"Sidle!" I turn around to find myself facing my boss. "Your from Vegas, right?" I nod suspiciously. In my 4 years working as a CSI in San Francisco, my past has never been mentioned. "Well, your going home. A series of murders match the serial you worked. You have 3 weeks." The color drains from my face. Yes, I send the CSI's (excluding Greg) Christmas and birthday presents, but other then that, I've had no contact with them in 4 years.
"Umm…can't you send Johnny?"
"He didn't work the case. You did. Look, go home, change, and get in your car. The LVPD has been informed."
"Did you tell them who was coming?" He gives me a confused glance.
"I just told them I was sending one of my best CSI's. Go! I want you there by the time the sun goes down." I sigh and head out of the lab.
"Your a terrible packer, Greg."
"What? I am a wonderful packer. I even have a system. So basically, I grab a handful of things in my closet and throw them in!" He demonstrates, and I dig through the items that now are in his suitcase.
"See, the problem with your method is you end up throwing in a umbrella," I hold it up to show him, "An ugly Hawaiian shirt that I'm going to throw away, and a toaster. Greg, why do you have a toaster in your closet?"
"Fine, my method needs a little work." I laugh. "I love you.
"Love you too."
No, you don't love me, Greg. God, why can't I get these memories out of my head? I park outside my apartment building and throw pretty much everything in my closet into my suitcase, borrowing his method, even though every item that lands in the suitcase is like a stab to the sheets, a reminder of him. I zip my suitcases up and get into the car. In San Francisco, CSI's get sirens on their cars. I can clear a 9 hour drive to Vegas in 6.
"Sara, why don't CSI's get sirens?"
"I don't know. We should, we are law enforcement officers."
"I want a siren. Than I can run stop signs." I laugh, and Greg kisses me.
I should rub my siren in his face, then. It's not revenge, but it's all I can do. I pull over the car and pull out my phone, flipping it open. I dial a number I still know by heart.
"Stokes."
"Sidle."
"Sara?"
"That would be me."
"Are you okay? I hear sirens."
"I'm fine. Look, answer me this, is he still a CSI there?" I can't say his name out loud.
"Yes, why?"
"I'm coming back to Vegas." I say, taking an exit marked Reno.
"What? Your the CSI form San Francisco?"
"Yes, that would be me."
"I can't wait to see you. Everybody misses you like crazy."
"Nick, how is he?"
"Sara, do you really want to know?"
"I'm going to find out soon enough, Nick." He takes a deep breath.
"He's engaged.