Indigo

By

A. Rhea King

Chapter 1

Grissom slowly became aware of something dripping on his face, running across his nose, and dripping off the side. Whatever it was, it had dried there. One of his arms was pinned under him, pressed into someone underneath him. He felt a hand lying limp on his side. It was hard to breath, the air around him was stuffy, and the salty-sweet smell of blood hung in the air. He felt pain through his entire body but couldn't tell which spot hurt worse.

Something lay on top of him, pinning him down. He turned his head and hair brushed across his face before his cheek came to rest against someone's body.

Grissom opened his eyes. For a few seconds he wasn't sure he had opened his eyes. All he could see was black nothing. Then a very thin line of light no bigger than a sewing needle flashed to his right. And was gone. Despite how small it was, the light made his headache flare. Grissom closed his eyes. He couldn't remember anything. The very last thing he could remember, and even then it was fuzzy, was taking his dog for a walk. It felt like that had happened years ago, even though his logic tried to convince him it was only hours or days at the most. But he didn't know how he got here, wherever here was.

"Hello?" Grissom quietly called out to the people under, near, and on him.

They didn't answer. They were dead. He knew that without being able to see them. His instincts told him he was supposed to be dead too. Whatever happened to make his head and body hurt so badly should have killed him.

Grissom tried to get to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept in from nowhere and settled behind his eyes. He closed them, waiting for it to pass. But it didn't, it got worse until he passed out from it.

#

Listening to the phone ring and ring did nothing for Catherine's frustration level. The voicemail came on, and cheerily Grissom's voice told her, 'You've reached Grissom's cell. Leave a message,' before it went to a beep and then nothing.

Catherine reached for her coffee sitting on the hood of her Tahoe. "Grissom, where are you? I've been calling you for two hours now. We need to know what to do about this crime scene. I'm telling you, this doesn't look all that suspicious. Call me back." Catherine hung up.

She glanced up as her hand brushed the cup a little too close and it flew off the hood. It hit edge of the hood, exploding the lid off and spilling hot coffee down her pant leg. In response to the spilling hot coffee she jumped back and grimaced. Her phone began ringing. She looked at the screen as Nick's picture appeared and then answered it.

"Hey, Nick."

"Have you heard from Grissom? I've been calling him for the last forty minutes. I need help on my scene."

"What's wrong?"

"I've got to take a door and it's just me and the officer here. He can't touch it and I can't get this down by myself."

"I haven't been able to reach him for two hours. He sent me out to I-15 to a crash scene, but there's nothing suspicious here. The woman admitted she fell asleep at the wheel. Where are you?"

"La Grange Drive."

"Okay. I'll come over and help. After I get another coffee. I dumped mine on the way here."

"Where's Greg? Maybe he can help."

"Body at the Flamingo found during a party. He's going to be a while."

"We really need another CSI."

"Tell me about it. I'll be there in twenty minutes or so."

"Okay. Once we get this off, we should check on Grissom. It's not like him to be out of contact this long."

"Sure. I'll see you in a few." Catherine hung up and headed back to her Tahoe. Her phone rang again and Ecklie's name appeared on the screen. She answered it.

"What's up, Conrad?"

"Where is Grissom?"

"I don't know. I haven't been able to reach him for two hours."

"I've been trying since the shift started. He said he'd call me back."

Catherine climbed into the driver's seat. "Well I'm sorry, Conrad, but since I just said I don't know where he's at, kinda stands to reason I don't know where he's at. Doesn't it?"

She could envision a look of disdain on Conrad's face when he said, "Yes it would, Catherine. Thanks for your help."

With a large smile she brightly replied, "Any time!" And then chuckled after Conrad hung up.

Catherine started the Tahoe and headed across Las Vegas. She dialed her phone, listening to it ring until "You've reached Doctor Grissom's phone. I'm busy. Leave me a message" came on again. With a heavy sigh, she hung up.

#

Grissom opened his eyes but his senses took longer to catch up. He smelled the blood again. This time it was dripping across his chest. He felt his hand in a pool of it, the sticky liquid clinging to his skin. His memory of what happened the first time he regained consciousness returned and this time he moved slower, feeling his way around the enclosure. He felt at least four bodies, coats hanging from a bar, an umbrella, and a mound of cloth he couldn't identify. He ran his fingers across the wall as he slowly stood. It hurt to put weigh on his legs and back, but desperation made him bear it with a grimace.

