Last Day on Earth
Summary: He just wanted to talk. --A different ending for A Thousand Days on Earth--
Warning: Implied character death, but you never know. Implied Grillows!
Note: testing the waters. POV's change through this so I hope you get what I'm trying to show.
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Chapter One: Talk
"Don't tell me to calm down!"
He took a step towards her so she pulled out her gun, "Just stay back and calm down!"
"You're gonna shoot me?" he asked, nodding his head, but clearly not as intimidated as she would have wanted. "Will that help you forget how completely you screwed my life up?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out, but she gripped her gun tighter.
"Sleep better at night?" he said, shrugging. "Maybe I should just save you the trouble and blow my own brains out. Hm? What do you think?"
She opened her mouth again, this time successful in her attempt as she said, trying not to show her fear, "I think you need to talk to somebody."
"I am talking to somebody," he said coldly, his eyes fixating on her. "I'm talking to you."
Her eyes fell to the ground, knowing he was right. He was talking to her. She went on listening to what he had to say, rooted to the ground gripping her gun and not knowing what else to do.
She did do her job and she knew she had unintentionally played a hand in ruining his life. She knew he had done it to himself with all the lies he told and all the secrets her kept. She was tempted to tell him he ground himself up, but she decided not to. She wasn't sure if she would be able to hold back if he went berserk again.
She was looking at a man who had lost everything and now stood with nothing left to lose. And he was talking to her. He was capable of anything and killing her on the spot wouldn't make much difference in his mind since he had nothing else left to live for.
"So how about this," he said, his tone taking a more conversational one. "If I do decide to kill myself, I'm going to come over to your house and blow my brains out right out on your front lawn."
He was smiling when he said that, a humorless, almost demented smile that both scared and unnerved her. She was tempted to step back, but didn't. She wasn't about to show fear.
Her daughter's face, seventeen-year-old Lindsey, appeared in her mind's eye and she was scared now more than ever. A fleeting vision of him standing in her house with a gun and her daughter came to her and she paled, feeling her heart and body grow cold with fear.
She was tempted to shoot him right then, just to wipe away the threat that had come into her and her daughter's lives.
"As a gift to you and everything you stand for," he said, nodding and talking as if he was talking about something normal like the weather. "How does that work for you?"
"I think you should go," she braved to say, her voice strong, but her body almost feeling weak. Speaking almost drained her of whatever energy she had left. She knew her mind and body were prepared to shut down after an emotionally grueling case.
He smirked. "It's always about what you think, right?"
Out of nowhere there was a loud bang and she jumped, her head snapping to look where the noise had come from.
And that's where she made her mistake.
She hadn't had a chance to react but suddenly he slammed a fist to her wrist, the pain shooting straight through her arm, and he grabbed the gun. She staggered back, feeling the pain in her right wrist, looking at him in shock.
The tables had turned.
He aimed the gun at her and she staggered back once more, her hand cradling her injured wrist. He smiled coldly at her. "It's not so fun, isn't it?"
"Leo," she began but his face contorted in anger.
"My name is Dean!" he screamed, pointing the gun right at her.
She wished someone would take notice and hear his scream. All she needed was one person.
One.
"You ruined my life," he said coldly. "I lost Nora, I lost my job, and I don't have anywhere to go. You took everything away from me, you cold hearted bitch!"
"Dean, calm down," she said in a soothing voice. "You don't want to make things worst…"
"Make things worst?" he said with a laugh. "Isn't that your specialty, huh?" he waved the gun at her. "How does it feel now?" he asked with a smile. "Now that I hold your very life in my hands?"
She swallowed a lump in her throat, but didn't say anything.
He laughed. "What? Nothing to say, Miss Catherine Willows CSI 3-just-doing-my-job?" He held the gun upright and pointed it right at her heart; near enough for a sure fire, but far enough that she couldn't grab it, not that she could with her broken wrist, but he wasn't going to take a chance.
