The End.


"How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep … that have taken hold …"

-Frodo Baggins, Lord of the Rings: Return of the King by JRR Tolkien, directed by Peter Jackson

The camera flicked on.

Greg stepped back from it and sat down on the chair positioned directly in front of the lens. His face was an off shade of white, tinged with yellow and green, but his eyes … his eyes that used to be friendly and open were now closed. Locked from within, they no longer shone with a brilliant brightness. Instead they seemed hollow and dead. His jaw was trembling slightly, but when he spoke, his once-warm and beautiful voice was monotone and calm.

"I'm sorry this is the way I'm going to say goodbye," he started, looking straight into the camera, "but it's the only way I could think of. I was never one for writing letters or notes, and going with … without saying goodbye felt too wrong. Well, maybe it wouldn't have mattered if I said goodbye or not."

He cleared his throat and looked to the left and down, staring at something beyond the camera's line of sight. Almost subconsciously, he raised his right hand, which was trembling slightly, and brushed an unloved strand of hair out of his right eye. His locks that used to be vibrant and youthful had fallen into disrepair – they were faded and seemed to have aged years beyond count.

"Before this, I knew who I was. I used to understand my place in the world; I was one of those good people who worked hard for others without looking for any reward. I was a good guy. That was my main source of pride – fighting against evil and helping other good people become victorious as well." His eyes flicked back to the camera. "Now I know I was wrong."

He exhaled loudly, and his nostrils flared slightly. His eyes appeared to be glowing in the low lighting of his living room. A couple tears escaped his lower lashes and left skinny trails of salty water down his well-defined cheeks.

"Good people don't do what I did. I was living a lie when I thought that I was one of you guys. I used to think that I might one day end up being as selfless as Nick … as caring as Sara. There was never a chance of that happening for me. I doomed myself to … to this. I ruined my life beyond repair.

"This video will be emailed to each of you at midnight today," Greg told the camera, his voice losing some of its firmness. "And by that time, I'll be dead. As soon as I'm done this video, I'm taking a bottle of sleeping pills and downing it with liquor." He smiled ruefully. "I figured that if alcohol was what started this mess, then it should end it as well."

Greg took a deep breath. "I know you'll rush to the scene to see if you can save me, because that's a part of your job, but I'm making sure there will be no rescuing me. I don't want to wake up from that self-induced sleep."

He gave a slight sob, and his jaw shook tremendously. His nostrils dilated furiously. He took his shaking hands and wiped them across his eyes.

"Waking up to this world would be the worst thing ever. There's nothing for me anymore. I helped fate take it away from me; I propagated it all. And I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left the lab in such disgrace. I'm sorry that you all stood by and left me to my tears as I cleaned out my locker. I'm sorry that no one seemed to care.

"Just so you know, though – I didn't expect anyone to help me through it." Greg nodded as if to himself. "I knew that I disappointed every one of you more than I disappointed myself, more than my parents. Especially you, Grissom."

Greg parted his slightly chapped lips and ran his tongue over them. After taking another shuddering breath, he continued.

"My smoldering wreck of a life is my fault. I claim full responsibility for it. I may be a bit bitter about how easily every one of you decided to throw away our friendship … but it's in the past now. I didn't make an effort either. After – after getting out of jail, I didn't make any effort whatsoever.

"That's another thing haunting me now. The fact that I didn't try to get my life back in order. But it's too late now."

Both of Greg's eyes fixed onto the camera lens, and he didn't blink.

"I'm sorry. Goodbye."

He got up from his seat and turned off the camera.

It was 10:00 pm.

"I paid for the concrete to build my prison. All the metal, all the materials, and even the plan for the box was brought to be by me.

I'm the one who hid it from the world, fearing the darkness that would encase me, but wondering how it would feel anyways.

I'm the one who made it airtight, knowing full well that I would run out of oxygen in a short amount of time.

So why am I standing here on the edge of the black oblivion (that somehow seemed to have entered the tomb with me, matching my stride) screaming my lungs out and beating my fists against the walls, even though I'm sure no one can hear me?

I'm the one who stepped into my own grave."