Even with its noted extra size and power his flashlight could only do so much to chase away the darkness of the hallways. The beam bounced back and forth between the walls, flicking down to the floor occasionally so he didn't break his neck in a fall. That's all he'd need on top of this loony adventure. Nick didn't put it past his luck to have something happen like that. He kept vigilant for some black cat to scamper across his path and trip up his ankles. Sometimes he wondered if Fate got her amusement in toying with him, pinning the proverbial kick me sign on his back.
The trek seemed longer than before, and for the umpteenth time that night he wondered what exactly they were doing. Solving an old murder was respectable, but this lay somewhere between frigid and freezer burn on the scale of cold cases. He found the study and stood cautiously at the entranceway, casting his light inside… just in case. He scanned every corner then stepped in, checking the back of the door. One eye looked constantly behind him as he traced his megawatt beam over the fireplace.
Grey stones and granite lay perfectly silent, the hearth barren and void of any comfort or warmth. The mantel offered no insight to the bodies it used to warm. It was empty of family pictures, of the mementos and tchotchkes of modern homes. More spider webs and layers of dust and dirt covered every inch of it, and he drew his eyes to the dueling pistol resting undisturbed after all these years.
He was no expert on antique firearms, but it looked something he'd seen in a book he'd read about Alexander Hamilton and his rival Aaron Burr. Their dispute sent one to the grave and the other into the halls of history. Instinctively, his hand went to his vest and pulled out a latex glove, using it to protect any lingering evidence, and he lifted the gun from the spokes keeping it place.
It was missing its partner; usually these types of pistols were locked away in pairs. The butt of the gun was thicker than his automatic, the single flintlock waiting to be pulled back. He studied the heavy barrel, his nose assaulted by the fresh scent of oil. He flinched at the unexpected smell, eyes narrowing. No way could the thing have been fired recently, but the steel end had powder residue still clinging to the hollow opening.
He scanned the decorative frame box that had exhibited the gun, finding only the rod used to pack a single bullet in; there was no ammunition to be found. The tingle than ran down his neck at the thought of checking for GSR had him wetting his bottom lip in thought. If Warrick or Jim found him swabbing for anything, endless jibing about his mental health would soon follow.
" 'Course you are trying to connect a gun with a slug you just dug out of a wall," he mumbled out loud. He gave his head a shake.
Great. Talking to yourself, too. Wonder how long before the men in white dragged him off to a padded room.
In for a penny, in for a pound. He swung his light towards a large roll top desk that he had not really inspected on his first visit. He carried the pistol over and set it on the oak top, tucking his flashlight under one armpit, while he dug in one of his vest's numerous pockets for his GSR kit. The tiny inkpad looking thing was tucked away in a lower compartment. No matter the scene, his vest always stored the bare essentials; swabs, gloves, baggies, phenolphthalein and his residue testing supply.
He rested his Maglite on its butt so it shined upwards, casting shadowy shapes on the ceiling. He rolled his eyes in weariness and bit his lip as he set to work. He just wanted to calm his itchy paranoia before taking the weapon back over to Bobby. They didn't have the equipment necessary there to match the striations, but at least Bobby could make a good guess about whether the round might have come from the antique. As he peeled back the plastic wrapper on a swab the bulb in this flashlight began to flicker ...once again.
He narrowed his eyes accusingly at the sputtering rays of illumination and the pinpricks in his neck spread to goosebumps over his arms. The chorus of trepidation sung loudly as a chill slithered down his spine and his breath misted into a silvery cloud.
"Now what?" he growled, hand reaching for his Glock with more haste this time.
As he thumbed the leather strap off once again he whirled around to check for anyone creeping up behind him. Thinking it was time to just grab the gun and get the heck out of dodge, he reached out for his evidence as his light finally went off for good, plunging him into blackness.
"Great."
His fingers brushed over the desk, his right hand steady on his service piece. He didn't draw his weapon, not eager to shoot one of his coworkers in a fit of panic but there were no such things as gusts of wind indoors, he thought as an ice cold wave washed over him.
The blow to his back caught him off guard, the pain lancing over his already bruised kidney. He didn't hesitate, spinning around, fist swinging through empty air.
"Suspect on location!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, seriously hoping his pals would come bursting through the doors.
All it did was earn him a fist in the stomach, stunning him entirely this time. His body already bent over, he lunged forward in a clumsy attempt to tackle his assailant, but only succeeded in rushing over empty space.
