Mwuahahaha! An update. Haha, you're gunna hate me.
None of the characters belong to me. Well, yeah, Andron kinda does, sorry. Not sure where the idea for him came from. BUT the rest don't. At all. Grey's Anatomy and House will reappear. They story is nearly halfway to the end. Sort of. Perhaps. Maybe. Enjoy!
Breakfast the next morning was the next time Albus saw James, who had returned to his normal look. He gave Albus a condescending look.
"I do hope you've been on the look out for new families for your little slaves," James said, winking. He stabbed his steamed broccoli, and grinned when there was more resistance than properly steamed broccoli should provide. "Why, it's half raw."
"There is nothing wrong with the food in my school," Albus said, a bit defensively. "How would you two, at seventeen, be able to cook better than a hundred House Elves?"
"You'll see." James and Andron started towards the kitchen.
"It's eight in the morning, why start dinner now?" Minerva asked.
"Rome wasn't built in a day," Andron said.
"And we don't conjure food, then nuke it with a heating charm. That's why students are so hungry. The food disappears before it's fully digested," James said. He waved his hands, when he was in the middle of the hall, and all the food began glowing a light blue. "Conjured. Man, I amaze even myself sometimes," James said arrogantly. He turned on his heel and continued walking.
Sirius was looking down at his food with a feeling of trepidation. Hermione, next to him, had stopped eating too. They pushed their plates away. Most of the students followed suit, seeing the Head Boy and Girl decide the food was tainted.
"Yeah, that's pretty bad," Sirius said. "I'm fasting till dinner. You can't conjure food and then feed it to people."
Albus sighed as students filed out of the Hall, leaving plates full of food. What was it with 'Sirius's' and 'James's' that made things difficult? Was it the name? Because Albus was good and ready to stop accepting students with those names.
James and Andron took twenty minutes to drain the kitchen of magic. No contamination in James' kitchen.
"What's on the menu, mate?" Andron asked.
"Baked ziti, zuppa Toscana, baked individual eggplant parmesan, beef carpaccio, penne with artichokes and shrimp, creme brulee…" James listed dozens and dozens of other items, making Andron look ready to faint. James named food from every race, religion, nationality, and every part of the time line James liked.
"You've cracked."
James only response was to turn on the radio.
The radio sang annoying pop songs. Andron grinned, and donned an apron.
They worked together in perfect harmony, neither getting in the others way, nor did they speak at all. They just knew what needed to be done. They both heard someone at the door, but one of James' favorite songs came on, so he had to sing it.
"Wo bist du?" James sang. He was preparing the crust for one of the pies.
They continued cooking, right through lunch. All of the students were taken down to Hogsmeade for the meal, so the kitchen was theirs till dinner. The smell alone was making them hungry, the whole kitchen was filled with strong aromas from around the world.
They had put a containment charm on the kitchen walls to keep the smell within the kitchen. They would take them down fifteen minutes before the meal was served, just to taunt people.
The could hear people coming back from the village, and James put one song on repeat.
"Oh god."
"Hell yeah!" James said, preparing to make pizza.
Albus, the professors, and all the students were seated in the Great Hall. They could smell the food cooking, and it was driving them crazy. James and Andron entered the Great Hall, smirking knowingly.
They were covered in flour, and wearing aprons that covered the waist down.
"We'd like to take a moment to explain this meal," Andron said, his voice carrying perfectly. "First of all, James and I both attended culinary classes, from ages five to fifteen. We can cook. We hate to say it, professor Dumbledore, but you better start writing some letters to some chefs, because our cooking kicks house elf ass."
"Just bring in the food already!" Ron Weasley shouted. James smiled, and waved his hand.
"Hey, we worked damn near twelve hours on this meal. You can hold on a second. I should have put money on this. Money, millionaire. . . Ich wär so gerne Millionär Dann wär mein Konto niemals leer Ich wär so gerne Millionär Millionenschwer Ich wär so gerne Millionär !" James sang.
"Those fumes went to your head," Andron said. James waved his hand, and the aroma of food increased ten fold, the food appeared on the tables. The tables themselves groaned in protest, not used to holding so much weight. Hundreds of eyes widened,
"Hallelujah!" Ron Weasley cheered. James began walking to his seat next to his grandfather while people started eating. Andron sat down at the Ravenclaw table, much to the surprise of a few sixth years.
James sat down next to the older man, and noticed his father was at the mans right.
"Just how many countries inspired our meal, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked.
"We have twelve dishes from Italy, five from Africa, three from Hawaii, and a couple from Mexico, France, Ireland, Ancient Greece, and dozens of others. All in all, sixty five countries," James replied. "We went a bit overboard, but I won the bet."
"Did you now, James?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the food. "We'll see."
"Albus, you lost," Professor Snape said from down the table. The food had been on the table for less than five minutes, and the man was going for seconds. James saw that Albus looked slightly nervous. The old man tried the food, and he completely and totally froze.
"Oh my," was all he said.
After dinner, Sirius Potter was walking down towards Hagrid's hut, wanting to visit the man. Since it was a warm Saturday night, many students were sitting near the lake, hoping curfew would stay at bay.
It was just too nice outside to be confined to their common rooms.
Sirius reached the hut, and knocked. He started to worry when he received no answer. Sirius walked around back, looking for the half giant, when he was grabbed. Sirius, on instinct, screamed. A hand covered his mouth, and he knew no more.
James saw someone grab his brother, and he heard Sirius scream. By the time his stunning curse reached the spot, his brother had been dragged into the forest. James shot after him, running faster than he'd ever run before. He couldn't see anyone in the forest when he got there.
