Requiem
An Evenstar Story
Beta'd by the wonderful Jayceepat, thank you for all your hard work. -Mys
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What becomes of a man who has lost so much that the consequences of any action he could take would be better than the fate which he has already endured?
Requiem: A hymn, service and/or repose for the dead.
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It was nothing more than a pigeon, a nuisance to most city folks who happen to park their bright shiny cars under their roosting place. He walked the ground in the usual manner, but there was something wrong with this ordinary bird. His wing was upturned, and a ring from a six-pack of soda cans was wrapped firmly around his neck. He set down his shovel and knelt in front of the injured bird. His brown eyes were soft and caring, much as they were years ago. He took the bird into his hands and gently freed the bird from the man-made contraption.
"Stokes," they called his name, but he didn't respond to the warden's shout.
"There you go, little fella," he gently set the poor bird down and stood up. He flung his shovel atop his shoulder and joined the rest of his company.
Sweat dropped from his brow into his once beautiful brown eyes. The sun was hot, beating upon his bared shoulders toasting him into a deep brown or a soft ruby red. He took his shovel and threw it into the heated rocks covered in steaming tar and piled it on the road with the others of his group. It was hard physical labour, but it seemed to put his troubled mind at ease. He patted the pile of rocks down, smoothing it over the once deep pothole in the road.
Chains clanked against the asphalt as they walked to the next hole in the worn out road. It was a cycle that repeated itself endlessly. Shovel full of hot rock and tar from the back of the truck to the roadway. Sweat rolled off his body, as he worked hard into the hot summer's afternoon. He watched a truck zoom past him. The glare in the driver's eyes haunted him, yet it was no more than he deserved. He kept working at the road, filling pothole after pothole until the sun faded from the summer's sky and toward the mountainous horizon.
He threw the shovel on the truck and held his feet apart and his hands forward. He watched as the guard placed the cold steel handcuffs over his wrists tightly and fastened them to his chained feet.
"In," they pushed him into the converted school bus. He sat there in the middle crowded by a guy to his right. He glared out the window at the other men as they went through the same process he just underwent.
The brown and dusty world passed before his eyes. The bus sped down the road back to the minimum security prison where they kept him. The trip always took just about two hours to get from their work sites to the prison gates. Nick's taken these trips several times. This was no different. He leaned his head aback against the window, his eyes fell closed and let the vibrations and the sound from the engine lull him to sleep.
When the bus slowed to a stop, they were well within the prison grounds. He stepped off the bus and followed the line of prisoners into the doors of the facility. Chains clanked against the pavement as the line walked through the metal doors of the prison. One by one they were frisked, ensuring they had nothing they could use to harm themselves or anyone else here at this facility. Nick stood still as the hands patted him down. The first time he felt this, he had been embarrassed to let them feel his body so freely. Since then, he's been subjected to full body searches in the nude.
It ended quickly. They usually did, and the guard turned to his assistant and said, "Take him back to his cell."
Out of all the prisoners in this facility, Nick was treated differently. He had to be. So many people within these walls were placed there by the evidence that he collected. They made absolutely certain that the groups he went out with were none of those men. He was kept away from the prison yards, kept mostly to himself, separated from the rest of these vile people. Nick wanted nothing to do with them anyway.
His body hung from the mighty weight of the chains which pulled him down. Three, Four, Five, the criminal eyes watched as he walked past them.
"The copper's back," one sneered and licked his chops hungrily. "What's the matter, Pig can't go anywhere without your babysitter?" The men crackled as he walked past their cages. He kept his eyes on his chained feet as he followed the guard, many dubbed his babysitter to his cage.
He was in the furthest cellblock from the front entrance. There were very little prisoners admitted to that wing, and most of them who were, weren't dubbed tremendously violent. Out of all the people in the cellblock, Nick had committed the most violent of the crimes. If he were normal, he'd have been back with those killers. It was where he deserved to be.
His brown eyes faded into hardened rocks as he walked the dull hallway of the prison, where he now lived. The life, the soul of him had faded into the darkness. He didn't care how blackened he was now. It wouldn't reverse time it wouldn't bring back the one he loved.
For twenty long years he lived in this place, working hard on the highways and byways of Clark County, Nevada and the neighbouring counties.
He stepped into his cell and stood there to let the guard remove the chains he wore. He looked outward to the barred windows opposite his cell as the man unchained him. The guard stepped back and the door to his cage slammed shut with an echoed resonance that marked his imprisonment.
Back when he first arrived at this place, he thought several times about running out of the still-opened door of his cell while he had the chance and every time he stopped himself. In the beginning, it had been hard for Nick to adapt to the life of confinement. He was used to living with his own liberties and independence. Living how he saw fit. There was a time when he used to enjoy privacy. Those days were long over now. Now he had grown used to the thought of the whole world watching him do the most private of acts.
Lying back on the hard mattress, his head against the lumpy pillow he looked up to the empty bunk above him. Next to him sat a series of faded photographs. It's been almost a lifetime ago since he's gazed upon them. Now, he lies there silently, his eyes unblinking as they stared at the wire netting holding the mattress atop him.
In the beginning of his time here, he used to hold them near to his heart and cry himself to sleep. Not for what he has done, but what he put them through. He hated doing this to his mother and his father whose last memory of their son would be behind bars. As time wore on, he found little use and little comfort at looking at the ones he used to love. Every now and then, he'd glance to his right, and see the spiked-haired man smiling at him.
The man who started the chain of events that led him into this cage. He would still look at that faded wrinkled photograph just to remind him why he was there. Rarely, would his heart tighten in sadness for the man he used to love so passionately. He remembers the whole thing as though it was yesterday, and yet it was so long ago. If Greg saw him today, he wouldn't even recognize the man he used to call his husband. Nick was glad Greg wasn't around to see what he became. A soulless man, hardened from years of living without the ones he loved. He had forgotten what love was.
There used to be a time, when he'd wake up every morning with a smile plastered across his face and bring him tight into his arms. To see those brown eyes looking at him so tenderly. Such raw emotion he felt back in those days. The days, he could look into those love-filled brown eyes of his husband and know that everything in the world was right.
His head tilted toward the photograph of his late husband. Brown eyes locked onto those of his lover and he was brought back to those lazy Sunday mornings snuggled up within his embrace. Gentle kisses peppered over his skin, and long lost
giggles when his fingers brushed over that sensitive spot on his side. The wry smiles he used to give, so defiantly. Hours wasted away inside the other's arms.