Overhead he felt a shelf and bar. He guessed he was in a closet or wardrobe. He found a gap and followed it with his fingers, realizing it was a door. He pushed on it but the door didn't budge.

"Hello?" Grissom called.

He waited, hoping for an answer.

"Hello?" he called louder.

He heard something. Footsteps? He held his breath and listened. He heard something click outside the door and in the seconds that followed, his mind screamed 'GUN!'

Grissom dropped back onto the bodies as bullets riddled the door. The pain from jarring his injuries made his head swim and momentarily paralyzed him, but he knew he had to protect himself from the flying bullets. He grabbed the nearest body and pulled it over him. Most of the bullets went into the back wall, but a few ricocheted. One whizzed past Grissom's cheek, searing the skin as it passed. He closed his eyes, waiting. The gunfire stopped.

Grissom held still, listening. The footsteps retreated. Grissom let out his breath. He tried to push the body off him but found he had no strength left to do it. Suddenly the shooting started again. Grissom gritted when he felt something burn into his side. The world started spiraling out of control, releasing him suddenly into unconsciousness.

#

Nick and Catherine pulled up outside the house. It sat in a valley at the edge of Las Vegas, the last house on the road. A police car and Grissom's Tahoe sat in front. There were no lights on inside, and no sign of Grissom or the officer.

"This is all wrong," Nick said. "Where the hell is he?"

Catherine grabbed her radio off the dash. "Willows to dispatch."

"Dispatch. Go ahead," a man answered.

"We're at 3123 Roper. The uni and CSI reporting to this scene can't be located. Did they report in?"

"Negative. Last report was CSI Grissom requesting second uni. Uni on site reported second uni wasn't needed and the second uni returned to patrol route."

"What time was that?"

"Oh one hundred and forty-six hours."

Catherine looked down at the dash clock. It was now twenty after four.

"Almost three hours ago," Nick said.

"And where's the coroner?" Catherine asked dispatch. "Wasn't one requested to this scene?"

"Uni on site called back in and said one wasn't needed."

Catherine sighed, shaking her head. To Nick she said, "I bet you anything that uni on site wasn't even an officer."

"Hands down bet," Nick replied

"Dispatch, send two more unis out here. Give me an ETA."

There were a few minutes of silence then the dispatcher came back. "Units en route. ETA five minutes."

"Maybe you should ask for a medic too." Nick asked.

"Dispatch."

"Go ahead."

"Send medic too."

"Dispatching medic to your location."

"Willows out."

Nick climbed out and headed for the open front door, unsnapping the strap on his holster. Catherine followed, drawing her gun. The two entered the house.

"Grissom?" Catherine called.

"Hey, Grissom. You he—"

Gunfire exploded from the dark and the two bolted into the nearest room, standing on either side of the door with guns drawn. The shooting stopped.

"Police are on their way!" Nick called out. "Put down your weapon and—"

The shooting started again and this time the bullets penetrated the wall. They dropped to the floor, pushing against the baseboards to avoid being shot. The shooting stopped. They waited until they heard the backdoor slam shut.

Both sprang to their feet and ran out of the room as four policemen and two policewomen burst through the front door. The CSI swung around to aim at the police, who aimed back at them, until both groups realized they were on the same side.

"We heard gunfire when we got here. Are you two okay?" an officer asked.

"Yeah. Someone went out the back," Catherine told them.

Two ran through the house hoping to catch up with whoever had escaped.

"So this was a crime scene?" one of the women asked.

"Still is," Catherine corrected her. "Doctor Grissom and an officer are supposed to be here. We have to find them. Search down here, but don't touch anything. Nick, take the basement. I'll head upstairs. And be careful of evidence, guys."

The officers and Nick left. Catherine started up the stairs.

#

With his flashlight held over his pistol, Nick crept down the steps into the basement. His flashlight kept finding 'Emily' written on the walls in giant letters and what appeared to be blood. His mind didn't care about that right now, it was focused on his missing supervisor. The focused beam swung where he aimed it, revealing little parts of the basement. He was expecting someone to jump out around every corner and it made his heart thump in his throat. His flashlight came across a cupboard with a broom stuck in the handles to hold the doors closed. Nick slowly made his way across the room to the cupboard and with the flashlight hand reached out to knock the broom away. He stepped back, waiting to see if anything or anyone jumped out. When nothing happened, he reached out for the door handle.

