Libby couldn't breathe. She blinked to clear her vision, but the world was still blurry. She moved her arm and something made a metallic noise. Libby slipped off the chair, landing on her side. Her chest burned with each small breath she took.

She remembered a man. Something about his car. A sweet smell.

Libby saw a door a few feet away. With supreme effort, she pulled herself towards it. Somehow, she knew that if she stayed where she was, she would die.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Libby had never felt this tired. She kept moving, inch by agonizing inch.

Her fingers eventually brushed tile and Libby realized she was at home. She saw the fuzzy image of her hall table and tried to move faster. It was so close!

Eventually, she touched the wood but couldn't find the strength to pull herself up. Frustrated, she felt tears on her cheeks. She had not made it this far to give up now. She reached up, feeling blindly for the telephone. Then she lifted the receiver and dialed what she hoped was 911. Only when she heard an operator's voice did she finally let herself pass out.

Calleigh and Speed had barely stepped out of the Hummer when Adele approached them. She smiled in greeting, then immediately got to the point. "I don't know if it's a crime scene yet, but it's a blonde girl, barefoot, wearing some kind of Elizabethan dress and I thought, what are the odds?"

Calleigh watched the paramedics wheel out a gurney. "She's still alive?"

Adele nodded. "Hanging on by a thread."

"What happened?" Speed asked.

"911 got a call about twenty minutes ago. When the paramedics got here they found the girl," Adele glanced at her notepad, "Libby Mason, passed out in the hall. She wasn't breathing."

"She looks a little young for a heart attack, don't you think?" Calleigh was still watching the paramedics.

"That's what I thought. There's also something really strange in her living room."

Calleigh and Speed followed Adele into the house. In the living room, they saw that one of the armchairs was positioned in the center of the carpet. On the floor next to it were a crown and a silver goblet. When Calleigh set her field kit down and started taking photographs, Adele left the CSI's to do their jobs.

"Weird," Speed said.

"What's that?"

He shook his head. "I've just had the oddest sense of déjà vu. Like I've been here before."

Calleigh pressed her lips together, keeping her opinion to herself. She was tempted to ask Speed how much sleep he was getting. Instead, she carried on taking photographs. It was only when she was finished that she realized Speed hadn't moved.

"Tim?"

"Cal, do me a favor, would you?" Not waiting for a response, he took Calleigh's hand and led her towards the couch. As he bent to pick up the goblet, Calleigh touched his arm.

"Gloves, Tim."

"Yeah. Sorry." He waited until they were both gloved before gesturing to the couch again. "Could you sit?"

Calleigh tilted her head as she considered his request. She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but she recognized the expression on his face, and sat down. She automatically stiffened when Speed pushed her back.

He laughed. "Relax, Cal."

"You know, if this is some twisted fantasy of yours, Horatio's gonna have your hide."

Speed laughed again. "Noted. Now grab this goblet." He arranged Calleigh's arm so that it hung over the arm of the chair, then brushed her hair forward to hide her face.

"Timothy Speedle—"

"I swear I'm not trying to make a pass at you. Just stay like that for a minute."

Calleigh saw the flash of the camera, then Speed said, "Okay. You can get up now."

"Are you going to explain what that was all about?"

"A hunch."

At that point Calleigh was willing to go along with whatever Speed suggested; it was good to see him smiling again.

Horatio studied the woman on the bed; early twenties, long blonde hair, tanned skin. He turned to the doctor. "Will she be okay?"

"She'll recover, if that's what you're asking." The doctor adjusted his glasses. "There's been some muscle damage to her heart and her lungs are pretty weak."

"Hmm." Horatio looked back at Libby. "What caused it?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Last week we had a kid come in with the same symptoms; he'd been handling a snake. I'd say that's what we're seeing here, but there's no snakebite."

Horatio nodded. There was nothing he could do here. He picked up the bag containing Libby's dress. "Will you call me when she wakes up?"

"Of course."

Speed attached three photographs to the display board. Calleigh and Delko exchanged a worried look, then turned their attention to their colleague. Speed's voice wavered as he pointed to the photograph of Ada.

"Ophelia." He pointed to the Jane Doe. "Juliet."