That was just a dream now. It was a good dream, one worth remembering, but one Nick wished he could forget as time wore on inside these prison walls. Why was he still recalling something he'd never get back? That lively man that captivated him so much was now dead and buried within the earth.
He was there that rainy day they gave his body back to the earth in a hole six-foot deep. People placed white roses over his covered grave and gave Nick their condolences, but he couldn't seem to hear them. They were all murmurs on the wind. His mind took him back to a different time.
He set back in his bunk starring pointlessly at the wire mesh, stifling the pain within his heart. He felt it every day, the empty void left by a lover deceased. His deceased lover and another tear rolled down his cheek.
"Nicky," he recalled the panic within his lover's voice. How his heart raced as his body went into a fight or flight mode. He clinched his fists and ran out to the car. "Nicky," his lover cried to him and he slid in the car.
"I'm coming, Greg," he desperately tried to calm his feared lover. "Just hold on, okay, everything's going to be fine."
Even to this day the words echoed in his mind. It reverberated over and over again inside his head spinning itself into a tormenting sonnet that never seemed to stop playing. His heart tightened as he recalled the blood. It was everywhere. The blood of his lover smeared against the wall, pooled on the floor and sprayed on the ceiling. He ran through their once friendly home to find him hidden behind the bed, with his phone clutched securely within his hands. The light in his eyes had already begun to fade as Nick took him into his arms. There was no saving him.
"I'm here," he whispered to the man he loved and pulled him close to his chest. "Greg," he looked down on his bleeding lover. "No matter what happens, I will always love you. I love you," he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
"I..." his breath was nothing more than choppy gasps of air. "Love... You," he struggled to get out. "Always... Nick... Always... Loved..." The last of the light faded from Greg's eyes and streams of tears rolled down his cheeks as Greg took his last breath. "You," he whispered.
He lay in his bunk silent as the grave. Down the way, he could hear someone's cell opening and the chains being fastened to someone's wrists and feet. A guard escorted one of the nameless prisoners past his cell. The hardened man gazed at him with a hunger in his eyes, as though he was the hunter and Nick was the prey. Many of the prisoners did that to him, as he rarely left his cell. Other than his work with the chain gangs, he never left the cell for any reason. It's been long since anyone visited him. His parents were now elderly and frail almost on their deathbeds as well.
On the small shelf to the left of his bed sat a stack of letters; mostly unread. Long ago, he learned that the hours inside the prison walls passed painfully slow, and it was wise to space out the reading of each letter. They were as precious as gold within these walls, and something Nick cherished beyond anything else. His hand flopped down toward the next letter in the pile. It was from his mother. Her letters were the only ones worth reading anymore. All the rest of them talked of things he didn't care about or would never experience.
A frown crossed his face at the news that her condition was weakening. A month ago, he filed a request for a temporary release to spend some time with his mother outside the prison walls. He wasn't a particularly aggressive prisoner. He's always followed their lead and did as they told him without question and without conflict. In all these twenty years, he's never put in any kind of request. From the day he came here, he resigned himself to the fact that he belonged within these walls. A monster, caged from the world, so they could live without fear of him.
There have been many emotions he's felt within these walls, but regret was never one of them. Sure he felt remorseful for what he had done, but never regret.
The news of his ailing mother troubled him. He pulled himself out of bed and paced tight circles in the small space of his cell. His fingers, covered his mouth, and his eyes shut. If there was one thing, one wish he had before resigning himself to die within these walls it was to see his mother just once more.
He stood at the edge of his cage and looked outward to the free world beyond those cold steel bars. Somewhere out there was his mother, lying in a hospital bed possibly taking her last breaths of life. However, he wasn't going to see her, because next to that stack of unread letters sat the response to his request.
Judge Reison himself wrote to Nick to tell him the news. He was very sorry to inform the prisoner that they weren't in business of letting murderers wander around free. He apologized again and signed it with his name and job title. The news nearly crushed Nick and now all he could do was gaze out beyond those bars and send his spirit to be with his mother.
It really didn't matter anyway. In a month's time he was eligible for parole. He just hoped that his mother could hang on just a little bit longer. He hadn't wanted to go that route. While, many would argue that he had done his time and paid the price for his actions, Nick saw it differently.
They weren't there to see the event take place. They were only there to see the carnage left in his wake. He saw the bodies on the street every time he closed his eyes. It is an image that he would not soon forget, and believed he should
never forget. The expressions on their cold faces were etched into his memory forever more. He would live to be a haunted man who deserved to die within these prison walls.
For the time being, he accepted that there was nothing more he could do. Whatever was going to happen would, and he wouldn't be able to change Judge Reison's mind. A few more turns he paced until his stoic demeanour returned. Unable to rest, unable to move, he sat on the bed with nothing better to do.
Boredom was the number one enemy within these walls. Endless hours tick away with nothing to do except dwell on those he hurt. Who had he hurt? His mom and dad, all his sisters and his brother, some faceless people connected to the victims of his wrath.
/It was better like this...//. He reminded himself and turned over on his side away from the pictures of those he hurt the most. /It had to be done... It had to be...// he continued to remind himself. It was the endless mantra he hummed to himself. It wouldn't leave him alone, not for a single second. Wherever he went, there it was, repeating itself once more. The faces he passes on the streets with the shovel rested upon his shoulder. /If not... If I sat back and did nothing... where would we be? Would we still be in the clutches of the mafia? Would I have ended up like Warrick... or.../ He swallowed the knot tightening within his throat. /...Greg...only... if I died, wouldn't the truth have died with me? No one else would have known...// His eyes fall shut, as his breath evened out. Every time his mind drifted back to Greg he would feel that tightening sensation within his bosom. He couldn't help it. His heart still weeps for the man he used to love.
/You don't know that...// His more rational side interrupted his thoughts. /Grissom's a smart man and a diligent worker, he could have found the answers... The truth may not have died with you...// Some days, he wondered if he did the right thing after all. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, and the fallout was exactly how he had planned it to be. Still, he wonders if he should have kept inside the legal avenues and allowed himself to fall into their grasp, to become their next victim. There was no question about it. In the months following Greg's death, a man made it perfectly clear to him, that if he didn't abide by their rules, then he'd be next. From the tone in his voice, Nick knew it wasn't a threat, it was a promise.
