Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, premises of or anything to do with the television show, CSI. I make no financial gain from the production of this twisted tale. All recognizable material is the property of the creators and the television networks who hold the contract rights there of. All "original" characters are fictional and any similarities to existing or deceased (or other fictional) persons is completely coincidental and no harm is meant.
Rated M for Mature:Extremly foul and highly offencive language, scenes of domestic and child abuse.
Author's Note: When I wrote Dirty Secrets I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue that story-line or not. I later decided to do a story about Sara and her family, so I connected the two.
While this story can be followed without reading Dirty Secrets, I highly suggest reading it anyway.
There are a lot of takes on Sara's past, this is mine.
As before, there will be flash-backs and they are indicated by italics.
I would greatly appreciate feedback, okay I love feedback like a kitten loves cat-nip. If something is confusing, or out-right wrong, please let me know, I hope everyone enjoys the story.
Big Thanks go out to everyone who read and reviewed Dirty Secrets. This is for you guys!
Another big thanks goes out to HoneyLynx86, my beta-reader.
The Sequel to
Dirty Secrets A CSI Tale
The Russo case was closed, legally speaking. The twisted aftermaths of the gut wrenching case were still there, though. Picking through the minefield of broken hearts and scared psyches was going to be a long and delicate process. The Las Vegas branch of the Nevada Department of Children and Family Services did not have the time or the money for the process. Chloe Russo, an eight year old victim of her parent's addictions, was pushed through the system and placed with a set of foster parents who wanted to help but had no idea how to. Luckily for them, Sara Sidle had a few ideas.
Chloe had touched something in Sara; she was a terrified and wounded little girl. Sara hated acknowledging her past and the scars from it. There were cases, though, when her past came rushing back to her. There were victims that pried open the doors of her locked closet and brought the skeletons out. She couldn't turn away from those who needed help so badly.
No one knew about her little habit of checking up on abused children. Just as almost no one knew about her closet full of disturbing skeletons. If Grissom knew he would recommend therapy, or worse, order her to take time off. Catherine would offer her a shoulder to cry on and a kind ear. She didn't need time off and she didn't need to cry, helping the children, Brenda, Chloe and scores more, was enough.
When the Clarks had called her, she'd pulled a u-turn (she'd been on her way to the labs for a little over-time) and hurried out to their suburban home. Ben and Phoebe Clark were waiting for her at the door. They were a younger couple and they often fostered "special" cases like Chloe. They had good intentions, and big hearts, Sara liked them. Ben sighed, "She's in her room and won't come out. She wouldn't talk to me or Phoebe or her foster brother. We thought about calling her case worker, but decided that you might have a better shot." Phoebe nodded, "We're not pulling you away from work are we, Sara?" She shook her head. Phoebe smiled, "Well, lets see if your magic touch will help us out here." They went through the house and Sara found herself standing in front of a closed door. She knocked and was immediately answered with a loud "GO AWAY!" She sighed, "Chloe, it's Sara." There was a moment of silence and Sara heard the lock disengage.
The bus hissed to a stop and the tired, sweaty driver opened the creaky door. "Las Vegas." The grumpy, rumpled and slightly smelly passengers began to file off one by one. They collected their bags and moved along into the fading Vegas sunset to gamble, hire cheap hookers or get married in gaudy chapels along The Strip. One passenger got off and squinted, as if even the desert sunset was too bright. Her clothes were cheap, aged and a few sizes too big for the woman. The driver looked at her. "Your bag, ma'am?" She had a small, cheap backpack thrown over her bony shoulder, "This is all I have." He nodded, "So what brings you to Vegas?" A dry chuckle escaped the woman's thin lips, "My daughter."
Author's Note: Ugh. This computer doesn't like to work with