Chapter Six
"Hello, you must be Anastasia," the woman said, gesturing to the small sitting area in the corner. "Have a seat."
"Actually, it's AHNastasia," she corrected, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. It didn't really matter, she would come here again, and she would still get her name wrong. "But you were the closer than the last one. Guess there's still some hope. A light at the end of the tunnel, if you will," she added sarcastically as she sat down on a comfortable arm chair and pushed off her shoes, immediately curling up in it. She knew what was happening, it was the same thing we went through every week since she was a kid.
The woman smiled and sat down across from her, a pad of paper resting on her knee, a black pen held loosely in one hand. "I'm Dr. Murphey, but you can call me Karen." She waited for a response, but all she got was a nod from the teenager. "You seem very comfortable."
Giving her a one shouldered shrug, she smiled. "I've done this way too many times, with way too many people. I think you're my tenth psychiatrist. Or therapist. I can never keep it straight."
"Why have you been to so many different people?" Karen asked, poised to take notes. That was the only part that Anastasia hated. How they would write and analyze everything that she said, and she would never know what it said.
"Because my dad moved me around a lot when I was a kid. And when I was a teenager. It just recently stopped, but you never know when it's going to start up again."
She nodded, made a note, and that little noise that let her know that she was listening. The same thing that everyone else gave her once she got into their office. It was all the same. "And what does your mom think about that?"
Sighing, she leaned back and tapped her feet on the cushion. "Well, I'd say that you have to ask her yourself, but that would include a Ouija board, a few incantations, and let's toss in an out of body experience for the hell of it." Karen stared at her, waiting for the answer. "She's dead, and has been since I was five or so. In fact, that's the reason that I had to bring my ass down here. Are you recording any of this? My last therapist recorded everything." Karen shook her head. "Great, can I smoke?"
A crystal ashtray was pushed across the table to her. Anastasia grinned and dug into her purse, bringing out a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. "Does your father know that you smoke?"
"Nope, but I'm going to tell him eventually. A friend already told me that I should. I figure that the day that he sees me smoking will be the day that I tell him." Nodding with her assessment, she took a puff and knocked off the ash into the bottom of the crystal.
"Why don't you tell me why you're here?"
"I already did but if you want to go a little further, what the hell. My mom took me shopping with her instead of calling my baby-sitter, we were in the mall, she was shot by some freaked out guy that was pissed at my dad, she died, I lived. The end."
Karen smiled patiently after making her notes. "There's more to it than that, and you know...can I call you Stacey?"
She nodded. "You can, but I prefer Ana. There's only a few people that call me Stacey now, and they're still learning." Taking a deep breath, she looked out the big window behind the therapist. "All right, you want more? My dad couldn't stand to look at me, because everyone told me that I was a complete double of my mother. He actually told me that a little while ago. So, he sent me off to private schools and boarding schools, under the pretense that he was just trying to further my education. Every little while, he'd pull me out of one, and put me into another. Hence, all the different therapists." She paused and cocked her head to the side. "I guess the education really did pay off."
"And now? I know your father lives out here. What does he do?"
"Ah, see, now that brings it all together. What did my last English teacher say...the common thread that makes the story complete? Anyway, my dad is a criminalist. You know, a crime scene investigator. Examines dead bodies and all that, but he's not a medical examiner, although I'm sure he knows that, too. Everyone confuses the two. He was a college professor for awhile, when I was a kid, but he used to help the police on different cases, too. That was out in California. He was working on a case, and the guy who was the suspect was the one that killed my mom. He was put in jail, but he got out, believe it or not. That would be the reason why he brought me to Las Vegas."
There was a long pause where all Anastasia could hear was a clock in the corner. Just as it was starting to annoy her, Karen spoke up again. "You had your name changed. Your father did that when he sent you away?"
The cigarette was crushed down in the ash tray, and she pushed it away. "Yup. Surprisingly, he changed it to my mom's name. Well, my middle name was her first name. Tara, and my last name was her maiden name. He thought that I would be safe then. Sort of like the Witness Protection Program or something, which is why I don't understand why he brought me out here." Before Karen could say anything, she continued. "See, the guy that was in jail for my mom's murder, he's out here. Funny, huh? And he's been following me for some reason. I was sitting in his car and I didn't even know it. I was talking to him, and I didn't even know it. Needless to say, Dad's furious. He actually wanted me to spend the night at his office, so that he knew I would be safe. Whatever."
"This man is...following you?"
