As I stared into the face of my first victim, I could not help but be shocked at my own viciousness. Her eyes were pleading with mine, begging me to let her go, and although my heart ached for her, I never once looked back. I couldn't in fear that I would do something wrong. I watched as the life faded out of her, and then made the anonymous call from her cell phone, which you found next to her body with no prints on it. Everybody is sick in their own way. Of course, not everyone who is sick will result to murder, that's just a select few. Others find their outlet in other ways. Some thrust themselves in to work, like your buddy Grissom. Some don't sleep for days on end, Like Sarah. Some gamble, like Warrick. We're the select few who can stomach ourselves after murdering who you say are innocent people. But who are you to determine how innocent these people really are? Some of us select our victims very carefully. We watch their lives. We become them. We place ourselves in their shoes, and when we don't like what we see we strike. In the eyes of the law it is wrong, and that's where you come in. You're like these peoples superheros. They need someone to protect them, because heaven knows there are plenty of us waiting to strike.

The question most frequently asked is how can anyone be so heartless? The answer to that question is simply different for each person. Some people do it because they like to watch the pain. Others do it because they like to have control over everything. And then there are the deadliest. The ones who have been scorned by those they look for. The true life Cask of Amontillado. People are twisted. If you can bring yourself to suffocate someone with their own neck tie, something is wrong with you. It may not be mentally, as so many who get caught plead to these days, but there is something in the back of your mind, telling you to do these awful things. A driving force that pushes you to continue, even when you want to stop.

There are also two kinds of us. Those who want to get caught; and those who do not. It's easy to tell the difference if you look hard enough. Some of us leave no evidence. We frustrate the CSI's assigned to our cases, because no matter how hard they look, we left no trace. We keep them awake at night, as they try to piece together the murder without any speck of evidence. They know it's no use, but they have to hold up hope that somewhere along the line we slipped up. We respect them for keeping on top of it, though we all know it is no use. Then there are the others. The ones that wish to get caught, so they leave traces of evidence everywhere, and just sit and wait for it to happen. Those are usually the ones who do not have much experience. You of all people know that. They are usually the wives who were cheated on by their husbands, or the secretary who expected her boss to leave his wife.

There are also two types of killing. The one two three and it's over killing, or the one I prefer. The one where you draw out your victims' death. You listen to them plea for their life, even thought they know it's futile. I know if anyone were to go through this they would understand it, though I also understand that no one in their right mind wishes to come an inch within their death. That is something usually avoided at all costs, and if you are forced to experience it, you fight it as much as you can until it's time to give up; Until there is no fight left in you. When the only thing left is the horrifying realization you're about to die. Some people fight until the end. They die struggling. What most people don't realize is the less you struggle the longer you live. Some people choose to torture their victims before they finish them off. That is probably the most painful way to die, and even someone as sick as I am would not wish that upon anybody. There are twisted sick people in this world, and the sooner you realize it the better.

We teach our children wrong. We tell them the world is a safe place, whereas you and I both know it isn't. There are crimes committed everyday, right in front of our eyes. How dare society give children the sense of protection? They're setting these kids up for a world full of bunnies and unicorns that don't exist.

This is my first trace of evidence ever putting you in the direction towards me. I know you are assigned to all of my cases, and I know just as well as you that they pop up frequently. You think Grissom does it to punish you. You think he realizes that they're all from me, and because of this he puts you on the case because you seem to be unable to catch me. I know it frustrates you to no end that I seem to disappear without a trace. That I leave nothing behind for you to run with. In any other situation, I might say sorry, but the fact is... Murder is an art. You either have what it takes or you don't. There's never any forced entry, no fingerprints, no hair, no skin cells under the fingernails.

It keeps you up at night doesn't it? Knowing that a killer lurks, and you have the technology to catch them, but somehow you are unable to. I watch you, just as you try to watch me. As you try to figure out my next move. I bet throughout this whole letter the one thing on your mind is the fact that if you can trace the printer that printed this letter you'll know where I've been. I have decided to save you some time. The answer lies within your own walls. I am a ghost. Ask around, not one person saw someone suspicious enter or leave this building, but the proof that I have been here is right in front of your face. Does it give you a chill down your spine to know that the one place you are supposed to be safe from murderers, the only place where you can help put the bad people in jail, is a place just as easy to infiltrate as any other? I'm watching you Nick Stokes, and we will meet again.