"I see no ring on your finger," he said, solemnly. "Means you're not married," he smirked. "Which isn't exactly a surprise, I don't think any man would be able to stand you. You'd emaciate him."
"I have a job, a house of my own, and no criminal record. If a lying, jobless, registered sex offender like you can find a girl then a woman like me shouldn't have much of a problem," she said before she could stop herself.
"You bitch!" he screamed. "I am not that kind and you fucking know it!" he waved the gun wildly at her. "You little Miss-perfect proud bitch, I'm sorry I'm not like you, I made a mistake. Fucking deal with it!"
"You deal with it," she said coldly. "You're the one on the list, you're the one who lied your way through, and you're the one who was stupid enough to think we wouldn't find your record!" She took a deep breath. "You're the on who ruined your life! If you had been honest and upfront to begin with you wouldn't have had to reveal every idiotic detail about you!"
"Shut up!" he screamed, pointing the gun at her again.
In the back of her mind, someone was screaming at her to stop, not to provoke Dean James into actually pulling the trigger, but she wasn't listening. She was tired of being condemned for doing her job. She followed the evidence and his lies pointed it all back to him.
She was tired, she was weakening and she was in pain; all logic was out the window by then.
"You know what," she said, taking a brave step forward. "If you want to shoot me then go ahead! If you're going to do it might as well get it over with!"
He aimed the gun, his hands shaking, his eyes wild. Sweat was pouring down his face as he looked into her cold, angry eyes. His finger was on the trigger, aiming right between her eyes.
"Do it," she urged, her voice cold and daring.
He lowered the gun.
She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and took a step toward Dean. He was looking at the ground now, but she could see he was crying. Despite her anger, she felt sorry for him. "Dean," she said, trying not to make her voice sound hard. "I'm sorry about what happened to your life and…"
"LVPD! Put the gun down!" came the bellowing scream.
Dean jumped, his hands jerking up and without thought, squeezed the trigger.
The deafening bang echoed all over the darkened garage and Dean watched in horror as Catherine stared at him, her eyes wide with shock as the blood began to seep from her chest. She looked at him, staring at him until she crumpled to the ground, blood oozing out her body.
Dean watched in shock, his trembling hand still gripping the gun.
"Put the gun down!" an officer screamed.
Dean looked at the gun then at the fallen woman in front of him. He shook his head and raised the gun a little to see what he had done. With his eyes wide open in shock and his mouth agape, he shook his head as he stared at the gun in his hand.
"Put the gun down!" the order came again and Dean James did as he was told.
He droppeded the gun to the ground with a loud clack, next to Catherine Willows.
In no time at all the police were swarming him and the fallen CSI. In the corner of his eye he saw Jim Brass running towards them, screaming, "What the hell happened?"
Then everything was a blur. He was shoved into a police car while they tried to restrain Jim Brass from coming at him. An ambulance arrived and a man he remembered seeing around the building stood frozen in shock as he stared at the paramedics loading the stretcher into the ambulance.
Dean saw the look on his bearded ashen face. The older man looked lost with his hands on his sides, his mouth partially open and his eyes wide, staring as the paramedics worked on a bleeding Catherine Willows. His dark clothes contributed to his look that reminded Dean so much of death.
Right then Dean knew Catherine Willows must have been important to the man.
And that was the last thing he saw before the police car pulled away, taking him away from what he had done, from Jim Brass and from the lost looking man in the garage.
She ruined his life, he had accidentally taken hers.
Dean leaned back in his seat, shaking.
"I didn't mean to kill her," he whispered as he shut his eyes tight. "I just wanted to talk."
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What do you think? One shot or should I keep this going? Catherine may not be dead, you know. It might not be over yet…the magic of writing fan fictions! We can change whatever we want!
Tell me! I'm taking a break from my other fics so I would really love to know what you think and want to do about this--should I: trash it, keep it a one shot or keep going?
Te quiero mucho!--iferleigh