"My dad doesn't know that I know, but he threatened me when I was a kid. There were no reporters or anything around, because it took place outside the courtroom when he was being charged with the murder. And he told my dad something to the effect of 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'. Is that Shakespeare? Anyway, someone accidentally slipped a bit of information to me, and I basically put it together. I don't think she even realizes it. So, I know all of it, but no one knows that I do...besides thirty different therapists. Happy?"
A faint smile appeared on Karen's face. "How do you feel about that?"
This time, she did roll her eyes as she threw her legs over the arm of the chair, getting more comfortable. "How do you think? I'm scared, I admit it. Especially after I found out that I was talking to the bastard, but my dad doesn't really notice, I don't think. And he doesn't really admit that he's scared. He's just trying to look out for me, which is the reason behind everything. He's not really...a person that shares, you know? He used to be, but not now."
"What else do you know that your dad doesn't?"
She smiled and looked up as she answered. "I go and visit Mom, once a year. At least, I try. I don't really remember her, just little things. Dad usually sends money for me to go on vacations with friends for spring and summer break, sometimes even winter break. I'm usually with him for Christmas, but we have missed a few. I don't think we really cared if we were together, since we never saw each other. But I would book a different flight than everyone else, but my dad didn't know. Or one of the parents would book a different flight for me when I asked. It would be a few hours for a layover, and I'd go see Mom and just talk to her, you know? He doesn't know that, and he would never come with me. He's just started to talk about her, and it's been so long. I give him another few years."
"Are you and your father close?"
"Obviously not," she said lowly. "My dad...he's not normal. I don't mean normal, because no one's normal, but...he's different. Sometimes, you wonder if he even has a heart. His life is science, and that's it. I'm his daughter, but I'm more like a stranger. I've even considered having a DNA test before, but it would probably break his non-existent heart. You know, just a few days ago, it was the first time that my dad had actually touched me since I was five. Really. That was like the second coming of Pearl Harbor. It just doesn't happen. He doesn't know me, I don't know him, and we leave it at that." Grinning, she looked at the older woman. "Let me guess, at the end of this session, you're going to tell me that I need to share more with him, but not to tell him what happened here, right? Damn, I'm good," she said with a chuckle.
Karen waited for her to calm down a little. "Do you blame your father for what happened to your mother?"
The smile dropped form her face and she shrugged again. "I used to. I would go to sleep thinking, 'he killed my mother, that bastard', but he didn't. He didn't know what was going to happen. It's like the Chaos Theory, you know? Some kid's kite in Japan got tangled in a tree, so my mom was killed. I actually listen to him once in awhile when he goes off on his science talks, but really, I don't blame him anymore. He blames himself, though, and he thinks that I blame him, no matter what I could tell him. He's just that way. You know, my dad should really be the one seeing a therapist, not me, but he wouldn't say a word, anyway. He's not too big on this stuff, but he sends me to them anyway. I don't get it."
"So you don't blame him?"
"He didn't pull the trigger. Oh, a few years ago, he might as well have. I was that mad, but now? I just feel sorry that he thinks he killed her. He made a rookie mistake, really, by telling the guy that he was a suspect, but how did he know what would happen? He's said it before, and they didn't go off on a killing spree. They usually bitch and complain, or cry. Why blame him? Been there, done that. No fun."
"And what do you say when he blames himself?"
Groaning, her head fell back on the chair. "He doesn't say anything, but you can see it. Believe me, he wouldn't utter a word about it. Not even to Sara. She's my old baby-sitter, but they work together now. He used to tell her everything. It was almost like she was an older sister than anything, but he doesn't tell her anything now." She sat up and swung her feet to the ground. "That's the funny thing. They used to be really close, too. But now, it's like they know each other through work and that's it. She's in the same boat as I am, but there's nothing that either of us can do about it."
Karen nodded and scribbled something down. "So, what doesn't your father know about you?"
"Got a few years?" she asked sarcastically before taking a deep breath and beginning.
Grissom frowned into his mug of coffee. "Sara, what were you like when you were a teenager?" he asked.
She looked away for a moment, a smile on her face. "You don't want to know the answer to that question. Why, is Ana acting up again? You have to get used to having a teenager around. They're not the easiest people to deal with, you know."
"How would you know?" he asked, finally looking up at her.