That's when he stopped everything he was doing to take a good long look at himself. He laid all his cards out on the table. The whole lot of them were spades, and none of them ended in an outcome favourable to him. Again, he took a real good long look at himself and asked the basic questions that any man would ask under those circumstances.
Could he run away and leave his co-workers to deal with the mounting pile of corpses? Could he live knowing that their killers were going to walk because their bosses had control over the legal system? The very same legal system they all worked so hard to uphold? After much thought and much deliberation he decided that he couldn't do that to them. All of them meant too much to him for him to just abandon them like that. Though he reckoned none of them would have blamed him for doing so. And if he could do it to them, he couldn't do it to the victim's families who counted on them to find and prosecute their loved ones' killers and bring them to justice. No, this wasn't an option. Those families were depending on them to bring them much needed justice, closure, and answers to why their loved ones were murdered.
The only other legal option he had was to systematically weed them out of their positions of power, one by one. Yet, his mind still dwelled upon those words whispered so maliciously in his ear. It was his belief that if he and the team remained diligent enough, they could eventually get them removed from their position of power. Deep down, he knew that this was the right course of action, but in the end he knew that if he kept to that path, it would cost him his life.
That day, he looked down on his untarnished hands, and wondered if he had what it took to take matters into his own hands. Did he have what it took to take control of his own destiny, even if it would lead him to a life sentence in prison? Could he face a life behind bars in exchange for a mafia defeated? Through all the chaos that clouded his life after the deaths of his best friend and his husband, one could argue that he wasn't thinking clearly. On the contrary, he was thinking clearer than he had in years. He saw just starting to see things for what they were, instead of through rose-coloured glasses. It was through the fog and the murk that he was able to see a weakened link in the chain. It was still well fortified, but it was possible if he broke that support the entire organization could come crumbling down soon after.
Either way he had nothing to lose by breaking it down. If he abided by the law, it would only be a matter of time, before they'd take him down the same way they did Warrick; gunned down in some dark alley. If he took matters into his own hands, the best he could hope for would be a life sentence in the Nevada penitentiary system.
An exasperated gasp escaped him as he took yet another look around his surroundings. The walls were as grey as the clouds on an overcast day. To this day, his mind was consumed by this choice. Did he make the right one? Did he sell himself out? He would like to think he made the right choice and didn't sell himself out. He was still the same man. He still believed in the justice system, and in their ability to prosecute the truly guilty. That was the reason why he felt he had to do what he did. He couldn't see how the legal system could be just if criminals were allowed to walk based on the judgment of a crooked judge and a bought jury. He couldn't sit back, say nothing, while innocent people were sent to jail with evidence they planted so that the true guilty party would walk.
From that day forward, Nick used every resource he could to discover who these men were. He knew they existed, and he knew that they had infiltrated the legal system. What he did not know was who they were, or who their kingpin was, but he was determined to find out. He started with Greg's research. He was certain that his lover had uncovered some of their secrets. That was the only way he could explain his lover's death, and the death threats he received. Somewhere in Greg's research was the answer to all the riddles that Nick faced. So, that's where Nick started; was with Greg's book.
The very same book that now occupied his shelf. His eyes focused on the book, now collecting dust. Maybe he wouldn't need to tell Grissom anything after all. Maybe all he had to do was give him the book, the one he stole from their house just after Greg's murder.
Reaching over, his fingers clutched his lover's book. It may not have been written by some Pulitzer winning author, but the story it told was great nonetheless. He could still recall the morning Greg handed him this book. He wore the biggest, cheesiest smile Nick had ever seen. Greg was so proud of his book, and Nick saw no reason why he shouldn't have been with all the time, effort, and resources he put into writing it. There was such a light in those brown eyes when Greg handed him his first copy of his book. It was so bright that it could have warmed even the coldest of hearts. Even now, he could feel his temperature rise at the mere memory of that look. The rest of that day, he'd just as soon forget. The book marked the best and the worst day of his life and he remembered it as such.
A frantic phone call from his lover, racing through the Vegas streets, hearing the gunshots fired, and the anguished screams of a man he loved.
"Please..." he recalled Greg begging with someone.
"Please, what..." a wicked voice sneered. Nick could remember only too well. "Please don't kill you?" he broke into an evil laughter. "It's a little late for that," the man continued. "I told you what would happen if you published that book."
Nick's eyes winced at the memory. Time and again, he asked himself why he never noticed the death threats before. He couldn't understand why Greg hid them from him. Several times, he had punched the cinderblocks of his cell frustrated over that very fact. If he had only known he could have done something more to protect him. Instead, he lies there deep in remorse and anguish because he wasn't able to keep his promise to the man he loved. On their wedding day, he promised that he would protect his life, to keep him safe. He always took that vow very seriously, and he failed. He wasn't able to protect Greg after all.
His eyes fell on the only book in the world that bore Greg's name. It would be the only book in the world that would hold his name printed on the dustcover. After his death, the publishers never released the book to the public. Instead, they burned the extra so no other living being could discover the hidden truths within those pages.
In the end, Greg had been killed for the contents of this book. All the hours he spent hunched over his desk reading about the gangsters of old Las Vegas. He found the facts and he put them in his book. He was so sure that the book was going to be a hit. He poured so much of himself into the pages of this book Nick held in his hands. It was almost as though Nick were holding the last remnants of Greg.
He thumbed through the blood-stained pages of his lover's book looking for the answers to all the riddles of his life. The more he read it, the more one man stood out. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. One man stood alone. He turned to the page where he found the answer to the riddles behind the murder of his husband. In the middle of the book listed the name of a very powerful business man, Nathan Travino. At first, the name meant nothing to him, until he saw Travino's name again in Warrick's collection of research on Gedda.
A light bulb flashed within his mind when he found the same name in Warrick's research. He looked closer at Gedda's financial statements. There it was the connection he had missed. There was a solid money flow between the two giants. It was as plain as day. Gedda paid a lot of money to Travino's electronics company, and Nick could only wonder why. What services were being exchanged? What was Travino providing Gedda with? That riddle plagued his ever-waking day.
From the outside, Travino was a typical businessman. He ran a world renowned electronics company, which made everything from video game systems, to high tech surveillance systems. He had the world in the palm of his hand. All the children swarmed around the electronic stores, camped overnight in lines a mile long just to get a hold of that new game system. The U.S. Government contracted with him, for his latest surveillance systems, technology to run unmanned aircraft, and smart bombs. He held the cornerstone for global positioning systems, as well as anti-theft technology such as security systems for houses and cars. The more Nick looked, the more the pieces fell into place. A man so connected to the world, could hold all the people within his massive hands, within a vice grip, deceiving all of them with this elaborate charade.
