Title: Dream On
Author: Cerasi J.
Rating: PG-13
Website:
Feedback: Please! I'm addicted to it!
Archive: FanFiction.Net, FanFiction Online, GSAS. If you want it, drop me a line and let me know.
Category: Greg fic/AU
Spoilers: Lady Heather's Box, Chasing the Bus
Summary: Greg dreams of a serial killer's victims, can he stop it before the killer strikes again?
Disclaimer: I don't own Greg, (to which I ask, WHY THE HELL NOT?!), I don't own CSI or all that other fun stuff.
Author's Note: Time for some shameless self-promotion: Did y'all know I own the official Greg Sanders fanlisting? ::surprised gasps from all around:: You can check it out at:
Real Author's Note: An extra, big, huge thanks to my beta, (Mom), and to Michmak, for letting me drop spoilers to her fic "Video Killed the Radio Star," (which is an excellent piece, I suggest everyone go read it right now!) Oh yeah, both songs Greg quotes are from Filter, the first is called "Skinny" and the second is called "Cancer".
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Her hair was a glossy black, her eyes a magnificent shade of violet. Her skin was the color of polished bronze; the muscles under it trim and toned. She was beautiful, a living fantasy. Well, if she were living she would have been a fantasy. I cocked my head to the side, poor girl. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old, and here she was, dead, before she even got a chance to live. "Do the bodies still bother you, Greg?" I heard Nick ask, his voice soft, understanding.
"No," I murmured, kneeling beside the body of the girl and setting my kit down beside me. I had passed the test and been promoted to CSI a little over three months ago, and for the most part, all the cases I had worked so far had been very easy, robberies or suicides. Tonight was my first murder. I usually worked with Catherine; Grissom had been giving her the easy cases because he said she "needed to show me the ropes". Personally, I think it was because she was still getting over Eddie's death and he was trying to go easy on her.
I didn't blame him, Catherine was the team mom, she loved us all and we loved her right back. Now, without Eddie, we had started watching Lindsey more and more when Cat was on a late case. That kid was great, always asking questions, breaking stuff, a female version of myself. (Much to Catherine's chagrin.) I shook my head, glancing around the room as I did so. A drum kit was spread out behind the Vic, the red shells catching the light from the mirrorball and reflecting it like neon moonbeams, giving the room a very dark and ominous feel.
Nick, however, didn't seem to notice, instead, he smiled, setting his kit on the floor, "Yeah, you get used to it after awhile." I nodded; hearing, but not really listening. I just kept watching the girl lying dead on the floor, her startling lavender eyes open and unseeing, her face forever frozen in a look of shock and surprise. I noticed there was a drumstick in her left hand, I picked up my camera and snapped a picture.
I carefully pried the drumstick from her lifeless fingers, "5As," I mumbled, catching Nick's attention, "Vic Firth, best sticks I've ever used." Nick stared at me; "You play the drums?" I smiled at the memories my brain automatically pulled up, "Once in awhile, I was in a garage band when I was a teenager." I put the stick in an evidence bag, sealed it up and put it in my kit. I turned back to the body, trying not to look at the stilled purple eyes. I could see from here that her neck rested at an odd angle, it was probably broken. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nick had walked away to talk to Brass. I reached out and touched one of the glossy black strands that stuck to her cheek.
You can imagine my surprise when she turned her head and whispered, "The man with the dark face did it."