Her shoulders moved in a shrug. "It's common knowledge...and I remember the hell that I put my parents through. It's the worst time in most people's lives. You're right between being a child and an adult. And sixteen is the worst time of the worst time," she added. "It wasn't THAT long ago that I was that age." Pausing, she took a sip of her coffee and grinned. "Why, what did she do this time?"
"She's mad that I won't let her get another piercing. I think six holes in her ears are more than enough, but she wants more." He made a face. "It's not long before she can get it done without my signature, and she keeps mentioning a tongue piercing. I don't know why she would want to go through that much pain."
Shaking her head, the brunette laughed. "Grissom, she's a teenager. If everyone else has a tongue piercing, she needs one. It's all about being cool, no matter how much pain you put yourself through. I don't see anything wrong with another ear piercing, though. I bet if you let her get that done, she'll stop talking about the tongue one."
"Really?" he asked, tapping a finger on the top of the table. "I can't see her giving up that easily. She never has. I have no idea where she gets that stubbornness."
Sara grinned again and got up, walking over to the coffee maker. "Probably from me. She was around me enough when she was younger to pick up a few traits, but it's not a bad thing." Pouring herself another cup, she looked around. "Where is she, anyway? I thought that on your day off, you guys would spend it together."
He looked around as well, before shaking his head. "She had her first appointment with her new therapist. And I gave her some money to keep her out of the house a little longer." Grissom sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm too old to do this."
"Do...what? Have coffee with me, or look after a teenager?" she questioned, before raising a hand to stop him. "You're not too old to do this, you're just too..." She trailed off, trying to find the right way to finish that sentence.
"Too what?" he asked, looking over at her.
Her mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out. "Fine, you're too old," she said with a smile. "I'm just kidding. Look, every parent has trouble with teenagers. The fact that you're doing it alone doesn't help any, but the least you can do is try. It sounds like you're already giving up, and she hasn't even been here that long."
His eyes closed as his head tipped back to face the ceiling. "I know nothing about her, Sara. She just doesn't let me know anything, and every time I do try to figure her out, she ends up screaming, and I end up mad. It's not easy."
Her eyes rolled quickly. "It's not supposed to be. Teenagers are very argumentative by nature. You're never going to find one that's completely sweet and innocent. Maybe you should consider the fact that she's just trying to piss you off. I don't mean, intentionally trying to piss you off, but it's sort of an automatic thing to do."
"Trying to...it was so much easier when she was younger. She was an angel then. Never even thought of talking back. Now, it's all she does. I can't control her. I don't think anyone can."
Sara frowned, her mind racing with all the possible meanings those words could have. "You're not going to...send her back to another school, are you?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "Damn it, can't you just keep her around and TRY for once? That poor kid has bounced from school to school for so many years. She acts like it doesn't bother her when she talks to you, but what she tells me is a completely different story. Don't you see what she tries to do?"
He looked away, towards the sliding glass door that led to the small backyard. "Obviously not."
"She's just trying to make you happy. She thinks that you'll be happy if she goes along with all the changes, and all the moves. That's all. She's willing to sacrifice her friends, and her own happiness so that you don't feel bad about making her leave her old school. You don't know the whole story, and you won't keep her around long enough to learn the damned story."
"I can see that she's picked up your habit of cursing, too." Shaking his head, he looked over at her. "It's not as easy as it sounds, and I don't understand why this is bothering you so much."
In her frustration, her hand slammed down on the table, making both of the coffee cups rattle. "I know her, Grissom, that's why it's bothering me. I know what she's like. When something is wrong with her at her school, or she needs advice, who the hell do you thinks she calls? She sure as hell doesn't pick up the phone and dial your number, because you wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to help her, or what advice to give her. You don't have the slightest clue, because you don't try, and that's exactly what you should be doing while she's out here." Her head shook slowly as she continued to stare at him. "You know, sometimes, I really don't get you."
"Sara, don't be so ridiculous."
Her head shook again as she stood up and took her jacket off of the back of another chair, folding it over her arm. "Ridiculous. If anyone is being ridiculous, it's you," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Just think about what you're doing to Ana, would you? Ask her if she wants to stay here with you, or go to another school, and go by that. She's old enough and smart enough to make those decisions," she added, before turning on her heel and stalked towards the door.
It opened just as she was putting her shoes back on, and Anastasia walked in, a smile on her face. "Hey, Sara. Are you leaving?"
"Yes, I am, and do me a favor. Tell your dad that he's acting like a...a...moron," she spat out, before walking past her and out the door.