#

On the first floor an officer came into the kitchen. Blood was splattered across the wall and ceiling, and had pooled at the bottom of the bullet riddled pantry door. On all the walls and cupboards was the name 'Emily,' and across the refrigerator was a poem or phrase.

The officer reached out and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. She pulled again, and then noticed a slide lock had been slid across to lock the door. She reached up to push the lock back…

#

Catherine cautiously cleared the rooms on the top floor. She paused at the first two writings of 'Emily,' and then ignored them. She had to find Grissom, evidence would come later.

She entered the first bedroom and was surrounded by the images of a girl caught between a child and teenager. Her trained eyes were drawn to a bloodstain on the floor and then the open closet door. A swatch of blonde hair lay between the door and bloodstain. She guessed someone had been pulled from the closet by the hair.

Slowly she left and moved to the next bedroom. A boy's room. There was blood spatter over everything and a large bloodstain near the door. Whoever had been killed here had been left for a while. There was no closet in this bedroom.

She moved on to the next bedroom: a teenager's room judging from the jewelry and makeup on the dresser. Catherine moved to the closet and pulled the door open. On the floor were a bloodstain and a pair of bloody handcuffs. She noticed two voids in the patch of blood. Had the killer sat on his teenage victim while he killed her? Judging from the castoff spatter, Catherine guessed the answer was yes.

She moved on to the last bedroom. There was a large bloodstain in the middle of the bed and one on the floor, also with voids. Dad had most likely been killed in bed but the killer took his time killing, and most likely raping, mom. Catherine moved to the door of the closet and pulled it open. The large walk in closet had been rifled through, but there was no blood. Had the killer been for something or was there a struggle there? She moved to the bathroom, using her flashlight to illuminate the dark room. There was no blood in here and nothing looked disturbed.

Catherine turned and went back into the hall. She walked into the last room in the hall, the family bathroom. There was a large pool of congealing blood in the center of the floor. Who had died here? She saw a smartphone against the wall and walked to it. It looked like Grissom's, but it wasn't powered on so she couldn't verify that.

She turned, paused when her flashlight a phrase written in blood across the wide mirror: 'when you first see Emily, you will fear her. When Emily comes once more, you will breath no more.' Who was Emily? Was she one of the women that lived here?

In the mirror, Catherine noticed a blood smear across the floor leading into the hall. She followed the smear into the hall, her light shining on the double doors of the closet at the end. The doors had been showered with bullets and the carpet in front of the doors was soaked with blood. A cut electrical cord had been wrapped around the doors to securely lock them. Catherine slowly approached the closet, reaching for the cord. She suddenly pulled her hand back and fished a glove from her pocket. She reached out again…

#

Nick threw open the door of the cupboard and jumped back when the corpse of a dog fell out onto the floor at his feet. Inside the cupboard was a dead cat.

"Who the hell shoots a cat?" Nick asked the basement.

#

The officer slipped the latch and swung the door open. She stared at a man and LVPD officer lying in blood. Moving around the edge of the pantry, trying to stay out of the blood, and checked for a pulse on both. When she found none, she stood up, leaning back against the shelves to collect herself.

She lifted her radio off her shoulder to her lips. "Dispatch, we're going to need a coroner."

#

Catherine unwound the electrical cord and slowly pulled the doors open. She stared at the lifeless eyes staring back at her, and her heart nearly broke. A naked pre-teen lay on the top, her petite body ravaged by her attacker. The teenager and mother were in no better shape. Dumped in the opposite corner was the father with his seven-year-old son dumped on him. The smell of blood was pungent – in the back of her mind, Catherine knew the entire rug was going to have to pulled out of this house. There was no spot cleaning that could get rid of the smell in here.

Her eyes stopped on a wrist sandwiched between the two bottom bodies. The watch on the wrist was—

"Grissom!" Catherine dropped to her knees, pushing the bodies aside.

She didn't give a damn about evidence right now. She found Grissom on the floor in a pool of blood. His face was bruised, contorted, and swollen. Blood matted his hear to his head. She didn't need a medical degree to tell his arms were broken in many places and covered with dark purple bruises. She couldn't tell if he was breathing or not just by looking at him.

Catherine tore off her glove and reached down, taking his wrist.

"Please, please," Catherine whispered as she pressed her fingers into his skin. It was still warm, but that didn't mean anything. He could have died only minutes before she found him.

A wash of relief soothed her fear when she found a pulse.

She turned and screamed down the hall, "GET ME THOSE MEDICS NOW!"