The closer Nick looked at Travino, the more he realized what was happening off the books. If the criminal could afford Travino's price tag, there wasn't a security system they couldn't break, or a vault they couldn't enter. With Travino's help the world was an open house for anyone to enter and for anyone to take anything they desired. As though that weren't enough for them, Travino was also known as the man you went to in order to find out information. According to several people, there wasn't anything that he couldn't find out if you had the resources to pay him. Suddenly, it all made sense to why Gedda paid this man so much money. The services that were exchanged between the two of them, was knowledge.
From then on, the pieces came together for Nick. That was how they gained their control over the city and the legal system. They could dig up any information on anyone and then use it to blackmail and buy them out to do their bidding. Fear was their ally and they used it well. What Greg's book did, through a roundabout way was to expose this tactic and some of the people involved. Most of whom had been long dead and buried at this point, but if one looked deeper into it, they could follow the lineage until they eventually discovered the modern day mafia. That was why Greg was killed, because they couldn't take that chance.
The irony was, if they just kept their mouths shut, and kept Warrick alive, it would have taken the authorities longer to discover their iron-clad grip on the sinful city.
Nick sat on his bunk with his knees drawn to his chest and the book clutched to his heart. His young lover poured so much of himself into this book that holding it felt much like holding him. Brown eyes pierced his memories, and he could feel the inner recesses of his soul warm in response. Greg's love surrounded him and engulfed him within a circle of hot fiery flames that danced on his skin. The gentle wisps of the flames tickled his flesh as they circled around him.
"Having good memories again, are we, Nick?" a voice saturated with venomous hatred interrupted his private thoughts. The memories he had of Greg were now shattered and the reality of his life, his existence was again looking him straight in the eye. Martin Weaver should feel lucky there was a grid of bars separating them. Otherwise his teeth would be knocked in.
Nick glared at him as he slid the key into the lock and clicked it open. The door squeaked on its hinges as he pulled it open. "Now, get up," Weaver demanded.
Swallowing his hatred, he stood from his bunk with Greg's book tightly clutched in his hands.
"Feeling sentimental today?" Weaver snatched the book from Nick's clutches and threw it on the floor. Anger bubbled under his stoic exterior. He could have killed Weaver in those moments, but managed somehow to regain his composure. He dropped to his knees to gather the book but was pushed back by Weaver's nightstick. "Up!" Weaver jabbed the nightstick hard into the prisoner's back. "Wrists out."
Nick's eyes could have pierced Weaver's flesh as a hot blade would cut butter. Cuffs slapped over his wrists and ankles, he dropped again to his hands and knees and took the book into his restricted grip.
"Ready?" Weaver stated coldly.
He walked down the hall a haunted man. His ghosts and demons followed him wherever he went taunting his every move. They came from the woodwork, the foundation, the very air itself seem to contain them. Through the narrow corridors the men watched him as he passed. He's made this trip many times since the day he arrived in this place. He knew that just down stairs toward the front of the building was a small private room they would take him where an old man would sit with a chessboard set out on the table.
It was that certain Wednesday of the month that Grissom would stop by and they'd have their conversation. It was usually small talk held over a meal Grissom brought and a game of chess. They never talked about the case, or why Nick was there. Nick made it clear from day one that he didn't want to talk about it. The memory just hurt him too much.
The guards patted him down and checked the book for any possible signs of a weapon.
"You're not going to bash his head in with this are you?" the man asked.
"No sir," Nick responded and took the book back into his hands.
"Very well, show him in and unlock him will you?"
It was their usual room, painted in the same colour of grey that adorned all the walls in this place. At the table, sat an old white-haired man leaned over a chessboard setting up the pieces.
"It's good to see you again, Grissom," Nick said cheerily enough. The guard pointed to his eyes and then went to shut the door letting them have their conversation semi-privately while they watched from the next room.
"You are looking well, Nick, they treating you all right?" Grissom looked up. His eyes had aged significantly since their first meeting like this. They had faded in their sparkle and lustre, but no more than the usual cataracts that he developed in his later years.
"Yeah... yeah," he took his seat across from him setting the book down next to the chessboard. "You're looking well in your old age," Nick smiled and moved the queen side knight to f3.
"Still making the same mistakes over again, I see," Grissom smirked and moved his furthest king side pawn out two squares.
"Figured I'd make it work someday", he moved yet another piece on the board.
It was their typical Wednesday afternoon meeting. They spent their time playing a game of chess and chewed the fat so to speak. He and Sara were doing quite well for themselves. They were thinking about moving to the east to some horse ranch where they could live out the rest of their days away from the hectic lives of people interfering with their private life.
Nick felt a tinge of jealousy run through him at the notion of their dreams. What would he give to be out in the middle of nowhere in endless fields of wildflowers and nothing as far as the eye could see in all directions. That is where he would like to live out the rest of his days, and yet at the same time, he felt undeserving. He killed a man, took it with full
knowledge of what he was doing. He wanted to see that man take his last breath under the knife blade. He got some kind of sick pleasure from seeing the end of that life. It is for that reason he will never petition the judge for parole. It would be nice though. Maybe if he lived until he was ninety maybe then he could possibly see freedom.
Grissom started the next round and the game was on.
"I heard about your request to Judge Reison," Grissom moved his pawn.
"Peh," Nick grunted and placed his knight on f3 again. Grissom's head shook from side to side as he did this yet again. "I keep telling you, one day it's going to work." Nick insisted and watched Grissom's very next move.
"What does Judge Reison know anyway?" Nick grumbled. "In the end, my conscience will be clean."
"Why do you say that?" Grissom asked softly lifting his eyes from the board. Those blue eyes, sunken into his wrinkled face gazed upon him questioningly, yet he remained quiet until the answer came.
Nick shifted under the pressure of Grissom's gaze. Twenty years held in this pen, and he felt as though he were back into an interrogation room. Hs heart quickened and sweat droplet's formed on his head. The man sitting across from him had always known the fallout of his actions, but never the reason. That he always kept private.
He lifted his eyes to meet the intense gaze from his old boss and dear friend. "I was next," was what he said. He said it softly so Grissom had to listen carefully to him. "They were going to set me up Grissom, it was going to cost me my job and then my life."
"Is this life better?" Grissom asked carefully. "Was this outcome any better than death?"