The teenager shook her head and watched her walk away before closing the door and walking towards her father. "She really needs to work on her insults. That's pretty weak. But I'll say it anyway. Dad, you're a moron," she told him with a bright smile, before dropping her bag on the couch. "What has her so fired up, anyway?"
He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "Don't worry about it, Anastasia. She's mad at me, and I think she has a good reason this time. How did your appointment go?"
Making a face, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. "I really don't get her, Dad. She told me that she doesn't want to discuss what happens at the appointments with you, and yet she tells me that you and I should 'share' more. Talk about screwed up. Anyway, despite the fact that I think she's not the best, the appointment went fine." Pausing, she looked up at the ceiling before closing her eyes. "Then again, all the therapists have told me that. Is there any coffee left?"
"Sara may have left a cup or two, I'm not sure." She nodded at his words, and stood up, walking into the kitchen. As she was pouring herself the last cup, he watched her carefully. "Have you calmed down enough for me to talk to you about that tongue piercing?"
Making a face, she walked back into the living room and dropped herself on the couch, sipping her coffee. "I didn't want it to begin with. I was just testing you," she said, before leaning forward to put the mug on the table. "I'm actually going for a belly button piercing. I think it looks so much cooler, but a tongue piercing? No, thanks."
He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "Anastasia, don't do that."
"What? I just wanted to see what I could do. Some parents are all about artistic freedom with their kids. Not you, though. Of course not." Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. "Give it up, Dad, I'm not putting a hole through my tongue, but maybe a nipple piercing..."
"Stop right there," he said, raising a hand. "One more word about putting holes in your body, and I'll..." He trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
She smiled and leaned back on the couch. "All the magazines say that grounding your child is wrong, you know. Ultimatums are all right, but not grounding them. It doesn't teach you anything. Besides, it's not like I really go anywhere. I don't know anyone out here, and you don't really let me, because you're scared that they could have some tie to whoever that guy is that's following me. Ooh, two points for me."
Sighing, he looked over at her. "Anastasia," he warned, before changing his tone. "I realize that we're never going to come to an agreement on this, but do you think that you could at least try to stop from talking back?"
Standing up, she picked up her coffee and looked at him. "You really need to work on your parenting skills. There's books for that, you know. I'm going to go finish that section in my science book. Don't be surprised if you hear me screaming in pain." She started to walk away, but looked over at him suddenly. "By the way, about the talking back thing? No."
A smile landed on her face as she started up the stairs, before she slowed down, and then came to a complete stop. Listening closely for a moment, she looked down the stairs to see Grissom flipping through the newspaper. "Dad? Do you hear something?"
He looked up at her and shook his head. "No, why?"
"Because there's-" Her words were broken off by a loud crash coming from the second floor, making her stumble a little and her heels slid down the stairs to the step behind her. "Damn, there's...that." Her words were followed by a second crash, before they both heard an engine growl loudly from the street as it drove off. "You're kidding me," she said, before starting back up the stairs.
"Stay right there, Anastasia," he told her, before standing up and coming to the stairs, climbing them and passing her to the second floor. Sighing, she followed behind him, peering into each of the rooms to see where the noise had come from. The last door was the one that faced the street, and it also happened to be her bedroom.
"No. No freaking way it was from my room," she said hotly, before pushing past her father and turning the doorknob, letting the door swing open. "Damn it, BOTH of the windows?" she asked incredulously as she looked at the glass that littered the carpeted floor. "He broke BOTH of them? Why? What point is there in breaking my bedroom windows?"
Grissom stopped her from going any further into the room and stepping on any of the broken glass by putting his hand on her shoulder. "We don't know it was him, Anastasia."
Whirling around, her eyes flashed angrily at him. "Dad, open up your damned eyes, would you? Two windows are broken, we hear the car take off. The son of a bitch has been following me and trying to scare me. Yes, there were some kids that were playing baseball earlier, but they were in the BACK of us, and THAT sure as hell doesn't look like a baseball," she finished, pointing at the large sized rock on her bedroom floor. There was a second one in there, she knew, but she just couldn't see it. "Now, I'm not exactly the investigator here, but even I can see this for what it's worth." She turned away and put her coffee cup down on the bookcase closest to her, pushing it against the books so that it wouldn't follow off. "Damn it."
"I realize that you're-"
She looked at him with tears shining in her eyes. "No, you don't realize anything. Get the hell out of my way," she added before pushing past him and walking down to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
"You're right," he said to the empty room. "I don't realize anything, especially when it comes to you."
Chapter Seven
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