"Somebody help!" His yell was a strangled gasp.
He didn't give a damn how he sounded. Getting beaten on by an invisible entity wasn't what he would call a fair fight.
Disoriented in his failed attempt to defend himself, he realized he wasn't even sure what direction the door was anymore.
"Show yourself!" he challenged into the darkness, his harsh breathing loud in his ears.
He was slammed by what sure as hell felt like a fist land on the same sore area of his jaw and he wavered on his feet, arms pinwheeling for balance. When he heard a familiar scraping sound from the fireplace, it dawned on him what was coming next.
He heard the air get sliced by the poker and kept his body low. He successfully ducked a few blows using his hearing, but could only play dodge-em for so long before the metal skimmed over his forehead once again, sending him sprawling backwards.
This time he was down for the count, eyes fluttering open vainly, the stale smell of tobacco and wet wool assailing his senses.
He shivered on the ground, dazed, when a familiar warmth softly brushed over his cheek. This time he heard the sounds of music in the background and another reality draped itself across his senses.
It was a piano but not... the tune was scratchy, hollow, the sound of a Victrola echoing from another part of the room. It was faint under the hum of tension and everything shimmered as if backlit, images faded like pictures in an old photo album. There was a fire in the fireplace exuding a warmth so vibrant that all the aches in his bones melted away with the soothing crackle of the wood.
Was he dead? He couldn't move, or speak, but he could hear a low guttural voice with a heavy German accent.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
There was something sinister in the methodical, even tone and he looked up to see a tall, older man dressed in an old-fashioned, impeccably tailored, grey flannel suit. And the man's eyes… those steely blue eyes burned with a fury that made Nick swallow with dread.
A younger man with shoulder length dark hair held his hands out in a calming gesture, trying to add space between him and the violence of the aristocrat advancing. He could have been one of the men on the covers of those historical romance novels Nick's sisters used to read
"Mr. von Valkenberg, Lily and I wanted to tell you."
"Silence! You will not mention her name with your devil's tongue." The German wiped at his bushy salt and peppered mustache, then dug his hands through his short wavy hair. His left eye twitched in time with the beating vein at the side of his head.
"She never meant to hurt you, sir. All those weeks you spent overseas on business and when you did come home you treated her so coldly."
"Roses!" the older man spat. "A tramp doesn't deserve flowers. You tainted her pureness, left her nothing but a whore!"
The younger man's square jaw tightened and thrust forward, his eyes narrowed as he closed the gap. "Lily loves romance, and deserves to be treated special. Not ignored or commanded around like one of your Great Danes."
"You mean to strike me? With those worn worker hands that dig silver out of the mines?"
The German brushed by his wife's lover and pulled off a leather glove, caressing the spines of his books. "Books are knowledge and knowledge is power. Can you even read?" he sneered.
"We're going to be together. You can buy everything in the world, Mr. Von Valkenberg, but you can't buy love. Not Lily's love."
The young man gripped his suspenders tightly; they cost him a month's worth of dimes and quarters earned with back-breaking labor and were worn over the only dress shirt he'd ever owned.
He held his breath as the older man paused, then started to walk away, seemingly unconcerned by the young man's words.
Until he spun on his heel and attacked the younger man with a viscous punch to the back.
"Verräter!" the German yelled as he pulled his wife's beloved by the shirt collar and slammed a fist into his middle.
The younger man swung wildly but the older man was fast on his feet. Von Valkenberg's hand smashed into the other man's face, knocking him down to the floor.
Left stunned, the younger man struggled on the floor while the enraged husband scanned the room, eyes lighting up as he stormed over towards the fireplace. With a very familiar weapon in hand, the husband was on his fallen prey and struck the young man on the side of his head.
His chest heaving and his face a shade of burgundy, he was out the door within seconds of bludgeoning his victim.
Nick witnessed the argument and attack with dawning fear, realizing the past was replaying itself for him. The pit in his stomach grew to a chasm, frightening thoughts filling it quickly. His limbs were filled with lead, and the restraint of his movements added to his increased panic. He was stuck in a void, safe for the moment from the fury of the fight, but still unsure what other horror he had yet to witness.
His voice didn't work, his throat was dry as the Mojave, and the same force that had a hold of every muscle paralyzed his vocal cords. He didn't have long to wait as his counterpart struggled to stand after the wallop to his skull.
