Ruined Lives

Disclaimer: I don't own anything… just having a bit of unprofitable fun.

AN: this story takes place a while ago; Greg's still in the lab, Grissom didn't leave... Thanks for reading, hope you like it!


Chapter One

The dorm was oddly quiet. Most of the lights were out. No one could hear her when she screamed. She found the back stairs and tried to go down them to the second floor. She was too weak. Clinging desperately to the cold metal railing, she began to cry. Gathering her strength, she tightened her grip on the railing and screamed again. The call echoed throughout the stairwell, but no answer came. Her hands loosened around the railing. She couldn't hold on anymore. The door at the top of the stairs opened. The student there gasped at the blood, and then saw the girl, halfway down the stairwell, barely hanging on. The student called to the girl, who didn't respond. Her fingers loosened and there was a dull thud of her body tumbling down the stairs.


"Do we know anything yet?" Warrick asked Brass as he got out of his car and stared up at the looming dorm.

"Not much. Quite a bit of blood, though. Student was killed. Someone slashed her up pretty well. Should be some good evidence up there. No one's touched anything."

"Good," said Nick, emerging from the other side of the car. "We wouldn't want any contamination."

"Especially not in a dorm. They're the cleanest places in the world," Warrick added sarcastically.

"I have a feeling you guys are bitter," Brass said.

"Let's just say Sara and Catherine got the good case," Nick said, gathering his things and heading for the door with Warrick not far behind.

There certainly was blood. The third floor hallway was covered in it; all the doors, the walls... Nick and Warrick looked around. There was silence.

Nick and Warrick glanced at each other. College dorms were never quiet. "I'll go talk to the police. See what's going on around here. You don't think they evacuated the whole dorm? There weren't many people outside."

"You never know," Nick said. "I guess I'll get to work on these..." Nick trailed off and looked down the hallway at the blood. "Why do Sara and Catherine get all the good cases?" he whined.

Warrick just shook his head and turned and descended the stairs to the ground floor to talk to the police. He walked right up to the first officer he saw.

"Warrick Brown. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Do you have any information for me?"

The officer shrugged. "No one was on the third floor except for him --" he motioned to a shaken student speaking with Brass "-- and there were only ten other students in the whole building. Granted, it's a small dorm..."

"Is there a party going on somewhere tonight?" Warrick asked.

"I don't know," the officer shrugged.

Warrick spotted the dorm bulletin board and examined the flyers. They were mostly extracurricular announcements -- sports, clubs, activities. There were also school newsletters, and various flyers selling odd items like bricks and fishing gear. Over to one side, a pink flyer stuck out. It read: "Party! Fun, games, entertainment, refreshments! Come one, come all! Bring your friends! Friday starting at 9pm!" The party was on the other side of campus, going on right now. A green flyer nearby read "Come dance the night away! Celebrate the Grand Opening of the newest dance club in town! 18 and over welcome, show ID at the door." Reading on, Warrick found that -- surprise, surprise -- the Grand Opening was tonight, too.

"I guess I've solved that little mystery," Warrick muttered to himself, removing the flyers from the bulletin board and slipping them into an envelope.

"Warrick!" Brass called, beckoning him over.

Warrick glanced at the young man Brass was obviously questioning and said, "I've got to go up and help Nick or we're going to be here --"

"Warrick, meet James Clifford. He discovered the body." James was obviously shaken, but offered his hand anyway.

"Warrick Brown," said Warrick, introducing himself.

"James here lives on the third floor. He didn't hear anything." Brass raised his eyebrow slightly.

"You didn't hear anything?"

"No. Like I said, I was wearing my headphones and studying. Big test tomorrow...today," James corrected, looking at the clock on the wall. It was past one.

"But you found the body?"

"I went out the back way to get something from the vending machines. The back stairs are right beside my room. The lights were off..." He looked away.

"Brass?"

"The body was on the stairs," Brass explained.

