Warrick couldn't believe the lengths his friends were going to to ignore him. They'd gotten the call to investigate a shooting in the alley behind the restaurant they'd just eaten at, and the entire drive over none of them would talk to him. When they got to the crime scene, he noticed tears in Catherine's eyes.

"Cath-" he said, putting his hands on her shoulder. She made no notice of him, instead stepped out of the SUV and walked sullenly into the alley. Nick, who'd been sitting next to him, sighed.

"Warrick, why didn't I walk you to your car, man?"

"Oh, because we're two guys, Nick, not two fruits," Warrick responded as his friend got out of the car. "Dude, Nick, would you listen to me? What's gotten into you?" Now that Warrick was sufficiently frustrated, he decided to get out of the SUV and follow his two friends over to the crime scene.

A tall man in a black hooded sweatshirt and black jeans walked over to Warrick as he made his way to the crime scene. "You need to come with me, Warrick Brown."

Warrick looked at the man and shook his head, " Sir, this is a crime scene, you need to step back behind the yellow tape." The man in the hooded sweatshirt reached a hand out to grab him, but Warrick backed off quickly. "I said, get behind the yellow tape!" Warrick shook his head and walked to where his coworkers had gone. There was so much blood.

"Wait," Warrick started, "is that... My car?" Sure enough, it was. He walked closer and could see a body slumped against the steering wheel. Nick was there by the driver side window, dusting for prints and mumbling. "Yo, Nick, who's in my car?" He received no answer.

He walked closer and found Grissom talking to the paramedics who'd arrived on the scene and Catherine leaning against the wall, staring into the car.

Finally, he decided that he had to look into the car and see just who was there. No one else would tell him what was going on. He slid up next to Nick and peered inside. So much blood, it was everywhere. matted in perfectly curled, Lenny Kravitz-esque hair, dripping down his chest, pooling by his ankles.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out and touched his cheek. It hadn't been a dream. He had been shot.

"No wonder you guys wouldn't pay attention to me." Warrick saw the guy in the black hooded sweatshirt drawing nearer. "Hey, back the hell off, man, I gotta make sure they find my killer!"

"Trust them. You've known them more than eight years. However, your time here is done. Lingering will only cause catastrophic rips in their sanity. They can hear you, but they can't HEAR you. They can see you, but they think you're haunting them, chasing them. The sooner you leave, the sooner they can get on with their lives."

"But I'm the only one who knows who DID THIS TO ME!" Warrick howled, his anger rising.

"Do you think any of those murder victims you've investigated were the only ones who knew? How many of them did you bring to justice?"

Warrick looked at the ground. "Do I even get to say goodbye?" The man in the hooded sweatshirt shook his head solemnly. "But why? They're my best friends!"

"Because they aren't ready to say goodbye. You'll get your chance eventually. But for now, they need you to come with me."

Warrick followed the man out of the alley, and as they walked, Las Vegas slowly disappeared from view, replaced with a warm, white light and a feeling of happiness that rushed over Warrick Brown like a wave on a beach.

"Judgement has been passed on you, Warrick Brown, and you have been admitted to Heaven. I must leave you here, but you will not be alone. There are many who wish to meet you." Warrick looked away from the man who'd led him there and was faced with a crowd of smiling people-all the people whose murder cases he'd worked on.

In the distance, he could still hear it, though. He could hear the sounds of his friends working his case and grieving.

But he knew they would be okay.

He was sure of it.