It Began with a Party and Ended with a Funeral
Chapter Two
Nick was woozy, and he felt as if he had been body slammed from all sides. His head throbbed, his arms ached, his chest and lower abdomen felt as if pins were sticking in to his skin. The Texan couldn't even open his eyes.
"… brain activity is almost returning to normal," a professional male voice said, the sound quiet, almost far away. "He should be awake anywhere from five minutes to an hour from now. Page me when he wakes up."
"Will do," another male voice said, then the room fell in to silence, but Nick could almost feel more than one person in the room with him.
"Do … do you think he'll remember what happened?" a woman's voice asked, a tearful quality to it.
"I don't know," another male voice replied softly.
A few more voices piped up, and Nick groggily realized that there were at least five, maybe six people in the room. But where was he? Almost subconsciously, he shook his head, trying to force himself to wake up. An excruciating pain shot from his head down through his neck, and he grunted in pain, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.
"He's in so much pain," a woman remarked, her voice cutting off swiftly.
Nick heard someone get up and rush out of the room sobbing. Another person followed her out. Great, now Nick's calculations were off.
"Gris, when do you think he'll be awake?" a younger voice asked, and this one definitely clicked in Nick's memory: Greg. If Greg was here, then all the other CSIs must be, too.
"I don't know, Greg. We'll just have to wait and see," Grissom replied, his voice weary. The room fell into silence once again.
Nick felt like screaming: "I'm awake! I can hear you!" but he couldn't. Once again he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn't lift.
"Come on, Nicky. Wake up," a deeper male voice said, and the Texan knew it was Warrick speaking. Warrick, Nick's best friend.
An uncontrollable yearning to see Warrick's calming face made Nick wrench his eyes open, the light dazzling him and blinding him. A rush of voices broke out in the room as everyone jumped from their seats to situate themselves around the hospital bed.
There was Catherine, tears in her eyes. Grissom, his face deadly white. Warrick, tears in his eyes, too, and there was Greg. Even the younger ma's eyes were moist, and his jaw was trembling.
Nick licked his dry lips and tried to speak, but he couldn't.
"Here Nick," Catherine whispered, lifting a glass of water with a straw in it to his lips. Nick gratefully drank slowly, the water flowing down his throat.
"That better?" she asked him, and Nick nodded in response.
"How you doin', Nicky?" Warrick questioned him, putting a quaking hand on the Texan's shoulder.
"Bad," the Texan croaked out. "I hurt … all over."
"I should page the doctor," Grissom muttered, exiting the room swiftly. No one else moved from Nick's side.
"Do … do you know where you are, Nick?" Catherine asked hesitantly.
"No."
"You're at Sunrise Hospital, Nick. It's August 7th today, 2008. One day before the Olympics. You remember telling me you were going to watch them, right?" Warrick said quickly. "Do you remember?"
"No … well, kind of," Nick said hoarsely.
"You … you've been in a coma for a week, Nick," Greg finally spoke up, his voice wavering. "You were in a car accident."
This was news to Nick, but it didn't surprise him. The injuries he had sustained seemed indicative of a car accident.
"Do you remember the car accident?" Catherine asked.
"No. What happened?"
All three visitors exchanged worried glances, and Nick caught on to it. "What happened?"
"Welcome back, Mr. Stokes!" the professional male voice said loudly, striding up to the bed with Grissom at his heels. He was a somewhat short, pudgy doctor with glasses. He was holding a clipboard. "How are you feeling?"
"Bad," Nick answered.
"I'm going to prescribe some pain medication for you. What all hurts?"
"Everything," the Texan admitted.
The doctor made a note of that, then he checked the charts at the bottom of Nick's bed.
"You seem to be healing fine, Mr. Stokes. I won't allow you to get out of bed yet, but I dare say you can have some solid food now. That should be a nice change, eh?"
Nick made no comment. He didn't really like the doctor much.
The man finished with his notes, then he glanced at Nick. "Ah, where are my manners? My name is Lance Redcurn, and I am the doctor attending you. I shall be back to check on you in a few hours." And without another word, he was gone.
"So what happened?" Nick asked immediately, trying to reposition himself.
No one answered.
"Someone should go get his parents," Grissom said to the room at large.
"I'll go," Catherine volunteered quickly, jumping to her feet and left the room in a hurry.
Grissom took her spot at the bed.
"Why won't anyone tell me what happened?" Nick questioned him furiously. He felt a headache coming on.
"Nick, you aren't well. That should be kept till you're feeling better," Grissom explained, trying to soothe him.
"Yeah Nicky, we'll explain it another time, okay? Just relax," Warrick told him, his hand still on Nick's shoulder.
A horrible thought flashed in to Nick's mind. "I … I didn't cause this, did I?"
Greg's eyes welled over, and the tears cascaded down on to his cheeks. He turned away from Nick and went over to the window, his shoulders heaving. Grissom and Warrick made no noise, and that was answer enough for Nick.
Nick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was trying hard not to cry, not to let the tears run their course, although he was slowly losing the fight. One lonely tear rolled out of the corner of his eye and down by his ear. It made the skin around there slightly itchy, and he couldn't even lift his arms to wipe it away. This feeling of helplessness just made Nick cry harder.
"Nick?" Greg asked, knocking lightly on the door before entering. He stopped short, listening to, and seeing, Nick's pain. "Oh, Nicky." He was by Nick's side in an instant, and he was softly wiping away Nick's tears.
"Why, Greg?" Nick whispered, his voice husky.
Greg drew up a chair beside the hospital bed. "Why what, Nick?"
"Why did I have to do whatever I did?" the Texan croaked out. He didn't care that his question sounded ridiculous. Right now it was all he could think about, and he couldn't even remember what he had done.
Greg sighed loudly. "I … I don't know, Nick."
"I don't even know what I did, and I'm already regretting it."
"Your parents wouldn't tell you?"
Nick sniffled. "My mom kept crying and my dad wouldn't even look at me. When your own father won't look at you, you know it's bad."
Greg was silent for a moment, just observing Nick. "If your parents didn't tell you, then I don't know if I should either."
"Please Greg? I need to know. I need to know what I did. I can handle it, I swear," Nick replied, struggling to sit up straighter, but all he achieved was a dull throb of pain.
Greg stood automatically and helped Nick get comfortable again. "Are you sure you're ready to know?"
The older man leaned back in to his pillows, a weak smile on his face. "It can't have been that bad, right?"
Greg's eyes filled with pearly tears. "It is."
The smile slid right off Nick's sore face. "I'm ready anyways. Please."
Greg took a deep, shuddering breath and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, leaving watery smudges on his face. "Okay." He glanced around the room once before his sympathetic eyes returned to Nick's own uneasy face. "You remember the night I was leaving, right? There was a surprise going-away party for me. You were there, Nicky."
"I—I remember it, sort of. Did you have a guitar shaped cake?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess I do remember it, well, a bit of it anyways."
Greg nodded before continuing. "Well, this is just what I've heard from … from police officers. After I'd left, you … you went out drinking. You got extremely drunk, I think your blood alcohol level was double the legal limit, and then …" Greg stopped, his lips trembling violently. He swallowed. "And then you got into your car and drove off. You didn't get far, though. You ran a red light and ran into a black truck."
Nick closed his eyes, praying with all his might that this was just some twisted nightmare. He never got drunk. He would never drink and drive. He had more sense than that.
"The … the driver of the truck," Nick began hesitantly, afraid of the answer, "Did he make it?"
Greg bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. Nick waited, his heart hammering in his chest. Greg finally looked up, the tears pouring from his dark eyes. "He died on impact."