Disclaimer: Only during my dreams, wishes, hopes, and desires do I own CSI. Very sad, I know.
The Hardest Thing
A/N: This idea completely popped into my head. I have a great ending, so I will try to work backwards and make a great beginning to match it. Stay 'tooned.
The 911 call came in around 2 am. The only thing audible was a faint whimpering in the background. Then, the call cut off and the horrible indeterminate dial tone invaded.
The police were dispatched to check it out. The call was traced to a medium-to-wealthy neighbourhood with pretty street signs, precariously groomed and vitamin-fed lawns, and coordinating houses. The cruiser glided slowly past the neat fences, scanning for a disturbance. It slowly came to a stop in front of a house they'd probably determined as the one from tracing the call. An officer got out, muttering to his younger partner to "finish your damn coffee," and shut the door. The other officer followed. They walked up the path to the door. Keelson, the young officer, knocked on the door, identifying him and his partner. They jumped back when the door swung open. Fearful, they unhooked their weapons and peeked inside.