A/N: I haven't written anything in about a year, but I'm hoping that you will all enjoy this story. I'm not entirely sure where it's going just yet, but we'll see!
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Spoilers: None. This also takes place before Sara left for Costa Rica.
Title: Mars
Summary: Seven dead women, one mysterious tattoo. Can Sara find and stop a serial killer?
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"I can't go on anymore," Caitlin wiped her tears away, her body slightly swaying in the breeze. Standing on a ledge twenty stories up, it was surprising that she hadn't yet fallen to her death. "I have nothing left to live for, and I just can't go on. No one wants me; no one loves me."
"That's right," Harold sat on the windowsill beside the ledge, his voice taking on an eerily calm tone. "That's right, Caitlin. You have nothing to live for anymore. Your family abandoned you, you can't pay your bills, and you'll never be in a positive relationship. Why not just end it now? Why not just say 'goodbye, cruel world,' and jump to your death?"
"I should," Caitlin sadly agreed with Harold's sentiment, taking one step closer to the edge. "What kind of a life will I lead on my own, anyhow? I have no one. I am no one."
"You're right, you're definitely very right about that," Harold seductively murmured, feeling his heart rate accelerate with the knowledge that Caitlin was just about to take her own life. "I know that if I were you, I would have already jumped. What's the point of living? You'll never amount to anything or anyone. Your boyfriend can't stand to be around you, your father disowned you, you have no friends to speak of. You're a loner, Caitlin, and you'll always be a loner."
"I—I don't want to live anymore," Caitlin couldn't stop the silent tears from sliding down her cheeks. "I have no future."
"Then jump," Harold tried to encourage her. "Jump, and you can end all of your pain and suffering right now."
Without any more prompting, Caitlin quietly stepped over the edge. She did not scream, nor did she flail her arms. She simply accepted what she had done.
Harold smiled, glancing over the ledge of his Bellagio hotel room. Caitlin wasn't the first person whom he had convinced to kill herself, nor would she be the last. "All in a day's work," he congratulated himself, stepping back inside to clean up. "All in a day's work."
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The night was almost perfect: the weather was gorgeous, the Bellagio fountain was dancing to the rhythm of a classical melody, and the Paris Hotel's Eiffel Tower was standing proud and erect. The tourists were happy, they were spending money, and they were mostly lost in the sights and sounds of the surrounding city.
Again, the night was almost perfect, made only imperfect by flashing red and blue lights as well as police caution tape adorning the back parking lot of the Bellagio.
"What do we have, David?" Nick asked, slapping on a pair of gloves as he approached Las Vegas's newest victim. Ignoring the curious bystanders, he knelt down beside the coroner.
"We have a female body with a broken neck, a broken leg, and two broken arms. Aside from the breaks, I don't see any obvious signs of abuse."
"No ligature marks on her wrists or neck?" Sara asked, coming up behind Nick, her camera at the ready.
"None that I can readily see," David replied, scrawling down a few notes on his pad. "Of course we'll know more once we get her back to the morgue," he admitted.
Sara nodded her head in understanding, snapping a few pictures of the body. "Were there any witnesses?" she then asked, glancing around the crowd for any sign of Jim.
"Brass is interviewing them now," Nick got to his feet. "But from what I've heard, several people saw her step off of the ledge of the hotel."
"So we're thinking a possible suicide?" David queried, motioning several morgue staff members over to help him secure and move the body.
"We're not thinking anything just yet," Sara gazed down at the poor woman lying dead on the ground in front of her. "She could have been drugged or forced off of the ledge at gunpoint, or even—" Sara hesitated for a moment, focusing her camera on the woman's hand.
"What is it, Sar?" Nick asked his partner, squinting at the location that her camera was now aimed at.
"It may not have been a suicide," Sara frowned, pointing out a tattoo of the word 'Mars' surrounded by a circle on the inside of the woman's right hand.
The moment that Nick noticed the tattoo, he sighed in frustration. "This will make the seventh dead woman with the same tattoo mark on her hand. If we don't find out what's going on—" he trailed off.
"I know, Nick," Sara softly replied. "I know, so let's do what we were hired to do. We know that all of these women are connected in some way. Now we just have to figure out how."
"Right," Nick mumbled. Easier said than done. "Let's get to work."
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TO BE CONTINUED