<< Chapter 2 :: Ghost of a Presence >>
The cab drove off with a smoky roar, when Gil was dropped off at the entrance of the Sheraton. He sighed as he walked in, dragging his small suitcase.
He walked through the automatic doors and was overwhelmed by the breeze coming from the air conditioner that seemed to be everywhere. He hoped he had packed something with long sleeves. His steps echoed in the main floor, as the area around the reception desk was deserted. He could only hear the occasional rings from the elevators, and the sound of the receptionist expertly typing in what was probably another check-out.
“I have a reservation.” He muttered, instantly feeling eyes on him.
“Your name, please?”
“Gil Grissom. G-R-I-S-S-O-M.”
“Just one moment.” The receptionist muttered as she focused on the electronic screen before her, her hands moving at the speed of light. For Gil, typing was not the best way to look up information or to communicate; he preferred words and books to abbreviations and cyber web pages. “Here you are. Just let me get your key.” Gil watched her disappear behind a swinging door, and he took the chance to look around the Sheraton and try to figure out why it was so sought after. He wondered how the lab could afford to put him in a place like this, and he took it as more pressure on him to resolve the case quickly, before it got out any further. “Room 920, sir.” He was handed a key and he smiled.
He dragged his luggage to the elevator and pressed the ninth floor. He realized he worked too much when he could almost see all the fingerprints, one on top of another, some smeared, some intact. He almost had to fight the urge to grab a print lifter. He shook his head and tried to see the world as it was, not what it could be and not what it sometimes was in unfortunate circumstances. He walked off the elevator without much thought to it when the doors opened and found his room without trouble. He expertly slid the key in and out, and opened the door.
The smell of freshly changed covers met him and he was surprised by the lack of the usual smell of iron in the air. He placed the bags in the closet and headed towards the balcony to draw the curtains back. Seattle was not like Vegas at all; urban but not bustling, bright but not artificial. Skyscrapers blocked only part of his view as he could catch a glimpse of something vast and blue and he guessed it was the ocean far away. He looked at his watch and seeing how there was still some daylight left, which didn’t really matter to him anyways since he lived during the night, he decided to take a stroll through downtown, familiarize himself with the environment and observe the daily behaviours of the regular Seattler. The thought of calling Sara briefly crossed his mind, but he waved it away with his hand, as if he was swatting away an unwanted mosquito, buzzing in his ear.
The air was crisp and the sky was gray, filled with clouds that stretched beyond Gil’s sight. He drew his jacket tighter as he walked away from his hotel. He could tell that the cars were mostly of the middle-class: Toyotas, Hondas and the occasional BMWs, Mercedes and Audis. There were no old Volkswagen vans or a ’63 Mustang which was an air hazard in itself. He walked by a café full of homeward bound businessmen and women just seeking some donuts and a quick cup of coffee. He knew people spoke of the good coffee in Seattle and he couldn’t resist his curiosity.
About 10 minutes of standing in line and $2.40 later, Gil was contently sipping his coffee which actually tasted like coffee, and walking again, towards a park that gave the city a sense of relief from the modern world and a hint of green amongst black, white and glass. It was nearer to the Space Needle, which just seemed too bright for his eyes. He decided to head towards the park and squeeze in a short break before heading back to the hotel.
As he walked towards the park, he saw the best and the worst-faring of the Seattlers. He caught a glimpse of two people in the back alleys of a bank building, exchanging something which he could easily predict what it was and he shook his head. He then saw a man roll his automatic car windows down and shout to the car in front of him to drive faster, and told the driver that his grandmother possessed better driving skills. From Vegas to Seattle, America was a nation battling against instinct and time.
As he neared the park, his mind started to settle down a little bit as the green, lush, artificial bushes and trees relaxed him. He saw others, much like himself pass him by, and he observed the way everyone walked. A Seattler’s walk was full of purpose and haste, and Gil wondered if everyone who lived in Seattle had a purpose in life, and that purpose was to get somewhere at a certain time and if not, their world would come down on them. Their walk was done with great precision, the next step not differing a bit from the previous and they took long strides, covering more distance with one stretch of the legs. Gil guessed that the residents of Seattle tended to mind their own business. As the Seattlers walked, they always kept their head up and always watched where they were going. Perhaps this is what made them so meticulous about so many things.
He also observed that Seattle was a city of romantics. He saw countless couples walking by, holding hands or holding each other as they looked at the trees, which were now slightly turning yellow, and giggled about something only they would find funny and entertaining. He didn’t devote much of his attention until he saw a man similar in stature to himself. The man was with graying hair, and was sporting a dark blue jacket and black slacks. He was carrying some books or files in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. This man was not much different from himself; the only difference was the presence of a blonde woman. She was walking along side him and he was listening with great attentiveness to what she had to say. She was gesticulating with her hands and she seemed to speak confidently. It was almost as if she knew he was fully devoted to her and her only, and for them, the world was the space between their eyes and bodies and their current topic of discussion. Gil didn’t get a good look at neither the woman nor the man’s faces but he knew they reminded him of something he wished he could forget. Gil wondered what the man had done differently to have that presence in his life, and wondered what sort of irretrievable mistake he, Gil Grissom who was always right, made to lose that overpowering presence which he had come to treasure.