sudden, Grissom finally speaks. It's like a damn miracle. Nick's trying to comfort Grissom, but you can see in his eyes, Grissom's not listening anymore. Instead, he orders the two police officers in the freezer to step outside. He wants to talk to Branch alone. They're not sure what to do. It's not like Branch is a danger at this point. He's cuffed to a chair and his ankles are tied about the legs. Then, Brass says it's okay. I guess Brass didn't think anything bad would happen. After all, this was Grissom.
So, the cops step outside, leaving Grissom and Branch alone in the freezer. Everyone's thinking, okay, give him some space. Whatever he needs, right? That was, until Grissom slams the freezer door behind him. I'm not sure if you're familiar with industrial freezers.
R.: No, I'm not.
W. B.: Think the door of a bank safe with a small window, and that's pretty much it. The cops are trying to pry the door open, but Grissom's done something to the lock. Only way that door's opening is if he wants it to or if we cut the lock out. Brass is screaming through the door to Grissom, telling him not to do something stupid, but Grissom's not listening. We can see him through the window, just looking at Branch. Branch's lips are moving, but we can't hear what he's saying. Grissom's just standing there while Branch is just going on, laughing and smiling. Then, all casual like, Grissom puts his hand over Branch's nose and mouth and just holds it there. And then Branch's eyes dart over to the window, like he knows what's coming and he needs someone to stop this before it goes any further. But, like I said, Grissom did something to the lock.
Branch is struggling now. You can see the chair swiveling about and his hands thrashing about in the cuffs, but Grissom just stands there, holding his hand over Branch's nose and mouth, just looking into the eyes that killed the one person that meant the world to him. And damn if Branch didn't have the same look that Sara had on her face. Justice, if you ask me.
Even when Branch stops moving, Grissom's still got his hand on tight. He just stands there, looking at Branch, even though he's now clearly dead. He just stands there for a good ten, twenty minutes like that until S.W.A.T. comes in and blows the hinges off the door.
Everyone's expecting a struggle when the cops go in to pull Grissom off, but there's no struggle. He just lets go and walks out of his own volition. Catherine and Brass are all up in Grissom's face, asking him what he was thinking. But not me and Nick.
Nah. We knew why he did it. Hell, if it was Catherine lying there on the floor, I woulda done worse than what Grissom did. I think Brass was just trying to figure out why Grissom did it. Catherine? Not really sure there. Sure, she was hurting seeing Sara like that. But to have the man we all looked up to do something like that, that's gonna throw you back some.
But Grissom, he's not talking anymore. Instead, he reaches for his weapon and raises it to his head. I mean, fast like. We all see it but we can't believe it, right? Lucky for us Brass was there. He's the cop. Grissom got him once that night, but not twice.
So, Brass and Grissom are struggling for the gun, and Brass is yelling at Grissom to snap out of it. But Grissom, man. You can see it on his face. Nothing matters anymore. His eyes are dead. The other cops jump in and eventually wrestle the gun away from Grissom. Brass orders the cops to cuff him for his own protection, but like I said, it doesn't matter at that point.
Grissom didn't seem to care as the cops escorted him outside in handcuffs. When the situation was finally under control, all he said was, "That's all right. I'll find some other way."
Ah, shit.
R.: Something wrong?
W. B.: No, just...damn. Been ten years, and I still haven't gotten over it. Just give me a minute.
R.: Take your time.
W. B.: All right, I'm good. Well, Grissom's sentenced to spend the next ten years in a mental institution. Ask me, the term should have been less, but at least he got the insanity plea. Thank God, because if he didn't...
Anyway, it's a few days later since Grissom's been set up in Montevista and I go over to see him. Catherine's still having trouble coming to terms with what happened to Grissom and Sara, so I tell her she can visit him later. But, for this day, it's just me.
The nurse shows me inside and Grissom's just sitting there in an orange jumper, but his eyes were different. They weren't dead anymore. There was something going on behind those eyes. What, I wasn't really sure at the time. But he looked more like the Grissom I knew.
So, I sit across from him and I say, "Grissom...you want to talk?"
And he's not even looking at me, and he goes, "Hello, Warrick. I think you know everybody."
I didn't know what the hell he meant. But, he just sits there, talking. And slowly, I realized that he was talking to people. Apparently the place was packed from what I got. People he'd known for years, people he'd encountered on the job, people from both sides of the job all mingling together. And I knew then...that he'd cracked.
So, I go, "You having a party, Griss?"
And he goes, "Yes, I am. A going away party. Nothing is forever. Oh, you think things are. You think things will last, but it's all transitory. It's like the poem from Shelley."
I say, "You mean the lady from 'Cheers'?"
He says, "No...Percy Bysshe Shelley, Warrick. 'I met a traveler from an antique land who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, half sunk, a shattered visage lies... My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away.'"
Then, he looks at me, with a gentle smile on his face and says, "I can see it, Warrick. So clearly, the broken legs standing there. And the broken face, lying half buried in the desert...it's my face. My life, a shattered ruin. Nothing left of it. Just sand, emptiness. Barren. A wasteland. Nothing. Without her...without Sara...there's nothing."
He's still busy talking about these images, and I'm going, "Grissom, I know it hurts. But, you gotta keep going man. Think of Sara. What would she want you to do?"
At first, I don't think he's listening to me at all. But, then he goes, "I've been thinking about that. And, to tell you the truth, I really don't know the answer. Good-bye, Warrick."
And then he got up and walked away. He turned back once, and I thought he was going to say something, but he just looked at me. I'd seen so many things in his eyes over the years. Anger, resentment, betrayal, exhaustion. But in all those years...I'd never seen him look at me that way...with envy.
