Author's Note: I'm pleasantly impressed by all the insightful feedback I received on the first chapter. I'm writing two stories at the moment, so when I finish the first one, posting for this will be much more regular.
Chapter Two: Aftershocks
Catherine stepped out of the house with wild eyes, still rubbing her neck as she searched for Brass among the crowd. Cameras flashed and she closed her eyes tight, annoyed at the media and they way they gobbled up gory murders like this. Finally, she saw Brass having a stern word with what looked to be the chief of police. She walked over to them and he saw her, and opened his mouth to speak.
She hushed him by holding up her hand. "Who the hell cleared this scene?" she demanded.
The chief turned around, looking offended. "Look, I sent three officers in there, they told me the scene was clear."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't," snapped Catherine, rubbing her neck more fiercely. She was still bleeding. She needed to see to that. She pulled her hand away and saw it was red.
"Catherine!" Brass grabbed her upper arm sternly and she looked up at him, a little dazed.
"Huh?"
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked, staring at her wide-eyed.
Catherine looked at her bloody hand, then up at Brass. "Oh. This. Nothing, the bastard cut me. Greg didn't shoot. Did you get him yet?"
"You're bleeding pretty bad," Brass said, walking her away from the chief of police. "Grissom will never let me hear the end of this…"
"It wasn't your fault," Catherine said, allowing Brass to take her wherever he wanted. "So a few incompetent officers forgot to check behind the Christmas tree. I mean, who would check behind a Christmas tree anyway? I sure wouldn't."
Brass was beckoning someone over and Catherine turned to see it was a paramedic by the ambulance. "Oh— no," Catherine said, shaking her head. "It's not that deep, really."
"It may not be deep," Brass said. "But it doesn't have to be."
"What's the trouble?" the paramedic asked as he jogged over to them.
"Suspect cut her throat," Brass explained needlessly.
The paramedic nodded. "OK," he said. "Come here, ma'am, we can put some antiseptic on it and try and stop the bleeding." He led her over to the ambulance and sat her down on the edge of the back of it. Brass eyed her warily as the medic tended to her wound.
"So what went down, exactly?" Brass asked. "I just heard Greg yelling and saw our boys go in there. Is Greg OK?"
Catherine nodded. "He's a little jumpy, but he'll live. He's processing the scene right now. So this guy jumps out from behind the tree and— is this really necessary?" Catherine looked at the medic who stood right in her line of sight of Brass before forcing her chin up so she had to stare at the ceiling of the ambulance.
"Yes, actually," the paramedic replied. Catherine flinched as the alcohol stung her wound. "Sorry, I should have told you it would sting a little."
"I should have expected it," Catherine said honestly. She continued telling her story to the ambulance ceiling. "So he jumps out from behind the tree and grabs me, holding a knife to my throat. Greg was smart enough to get his gun out right as all this is happening and he tells him to let me go. So he distracts the guy and I trip him and elbow him in the stomach before he takes off and Greg didn't fire after him."
"So when did he cut you in all this?" Brass asked.
"I don't know," Catherine replied. "Somewhere in between him grabbing me and me tripping him. That would be my best guess. Or he could have cut me after he got away because that makes sense too."
"There's no need for that attitude, Catherine," Brass said. "It's a pretty important detail you left out."
She sighed. "Uh… a little before I tripped him, I guess," she said, recalling the words he had hissed into her ear that had made her blood boil. "He's a sick asshole, Brass, I hope you get him."
"They're all sick assholes," Brass said and she heard him put away his notepad.
The paramedic finished cleaning and covering the wound and stepped away from Catherine, looking over his work. "There, I think you'll be alright. You've pretty much stopped bleeding anyway; the bandage is just a precaution. If it gets too red, that means something's wrong, he may have hit your artery, so you should really get that checked out. Otherwise, it didn't look too bad, nothing worse than a papercut."
Catherine rose to her feet. "Thanks," she said. She turned to Brass. "I'm going to go back in there to help Greg out."
