Bloody Monday

Sunday, July 22, 2007

23:59:03

"I told you I'd get you home before Monday, didn't I?" asked a man to the woman beside him. The cold and dark night surrounded them, far from the famous casinos which they had left shortly earlier. After a night of drinking, spending time with the hookers, and barely avoiding a DUI, he tended to take them home. But when he came to Vegas looking for a better time and an old friend, he found a better girl, and as much as she loved a good time, he knew he wouldn't get any that night.

"Ya, you did, but don't think that makes you lucky."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"I'll bet it didn't." She leaned in and kissed him gently, drawing his breath into her. She then turned and entered her building. She got into her apartment before collapsing, flushed. "God, I'm so fucking wasted! He's gonna get lucky next time for sure if he keeps getting me so fucking drunk." She laughed to herself and went to lie on the couch, not for a moment imagining that there would never be a next time.

He began to walk towards his hotel, when he remembered his room key was in his car. Whenever he got drunk, he left it in the underground parking of the building, giving him a good reason to come back in the morning. He stumbled up to the parking attendant, and spoke to him. "Hey kid, you know where my car is? I forgot my fucking room key in my fucking car."

The attendant grinned. "Another unlucky night, Mr. Walters?"

"Kid, I thought I told you to call me Henry."

"And I asked you not to call me kid."

"Yep, you did. So you can keep calling me Mr. Walters, I guess, 'cause I call everyone kid. It's not anything personal, kid, so don't take it that way. Hey, could you point me to my fucking car? I've got one bitch of a headache. Fuck, I get sober fast."

The attendant pointed it out. "There it is. I'll unlock it for you, but you've got to hurry. The garage closes right at midnight, and I'm not supposed to stay late."

Henry Walters, age 47, got his key to the Holiday Inn room he had rented while looking for an old friend, and then got back to the man he called 'Kid'. "Say, kid, you driving out towards my hotel? Maybe you could give me a ride, 'cause I can't walk with a fucking hangover."

Monday, July 23, 2007

00:03:35

James B. Martin, age 26, drove Henry Walters directly to his hotel, after closing up the garage. During the 20 block drive, they spoke about the woman Henry had been dating, and various other topics. Arriving, Henry found his headache was far worse than he had imagined. James offered to assist Henry in reaching his room, and the drunken Henry accepted. Together, they stumbled into the elevator, rode up six floors, and entered the single room.

Lying down on the bed, Henry Walters never recovered from his headache. At 00:05:17, James B. Martin took a steak knife from his pocket and stabbed Henry Walters in the throat. Leaving the knife, he waited until he was sure the man was dead, lying in a puddle of his own drying blood, before leaving. He reached the lobby before the receptionist noticed the blood upon his shirt, and called the police. He stood in the lobby for a moment, thinking, and then went to a nearby phone.

Twenty blocks away, in her apartment, Samantha Matthews answered her phone to the panting of a murderer. Cautiously, but still drunkenly, she asked, "Who is this?"

"I got rid of him for you."

01:35:37

The phone in the office of Gilbert Grissom, head of the CSI team, rang furiously. Finally, he answered, hoping it was little more than a minor annoyance. Sadly for him, there was no such fortune on his side.

"Grissom? We've got another body, and you're not going to be happy."

Grissom, who had been head of the unit for several years, had never heard his friend Al say those words in that kind of tone. His mind was tired, but it soon came to a conclusion which brought fear to his heart. "Is it Sara?"

"No," the word brought relief to the seasoned CSI, "but it seems it's one of your old friends. He was killed in his hotel room, and the killer hung out in the lobby until the cops took him. They found him with a knife in his throat. Long dead by the time they got there, but I just got off with his family on the west coast. They said he came to Vegas to see you about something."

A chill returned to Grissom, reminding him morbidly of mere moments earlier. "What was his name?" he asked, already expecting the answer.

"Henry Walters."

Monday, July 23, 2007

02:02:37

Grissom stood over the body of Henry Walters, his body reeking of blood. "The killer left him in the blood for quite a while. Before the police got there, the sheets had soaked up quite a bit. This is an incredibly cut-and-dry case, and all we needed was identification. Seems our killer called the victim's girlfriend, though. Like I said, when I called the family, they said he was in Vegas to see you. Gave your name and everything, so it wasn't easy to miss."

