Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY. Wish I did though.

Notes Seventh chapter: thank you very much indeed for all reviews, please do continue - I still love to know what you think - all very welcome, and always replied to :D Thank you also to everyone who has this on alert.

Many thanks to Blue Shadowdancer for a read through

Lost Letters: Chapter 7

17th August

I had to wait in for most of the day - I had a delivery coming, and as usual, they never give you an exact time, more a maybe, and a possibly, and a could be sort of time. So I got some chores done anyhow, and a little bit more mail sorted out, including this to you of course! Mrs Adams came and knocked around lunchtime, she had a few more errands she wanted me to run. When I explained I had to wait in, she was a little put out, and said she would have to go herself. I felt kind of bad then, especially after she's been so good to me since I moved here. I'll have to pay a call on her later, as soon as I've had my delivery. If I have time…

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Paint that had begun the day bright under the sun began to cloud, and shrink and bubble. Peeling away, blistering and curling to nothing but black specks, that fell away and left nothing but grey, naked metal. The fire ate greedily; gnawing at the steel of the car as its enamel flesh dropped off, so it soon began to disappear to its skeleton. Across the glass of the back windscreen, a yellow-black scab grew, until the material started to squeal and shriek, before cracking in agony and dying to a shiver of fragments.

The soft upholstered innards of the car began to smoke and blacken as the flames fed their famine. Fabric singed and vanished, singing in a high pitched wail. And only inches away, someone breathed short painful breaths. Breaths of smoke and molecules of chemicals, paper, paint. Too little oxygen, too little time. Short breaths, too short.

………………………………...

"Lindsay…" Mac opened the conversation that was no conversation at all, as she pulled up and he opened the door for her.

"I'm okay, Mac." She circumvented him, "Are you?"

"I've had better days."

There was nothing more to say because there was too much to say. She got out of the car in silence, and they walked forwards together. Each surrounded in a thick, clammy blanket of too many feelings, and no words to express them. Trapped in silence.

The usual life in Lindsay's walk was missing, each footstep hit the ground with a thud, and even her hair hung lank down the sides of her face. There was no smile, and her eyes were lowered, dark pools in a pale face. Something hiding within them too, Mac could see as they stopped, and saw she could not meet his own.

"You found anything?" She bent down and began to unpack her kit.

"Nothing as yet, I'd not long got here."

He picked up the thoughts that were vibrating off her, almost visibly.

Don't ask me about Danny, don't ask me about anything…

Questions would have to wait, she was holding herself together with almost nothing, an eggshell protection, so he put what he wanted to ask her away for later. They were simply two CSIs looking for the evidence; both ignoring the emotions crowding and stifling them, but both failing to ignore the presence of the two people they lacked; thoughts of whom filled the spaces between breaths. They could only do what they had to.

Lindsay pointed to something he had just seen himself, "Footprint, Mac. I'll take a casting." She pulled out her equipment and set to work. It wasn't much; a half-moon of a sole print, a few blocks and cavities pressed into a heap of parched dirt. But it might be something, and Mac watched her take comfort in the practical, doing what he knew she did best. He took comfort from the evidence.

He put himself to what he was good at; the connecting, the evidence, the finding, and found himself with his mind running through the city, running along the hundreds of streets, the hundreds of places to hide someone. He was here, and Stella wasn't here. And where she was…

He didn't know, and the fact that he didn't know rose like bile in his throat. For a precious second he looked up and up at the sky and at the skyscrapers, at the mountains of concrete and the seas of people, where somewhere was just one person. It struck him down; there were too many places to hide and be hidden. For a moment he swayed under the consciousness of himself; one man, in one street, in one city. And all the multiples of those singles making too many. It was too easy to be lost, to be hurt, to die.

He could not think anymore. He had to do. And ignore the heat, and utter lack of moisture in the air. Mac felt sweat crawling over his scalp, every gland in his skin oozing. He could not remember when he had last drunk any kind of liquid. And then he did remember. As Stella had arrived at the lab, she had greeted him, letting herself into his office and presenting him with a cup of coffee before they both left for the scene he was standing at now. A little gesture, but one of so many that made a multitude. One amongst many.

Dry air. He breathed in dust. No trace was visible. Disappeared. Along with every drop of water that had leached away into all the hidden places of the earth, taking with it the green of greenery, the smells of fresh breezes, and all the colours of life from the city. Everything was slowly desiccating, craving water, dying.

He looked for more evidence. Noted the tracks of the car, the black scars the tyres had left. His footsteps shushed across the concrete as he searched every inch, skirting round and round again, circling the perimeter, willing there to be something he had missed, some clue. But there was nothing else. Stella's phone he had sent back to the lab already, and the only prints on it were her own. Nothing left but her fingerprints. So they kept searching, and overhead the sun described its slow circle of the sky, lengthening their shadows.

………………………………...

