My attempt on writing a story about our favorite lab tech. Hope you like it. Reviews greatly appreciated.
BM D
"You'll never hurt him again! You hear me? Never!" the boy screamed as he held the pistol in his shaking hand, pointing it to a man twice his age and size.
"You haven't got the guts!" the man drunkenly yelled back. His breath smelled like bourbon. He'd been drinking all day.
"Don't come any closer." He warned him when he took a couple of steps towards him and he stepped back. "Or…" His voice trailed. He knew that he was deadly serious about it, but he still looked scared holding a gun like that.
"Or what?" he yelled.
Two seconds ticked on before the old man moved for the gun. He may have been drunk but he was fast, and strong. He was definitely stronger than the boy. They struggled for that gun in that small living room. They both knew that whoever had the gun would be the only one leaving this house breathing. Both of them were sweaty and tired but were in this adrenaline-induced state fighting for survival.
In their struggle a couple of stray bullets were shot: One through the window and the other through a closet door. They were so loud, like firecrackers. Then the two men landed on the old sofa, the drunk on top. Another pop was heard. And the boy's eyes completely widened in surprise and his mouth was open but nothing came out but air. Then one more pop and then another and then…
"Yo, Adam." A deep resonant broke the silence of the trace lab.
"Huh," He jumped a little, startled of the voice that broke his daydream, more like nightmare.
"Easy there… you ok?" The blonde and bespectacled CSI gently touched the lab technician's shoulder. He looked a little sick.
"Oh yeah Danny." He was quick to answer. "I'm ok. I'm fine… Just surprised me that's all."
"Sorry." He replied. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"It's ok." He said. "You didn't." he defended himself.
"So, you got the results on the trace we found on the 'Fernando' girl?" he asked, looking at the full table of lab equipment's.
"You mean the cultural dancer?" he asked looking at the different files in front of them.
"That's the one." He answered.
"Here it is." He replied, pulling a sheet of paper out of the printer nearby. "It's aluminum zirconium trichlorohydrex gly." He looks at it and shows it to the other man.
"Deodorant?" he asked rhetorically, his tone sounding more surprised than it should.
"An essential for any dancer." The bearded lab tech added.
"What's an essential for any dancer?" this firm but feminine voice asked as it's owner was walking into the lab.
"Hey Stella." Adam greeted with a smile.
"Looks like the substance we found on Gina Fernando's tank top was only deodorant." He explained disappointedly. "Most likely her own. Must have gotten there when she was getting dressed."
"Well, what about those fibers you found caught on her bracelet?" She asked, not wanting to linger on the bad news. "Could be from her killer's."
"Hopefully." The male CSI said. "It looked like the fibers used for the male dancers."
"Actually, it only looks like that," the lab tech corrected pulling out the results from the other printer. "The fibers on your vic's bracelet is genuine pineapple fibers. The dancer's costumes are synthetic, a lot cheaper. Only genuine Filipino 'barongs' or 'barong tagalogs' are made of pure pineapple fibers and those things can cost from 150 to 500." He explained. "My guess is you're not looking for a fellow dancer, you're looking for a guest in the party."
"Let's check the guest book." The curly-haired woman suggested before leaving. "Thanks Adam."
"No problem." He reassured.
"Yeah, thanks." The other CSI said, following her out of the trace lab.
He looks at them leave. Stella's hair bouncing off her shoulders as she walked down the halls. Her heels clicking lightly. Danny soon followed behind her.
'Why'd he have to look like him?' Adam mentally asked whichever deity he pissed off to have an almost daily reminder of his past. It was that day of the year. People would call it an anniversary but that would bring to mind a sort of celebration and that would be the last thing he'd ever want.
From behind, they looked exactly alike: the hair color, the height, and the built, same way of walking. Some days, the guy even dressed a lot like him, especially around this time of year, when a lot of things reminded him of him.
Or maybe it was just all in his head. It could just be his imagination, his overactive and slightly paranoid imagination. His imagination, with this one-day-of-the-year, along with the summer heat could very well cause his hallucinations.
"You're just seeing things." He tells himself. He's been telling himself that for a while now.
"It'll be over soon." A calming familiar voice in his head reassures Adam, a voice that he misses.