The chill returned to Grissom as he stared at the man's body. The last time he saw him, things had been much different. He thought of all that he had dealt with which involved the man before him. Instead, he asked Dr. Robbins, "Where's his girlfriend now?

"Talking to the cops. They need some stuff to take to court, but it's not really a question. The kid's going to be charged, don't you worry. Why, think she needs to be comforted?"

No proper answer could express how Grissom felt about the matter, and all Al thought of as his friend left, he wondered exactly who the dead man had been.

02:37:14

Sam held her face in her hands until a soft voice broke her thoughts. "Do you think it'll be alright for you to go home, or would you like a police escort?" asked an officer who brought her a coffee. After what she had been through, he knew she needed rest, but she requested what was possibly the worst drink for her.

"I need to sober up. If he had been sober, he would have walked home. It's my fault for letting him get so god-damned drunk. I'm not going to get drunk again." Even she didn't believe her words; in her mind, only drink could chase away the horrors of the night.

The door opened as another officer entered. "There's a friend of the victim who'd like to speak to you, miss Matthews. Would it be all right if he comes in here?" A nod was sufficient for the man to understand the grieving woman's response. He called in Grissom, and the CSI sat.

The words were almost across her lips when he spoke. "I'm sorry for your loss, miss Matthews, but I have some questions. I was told he was here to see me about something. You wouldn't happen to know if he mentioned it or anything, would you?"

Her eyes almost leapt open. "He said he was in Vegas to see a friend. That's all he said, alright? Tell the cops that's all he said about it, and leave me alone."

"He was here to see me. I need to know why, miss Matthews. Did he say why he came to see me?" The urgency in her voice broke her confusion. "Do you know or not?"

Monday, July 23, 2007

03:19:38

Grissom drove between the hotel and his office. He knew he had to be at work if any calls came, but he still felt the urge to look through the hotel room. He couldn't help but feel that he had missed the key to the problem, though no other would see any problem. A murderer soaked in blood, fingerprints, a hysterical girlfriend… It was a solved case. However, Grissom wasn't bothered by the case, but instead, he was greatly troubled by the reason for someone he barely knew to visit him.

A sudden ring broke him from his thoughts. He answered his cell phone, and instantly the words confronted him. "Griss, I think I've found why our boy came down to visit you. Get down here; you need to see it to believe it."

03:24:35

"Griss, our boy had a wonderfully developed tumour in his brain. I told the police, and apparently, the killer said he had one hell of a headache on the way to the hotel. No hangover could do that, and the guy was drunk as hell. This thing was going to kill him soon. I think that's why he came to see you, but the rest just gets weird."

Warrick Brown led Grissom to the lab, where several blood samples were spread on the desk. Sara was examining them, her face darkened with shock.

"There was a lot of blood at the crime scene, more than one man's body can hold. And while his blood was A, there are all sorts of blood here. No one but the killer came into his room since he checked in, but this blood wasn't from anyone in Vegas. Several of the bags showed strong signs of coagulation, and he didn't get here for a few days. In his trunk, we found a cooler. There were a couple of cold packs of blood in the room's mini-fridge. He had a sleeping bag on the floor, and the bed wasn't slept in. The maid said the bed was always fine because he never slept in it."

She looked into her lover's eyes as she finished her analysis. "When he collapsed on the bed, blood poured out. He was storing warm blood in the bed. Most of it wasn't completely dried, but it looks like he was storing it for something big."

04:28:13

Grissom searched his attic for a solid hour before finally finding what he was looking for. His high school yearbook held memories he hated, phasing between stages of life amongst the uncaring peers. Even then, however, he wasn't alone. He looked through the pages, and found Henry Walters. A solemn young man then, he was now just another corpse in the endless sea of the dead. And on the back page of the book were written the all-too-true words of a man who had not yet reached the peak of his desperation; words which, at the time, seemed much more innocent than they would have from a dying man…

'One day Gil, I'm gonna give you a hell of a murder mystery to solve. And I'll be damned if you do.

H. W.'

Inspired by My Bloody Valentine, sung by Good Charlotte

Dedicated to a friend of mine for her 17th birthday

I really hate Mondays…