OK, this isn't related to any of my other stories, whilst looking for inspiration for my sequel I came up with this, it may get pretty hard going later, but what good angst story doesn't?

Please review as I'm not 100 percent sure if this is going in a good direction, well it certainly ain't good for the character, but you know what I mean.

I don't own anything; not CSI, not the characters, not anything. Really, I'm a student, so I owe more than I own!

Haunted by the past

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Regressing

Lindsay was washing her hands in the bathroom, the warm water trickling between her fingers, the laughter of her friends in the background, when she heard the bell signalling another patron in the diner. All of a sudden, BANG, Lindsay's head snapped round towards the door, the screams of her friends echoing with the bang in her ears. BANG, Lindsay's breath shortened and her body froze. BANG, Lindsay covered her ears to stop the screams in her head as she ducked under the sink. BANG, tears began to stream down Lindsay's face, mirroring the running water in the sink above her. The tap, she left the tap on, whoever was doing this would hear it. She lifted her head slowly looking towards the door, her hands still covering her ears, when the door flew open. BANG.

Lindsay sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath so fast she thought she was going to pass out, sweat dripping from her forehead, her hands trembling in fear. She remained in that position, bolt upright, her hands hovering over her face, legs curled under her body, until her breathing and heart rate returned to a normal state, or as normal as it could under the recent circumstances. Ever since the day Lindsay received the call that Daniel Katums had been arrested and she would have to return to Montana to give her testimony of that day again the dreams which haunted her teenage years had returned. Along with the dreams came the feelings of guilt and unworthiness and with that guilt and unworthiness came something much more dangerous, something Lindsay thought she had buried a long time ago.

Lindsay crossed her arms over her knees, her hands on the opposite forearms, her finger nails scratching at the skin nervously. She rocked gently back and forth as the tears surfaced again. She wished for someone, anyone, to be there for her, to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, to make her feel better, that she was worthy of this life, to convince her that she was wrong when she thought it should've been her. Deep down though, she knew, that is was her fault, that she wasn't worthy of this life she had built, that it should've been her that died that day and no one could convince her otherwise, not her parents who told her that Daniel had been caught, not her friends who called her when they heard the news, not her co-workers who noticed a change in her behaviour, not the bartender at the bar she went to every night after work, not the man she had slept with in a drunken state a few days ago and certainly not Danny, who called her every night to see how she was. She felt alone, alone in the busiest city in the world.

When the light from the rising sun began to stream through the curtains of Lindsay's bedroom she realised she must have been awake for the majority of the night again, even though she felt 

exhausted, she just couldn't bear close her eyes, she couldn't bear to sleep, she couldn't bear to dream, so she climbed out from beneath the covers and walked over to the bathroom to take a shower. Once inside the bathroom Lindsay turned on the shower and sat on the edge of the bath to wait for the water to warm up. Sitting there, the still cold water trickling over her feet, Lindsay noticed something between her bottles of shampoo and conditioner, something she had seen many times before, something so innocent until these feelings came back from her past, it was staring her in the face, practically screaming at her, reflecting the dim light from her bathroom, the blade of her razor.

A 14 year old Lindsay sat alone in the centre of her father's wheat field, the surrounding area flattened from repeated visits, a bottle of her father's whiskey in her right hand, a photo of her and her three best friends in her left hand, tears streaming down her face, settling on the black fabric of her blouse. She always came out here to think, she had been there every day since it happened, thinking, but today was different, today she didn't want to think; she wanted to forget. She could still hear the mumbles of the gatherers in her parents' house, the people who had come to say goodbye, goodbye to her three best friends, they'd all said how lucky she was, how they would be proud of the way she was holding up. None of them realised that she wasn't lucky, that she wasn't holding up, that she thought they were lucky, they didn't have to deal with the aftermath, seeing all the blood, seeing their mother's faces at the funeral, seeing their coffins lowered into the ground side by side, no one realised that she wanted to be by their sides too. She took another long swig of the whisky, trying to make the pain and the tears go away, it wasn't working, the previously full bottle was now close to being empty, but she still felt the pain. She threw the bottle to the ground in frustration, shattering it into a million pieces, the amber liquid seeping into the ground. Again the tears came, this time not in sadness, in anger. She slammed her fists into the ground, her right hand coming into contact with the shards of glass littering the ground beneath her. She saw the blood oozing down her hand as she lifted from the ground, she watched as it trickled slowly down from her knuckles, down the back of her hand, to her wrist and down her arms, eventually dripping off her elbow. As she watched the crimson liquid making its journey to the ground she felt some of her pain drip away with it.

Lindsay was brought out of her flashback by the sound of her cell phone ringing in the bedroom. She sighed as she realised the water running around her feet was still cold, at first thinking her hot water must be broken, but quickly realising it had probably become warm and gone cold again whilst she was lost in her past. She lifted her wet feet out of the bath, wrapped a towel around herself and walked unenthusiastically over to the night stand to answer her ringing phone.

"Monroe"

"Lindsay..." it was Mac, she knew his voice, even in her shattered state "... I know you aren't in till later but we've got a multiple, can you come in a couple of hours early?"

"Sure Mac, I'm up anyway, I'll be there in a bit."

Mac gave Lindsay the address of the crime scene, apologizing for having to ring her so early, even though she was actually glad of the distraction, work was the only thing she could really lose herself in, and she hung up. She got herself dressed as quickly as her exhausted state would allow, put some coffee in a travel mug, collected her things and left her apartment to brave the outside world.