Ok, another installment. There's probably only going to be four, maybe five chapters to this tale, because its more like a 'short story' but not short enough to be a one-shot or a two shot. Hope you enjoy it at any rate.

"Charlie, why don't you tell me how you came by those injuries," Calleigh asked calmly. She noticed the girl walked with a slight limp and she moved with stiffness.

"Like I told that Horatio guy, I was wrestling with the dogs and it got out of hand."

"Yeah, you gave that same story to him, and he didn't believe it any more than I do. So, can we get to the truth?" Calleigh asked, cocking her head and folding her arms across her chest. But she noted carefully the bruising the teenager's flesh showed. She wasn't blind, but she wished Alex were here. She'd know within an instant what had caused those, even though the female CSI had a pretty good idea.

Charlie glared at Calleigh with menacing eyes. "Just get out of here and leave us alone!" she spat. Her tone was full of malice, but the CSI didn't miss the tremble in her lip, or the slight shaking of her hands.

"What's going on, Charlie?" Calleigh asked gently. "Anything you tell me I wouldn't tell anybody else."

"Liar!" Charlie snapped. "You'd go off and tell Horatio and the rest of the cops, and then you'd bring them all down here, and then who the hell knows what will happen! Just get out of here and everything'll be fine!" She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as Calleigh.

"What would happen?" Calleigh pressed, feeling her heart pound.

But at that point, the teenager whirled around and fled. Back around the house and pelting down the long green yard. Calleigh gave chase briefly, but by the time she was half dawn down the yard, Charlie was crossing the ditch and pelting up the road where she rounded the bend and vanished.

"Great," Calleigh muttered, pushing long locks of hair out of her face. "Best find Horatio and Eric, tell them what happened."

At that particular point, Horatio and Eric stood the kitchen of the Clarks having already determined that they were the one's who'd called in Horatio was determined to find out everything that they knew.

"What made you finally decide to call?" Eric asked surveying the middle age couple carefully.

"We'd heard noises and saw what looked like scuffling going on in the back yard. We thought it was the dog's fighting, but I heard a girl scream. I put it out of my mind, until the next night, the same thing happened again, except for longer, that's when I decided to call." Mrs. Clark's voice was almost shaking, and her face was very pale.

Horatio's blue eyes narrowed. He felt his pulse throb harshly, but nothing came onto his face.

"Did you see anything for sure that would indicate foul play?"

"No," Mr. Clark answered. "But we know for sure John drinks, far more than he should. And I've seen that teenager of his intoxicated once or twice. Stumbled onto our front lawn, thinking it was her house."

"But the night before you called, you didn't see anything conclusive?"

"No," he answered with a sigh. "But the noises were enough to send chills up my spine."

Just at that moment, Calleigh walked in. Horatio turned to face her, and by the look in her eye, knew something wasn't right.

"Get anything useful?" he asked quietly.

"Girl wouldn't budge, not until she ran off at least."

"Charlie's run away before," Mrs. Clark put in. "Usually she just hides in a field and comes back in the dead of night. We've found her sneaking around in our corn."

Eric nodded and turned towards the two CSIs. "So, what do we do?"

"Without conclusive evidence, there isn't anything we can do." Calleigh's reply was filled with depression.

"You don't count those bruises conclusive?" Horatio demanded.

"If she won't tell us more, then there isn't anything we can do, H." Using his nickname, Calleigh hoped to calm him. But all she saw in his eyes was barely bridled anger.

The ginger haired man turned on his heel, pushed past his colleagues and stalked away. As he came outside, he slipped on his shades.

Eric turned to the Clarks. "Excuse him," he murmured. "He doesn't take lack of action well."

Mr. Clark nodded. "Good luck with whatever you're doing," he called as the CSI's walked out.

As Calleigh and Eric left side by side, the blond girl sighed.

"Sometimes I wonder if our system is really worth the hell we go through to defend and use it."

"It's a lot better than others, trust me," Eric said in a convincing voice.

"But its not good enough," Horatio's voice was cold and brittle. Eric counted himself lucky that the man had his shades on. He didn't want to look into blue eyes that were more frigid than ice.

"What now?" Calleigh asked softly.

"We go back to Miami and pursue whatever fate drops into our laps," Horatio answered her. The way he said it made shivers creep up Calleigh's back.

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Charlie's pounding feet were bruised and bleeding, and her very bones ached from running so long, but what choice did she have? She couldn't go back home. Not till the steam blew over. Fear kept her going, fear kept her body moving.

"Damn them!" she hissed, not to loudly, in case someone was listening.

She finally collapsed onto the ground into a crumpled heap. The high grass hid her well enough, and she let tears stream down her face. She knew what was waiting for her if she went back now. But she didn't have anywhere else to go. It was to far to Miami tonight. She was too tired, and she didn't trust some random creep driving across the road to take her and let her go safely.