The enraged husband was back and this time he wielded a large butcher knife.
A foreboding sense of what would happen next left Nick petrified. His screams were trapped in his throat as the aristocrat charged in with not just the anger of a betrayed husband, but the rage of a man bent on cold-blooded murder.
The sin of one was cut down by that of another. Von Valkenberg's prim and proper grey suit was spattered with dark arterial spray. The eyes of the betrayed glowed with a sinister calmness, thin lips drawn in a harsh smile as his face was dashed with more bright red fluid.
The young lover didn't stand a chance, concussed and vulnerable on the floor.
"She'll never find your remains in the pond. She'll never find you, ever."
The husband didn't even wipe the blood from his cheek. He simply drew the dripping blade over his trousers, a dazed look in his eyes as he wandered towards the mantel. He picked up the display box and retrieved the dueling pistol, then went to his desk, pulled out a box, and used a thin rod to load the flintlock with its single shot. The barrel of the gun wavered under the man's chin, finger tightening over the trigger, and then with a final look at the body on the floor, the husband shoved the pistol into a pocket.
He shook his head. "Only one round."
Von Valkenberg dragged the body of his wife's dead lover onto a large rug. "I'll take care of you and then my sweet Lily will make things right."
Nick felt his head swell with a buzzing sound, his vision swam into blackness, and before he could get his bearings, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"You two done fightin' over who's Sam and who's Dean?"
Archie and Bobby looked up as one, deer in headlights startled.
"Hey, Cap'n," Archie stammered out. "We were just talking about the bullet Nick dug out of the wall. And for the record, I am sooo Dean."
Jim snorted loudly. "Please. You're BOTH Sams. And what bullet?"
Bobby held out his hand, nestled in the center of which was a flattened ball of lead, white plaster still clinging to it. "It's a bullet from a single shot flintlock. Probably 17th or 18th century. We figure it's the bullet that killed the lady of the house."
Jim exchanged a heavily laden look with Warrick, then sighed in acceptance. "This lady you told us about, Arch… Lily von …"
"Von Valkenberg. Yeah. What about her, Cap'n?"
"What did she… uh… what did she look like?"
"Well, it was kinda dark when I saw her… IF it was her that I saw… but she had auburn hair, was real pretty… maybe in her twenties?"
"Uh huh," Jim said with a nervous nod. "And …uh… story is her old man offed her, right? Here in the house?"
"Yeeeah," Archie said slowly. "Why? What's goin' on?"
Warrick spoke up, almost angrily. "That electrothingamajigger tell you if someone, uh, like, touched …something?"
Archie's brow wrinkled. "You mean, if like a spirit made actual contact with a live person it would leave some form of ecto-evidence, yeah. I mean, I think it would. It's supposed to … not sure I've ever know anyone who was able to actually test it, but yeah …" The AV tech stood, the gears in his brain turning so quickly that it was surprising smoke wasn't seeping out of his ears. "In theory, yeah, the EMF should be able to pick up trace evidence of a genuine spectral cross-dimensional encounter. Why? Why are you so suddenly interested?"
The strange silent communication resumed between the detective and the CSI. They reached an unspoken agreement and Jim sighed again.
"We… we think we just met Lily."
Now Bobby stood to join them. "Are y'all serious?"
Warrick practically growled. "Yes," he managed to bite out.
Archie was already firing up his machine and started walking towards Jim.
"Hey, Spock… keep your spooky tricorder to yourself. Yeah, yeah…close your mouths. Anyone can make an easy Star Trek joke. Doesn't mean you actually watch the damn show. Anyway, it was Warrick that the lady took a shine to. She uh ...caressed his cheek."
Warrick rolled his eyes and mentally thanked his lucky stars for his naturally dark complexion and the near complete absence of light. "Can't help if the ladies love me."
"Yeah, playa," Jim snorted. "Even the dead ones. You know, we'd probably be ragging on someone else if your partner…"
He stopped and cocked his head. "Where the hell is Nick anyway?"
"He, uh, said he thought he knew where he'd seen the gun this bullet might belong to," Bobby said.
Jim nodded. "Uh huh. And there's only one room Nick spent any time in that he woulda seen something we didn't. And that's the library. Whose bright idea was it to let Danger Prone Nicky traipse off-ALONE- back to the room where he got his beat down?"
