None of them are mine. They all belong to Bruckhimer (Did I spell his name right?) Except for Nacoda (Mine!)

If they were, things would be seriously different. I mean, seriously different. Tell me if you guys want me to continue this!

It had been a bad idea. A really bad idea.

But Eric Delko, CSI for longer then he could count, cop for even longer, just couldn't leave the case be like it had. It was eating him alive, piece by piece, the girls broken testimony running again and again in her mind.

'She said she had been attacked by monsters…and that someone that looked exactly like Tim had saved her.' He thought, staring at the evidence. It didn't add up, not a shred of it could translate the story that the girl had whispered.

'First off, Tim's dead, he couldn't have saved her.'

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the idiotic idea from his head. Tim wasn't alive, how could he go around saving people?

It didn't make sense.

But…did it have to? Didn't Tim come back, and help him a former case? A case that would still be open, if he hadn't mysteriously risen from the dead, and showed him that one smoking gun?

Eric's therapist had said it had been a relapse.

"The brain does that sometimes." She had said in a almost snooty way of hers. "It tries to trick you, make you think that the unreal is real. It'll pass, just keep fighting it, okay?"

But his therapist was gone now. And, the only person that seamed to understand what was going on in that mixed up head of his, was the (somewhat) new SVU detective that had joined the squad, Nacoda ("What did that name even mean?" He often wondered.)

She told him something different.

"It's going to sound crazy…but you've got to keep it with you. Every time you think you feel him, don't let him go." She had taken a great swig of her water, and nodded. "In my country, we call these things a Yipuick, a spirit that is dead in body, but cannot, or will not, move onto the spirit world. They've got a job they have to finish, or they will be stuck in eternity for all time."

She had leaned forward, and gave him a quick squeeze.

"Stay strong, my friend. You are destined for something, something big. The gods do not bless us with a Yipuick every day, he apparently has something that he needs to tell you.

And he cannot go to the spirit world until he does."

And Eric kept her advice with him. As strange as it was, he suddenly felt better, more relaxed, at ease.

Whenever he felt the cold brush on his shoulders, or soft pressure on his hands, he let it direct him where he needed to go. And 100 out of 100 percent, it was always correct.

But still, it didn't make any sense now. The girl had described someone that looked exactly like Speed.

She even got his trademark scowl correct.

But the way she had described him, beyond his facial features, was downright disturbing. She said he was covered in dark bruises and drenched in blood, and his eyes glowed this unnatural glow. His hands were like claws, and were stained a deep red. His feet were bare, and seriously cut up.

Her savior had worn a sleeveless shirt that had been torn at the stomach and had gouges in it, and she could clearly see deep gashes in his flesh. She had a hard time describing everything else he wore, and ended up having to draw the rest: Her sketch was something like a gypsy skirt, that was badly torn, and cut to the thigh at one side.

Last time he checked, Speed hadn't worn skirts. Nor had he…Eric looked back down at the manuscript of her words:

"Crawled around like a feral cat…Odd." He read aloud, looking up from his notes.

Whoever this guy was…he was a definite freak.

But a freak with a…he looked back down at his notes:

"It looked like a long bamboo rod with a curved blade at the end."

What she had described sounded a lot like Glaive or a Naginata, both amazingly lethal weapons if used properly.

If Speed was alive, he must have been in some serious trouble to have all those wounds, and be wielding such a dangerous weapon.

So Delko packed up his Hummer, and drove out to where they had found the girl. A deep mist had filled the area, and it choked the scenery. Miami was not really known for it's fog or chill, so it seamed…out of place…

Soon, he couldn't even see where he was going, his fog lights not cutting it, his lowlights not doing the trick. He considered stopping the car, and turning around and going back to his loft, to sleep the night off.

But something pulled him deeper into unknown territory. So he drove.

And drove, and drove, and drove.

"This is ridiculous," He snarled, staring at the clock. It was ll o'clock, near witching hour.

"I've got to get back, they're going to start worrying abou-"

Suddenly, something stumbled into the road. He slammed his foot on the breaks, and the car screeched to a halt.

But not before knocking whoever was on the street back. He heard a soft "Ooof!" and then a dull groan.

Eric leapt out of the car.

"Oh my god, are you oh…kay…"

The body in the street shook itself, and slowly rose up, grasping the long weapon in claw like-hands.

It's eyes shown a bright white, it's clothing and body drenched in blood.

"Speed" Eric breathed, stepping forward.

It stepped back, looking terrified of the Cuban.

"Turn back." Its voice was harsh, cold, and familiar, "If you want to keep your life, turn back."

It turned and ran off into the fog.

"Speed…Speed! Wait, where are you going!?" Eric chased after it, into the fog. He didn't' care where he was going, what he was getting himself into. All he wanted was to get his best friend back.

End Chapter One.

NOTE: Nacoda is my personal character. Go to my deviantART to get a full description of her (Link on my home page)