"Greg will do fine without you," Brass assured her. "You sit here and rest a bit."
"He was a little shaken up," Catherine told him. "Something about the kids really got to him."
"Well he's going to have to face those demons eventually," Brass said. "If he has you to bail him out every time he's processing a child's body, he's never going to get over it."
Catherine nodded, knowing Brass was right. Still, she felt uneasy leaving Greg in there alone, particularly after what had happened. "Are you sure the area's secure?"
"There are five cops in that house, Catherine," Brass assured her. "He'll be fine."
"Yeah, that's what they told me before we went in," Catherine said. She saw Brass take out his phone. "What are you doing?"
"Calling Grissom," he replied as he held the phone to his ear.
"Don't tell Grissom about this," Catherine pleaded.
But Brass just shrugged as someone answered on the other end. "Gil, it's Jim. Listen, there was a little bit of a scuffle at Greg and Catherine's scene, and I… No, no, they're both perfectly fine… I— Yes, of course they cleared the scene, I was told the area was secure, but apparently they missed a spot… I know, I know… No, you don't have to do that, I think they're nearly finished up here anyway and I'm sure Nick and Sara have better things to do. Don't worry, I'll get them both back to you soon enough. Bye." He hung up and looked at Catherine.
"Now he's going to make a big deal out of it," Catherine complained.
"You got your throat slit," Brass said. "Sounds like a big deal to me."
"When you say it like that…"
"Excuse me, are you the detective on this case?" a chirpy redhead asked Brass.
He rolled his eyes as he turned to face her. "How did you get past that tape? Get back there, we'll take questions later."
"Whoa, what happened to you?" the reporter asked Catherine upon seeing the bandage around her neck.
"We'll issue a statement when the scene has been released," Brass answered sharply before Catherine could speak.
"Is it true that the suspect was still at the scene?" the reporter asked, still badgering Catherine. "Was someone attacked? Were you attacked? Can I get your name?"
"No," Brass said, now taking the reporter by the arm and leading her away from Catherine. "I told you…"
His voice faded as he took the reporter back to the crime scene tape and Catherine saw Greg walking out of the house, carrying his kit. She went over to him. He looked as pale as a ghost and he wasn't smiling. The lack of a smile was more eerie to Catherine than his complexion.
"You OK?" she asked quietly.
And then, the smile returned. "I was going to ask you the same question. Nice neck accessory."
"Shut up," she said. "Did you get everything?"
"Think so," he replied. "I haven't done the perimeter. But it's the Sneaky Santa calling card all over. No forced entry, gunshot to the head, and…" Greg pulled up an evidence bag with lumpy Christmas stockings. "Lumps of coal in the stockings. How annoying is this guy? I mean, not only does he kill you, he also doesn't bring you any cool toys. Lame. The real Santa would at least have the decency to bring you a new Xbox before he killed you."
"I guess we know what you want for Christmas," Catherine said with a smile. "I'll take the perimeter."
"I'll go with," Greg said. "Don't want a repeat of what happened inside."
Catherine nodded. "Sure. Were you OK, processing those kids in there?"
"What did that suspect say to you?" Greg countered coolly, his message obvious.
"Don't ask, don't tell, I get it," Catherine said. "Come on, let's go."
"Danny come on!"
Mickey ran on ahead as Danny stumbled behind him, trying to keep up as he held onto the fruits of their labor. He tripped over a tree root and tasted dirt and blood. He spat it out and wiped his face on his sleeve.
He heard Mickey pause and look back at him. He looked up at Mickey as he panted on his hands and knees. "Can't we just… take a… break?"
"No," Mickey said. "We have to go. Ditch the gun. There were cops all over the place and they've probably spread out into the woods by now."
"But they're looking for one guy, not two!" Danny protested as he sat back on his knees. "Why can't we just pretend we're two kids who snuck into the woods for a smoke?"
"You got any fags on you?" Mickey asked.
"You just love saying that, don't you?" Danny mumbled as he wiped his hands off on his jeans.