Now it was time for the two techs to exchange uncomfortable looks.
"Yeah," Jim muttered. "Let's go find our wayward lamb, shall we?"
"Hey, Nick! You in there, bro?" Warrick asked as they entered the room. He held his flashlight high and washed it over the room, not seeing any sign of his partner. He turned to tell the rest of them when he heard a low moan from behind the large roll top desk.
He quickly dashed the Maglite back over, moving further into the room as the desk only served to cast a deep obscuring shadow. "Nick?"
The Texan's head popped into view, one hand rubbing shakily at his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here," he said dolefully.
"What the fuck happened, Nick?" his partner asked in a hushed tone as he dropped to a crouch next to the fallen man. "Don't tell me you got clocked by the phantom Tyson?"
Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Didn't see who it was. But I think I know who it was…"
He planted a hand on the desk and pulled himself up to lean heavily against its bulk.
He looked up to see Jim and the two techs staring at him. "I…" Nick sighed and shook his head. "I'm FINE, guys. Just a little …spooked is all."
"Why don't you take a load off, Nicky? Get your head on straight and tell us what happened."
The Texan nodded slowly and limped over to drop down onto the couch. His hand rose to rub at his jaw in the same place as the first time around where a darkening bruise was now beginning to form.
Jim reached into his suit coat and pulled out his handkerchief, handing it silently to Nick who just looked blankly at him.
The older man smiled ruefully and pointed at his own mouth. "Got some blood there, Nicky."
"Thanks," the younger man muttered as he dabbed hesitantly at the corner of his mouth with a wince. He looked up to see Archie approaching him quietly with his detector held out.
"Whatcha doin' there, Arch?" Nick asked warily.
The AV tech continued to move in closer, eyes glued to his machine. "Nick, … I am getting the FUNKIEST damn readings off this thing…" He waved the machine in a wide circle in front of the CSI, then spiraled inward as he got closer. The whole gang could hear the machine popping like oil on a hot skillet.
Nick batted Archie's outstretched hand away irritably. "Point that thing somewhere else, Arch!"
"But, Nick --"
"Leave him be, kid," Jim said with a comforting hand on Archie's arm. "He's got a right to be cranky."
Archie nodded, then his eyes lit up and he swung the detector around into Warrick's face.
The machine resumed its happy chatter, albeit less enthusiastically than when near Nick.
"Alright. BOTH you guys are registering. Can someone PLEASE fill us in on what happened," Archie begged plaintively.
"Yeah," Bobby spoke up. "Ya'll tease us about chasin' ghosts but you three are the only ones to see 'em."
Nick cocked his head and stared at his partner and the captain. "You guys saw a ghost? A real, honest to goodness--"
Warrick was already shaking his head dismissively. "Not sure yet what Jim and me saw. Just wishin' we could find out it's some guy doin' all this shit and rip his mask off so he can yell about how he'da gotten away with it all if it weren't for us meddlin' kids."
"Ah, yes, Rick. If only life really were like Scooby Doo," Jim snarked. "If I do find someone's doing all this, I'll rip somethin' else. And haul his masked ass down to the station."
Archie was practically sputtering with barely restrained impatience. "Guuuuuuuys!"
Warrick almost burst out laughing at the poor put out AV tech. "Yeah, a'ight. So …. Yeah. It's true. Jim and I … did see somethin'. A lady. Looked like the way you described that Lily chick, Arch. She was kinda … there and NOT there. Kinda."
"What my friend here is trying to say," Jim said as he collapsed into a chair, "is that she was see through. Like translucent. And she talked to us. Somethin' about getting a second chance or something. She only stuck around for a few seconds and then she was gone."
"Whoa." Archie slumped down on the broad arm of the couch, then shot back up like he'd sat on a pin. "If I go back to where you guys saw her I could--"
"No one's goin' anywhere, Arch," Jim said gruffly. "We're gonna sit here and listen to Nick's tale of woe. And no one's headed back out into the house on their own. God damn Condannato. That man better enjoy school crossing duty."
"You worried about him, Jim?" Nick asked quietly.
"Yeah," the older man sighed, wiping a hand down his face. "So. Spill it, Nicky."
Nick sighed explosively, dropping his hands onto his thighs, rubbing the denim in classic stall technique.