Nick looked down. It had been a thought he pondered quite frequently. Would he be better off dead?
"It had to be," he murmured.
"Why, Nicky? Because they were going to kill you?"
"No, because nothing was going to change, Grissom. No matter what we did, or how we did it. Nothing was ever going to change as long as we played by their rules." Nick stated firmly. His voice wasn't raised, but it was louder than it had been. "They had control over the courts; they knew our moves before we even made them. Greg went to publish his book, and was killed for it, Grissom. If anyone of us found out too much, they saw to it that they were good and dead. That private investigator, Warrick, Greg, don't you see I was next. I was getting too close, they told me themselves." Nick sighed.
It wasn't a memory he was fond of keeping. It wasn't even one that he wanted, and yet he would have for the rest of his life. "Our hands were tied, we couldn't do a thing about them and they knew it. They had control over this city and there wasn't a goddamn thing we could do to stop it." Frustration seeped from his voice as pus would seep from a freshly opened wound.
He took a small drink from the glass of water his jailer had set beside him. "When they told me that I was next, I had a decision to make. I didn't make it lightly Grissom, you have to believe that."
"I do, Nicky," his voice was calm and even as it always was. The steadiness of his voice served to calm his nerves and in turn he felt his pulse slow just a hair.
"I knew that no matter what I did, my life would be forfeit. Either they would kill me, or I would end up here." He sighed. "What choices?"
Grissom sat there watching his ex-CSI gather his thoughts, to try to explain something he hasn't been able to in twenty years time. He almost wanted to pull it out of him, but realized that these things happen on their own time table.
"Sometimes life hands us but two choices and we have to decide which would be the lesser of the evils," Grissom replied to the question.
"I don't know if I chose the lesser of the evils," Nick said calmer than he had been before. "But I made a choice and I've lived with it now for twenty years, and I will continue to live with it. I made my bed, and now it is I who must sleep in it."
"We all have made our bed's Nick and we all must lie in the bed which we've prepared for ourselves. Not all of us are as comfortable about it as you," Grissom said.
"The only choice I had was where my bed was going to be made. It would either be made by their hands, or my own hands, and I decided that if it had to be made, then it was going to be made by my hands. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. I didn't want them to get the better of me. Not when I had it within my power to bring down their entire organization. Could you rest in peace knowing that this evil was still in place? Could you stand by and watch them rule the world, while you had the power to stop it within the palm of your hand?" Nick asked.
"I'm not sure," Grissom replied. For the first time, Grissom was starting to understand why Nick felt as though he had to do this. Why he had to sacrifice himself for the greater picture. In the game of chess, he was the pawn sacrificed so the game could be won. He hated seeing this man rendered to such a condition, but now he was finally starting to see, to understand the thoughts Nick went through to get himself to this point.
"My bed was going to be made by my hand and my hand alone," he paused. "From the point my decision was made to the point when I walked through these ironclad doors, my every move was a calculated step."
"My first move, would be to lie low, and gather information on these men. Sure, I could have taken my wrath and killed the kingpin Stefan Knolls, but it wouldn't have solved anything. They would have simply filled the gaps. I needed to pull them down at the same time, by their strongest members, and expose the weak for who they were. I wanted the world to see all the judges in Clark County that were bought by these men, all the people they had in their army. I needed them to see the light of day and to squirm beneath its blistering rays. I needed concrete information, which I could then hand to you and give you reason to investigate it."
"Nathan Travino," Grissom whispered. "Why him, though? Why not kill Stefan Knolls?" It was a question Grissom had wanted to ask for years now, and held his tongue. He never understood why Nick went for Stefan Knolls' second hand man.
"Nathan Travino was the nervous system for that organization. He was their eyes, their ears, and all the knowledge they possessed. Striking him down, would cripple their organization and buy time for you to legally shed light on all the rest of them."
Nick stood there against the building just out of sight from his old co-workers. His ears were perked and attuned to what they were saying. Grissom stood there gazing at the corpse with a critical eye almost not believing what he saw. He dropped to his knee and pried the silver ring out of his cold stiff fingers. He had seen this ring before, just not inside this hand.
"Is that?" Sara knelt down beside Grissom.
"Looks like it," Nick recalled hearing the disbelief in Grissom's voice. It wasn't easy to stand there just out of sight while his co-workers dug up evidence of the crime he committed. Grissom took the ring that bared Greg's inscription and placed it within the paper bindle to collect as evidence. Nick stood there and hoped that it wouldn't take them too long to figure it out. All the pieces would come back to him, and he wouldn't deny it.
"I don't think he jumped," Grissom stated. Brown eyes watched them work diligently on the body. They let the body talk to them, in whispers that only spoke the truth. Nick killed a man. He was a beloved man, and he was a hated man. He held power and he used it for ill deeds.
Fingerprints, DNA, fibres, the ring, bruises, and the tell-tell stab wound to his back would all point to Nick. His blood was on that knife, his prints, his DNA. Soon, they would have all the evidence they needed on him and so much more. There'd be no disputing it, only accepting it.
While the investigation pressed onward, Nick disappeared within plain sight. He pulled on tattered clothes, and took the aged appearance of a man withered and worn from a life of begging on the streets.
"We don't want your kind around here," the people would shoo him away. He left without argument or complaint. He couldn't risk being found too soon, because when he found them, he wasn't going to say a word. He was just going to admit his guilt to the crime and be done with it. His part in the story would end.
For years, he had refused to talk about it, unable to bear the pain. The memories of his lover murdered, his best friend shot, and an entire city filled with white collar thugs.
He watched from the side window, as they gathered his things from the rundown apartment he rented. It was all there in plain sight. He didn't even try to hide it. Inside Grissom's hand was a note and a key to a safety deposit box for a Texas bank. It was the very same safe deposit box that he had stored all his research in. Everything he spent his entire life savings on was sitting inside that box waiting for Grissom's eyes. His only hope was that he would do as the note said.
Faceless people passed him on the strip, laughing, giggling, smiling, and having fun with their friends and loved ones. He missed the one he loved, and his best friend sitting by his side. He walked a lonely man on the sidewalk in tattered clothes. A news paper rested on the ground, the title read, "CSI STILL AT LARGE". He smiled to himself and walked further down the street. He wasn't even hiding. All they had to do was open their eyes and look. Every moment, Grissom, Catherine, Sara, and Ecklie closed in on him. He was a hunted man. It was only a matter of time, before someone spots him and turns him in and when they did he'd be ready.