Heat. Too hot, too hot, salamander-fire hot. It burnt further and further, consuming the fast-combusting materials, still hankering after more though, sensing it close, smelling the source of fuel that lay beneath the layers of metal. The flames moved through, melting everything under their volcano-tongued heat. It reduced the solid and tangible to untouchable globules and smoke-wraiths, releasing an acrid stench and a chemical haze. Expanding, bloating swelling.

The fire crept closer and closer; whispering almost in her ears, trailing and wrapping its smoke round and round her; twisting gauzy, shroudy fingers through her hair; leaving a touch across her skin; brushing across her closed eyelids and sending poison breaths through her lips. But somewhere inside, muscles moved. Lungs that were filling and suffocating fought back and choked out a mouthful of smoke, blood and fluid.

………………………………...

Adam was waiting dully for a print-out, hand hovering over the printer, feeling the warmth of it rising towards his palm. It clicked and whirred and the paper came shooting out. He looked at it, and then looked up to see Hawkes approaching.

For a moment before the doctor's face revealed itself, Adam hoped he was coming to share good news with him. But as he entered, the door sighing open, he knew there was nothing more to be said from the look in his face.

They all knew, every person in the lab knew what had happened, and it had muted conversation and sent people into huddled, worried groups. Adam had joined none of them, preferring to keep to his sanctuary and do what he could to help. Danny was his friend; Stella, he regarded with a certain amount of trepidation, but not fear, and every thanks she gave him and every smile always brought a grin and a tumble of words to his lips. As well as often a flush to his cheeks when she spoke to him.

When Hawkes had told him what happened at the scene, the room had darkened, and for a moment he felt himself tipping forward, and had to clutch hold of his keyboard, his mouth gaping open uselessly, fingers slipping on the keys. The inaudible became audible: the hum of the monitor; the throb of the computer's hard drive; the soft whush of the air-conditioning above him. Below him, his feet swung against empty air, and he had to drag himself upright in his seat again. And Hawkes had left before he could stutter out the words that had dammed up in his head

What? How? Why? Is Danny…? Will Stella…?

It was too late to ask now. Hawkes strode in, this time his face carefully modelled into neutrality.

"Adam, we've got a DB in the park, fished out of the lake. I need you down there with me. You ready to leave now?"

"I'm ready. Ready whenever you are…"

He was happy to do whatever he could, and glad to escape the confines of the lab. A confinement that was closing in on him more than it ever had before. The equipment surrounding him, the wires and the electricity, had grown and menaced him. Wires seemed to stretch and wriggle across the floor and tie themselves around him, trapping him in loops and tendrils of electrical bindweed.

He gulped, fought back, stumbled off his chair, and stood in front of Hawkes, who asked him, "You sure you're good to go with me on this one, Adam?"

"Sure… Sure, I'm good. Sorry, I just… I kind of got to thinking and… and I'm ready."

Hawkes followed him to the door, and his words burned Adam's ears, "Good, 'cause I need you all there on this one. We're going to need all the help we can get. Sid's joining us down there."

Adam nodded and paced ahead along the corridor, not able to stop the feeling that at any other time if he'd been asked to go out to a scene, it would have filled him with pride. Pride that he had been asked, and pride that would have left no room for the fear that still lurked after the warehouse. But all he felt now was a sick apprehension and his steps began to falter as they reached the elevator.

"You sure you're okay, man?" Hawkes's hand was on his shoulder.

Adam turned a weak smile to him, "Yeah, yeah, thanks, Hawkes, I'm fine. Just, y'know, thinking, worried…"

"We all are Adam, but right now, we got a scene, and we got a job we have to do. We'll hear as soon as there is anything to hear." Hawkes pushed the door open and stepped inside, his head down almost on his chest.

Leaving Adam to burn even more; shamed, upset with himself for not being considerate and for not thinking that Hawkes too would be worried about Danny and about Stella. They rode down in a miserable silence.

………………………………...

Heat, she could feel only heat. Around her and inside her; simmering behind her eyes and pounding in agonising waves through her chest and abdomen. She became aware of breathing, and then how each breath seared deep internally. And the heat.

There was darkness… her eyes… The thought struggled to establish itself… her eyes were closed… open them… open them

She opened them to a complex of black and orange. They fell closed again, too hot. She forced them open. Something was wrong. Pain. A spasm of coughing wracked her, and the pain shocked everything into a still separating chromatograph of colours. Something had happened to her, what, she could not remember. But she knew had to move. There was fire, burning, and something else. She found her hand could move, found it moving across her tank top and her jeans, and found it covered in something sticking and smearing. And it hurt, hurt more than anything she could remember. She knew it was something lodged inside her, something that shouldn't be. With a low moan, she tried to move herself. But too slowly.

She was in a car. Get out. Escape. Her hand found the door, fumbled for the handle, and she tried to force her fingers to wrap round it, and failed. Eyes were closing again, she fought them.

Stay open…

Stay open…

Move…

Get out…

………………………………...