"If you don't have any cigarettes then we can't use that excuse, can we?" Mickey pointed out. "Now get up, or you'll get us caught for Christ's sake!" He held out his hand to Danny who looked up at him for a moment. "Come on, I'm not gonna bite." Mickey rolled his eyes. With a sigh, Danny took the proffered hand and let Mickey pull him to his feet. "Get the stuff."
"Yeah, yeah…" Danny mumbled and he reached down and collected the bags. A present had fallen out of one of them and was now covered in dirt, but he just shoved it back into the bag, wondering why Mickey had insisted on killing them as well. By the time he had gathered their trophies, Mickey was miles ahead of him again and Danny scrambled to catch up.
"Hey! Mick, you ever gonna tell me why we just killed a whole family back there?"
Mickey stopped and did an about face. Danny stopped too as he saw with horror that his friend was running right at him. He pushed him down to the ground. He straddled him and covered Danny's mouth with his hand. "Shut the hell up, you idiot!" he hissed. "Do you want to get us caught?"
Danny shook his head fervently, his eyes glistening with terror. And then, quite unexpectedly, Mickey's whole demeanor softened and he took his hand away from Danny's mouth again. He smiled. "Sorry, Dan," he said. "I really am, I know how it is with you and your uncle. But I'm… I'm scared, alright? I'm really on edge here, I mean, this was a big thing we did here, and I just don't want the cops to catch us." He pushed the hair back from Danny's head and then ran his fingers through his hair, lingering for a little longer than Danny would have liked. "You understand, right? You know I would never really hurt you."
Danny nodded again and swallowed. "So why, Mick? You're right, it's risky, riskier than anything we've ever done. We could have just robbed them, Mickey. Why did we kill that family?"
Mickey sighed. "Because it's Christmas Eve," he said. "And they're bound to blame that serial killer that's been going around, right? They can't blame us. I followed those cases like crazy, ever since he first struck on the first of the month, you know. He's hit every house like an advent calendar, one a night, I figured Christmas Eve would be when he ups the number, right? When he hits two houses instead of one. So I chose the house and planted all his signatures. I just hope they buy it."
"What if they don't?" Danny asked. "And why this house? Why did you have to kill that little girl, Mick?"
Mickey looked away, looking almost ashamed in the beams of moonlight that filtered through the trees. "I didn't want to kill her, Danny, I really didn't, but I didn't have a choice. She couldn't tell the cops what she saw, that there were two people, that it wasn't the Sneaky Santa killer…" He trailed off and all of a sudden there was a rumbling beneath them and Mickey fell forward, his face inches away from Danny's as the two boy's gaze locked. Green eyes met ice blue as the ground continued to shake, and the hands which rested on either side of Danny's head dug their fingers into the dirt. And then, a few moments later, it was over.
The two boys just froze there, panting at each other for a moment before a slow grin crawled across Mickey's face. Using the ground as a spring board, he kicked his torso upward with his hands and nearly whooped out loud. "Did you feel that, Danny? That was a sign. That was a sign that everything is going to be all—" He stopped abruptly and was suddenly he was alert, like a guard dog that had heard a sound he wasn't familiar with. His eyes darted left and right. "Get up," he whispered. "They're coming. I see flashlights. Let's go."
"You're on top of me," Danny reminded him, but even as he spoke, Mickey rolled off of him and leapt to his feet, taking off like a jack rabbit again and leaving Danny in the dust. Danny just rolled his eyes as he gathered their stolen goods once more before taking off after his friend. He contemplated the earthquake. Mickey had taken it as a good sign, but Danny felt intrinsically that it was a very bad omen, but what it was trying to forewarn him about, he had no idea.
He knew there was something very important that Mickey wasn't telling him. He had been planning this murder all month, and he felt that maybe he had been planning longer than that. Details had changed. When they would do it, how they would do it, but the one thing that never changed was the target and that's what made Danny believe that it was a vendetta.
He wished Mickey trusted him more. Because Danny trusted Mickey with his life.
That was probably a mistake.