Right at that moment, they were putting the pieces together. Hopefully, Grissom got his note and kept the information as private as he could until the time was right to reveal it.
The faces of his comrades surrounded him out there on the streets. Their guns drawn and their eyes focused down their sights. "Freeze!" they ordered. Nick raised his hands slowly and placed them on his head. He didn't need to run any longer. His time had come. They placed the cold steel cuffs around his wrists and hauled him down to the station. Cold gazes met
him at the door. Police officers and detectives shook their heads as he walked inside. "Such a shame," one of them whispered within his earshot.
He took his seat at the table. He's seen this room many times, but never from the victim's seat. He looked at the glass wall and could feel their confused eyes looking upon him. Blue piercing eyes of Catherine Willows, the brown saddened eyes of Sara Sidle, and yes, he could even feel the unemotional glare of Conrad Ecklie. He sat there with his cuffed hands placed on the table, as officer O'Riley walked in with Grissom behind him.
"Grissom," Nick broke the silence of the room. His eyes gave way to disappointment and letdown he felt within his body. From the gleam, he could almost feel the betrayal the older man felt for his pupil.
"Why'd you do it, Nicky?" he asked so softly.
"There was no other way," Nick replied to the question and that was all that he said. He took the pen and confessed to killing Nathan Travino.
"I'm sorry you felt that way," Grissom said as the officer escorted Nick from the room. Within the clutches of the officer, Nick turned to face his now ex-boss and looked him in the eyes. "Don't feel sorry for me, Grissom. It had to be done. You saw what was inside the box, use it or it will destroy you. Keep your eyes open." He spoke almost in code. Grissom seemed to understand what Nick said, even if no one else could.
He stood at trial, silent taking everything the court would dish out. His court appointed lawyer managed to get them to go easy on him, for the sentencing phase and he only drew fifty years with the option of parole at twenty. Nick didn't want it though. He already knew that he wouldn't file for it. He deserved everything they handed to him and so much more. He took the fifty years and walked from that courtroom into the cell where he'd spend the next fifty years locked within the walls.
Throughout the months, a smile was brought to his lips when he saw the team going after all the mobsters he exposed. One by one they dropped like flies and landed in the same place he did. With each one falling to the court's clutches, the smile on Nick's face widened.
He wished he could have just handed the information to Grissom. However, he was already much too close to the flames. They already suspected him and they made it known that they were watching his every move. Everything that came in or out of his house, they had access to. When he was at work, they kept tabs on him when he was in the lab, or even out in the field. He couldn't go out to eat without one of them following him. If at any point he tried to hand over the information. They would have shot him point-blank, and done the same to Grissom.
For the longest time, Nick wondered why they didn't just kill him. Wouldn't it have been easier to put him out of his misery than to hold onto someone who had all the keys? It never made sense to Nick until he realized that they were afraid of what would happen if they did kill him and they weren't able to raid his place fast enough. They were afraid that his death would mean the downfall of their organization. In the end, it turned into a game of fear between Nick and them and which one of them would dare to strike first. Between the two of them, Nick was the only one who didn't have a thing to lose. He didn't care who knew about their organization, and so it was that he struck first and sank his venomous fangs deep within their flesh.
He derived some sick pleasure from seeing them squirm beneath the magnifying glass held up to the sun. Just knowing that he was able to keep that information safe from their clutches gave him great pleasure.
A wry smile pulled at the corners of Nick's mouth as he sat there in the room across from Grissom. "I knew if I brought down Travino, their access to information would be hindered. I needed them to stay in the dark. I knew they would do anything for the information that I was handing you. With him gone, their eyes were temporarily blinded and it allowed me the opportunity to pass on the information so that you could bring down the rest of them."
The two men sat in a stagnated silence unable to speak, unable to move. Their eyes fixed on the other's attempting to read the emotions that resided deep within. Nick wasn't quite sure what he saw flash through Grissom's eyes. Was it disappointment? Perhaps it was realization of how bad things really were. Twenty years ago, times were tough on all of them and sometimes over time they forgot that. Maybe, just maybe Grissom finally understood why he had to do this.
"I'm sorry if I let you down, Grissom," Nick said softly.
"You've never let me down, Nicky," Grissom replied softly and genuinely. Then, Grissom's hardened features broke and a smile emerged only for a second. "I don't know what I would have done under those circumstances. I'm not disappointed in you, Nicky. I just... I never understood how you could so freely kill a man. I never knew all this was going on," he said softly. "I had no idea they had you so trapped. If I knew..."
"You couldn't have done anything about it. These men were out for blood, and they were going to get it. I didn't see any other way to give you the information, I didn't see any other way..." he repeated. Tears dripped from his eyes as water would fall from a cliff. His body shook from the emotion of it all.
Knowing that his mother lay in some hospital bed in a Texas hospital while he was stuck in this prison was almost too much to bear. He made his bed twenty years ago, and now he has to lie in it. He's accepted that. Now, is the time when those choices hurt him the most.
Such a strong man broke down in front of him. All the times he came to this room and sat across from him, he never showed signs of any emotion. Perhaps they had been muted within these gated walls. For the first time in twenty years, Nick allowed himself to cry, to grieve over his situation. Too long now had he stood strong as the big evil villains stood tall above him and forced him to commit the most heinous crime to a person who's seen too much murder, too much death.
The man finally broke down inside these grey dreary walls. Grissom moved to the man, now physically shaking as the emotional cloud overcame him.
"It's going to be all right," Grissom murmured into his ear as his hands gently stroked along his spine. All the years of the hardened exterior he put on had melted away. His friend and ex-criminologist sobbed buckets into his arms from twenty years of grief.
"I'm sorry you had to go through this," Grissom whispered almost forgetting that this man within his arms was a convicted murderer.
His blue eyes stared through the glass window silently telling the man on the other side of the glass to come inside this room. He held Nick in his arms as all the years of grief, anguish and despair poured from his eyes onto Grissom's shoulders. For the past few months, Grissom could see it within Nick's eyes that he was getting to the point of being ready to talk. It took twenty long and tiresome years to get his answers, and now that he had them, he could now understand the pain he was going through.
The door swung open with a squeak and a gangly man wearing a heavily starched suit walked through the door. He was about the build Greg was, but perhaps five inches shorter. Nick watched the man carefully as he walked across the room to where the two older gentlemen sat in a heart wrenching embrace. The prisoner, wearing a plain white t-shirt clung to the retired crime lab supervisor if his life depended on it. It was a heartbreaking moment for the man.