"I found the pistol, on the mantel. Just like Bobby described. I had just started runnin' it for GSR when I got hit from behind. Same as before. Only this time, when the poker came at me I ducked when I shoulda weaved. I fell… I, uh…"
He rolled his head on his neck, hand wiping vigorously over his shaved dome.
"First I felt this… I dunno… like a presence. God, that sounds corny, but I can't really explain it. It was nothin' more than a whiff of perfume and a soft hand on my cheek." His hand rose unconsciously to rub where he'd felt it. "Then, she… it… whatever, went away and I saw two men. The one guy was, uh … I think the one guy was that von Val--"
"-Valkenberg," the other four said in unison.
"Yeah- that guy. Anyway, I saw that guy and another guy. He, uh. He was about my age. My height. Wearin' like old-fashioned clothes. They uh…" Another explosive sigh. "They fought. Over Lily. And the German dude whacked the younger guy over the head with a fireplace poker."
Four sets of eyebrows rose as one.
"Wait a second, Nicky. What exactly do you mean by you saw them."
"I dunno, Jim. What did you mean when you said you saw the lady?"
"Point taken."
"Anyway, then the duke or whatever he was left and uh…came back with a butcher knife." He screwed up his face and squirmed uncomfortably on the couch. "He cut the guy's junk off."
This got him four sets of inhaled gasps and hands dropped over crotches defensively.
"Yeah," Nick agreed shakily. "Then he cut the guy's heart out. He was alive for all of it."
"Jeeez, you saw all this, Nick?" Archie asked. "You try and stop the guy or anything?"
"I… I couldn't. After I fell I was dazed and it was kinda like the whole scene just dropped on top of reality. Like I was frozen and everythin' was happenin' around me."
Warrick patted him on the back consolingly. "You know, you said you got thumped on the head again… you think this just coulda been--"
Nick stood up and planted his hands on his hips. "Why is it that you 'n' Jim can tell us about some ghost chick mackin' on you but I tell you what I saw and it's, Oh, poor Nicky, he must have brain damage?"
"A'ight, bro. Chill. I'm sorry. You're right. We've all seen some crazy ass shit tonight. Let's not forget what brought us all out here. Arch and Bobby saw two mysteriously disappearing bodies."
The two techs nodded solemnly.
Nick deflated and sat back down on the couch, rubbing once more at his head. " 's anyone got any aspirin?"
"So tell me again why we're goin' to the kitchen instead of stickin' with Warrick and the captain," Bobby said as he jogged along side of Archie and Bobby, holding his lantern aloft.
"Well, if the husband used a butcher knife to, uh, Lorena Bobbitt the guy, then he had to get the knife from-"
"-the kitchen," Bobby finished.
"Yup. I'm gonna see if we can find the knife the guy used. It's a stretch, I'll admit it, but it seems like every subsequent owner has bought the house with all its contents and never stuck around long enough to add their own or get rid of what was here. So maybe the knife is still here too."
"Between the gun and the knife, if we find it, we'll have forensic evidence of the crime. Man, I am gonna be SO in at the next meeting of the GHPSV. Jeremy can just kiss my ass with his, ooh, I have a picture with a fuzzy white dot in it and it's a frickin' ghost."
Nick chuckled and clapped the AV tech on the back. "Glad to hear you're havin' a good time. I'd just as soon be at home, on my couch, watching anything but a horror movie. With an ice pack and a six pack."
He sighed as he pushed open yet another door. "Please let this be the kitchen."
The door swung open on a wide airy kitchen. A massive wood stove took up most of the back wall, and cast iron pots and pans, knit together with a network of spider webbing, hung from the ceiling on metal hooks. A double sink took up a second wall, flanked on both sides with glass-fronted cupboards and a marble countertop. On the counter sat a wooden block with a dozen wood handled knives seated in it, also covered by dust and cobwebs.
Nick walked over and pulled the largest handle free from the block, fingers plucking away the sticky spider silk. He held it up closer, the still shiny metal glinting in the beam of his Maglite.
Practiced fingers dug a small squirt bottle of phenolphthalein out of his vest pocket along with a cotton swab. He rubbed the tip of the swab into the area where the hilt met the blade, dripped some indicting solution on it, and watched as the cotton turned a familiar magenta color.
"Got it," he murmured to himself. He felt that becoming way too familiar sensation prickle its way up his spine as he saw his breath crystallize in front of him.