CSI: New York

My first CSI fiction ever written. Please, please, please review because it will definitely help in many ways from motivation to writing better. Besides, I do want to know how I'm doing, whether or not you are enjoying the story or if the story is far too unbearable to carry on reading (which I hope it's not that bad). So please, do review.

Phantasmagoria

Phantasmagoria by definition is a scene that is something like you see in a dream.

One

In an apartment, two women sat on a bed, photographs scattered around them. The brunette could not stop herself from laughing so hard at a picture of them being drunk. The auburn haired could only shook her head in disbelief, chuckling as she grabbed a photograph in front of her and slotting it in the empty slot in the photo album.

"Aiden, seriously," the auburn haired spoke up grabbing a pen from Aiden's fingers. "It was two years ago that it's not funny anymore." She wrote down on the blank space provided in the photo album: Aiden and I bullying Danny. She laughed at that, remembering how squirmy Danny was after Aiden went a step further by licking one side of his cheek.

"Oh, I remember that," Aiden laughed even louder grabbing the photo album away from Isabelle. "It was Don who took the picture, right? It can't possibly be you considering you were with me."

"Yeah, it was Don," she confirmed taking it back and slotting yet another photograph. Aiden helped herself to another photograph and laughed again. Isabelle ignored her this time and switched the radio on to keep herself from falling asleep because, honestly, listening to her laughter was not doing much help.

Aiden handed her the photograph and looked back at the radio in her bedroom. She cringed at the music that came out of the speakers. "Oh, come on, isn't there any other song?"

"No," she mumbled as a reply before looking up at her and grinning. "Deal with it, Aiden." Aiden rolled her eyes before plopping herself down on the bed. Isabelle resumed on slotting the pictures in, which after every each slot, she wrote a little note to remember by. "So, what is it that you want me to help with?"

Aiden sat up after that, smiling sheepishly. "Well, you know, I haven't really got enough time to return all the borrowed things back to their owners. So maybe you could help me with that? Don't worry though, those things belongs to the people on our team."

"Come again?" Isabelle asked, blinking. "Wait a minute, hold up. You want me to return it to Mac, Stella, Danny and Don? You borrowed things from them four?"

"Five, actually," she amended. "And yes, is it that hard to believe?"

"What could you possibly borrow from Don? Better yet—Mac?"

"Sheldon," she said and Isabelle thought that she was answering her previous question until, "the fifth is Sheldon."

Isabelle frowned. "I don't work with them anymore, Aiden. You know that. Why don't you just return it yourself? I know you no longer work there but still."

The room fell silent after that and Isabelle felt the room suddenly becoming colder. She looked back at Aiden, waiting, pen already tapping upon the photo album before her.

"It's because I'm already—"

Isabelle groaned loudly as her left hand shot out from under the comforter, switching the alarm off. I hate Mondays. She buried her face deeper into her pillow willing that she had forgotten to unset the alarm last night before going to bed and that today was a Sunday. She was drifting off to sleep once again when her eyes shot open, the dream she had earlier rushing back to her mind.

"It's because I'm already—" Aiden's voice was so vivid in her mind that for a moment there—face still buried in her pillow, left hand hanging by the side of the bed, and both of her legs sticking out from under the comforter—she thought Aiden had actually talked to her asking for help to return all the borrowed things.

"She's dead, Isabelle," she muttered to herself flipping herself over on the bed, sprawled out. "Get over it."

Pushing the comforter away from covering her petite body, she flung both of her legs to the side of the bed and touched the parquet flooring below. It was a little too cold than she had expected it to be and looked down, only to discover that photographs of her, Aiden, Danny and Don were scattered about on the floor. Even the pen and the photo album that was in her dream were on the bed when she glanced over her shoulders.

The radio, she suddenly remembered. She looked across the bedroom and suddenly she was skeptical. It was indeed on, playing the song that Aiden hated so much with her heart.

"What? You think I'm making this up?" Isabelle spat into her cell phone while she buttoned her red blouse down. "I've saved my work on Friday evening, all tired and aching all over." She sat herself down on the edge of the bed and shoved her feet into the black stiletto that she had recently bought. "It's there, Em, please. Just check it one more time."

She stood up and donned the matching black jacket that came with the skirt-suit. Checking her hair one last time, she smacked her lips and grabbed her purse, all ready for work when Em's reply reached her ears. "No, Isabelle, I've checked it the first time and it's not there. I've checked it twice now, still with the same result. Are you sure you've saved it, properly?"

She frowned, opening her apartment door and rushed out. "That can't be possible Emi—oh shit!" She gripped onto the doorframe instinctively to prevent her from tripping over her own footsteps and wearing heels was not really making things any better.

"Are you okay there?" Emily's voice shrieked. "Isabelle, say something!"

She looked down and gaped at the sight. Well, a box was not really something to gape at because it was just a taped-up box. How she did not see it in the first place, she had no idea but she knew it had to be heavy because well, she nearly fell flat on her face on a Monday morning.

"I thought I was going to fall over my own clumsiness," she laughed nervously into the phone, uncertain if she was to laugh or be worried about the whole situation.

"Well, you better hurry up to the office," Emily stated. "He's just about twenty minutes away from arriving."

"See you in a bit, then," she said hanging up.

She stepped over the box and bent over to push it in (she figured she would deal with it after work) but she nearly dropped her phone when she saw what was scrawled upon the side of the box. The handwriting was vividly familiar (she could not quite place a finger whose) but it was the name that made her froze.

FLACK.