Two days later, he disappeared from Montevista. No one knew what happened. One day he was in his room talking to no one in particular, the next he wasn't. Security cameras didn't turn up anything. Grissom, man. Scary smart. Told you there was something going on behind those eyes, but that...never in a million years would I have thought it was that.
R.: Warrick, you mind if I interrupt?
W. B.: Sure, what's on your mind?
R.: You said that Grissom looked at you with envy. Why do you think he was envious of you?
W. B.: Maybe because I was happily married to Catherine. Maybe because he felt like his life was over and I still had mine ahead. Maybe he just missed the job. I don't really know. But that's how he looked at me. You don't forget something like that.
Just like Sara's funeral. Sara, man. You should have seen how many people showed up for her funeral. I thought it was just going to be us CSIs, but everyone from the department showed up. Even Atwater was there, by God. Just seeing all those cops in their dress uniforms made it something special. That she was one of them.
It was pouring and we were all soaked, but there was a moment during the procession that the sun broke through the sky. This beam of sunlight shone down right on Sara. And there was a rainbow across the sky.
It was one of the most glorious things I ever saw. It was as if it was a reminder that you're just supposed to keep on going, you know? Like, no matter what life throws at you, you just keep going.
Later, Sara was cremated as per her request. But, since there was no family to speak of and Grissom was MIA, Catherine and I ultimately took her ashes into our care. But, Grissom...he scared the crap out of me the night he finally came back.
I was home, alone. Catherine and I, we'd had a big fight. It was like things had gone sour after Sara died, and I was sitting in my bedroom, unable to sleep. So, I punched on the stereo to listen to a CD. Something bluesy. And then, a voice from the darkness goes, "How are you, Warrick? By the way, no lights, please, if that's all right with you."
And sure enough, Grissom's sitting there all in black. The beard's gone. There's not a trace of gray in his hair. And he goes, "You're looking well. Congratulations on the promotion."
I say, "Grissom...what are you doing here? Where did you...?"
But, he's not listening to me. Instead, he says, "What's that you're playing?"
I go, "Just a blues CD. Nothing in particular."
And he says, "They say the blues is nothing but a good man feeling bad. Me, I don't get the blues. Not anymore."
I'm trying to read him, but he's just sitting there, as serene as possible. So, I figure what the hell. I'll go along for the ride. I ask him, "Grissom...are you okay?"
And you know what he says to me? He says, "I wasn't okay for a long time. But, I'm feeling much better now."
And then he laughed, real weird. He told me everything he'd been up to, in a calm, serene manner. Almost distant, you could say, as if he was talking about someone else. He seemed almost amused that he tried to kill himself so many times but couldn't. Said a voice in his head told him to stop. Told him, "A permanent solution to a temporary problem."
I said, "Grissom, you've got to turn yourself in, man. Everyone's looking for you. You need help, Grissom."
And he goes, "Actually, I've never been more clear-headed in my life. As a scientist, you see, I've always looked at random occurrences and tried to make sense of it all. My despondency, my attempts at suicide, were mostly a reaction, I think, to the realization that the whole point to the universe is that there is no point. Some people have turned to gods to explain the unexplainable. We scientists have our own gods, our own explanations, but really...it doesn't matter. None of it. It's like the poem I told you about, Warrick. I think that I'm mighty, that I made a difference. But I know now that someday I'll be gone and none of it will mean anything. My legacy will be nothing but fallen, forgotten rubble. That was the despair that almost overwhelmed me. But I've recovered now. I'm better for it. Better and, ironically, stronger."
Then there's a moment of silence before he starts up again. He says, "I've heard that you and Catherine have separated. Re-prioritize your life, Warrick. Learn what's important. If I can impart any lesson to you, it's that one. The only meaningful power is the power we have to help each other. And no power is greater than love, Warrick. It's very cornball. It's also true."
Then he got up and started to walk away. But, this time, I called out to him. I said, "Grissom, come back!"
And he turned to me and looked at me like he did that day in Montevista and said, "Sometimes it's best to move on."
And that was the last time I ever saw him.
Once in a while there's a mention of him on the news, in the papers, but Grissom's too smart. He won't be found unless he wants to be found.
R.: So, you think he's still alive?
W. B.: I like to think so, yeah. But, who knows in this crazy fucked up world, right?
R.: So, you don't think he'll ever come back?
W. B.: Tell the truth, I try not to think about it anymore. I'm doing what he told me to do. I re-prioritized. I'm living my life. I have other things to live for now.
Daughter Brown: Daddy? Daddy, are you going to be much longer? You said you were gonna play with me. Who's that guy?
W. B.: This is a writer, honey. He and daddy were talking. Peter, meet Sara.
R.: She's lovely.
D. B.: Daddy, are you okay? You look like you're gonna cry.
W. B.: Daddy's going to be just fine, honey. See? No tears. Look, why don't you escort the nice man out, and then we'll play.
R.: Look, I hate to keep you, but there're so many other things I'd like to know about...
W. B.: Well, I guess you're going to have to hear them from someone else. You see, I could keep on talking about Grissom and Sara, but there're other things in life, you know? Grissom told me, realize what's important...family, loved ones...that's the important thing. You're not the first writer to come to me and ask about them.
And, yeah, I could keep on talking about him and her...but sometimes you just reach a point where something stops you. Where you can say...that's it, no more. I've said all I wanted to say right now. Talk to someone else, okay? I've said enough about Grissom, and about her, I...I kissed her once...just once. But I can still taste the sweetness of her lips...I...
God, don't print that. Just...write that I loved him and her, more than I can say...and that's all. Like I told you...I've said enough...
CSI - General [341]
CSI: Miami - General [54]
CSI: NY - General [24]
Crossovers [193]
Challenges [5]