By HarmZuay
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Crime Scene Investigation or
any of its characters. They belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS. This is purely
for entertainment purposes. Bloody communists.
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence.
Author's Note: Alright, guys. I had nice short fic a while back, but I'm gonna try for a longer case file this time. First few chapters are going to lay the ground work, but for readers who are "character dependent" (ie. Will not read this because every third word is not Grissom) the main guys in this will be Greg, Nick, and Sara. And several of the suspects will be recurring characters. A real little bit of background- this fic will take a look inside the world of aggressive inline skating. I skate myself, but if my explanations throughout are confusing, let me know. (Another way to get you to review.) No planned romance yet. Umm… And without further ado, here's Aggressive.
Chapter One – Goodbye, Grommet"Oh shit! Holy fucking God, I think he's dead! Please, you've gotta help me!"
The voice was young, male, British, and obviously terrified. Dispatch Officer Virginia Orr took a deep breath. It was always difficult to deal with youths. "Please try to calm down, sir. Can you tell me where you are?"
"Yeah. Yeah, umm, Pasa Verde apartments. It's the, uh, Co-Op off of Sycamore. I'm room… uh, shit! I can't remember!"
"Is it on the outside of the door?" Orr questioned patiently.
"Yeah. I think it is. Yeah. Just a sec." She heard a thump as he set the phone down, then a muffled "Bloody hell," as laid eyes on the body once more. "I'm back… It's, uh, 319. Fourth floor though, 'cos the lobby don't really qualify."
"I thought you called them flats."
"Just 'cos I'm British don't mean I haven't Americanized," he shot back, hotly.
"Alright, sorry." She was just trying to calm him down. And it had worked, kind of. He didn't sound nearly as frightened, just pissed. "I'm dispatching a medical team right now. Can you tell me your name?"
"K-koerver Dion. But everyone calls me Kor, ma'am." His voice still shook something awful.
"Alright, Kor. Now can you tell me who the victim is?"
He audibly gulped. "Shroven Khandula, ma'am. He's, oh God… There's a fucking hole in the back of his head!" The words rushed out and suddenly his emotions were back to square one.
"Koerver. Kor, hun, I want you to take and deep breath and-"
"Oh man. Look, I've gotta go…"
"No! Stay on until-" She was talking to a dial tone. "Shit."
* * *
Two squad cars arrived before the paramedics, having been on patrol only three blocks away. They were greeted by a pitiful site. A young boy of about fourteen was slumped against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, shaking. His eyes were clenched shut and tear tracks were visible on his face like dry riverbeds.
Sergeant Joe Moresby softly shook the boy's shoulder and his head snapped up, face burning with shame. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to… It's just… I, uh-"
Moresby squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "It's alright, son." He turned to the three other officers. "You and you, secure the scene. Johnson, you've got first report on this one." Once the others had entered the room, the sergeant shifted his attention back to the boy in the hallway.
"Koerver Dion?" At his silent nod, Moresby continued. "I'm Joe. Everything's going to be taken care of, okay, Koerver?" Another nod. He needed to get the kid talking. "How old are you, son?"
"Fifteen," came the terse response. Well, at least he didn't use his fingers.
John smiled. "I have a son about your age." He received no response, and his smile faded. "Look, Koerver-"
"It's Kor."
"Okay, Kor. I've got some questions for you, and they're probably going to be hard for you to think about, but I need you to answer as best you can, got that?"
Nod.
"Alright, when did you find the body?"
"About… 15 minutes ago. We were going to meet up here and then go to the skate park." He inclined his head toward a faded yellow Senate backpack with a pair of rollerblades strapped to the back. He took a shuddery breath and continued. "I got here about quarter after sic and called as soon as I found him. I didn't do anything, I swear!"
"Hold tight, son. Nobody's accusing you of anything." Not yet, anyway. "Now why did you hang up on Dispatch?"
The teenager's cheeks flushed and he fidgeted nervously.
"Well?"
"Ya see, it was all that blood and…" He shuddered, remembering. "Well, it turned me something wicked." Glancing down the hall, Moresby could discern a small puddle of vomit.
"Right then. Let's get you cleaned up. Rest assured, PD will keep in touch."
* * *
"Gunshot wound to the head- close range. Looks like it entered through the pharynx and blew straight through the brainstem. Died instantly." David began to gather his belongings. "Can't say much more before we get him into autopsy, but everything seems to be in order."
"You mean besides that huge, gaping hole where the back of his head used to be? Sara, any luck with that bullet?" Nick Stokes turned to look at his counterpart.
"Yeah. Almost there." She growled, slowly wedging it out of its burrow in the drywall. "Got it!"
"Gee, wish I could make you growl like that." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"You sound like Greg, ya know that? Can it."
They worked the rest of the scene in companionable silence, with the odd wisecrack or question thrown in. Nearly three hours later, the evidence was bagged, the photos snapped, and immediate finding jotted down. It was ten-thirty at night. The Strip was hot and their shift was barely begun.
Nick carefully latched his kit shut and stretched his back. "Now, not jumping to any conclusions here, but initial reaction says this is just one of those down-and-out kids. Drugs, depression, whatever. Just popped a Colt in his mouth and blew the world away."
Sara was silent for a moment. "Maybe. But first we're gonna find out what he had to live for. And what he had to lose."
A/N: There we go, first chapter. Very short, I just realized, but it looked longer written out on paper, I swear. Anyway, I've written up to about halfway through Chapter Four, but I'd appreciate a Beta. I'm pretty obsessive about grammar and stuff, so I try to make sure it's right beforehand. But I'd also like someone to bounce ideas off of or tell me if stuff's confusing. And, not that I'm trying to limit the opening further, but it'd be cool to have someone that writes CSI fics too, and then it could go both ways. And since I don't want my notes to be longer than the story itself… I'll stop. Review and I'll give you some leuko crystal violet. Not really. Sorry. But it'll make me happy.