Delko raised an eyebrow at the photograph of Calleigh, but said nothing as Speed continued. "Gertrude."

"Okay," Calleigh said. "But I still don't understand."

"I was at the gallery yesterday and I met one of Ada's friends. Her paintings are all on display there. Ophelia, Juliet and Gertrude. Just like—" He faltered. "The crime scenes mirror the paintings."

Calleigh nodded. "Go tell Horatio."

"Tell me what?" Horatio entered the lab and stood next to Calleigh, his hand lightly brushing her back. Speed quickly explained his theory, then looked expectantly at his boss.

Horatio handed Delko the brown paper bag he'd brought with him. "Eric, run trace on Libby's dress. Cal, go talk to Vanessa Craig. Speed—"

"I'd like to talk to her," Speed said.

Horatio looked at the younger man for a moment then nodded. "Okay. Go with Calleigh. Just – I know how badly you want to catch this guy. But take it easy. You're too close."

Paintbrush in hand, Vanessa stared at the blank canvas. She closed her eyes. In her head, an asp slithered away from Cleopatra. She opened her eyes and touched the brush to the canvas. Long, blonde hair spilled across the queen's pillows. Her arm was outstretched . . .

Vanessa saw Ada, hunched over a sketchbook, her fingers blackened with charcoal, her hair pulled into a messy bun, a streak of charcoal on her cheek.

The paintbrush fell to the floor. Vanessa wiped away her tears, smudging paint on her own cheeks and not caring. Ada was dead. Her friend was dead. Real life wasn't a painting.

Maybe Laurie was right, Vanessa thought. Maybe there was something wrong with her. There had to be. Why else would she paint death scenes all the time, as if they didn't matter? She remembered the conversation with Laurie as vividly as if it had just happened. She'd laughed off Laurie's comment, saying, "I'm a still life artist."

Of course, now that death had touched her, it wasn't quite as funny as it had been then.

There was a knock at the door. Grateful for a reprieve from her thoughts, she picked up the paintbrush, stuck in a pocket of her smock, and went to see who was there.

"Hi, I'm Calleigh Caine, with CSI. You know Tim Speedle?"

Vanessa nodded, wondering why they were here. "Umm, please have a seat. I'm sorry about the mess. I get a bit sidetracked when I paint."

"Can we see?" Speed asked.

Vanessa bit her lip. She didn't like to show anything until it was complete, but she wasn't sure she could refuse Tim Speedle anything. He had loved her friend, and he would always have that in his favor. "Sure."

She led them to the spare room she used as a studio. "She's Cleopatra. She's nowhere near finished."

"Do you always talk about your art as if they're people?" Calleigh asked.

Vanessa shrugged. "Aren't they?"

Calleigh's smile was brief, and Vanessa guessed they weren't here on a social call.

"Miss Craig—"

"Vanessa, please."

"Vanessa, I don't quite know how to say this, but we think someone is copying your paintings."

"Copying?"

Speed took three photographs from a manila envelope and passed them to Vanessa. Her hand trembled as she took them from him.

"Oh." She felt lightheaded. Ignoring the CSI's, she went to the living room and sat down. Eventually, she looked up at Calleigh. "The last photo is you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So the woman didn't die?"

"No. She'll be okay."

Vanessa handed the photographs back to Speed, then hugged herself. "Who would do something like this?"

Calleigh sat next to her and said, gently, "We were hoping you would be able to help us with that."

Vanessa shook her head. "I can't – I mean, I don't know anyone who would – This is crazy – I don't know."

"Vanessa, it's possible that you're in danger."

Vanessa ran to the bathroom.

Will watched the man and the woman leave Vanessa's building. He couldn't believe his luck. The woman was perfect!

His eyes narrowed as he realized he knew the man from somewhere. Then he smiled; the gallery. The man had been at the gallery, talking to his Vanessa. And now he was here, with Desdemona. Perfect, just perfect.

He watched them climb into the Hummer, noting with pleasure that the door identified it as belonging to 'Miami-Dade Crime Scene Investigation'. Now that he knew where to find Desdemona, there was no rush.

Instead of going up to see Vanessa, he turned his car around and headed home. He had plans to make.