But, then again, nothing safe was waiting for her back at the house. It wasn't her home. To her, she had no home, and that house was hell, its front door its gate. She hated it with every fiber of her being, but she had no where to go to escape it. She'd already tried running away before, and she'd been met with no success. They always took her back.

She shuddered at the awful memories. For as long as she could remember, her father had cut her down verbally and emotionally for years now, but recently, it had turned into something worse. Much worse. Ever since that god awful woman who was now his wife came into the picture, everything had gone from bad to worse.

It had not been immediate, the affect that Shanna had, had on her father. It had been gradual and a lengthy process, but over time, she'd changed him. Worn his patience and tolerance down to nothing. Cost him all his money, and driving him to drink.

Charlie hated them both with a fiery vengeance she'd love to wreck on them. She hated Shanna for changing her father, and she hated her father for what he did to her. The man wouldn't take his frustrations out on his wife, so he beat up the only thing smaller and weaker than she was. His daughter.

She hadn't told Horatio the truth, nor his partner, because she knew exactly what would happen. By the time they came back, her bruises would have healed, along with her cuts, and he'd actually feed her for a change, so it appeared everything was fine. He'd only keep it up till the cops were satisfied, then, once they were gone, hell would break out. The teenager was convinced that she wouldn't make it out of that house alive if the police tried to investigate her father.

It wasn't as bad during the school year, because Charlie was able to stay away from the house for more hours of the day. And generally, when she came home, her father was passed out in his chair, and she was able to skirt her step mother. But, during the summer vacation, like now, life was nearly unbearable.

At first, partying and getting drunk were her escape. But when things had gone to far one night, she knew she couldn't do that anymore. It was getting to close for comfort with her father finding out about what was going on. But she guessed it hadn't ended soon enough, because about a week ago, he'd caught her sneaking into the house, and proceeded to beat her violently. And it hadn't stopped. Now he did it because he was either drunk, or he just thought it was fun to hear her scream and cry. Charlie didn't know, and she didn't care.

She slowly picked herself up, feeling the temperature drop. Even in this place, you didn't want to be without a shelter to go to. Biting insects were murder, along with a slight chill, and the occasional dog or drunk red neck running wild around here.

She wrapped her arms around herself and slowly walked towards the house. Her entire body trembled and she tried to mentally brace for what she would find inside. Trying to stop herself from shaking, she approached the house slowly.

With her head down, she cautiously entered, and seeing no one, she relaxed briefly. She planned on stealing a little bit of food, and then retiring to her room where she hoped she could sleep till dawn, and then escape outside again.

She'd taken two steps past the back door when a hand lunged out and grabbed her throat. She tried to scream, but the squeezing hand was lung crushing. She tore at it with her hands and tried to pry the fingers off, but she didn't have the strength.

"Who did you tell?!" her father demanded, hissing in her ear. "Who!?"

"Didn't…say…anything!" Charlie choked, trying to use her ragged nails to scratch her father's hand off her throat.

"Liar! Why else would the police have come snooping around?" With a heaving force, he slung her into the ground.

With a yelp, she went skidding across the tiled kitchen floor, banging her shoulder, and her back as she collided with the kitchen table's legs.

Her father advanced on her crumpled form, and he lifted a foot to kick her. Charlie screamed as the foot hit her ribs, causing a wave of agonizing pain.

"Please!" she moaned. "I didn't say a word!"

She wrapped her arms over her head, trying to defend herself against the unyielding blows.

"Teach you to talk again!" her farther roared, reaching down and picking her up by the throat.

He started to drag her towards the back door, when Charlie began to struggle in earnest. "Please!" she wailed as she was thrown outside and the door slammed behind her father. "No!"

Her father was beyond all comprehension now. The dog chain lay beside Charlie not three feet away. The girl tried to get up and run, but she wasn't fast enough, and her father gave her a kick in the crook of her legs. She collapsed, and he bound her hands with the chain.

"No!" Charlie wailed. She did everything she knew to defend herself. She thrashed her legs, digging with her toe nails when she could, trying to reach his face. If she could just get her hands free… she'd be able to tear a piece of his face off when he came close enough.

But it was to naught. Charlie screamed and lashed, cried and begged, but it still happened. She could only whimper after screaming herself hoarse. Pinned down against a man twice her size, she had no chance of avoiding one of the most traumatizing events anyone could ever experience.

When Grant finally sat up, Charlie was lying extremely still. It was a technique she'd used before. When all else fails, play dead, maybe he'll quit. She scarcely let her chest move to breathe. He rolled off her and spat in the dirt beside her head before stalking back into the house, leaving her lying there.

When she heard the back door slam, she started to cry. Whimpering and sobbing, she curled herself into a ball and moaned heavily in pain. For a space of about ten minutes, she wondered if her father's beating was severe enough to actually kill her.

"Just like he did you, Mom," she whimpered.

The teenager fought for consciousness, but in the end, it cost her too much strength. She lapsed into blackness that wiped away all the pain.