He appeared to be a politician or a lawyer of sorts, with a real narrow face, a crooked nose which held a pair of nerdish black rimmed glasses, and well kept hair. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties, but he could have been in his early forties.
"Grissom," the man spoke softly. "I would like to have a word with you."
The man cleared his throat and shuffled his well polished shoes on the concrete floor. The man appeared nervous for some reason. He stood there fidgeting with his fingers the entire time. If not those, then he ran his fingers down the narrow length of his tie.
"Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of Nick. I assume you've seen all you need to see, Governor?"
Nick's bloodshot eyes lifted from Grissom's shoulder and he looked more carefully at the man. At the first mention of his name, he didn't believe that the governor of Nevada would be there. Yet there before his very eyes stood Governor Daniel Jessup.
"I... I have," he said softly.
"Governor, I would like you to meet, Nick Stokes," the governor did not offer his hand to the convicted felon sitting there in that room with bloodshot eyes. His body still trembled with the over powering force of emotions that overcame his body. "Nick, I've asked the governor to join me on my visitations with you for the last few months or so. He's been sitting behind that window, watching you all this time. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, Nick, but I felt like it was important for him to hear what you had to say. Over these past few months, I've felt like you've needed to say your piece to me, and I wanted him to be there when you did it."
The prisoner looked up with his big, tearful eyes and gazed at Grissom. The old man grinned so sweetly it touched his heart. It was still filled with an emotion Nick couldn't begin to describe, but it had been genuine and raw. There was an openness about him that gave him a kind of strength he hadn't known before. It was almost as though he were silently telling him that everything was going to be all right. i/Everything was going to be all right in the end...//i he thought to himself.
"I've decided to..." Jessup's eyes fell to the prisoner sitting at the table. There was something about this man sitting in front of him, so weak and powerless. "I've decided to grant Nick a pardon. He's provided this state with such a service."
He almost couldn't believe his ears when he heard the Governor say those words. "A... a pardon?" he asked choking back the fresh tears swelling up within his eyes.
"Yes, a full pardon, as a thank you for the service you provided the state."
His eyes opened just a bit wider. His heart pounded a little faster within his bosom. He looked over toward Grissom and back toward the Governor not sure what to say.
"Thank you," he said graciously and offered his hand. The governor was reluctant to take the hand of the murderer, but accepted it nonetheless as a sign of good faith or something like that.
"Well, if you excuse me, I have some paperwork to draw up, and I will see you in a couple of days," he gave a brief shallow smile and walked out of the room just as quickly as he entered.
An infinite number of questions passed through Nick's troubled mind. For twenty years he's lived with his sins and with his crimes, and now suddenly he's been absolved of them. Now he is a free man, free to choose what he wants?
"Where do I go?" he whispered so softly. "I don't have anything. No clothes, no house, no money, and look at me, I'll be fifty-nine this summer, and no one's going to hire me." He planned to spend the rest of his life spent behind these cold steel bars. He didn't have anything to go back to. He had no money in his accounts he spent his entire life savings on information. He had no house he sold it for the same price.
His brown eyes gazed deeply into Grissom's searching for the answers to these questions and at the same time, Grissom was equally lost. He had hoped that the Governor would just allow him a pass out of these bars to see his ailing mother, and now the man was to be freed in a few days?
The confident man he once knew had died years ago, and Grissom was well aware of that death, and now all that remained was a scared man uncertain as to what he should do or where he should go. He had no place to go but the cruel city streets.
"Come live with us, Nicky, on the horse ranch out east. We will have a cabin built for you where you can live as long as you desire." Grissom's hand reached out and placed his hand over Nick's shoulder. Nick's tearful eyes looked up at Grissom's aged blue eyes. He almost didn't believe what he was hearing.
"You mean... you wouldn't mind?" Nick choked out.
"Nick, if I minded I wouldn't have offered. Besides, you're still the man I knew all those years ago who came to Vegas with something to prove. Now you proved it, and it's time to find the peace you've been looking for."
His eyes lowered in silent contemplation. What Grissom was offering him sounded wonderful. He could easily live out his life out in the middle of nowhere with the land surrounding him filled with horses. It sounded magnificent, but he wasn't sure he was deserving of it. How does one say that they do not deserve a full pardon, or a chance at peace? Maybe it is true. Maybe he had spent enough time repenting for his sins.
The next two days, he spent cleaning up his cell and gathering up everything he owned in the small box the prison provided for him. He placed the old pictures there, and the few clothes he had, mostly white t-shirts and cotton pants. Once his locker was cleaned out, and the pictures were put away, Nick lay back on the bed and read through all the unread letters he received. Most of them were from his family and he read each one. Some of them were several years old, as he didn't want to hear of their enjoyment within these prison walls. Now learning about their lives seemed more appropriate as he was about to rejoin them in the free world.
The pile of letters dwindled to that of a few lawyers which landed in the trash. He wasn't interested. Footsteps sounded through the concrete halls and hoots from the other inmates followed as the man walked through the halls. Nick took his box in his hands and waited for the warden to get to his cell. He stood there still as the man stopped in front of his cell and slid the key into the lock to open his door.
"Let's get moving Stokes," he said one last time.
Nick stepped out of his cell and walked down the hall for the last time. He wasn't going to miss the dreary grey walls, the hoots and hollers with each fight, or the uncivilized talk of the prisoners within these walls. He walked silently with his head up as he headed for the free world. Outside stood Grissom with Sara tucked under his arm. She looked just as beautiful as ever.
They stood, leaning against an old Cadillac convertible that looked like it had come right out of 1950. It was big and shiny with those large fins in back. Red and white trimmed with chrome. He placed his box inside the trunk and hugged them tight with a thank you for letting him stay with them.
"You don't have to..." Sara held out her hand.
"Nick, I want to do this. I couldn't let you stay out on the streets," she opened the passenger door and pushed the seat forward to allow him access to the back seat.
"Are we ready?" Grissom asked taking the driver's seat.
"Yeah, yeah we're ready," Nick replied looking back over his shoulder at the prison he used to call home. No more though, now his home was somewhere on the clear open range and that brought a smile to his face.
The world passed in such a blur of browns and greens as they drove east ward. Sara took the wheel at Phoenix and the pair kept driving eastward staying to the southern roads. They had a stop they had to make, Nick had someone that he needed to see. His mother, before she passed on. Sara and Grissom said not a word about it, but both knew it was something Nick felt like he had to do. He clutched Greg's book in his hands as they neared Dallas.