"No." James' voice was firm. "She was on the stairs. Pat..."

"Patricia Williams," Brass whispered to Warrick. "Victim."

"You mean she was alive?" Warrick asked James.

"She was hunched over the railing and her knuckles were white from holding on. The blood... I called out to her, but she didn't answer, and before I could move..." He took a shaky breath. "She fell. The sound..." He looked at the ground and shifted uncomfortably. "I ran down the stairs, but she didn't have a pulse and she wasn't breathing. I ran back upstairs and called 911, but..." He glanced at his bloodstained hands. "I tried to help her...If I had only..."

Warrick produced a swab and took a sample of the blood on James' hands. He looked up quickly, a bit panicked.

"I'm a suspect!" he cried.

"Everyone is," Warrick said matter-of-factly.

"Whatever happened to 'innocent until proven guilty'?"

"Wouldn't you like to be proven innocent?" Warrick asked, putting the swab away.

"Yes..."

"Then cooperate and tell the truth, and you'll be cleared in no time." Warrick turned to Brass. "I've got to get back to the scene. Call me if you get anything." He started up the stairs.


"What do you think?" Sara asked Catherine. They had just entered the dingy apartment. A young man, Greg Didrickson, and his fiancé, Grace Wilder, were dead. Each died of a single gunshot wound, both were right between the eyes. They were seated in two easy chairs facing one another. Greg had a gun in his limp hand. There was a note in his shirt pocket.

"I don't know what to think," Catherine answered with a sigh.

"What's the note say?"

Catherine carefully reached for the note, making sure that Sara had taken the appropriate pictures before she touched anything. The handwriting on the note was shaky and smeared. "Listen to this, Sara. It says, 'I'm sorry, Grace. I didn't mean it. I just can't take it anymore. I'm going to kill myself. I'm sorry. I love you.'"

"Very specific," Sara commented, moving into the next room while Catherine inspected the body. "Hey Catherine," she called from the kitchen, "there are some broken dishes in here. A struggle, maybe?" She came back into the living room and watched thoughtfully as the coroners removed the bodies. "There's something wrong," she said. "Something missing."

Catherine moved into the bedroom of the apartment. It was small, with a queen-sized bed centered on one wall, matching bedside tables and lamps on either side of it, and a rocking chair in one corner. The bedclothes were strewn around the room, mostly off the bed. Not even the fitted sheet remained on the mattress. There were crumpled pieces of paper sprinkled throughout the room. Catherine moved further into the room and turned on the light. On the floor, she discovered a small book with most of the pages haphazardly ripped out. Flipping to the front, she read The Private Diary of Grace Louise Wilder, age 17.

Sara came in, having finished investigating the kitchen and living room areas. "Whoa, what happened here?"

Catherine held up the book. "It's her diary. How old was she?"

"Twenty-six."

"She started this diary when she was 17." Catherine looked around the room at all the torn out pages. "I guess we'll have to read it."


Nick had just barely finished taking pictures when Warrick came back up.

"What took you so long?"

"I was talking to the guy who found the body."

"Is he clean?" Nick asked.

"I don't know...he seems to be telling the truth, but his story..." Warrick sighed. "Well, what have you found?"

"It seems like the victim walked down the hallway using the wall for support. The blood on the wall is handprints and smears. It looks like she tried to open all the doors, but everything's locked except room 304. The murder seems to have taken place in that room. You want to take it? I'll get the stairs."

Warrick nodded and started down the hall. Room 310, directly across from the stairs, didn't have any blood on the door. The door of room 307 was covered in more blood than the others, and blood completely coated the doorknob. "Do you know which room was the victim's?" Warrick called to Nick, who had moved into the back stairwell.

"Brass is getting the names right now."

The door to room 304 was open. The bed closest to the door was rumpled and bloodstained. The blankets were on the floor. There were no signs of struggle in any other part of the room, only a bloody handprint on the desk beside the bed.