It had been a long day for Mrs Adams. After the two detectives had taken their leave of her, she had closed the front door with a sigh, and flopped back into her armchair, letting its deep cushions and stuffing sink beneath her. Joshua had slunk back in as soon as she opened the door, and she patted her knee now, inviting him to join her. He stared, hurt pride in his eyes for a few moments, but then comfort won and he jumped up, kneaded her knees and curled himself round in her lap.

"You're a good man, my Joshua-boy." She murmured into his ear, and fondled the top of his head, "The only good one these last few years." He did not disagree with her.

She thought back to what she had revealed, and what she had not revealed to the two young detectives, and guilt chewed at her insides. The four boxes were only four of many more hidden away in all the nooks and crannies of an apartment that held more than it appeared to. Closets bulged, and shelves bowed under the weight of everything that she had been hiding for years. Some of it was gone; the fire she had lit in the kitchen grate a few days ago had destroyed what could do most harm, but what she had said to the female detective still held true. Lives were held in the letters she owned. She should have told them more, and she should have given them more.

But there was nothing she could do about it for now. At least the boy who had robbed her had taken only a fraction of what was important. It mattered, but it could have mattered more. She sighed again, and let her eyes fall closed on a jumble of thoughts. Joshua's rumbling purr soon drifted her into a doze and the pipe in her fingers dropped unheeded to the floor. A dream was beginning to tug at her consciousness, and then a rattle from outside disturbed her. She startled, and shook herself, blinking owlishly. Joshua leaped from her knee and pranced over the floor, so she heaved out of the chair to open the door. He bolted out and up the stairs, and she followed his trajectory. The front door was closing with a crash; she heard after its reverberation the sound of a familiar key turning in the apartment door above hers.

She nodded in satisfaction as the sound of footsteps entering followed, "She's back then, good thing too, I'd been worried about her. Ah well, Joshua-boy, looks like you won't be needing your supper from me. Rita'll have bought you your sweetmeats and you're a cat with no loyalty."

She turned and made her way back down the stairs, and closed her own door, shutting out the evening light and the shade of the trees that overhung her little courtyard.

………………………………...

She tried again, fingers slipping on the hot metal of the door handle, and failed again. The smoke was filling her, and competing with the pain sending furnace-thrust swords through every nerve in her body. She could see nothing but black and grey and orange, and her other senses were smothered with the same. Black and orange heat. Oil and fire and bitter chemicals, and something else like meat burning, creeping into her nose and mouth. Heat and soot and burning under her fingers. Fingers that tried again to close around the handle and release her. But the pain tried to drag her under again; pulling her eyes closed, stealing her consciousness. If she gave in, maybe it would stop…

Beyond her knowledge, the flames at the back of the car reached closer and closer to the gas tank, drawn by the heated fumes, sucking them in, needing more. And the flames inside inched their way closer to her. Fingers dropped almost defeated, and eyes began to close.

Too late, too slow…

………………………………...

Rich ran on, feet pounding, kicking up puffs of white dust. Behind him, getting further away, he could hear the crackle of flames, and a smile twisted his mouth at the thought of the damage he had left behind.

Serve her right…

……………………………….....

There was almost nothing left, she was slipping away, but with one last exhausting effort, driven by the will and the determination that she was not going to die inside a burning car, Stella forced herself to raise her hand again. Even that small movement hurt, but she curled her fingers once more around the door handle, and finally, finally it opened. With more strength than she thought she still had, she managed to push her shoulder against the door, grinding her teeth and unable to stop a whimper at the pain it cost her. But the door pushed open and she found herself falling out onto the ground. And then she realised she could move no further. Lying there panting for breath, her body refused to move, even though she screamed in her mind at herself, knowing she was not safe. That she was too close to the car, that any moment it might explode. She tried to turn herself from where she had landed on her side, pushing herself up, but her muscles refused to cooperate, and she felt blackness start to swirl in her mind, and everything starting to fade away. She tried to fight it, tried with everything she had left. Tried to hold on to herself, to move, to escape.

I don't want to die…

And then even as her awareness was almost gone, she realised there was someone beside her, and she felt hands around her arms. Someone's voice was shouting, but the words were unintelligible amongst the screams and roars of the flames just beyond her, and the pain that was scalding her from inside out. Someone was pulling her; someone's arms were round her; hands linked over her chest. Then the voice was shouting again, but she could not answer; words were ashes blowing away from her. She felt herself dragged across hard ground, quick scuffing footsteps behind her, and then they stopped.

The hands eased her down and she was lying flat, looking up, feeling almost nothing but the thump of red-hot agony in her body. Each breath became more and more laboured and her vision was beginning to fall to pieces. The sky was white and seemed to be coming down lower and lower towards her. But a face blocked it for a moment. One she did not know; eyes looking down at her, a mouth open. A roar and a flash of gold and ruby and orange swept upwards, just beyond her. The face still there, but fading. Then there was white sky and the white sun falling out of it; falling, falling onto her, consuming her consciousness and leaving nothing.

Please review! Thanks, Lily x