TITLE: Shadows
AUTHOR: Anansay
SUMMARY: "It wasn't that dark yesterday…"
RATING: PG. Nyah… why not?
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, of course. Otherwise I would never have been allowed to do this with them!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Probably not what the original author had in mind for these lines. I guess I let the moment carry me forward. Not even quite sure where this came from. It's most certainly AU for CSI. Response to Unbound challenge—first and last lines provided; no more than 1,000 words. It grew to 819 and then died.

Shadows

by Anansay
March 1, 2005

"It wasn't that dark yesterday…" she whispered, the concern showing clearly in her eyes.

"No. It wasn't," Grissom added, his eyes skyward.

The sky had darkened noticeably over night. That is, it didn't lighten as much as it was yesterday. Ominously dark clouds seem to hang lower over their heads, the pressure, albeit psychological, was enough to spur a contingency of crime, practically overnight. Sara found herself with her arms around her body, a shiver passing through. Her eyes met Grissom's and she knew he knew. Something was afoot.

Together they trudged through the glass doors of CSI headquarters. The same heavy silence permeated the walls within. Words were kept short and hushed. Gazed met and held, silent questions never answered before they went on their way, questions still spinning through their heads.

The skin on Sara's arm prickled and itched, the polyester material doing nothing to alleviate it and she found herself rubbing a hand up and down her arm. Like tiny ants running amuck, each with their own jittery insanity to pass on through her skin.

Grissom appeared unfazed by the entire atmosphere, until she really looked at him. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and they no longer held the hint of laughter. Now they were creased in concentration and wariness. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, fingers twinkling in the air as though waving away unwanted thoughts. Feet softly gliding on the floor, pulling him along an almost deserted hallway.

Sara stopped.

"Where is everybody?"

Her gaze passed through the glass walls into the empty rooms beyond. The breakroom, the evidence room, ballistics, they were all devoid of human occupancy, their stillness resonating like a tomb freshly uncovered. Grissom's face was a mask of confusion. The veins on his hand stood out in sharp relief.

Suddenly the lights flickered, the constant electric hum like maddened flies around a decaying corpse. Complete and utter darkness enveloped them with its coldness a moment before the lights regained their activity, but only some of them. Now the halls were attuned with the darkness of outside. It had found a way to seep through walls and into formerly safe places. There was no escape.

Without conscious thought, Sara's hand reached from Grissom's and together, hands clasped tightly, they ventured deeper into the gloom. His office was just around the corner. Two minds, one thought: Grissom's office had always been a sort of refuge from the intensity of the halls. Perhaps asylum could be found among its gruesome contents.

His door was closed; not unusual. What was unusual was the uselessness of his key. Sometime during the night, his door had become unlocked and then closed again. Both investigators' eyes automatically went to the handle. No forced entry could be spotted; the door was at it always was. Only one key existed for this door and it was Grissom's.

With a glance at each other, Grissom donned a pair of gloves and gingerly pressed on the door. It began to swing inward with nary a sound. Good oiled hinges.

The darkness inside was absolute, not even the naturally eerie glow of the blue lights behind is desk were visible. It was like opening a door into a vast emptiness of space. The tiled floor disappeared into the gloom.

Sara's heart thudded in her chest, her hand clammy in Grissom's. Or was that Grissom's hand that was suddenly moist with fear?

Glancing down the still empty hallway—the complete lack of sound was probably the most unnerving element—Grissom stepped forward. Sara held back.

Never in her life had she felt such overwhelming fear. Her feet refused to move. Rooted to the spot, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the blackness. It was terrifying in its absoluteness, seeming to creep out into the hallways, surrounding her feet and climbing her legs. And it was cold. Cold as hell.

"No…" she heard herself say, but Grissom was tugging on her hand and calling to her with his eyes.

Come on…

Grissom went in first, his body slowly swallowed by the shadows that lurked within, restless and hungry for fresh flesh. She called his name, her voice high and tight with fright. She looked down. His hand was still in hers and it pulsed with insensate encouragement. As she stared, her eyes grew wide, her skin taught on her face. A scream caught in her throat and she tried to pull her hand out of his. Yanked as hard as she could. His grip had become vice-like in mere moments.

And then she felt it. The coldness in her hand meeting the coldness that had started at her feet. It chilled her and seduced her, robbing her of coherent thought until she was powerless to resist. Colours faded to muted greys, ice blues and growing shades of black.

She shook her head as the chuckles emanated from the room.

THE END