"It's going to be all right, Nick," Grissom said over his shoulder.
"I know," he replied softly and stepped outside the car. This was something he felt he had to do. He walked through the hospital doors. The place was sterile as any hospital. It had the same disinfectant smell he would expect. The walls were painted some kind of a pastel purple. He walked up to the nurse's station and asked for assistance to find his mother's room.
"Yes, of course right this way," she said with a soft smile and led the way to her room. He stood there outside her room trying to gather the courage to walk inside. Twenty years ago, he let down his entire family. They never understood what was going on or why he had to do it. All they knew was that their son pled, 'no contest' to a first degree murder charge. There was a lot of hurt in his family. Hurt that he caused, but now it is time to set things right.
He balled his hand into a loose fist and knocked on the door. He waited for just a bit until someone he thought was his older brother answered the door.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Liam?" Nick replied. His eyes focused on the man at the door. His hands gripped the book harder until his knuckles were nearly white. "I am here to see mom."
"She doesn't want to see you," he hissed venomously and tried to shut the door on him, but Nick was quick enough to stop it from locking him out.
"Even still, I need to see her. I need to see all of you."
"Nick, what do you think will happen from this? Bring her more grief, more pain? It was bad enough she had to lose you once, don't make her go through it again."
"Liam, I need to see her. It's something I feel like I need to do. Please, let me have my say and then I will disappear from your lives and never look back. Please," he nearly begged. "Twenty years ago, I did something I'm not proud of. It made me feel weak as a man with no options would feel. I felt like there had to be some other way that I didn't explore, but I realize now that there was no other way. I was having enough trouble dealing with my own emotions, I couldn't deal with the shame you would have bestowed upon me. You all would have looked at me as though I were a man who turned my back on all my principles, and lost faith in the legal system you all served. I couldn't deal with that and now I've come to grips with a lot of things. Now please, let me bring some kind of closure to our family. Doesn't mom deserve to know that her son hasn't forgotten his principles? That her son hasn't lost faith in the legal system? Doesn't she deserve a small measure of peace and to see her youngest son free from prison? I would hate her last memory of me, to be in that rotten place."
"Fine," Liam granted his wayward brother entrance to the room. The entire family had gathered there around her bed. Cisco held his frail wife's hand as though clinging to a memory.
"Nick's here," Liam said almost casually as though he had arrived back home from a two week summer camp. Cisco's tired eyes lifted from his wife and focused on his son astounded at the sight of him in the room. His hands weren't handcuffed, and there wasn't a guard at the door. The rest of his family looked at him, most with a silent detest of him. He never blamed them for how they felt toward him. Given the same situation and in different shoes, he might feel as they feel.
"Cisco," he whispered to the man he was proud to say was his father. "Mother," he looked over to the frail ailing women who had been bedridden for months. He dropped to his knees to see them at their level. He didn't deserve to look down on them. No, he deserved to look up to them. "What can I do to make this better?"
"Oh, son," his mother's voice was just a shadow of the radiance it once carried. "You don't have to do anything, just being here is enough." She smiled.
"No, mom I don't think that's enough," he took her hand so softly into his. "All these years, I've been too afraid to tell you the truth. Afraid, that maybe they'd still be lurking around waiting to strike anyone who knew the truth. They killed my best friend over it, and they killed my husband for it. I lived in fear for such a long time, momma and fear like that doesn't just go away," he choked back the tears that were building inside his eyes.
"Son, you don't have to say anything, I already know the truth. I know you're not a bad person. You were just a good person who was caught in a bad situation. I knew that you'd never kill out of cold blood," she reached out and touched his face so softly. It felt the same as it did when he was a young boy frightened of the monster under his bed and she'd run her fingers gently over his cheek to calm him down.
"I know, but I still think you deserve to know the truth," he whispered.
"I already know it, son. You are a good man, and you are a good son, do you hear me?"
Tears fell from his eyes, rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. He couldn't hold them in any longer.
"What you did, took courage, you stood up to some really evil people and you stopped them." Nick looked at his mother with new eyes. He had no idea she knew what had happened. How could she know?
"How?" he choked out.
"Grissom, he's a good man, Nick. He came to talk to me five years into your sentence and he laid everything out on the table for me to see with my own eyes. I wasn't entirely ready to see what he had to show, but I looked. I already knew you were guilty of the crime you were accused. However, I wasn't prepared to see that you were still the same little boy that I brought up. I wasn't fully prepared to forgive you that day, and when I saw what you had done, and what was going on I couldn't stop myself from forgiving you, my son. I know you haven't turned your back on your principles. I know you still believe in law and justice."
"I'm sorry I had to put you through this," he cried. "All of you, but I saw no other way... no other way..."
"I know, son..." his father said softly.
"No, you don't know," Nick sighed. "But I want you to know," he said with a bit more strength. He launched the story from the beginning and from how it all started with Greg's book. The very book he held in his hands and then he went on from there leaving nothing out. They were all ears as they listened to his sad tale.
Liam stood there silently listening to his story, and finally he reached an understanding of his brother. He found some rhyme and reason for the crime he committed and realized that he would have probably done the same if he were in that situation. It was just a bad situation. Years of pent up hatred vacated his body, as it did for all his sisters. He watched as his mother placed her bony hand on her wayward son and told him she loved him.
In a few days time, his mother's condition deteriorated until her death a few days later. It felt as though she were waiting for her long lost son to return to her. He held Cisco's hand as the arrangements were made and the burial took place in their family plot on their property. It was their family sanctuary for years. It was where Greg's body now rested beneath the ground.
He stood there silently as they lowered his mother's body into the ground. With a silent prayer, he said his last goodbyes to the woman who raised him.
In the days that followed, Nick had his first peaceful sleep. His mind wasn't tormented by the nightmares of that fateful night. His sins have all been absolved and what remained was a man who finally found the small measure of peace that he had been seeking all these years. He graciously turned down Grissom's offer in ffavour of staying here on the ranch where he grew up. He felt most at ease walking along the rolling hills covered in knee-high grass sprinkled with wildflowers. In the distance grazed the longhorns and the horses of their ranch. Here was the place of his ancestors who homesteaded. Here, was where Greg's body was laid to rest and it would be here that Nick would spend the remainder of his days.
At last, he was home and he was free.
--
La Fine