"Son of a banana!" James yelled, startling the birds out of the trees. He quickly walked up to the castle, and informed the Headmaster. The older man told James to sit down, and then made a couple of firecalls. He sat down across the desk from James, and covered his face with his hands.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," Dumbledore said quietly. "There will be a panic, and everyone is going to look to me to find him," Dumbledore said. James leaned back.
"Then let me find him," he said simply. Dumbledore looked pretty surprised, making James laugh like mad. "What? He's my brother, can't I want to save him?"
"James, not even your extensive education could have covered how to infiltrate and escape Voldemort's lair. No, James, I couldn't risk that. Your father, maybe-"
"Aye, good idea. You send him in first, and when he's killed, I'll go in and do it up right," James said callously. "I could have Sirius back in three days." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. James mimicked the gesture, doing it even better.
"Fine, then. I'll leave you to it, James. You will, however, understand that I have warned you, and told you my opinion of this venture." James simply smirked, and walked down to the Great Hall, plan nearly formed.
All of the students had been called to the Hall, to make sure everybody was safe. James spotted Andron, and called to him.
"Hey, Schwarz!" he bellowed, making most of the people near him jump.
"Are we going somewhere?" Andron asked, looking peeved.
"Don't you know it," James said.
"Oh, fine," Andron said, nodding. Both of them walked towards the village.
They apparated to Knockturn Ally, and went into a seedy pub. They distorted their images ever so slightly, making it hard to tell their true identity. As they sat, they spoke in low tones.
"Dirty bastards," James said in a normal speaking volume. "Foul, loathsome, vile people. What do they think I am, a piece of meat?"
"Obviously a very nice piece of meat," Andron said. They both ordered a firewhiskey.
"They got rid of me!" James growled. "Now is not the time to come crawling back! Aye, I should cut them up and boil them, just to hear them scream." Andron nodded, sipping his firewhiskey out of a rather dirty glass. "Damn Potters!"
An hour later, James was having a conversation with a few known Death Eaters, convincing them that he hated the Potters, and would do anything to get back at them for ruining his life.
James and Andron stayed at the Leaky Cauldron that night, ready to meet their acquaintances the next morning.
"I don't feel so good about this, James," Andron said quietly. "What if we end up marked?"
"Then we get my brother, and remove the damn thing. I'd do the same thing for you, Andron," James said sincerely. Andron grinned.
The next morning, bright and early, they met in the same seedy pub, with the same men.
"Our Lord has agreed to meet with you. Are you agreeable?" the man who looked scarily like Theodore Nott, a Hogwarts Seventh year, said silkily.
"Aye," both James and Andron said.
They were lead to the most feared place in the world. Voldemort's throne room. James cleared his throat, and spoke first, pissing Voldemort off.
"I hear you have the Potter bitch," he said bluntly. "And I think it only fair that I get a shot at him, before you finish the little fuck face." Voldemort raised a non existent eyebrow, and rose from his place of glory.
"You presume to have the right to order me around?" Voldemort said coldly, circling him and Andron. James snorted.
"I have access to certain people that, let's say, have stabbed a thorn in your side from day one," James said casually. "Dumbledore, as a number one. Although, I do have a question."
"And what would that question be?" Voldemort asked mockingly.
"Why was Lucius Malfoy giving Dumbledore some, ah, interesting war details the other day? Was that some elaborate ruse? Because I've never even heard a whisper of Malfoy being a double double crossing crosser that double crossed you while crossing to Dumbledore by being a tri-crosser of the espionage sort," James simply said, speaking quickly. Voldemort looked enraged, his red eyes even glowed with power for a moment.
Then he got himself under control.
"Wormtail, get Lucius for me," Voldemort ordered calmly. The blond man casually walked in, but fell to the ground as soon as he entered the room fully. Voldemort held him under the Cruciatus Curse for four minutes, before leaving the man panting on the ground, and turning back to James and Andron. "Wormtail will take you to the Potter brat. Leave him alive."
"Good deal," Andron said coolly.
"I want Dumbledore." James nodded to Voldemort, before following Wormtail to the dungeon of the strange house they were in. James carefully placed a tracking device behind a portrait as they went. He did it so casually, Andron didn't even notice.
They got to Sirius' cell, and James actually had to work to keep from blanching at his brother's state. The boy sat up, and his eyes widened. James barely shook his head, and Sirius knew to play dumb. Just as Wormtail turned to leave, James cast a spell that forced him into his animagus form. He stunned the fleeing rat, and Andron put a charm on the wall.
They grabbed Sirius, and made a Portkey to the Entrance Hall. Right before they activated the Portkey, they heard Death Eaters entering the cell. Sirius, while injured, managed to laugh hysterically.
"What did you write on that wall?!?" he asked, holding onto James to remain standing.
"You've been butt raped, have a nice day," Andron said loudly. James took Wormtail out of his pocket. "It's the middle of the day, everyone must be in the Great Hall." He turned to see the Great Hall doors open, and a thousand people staring at them in shock. "Ah. . . My mother always said I should look both ways before I open my mouth."
"For good reason," James agreed. He smiled winningly at the Hall. The he smirked at the Headmaster. "Care to repeat your concerns, old man? I know how to talk my way in and out of most things. From traffic tickets, to getting Lucius Malfoy tortured indefinitely."
Oddly enough, Draco Malfoy didn't look very indignant about that little fact. He simply shrugged, and went back to his cabbage.
"Oh, and Dumbledore, I'm supposed to somehow deliver you to Voldemort. . . So don't be surprised if I kidnap you in your sleep," James said sarcastically, giving a look of 'Yeah-Like-That-Would-Ever-Happen'. "So don't piss me off, because Voldemort expects you." The threat was somewhat lessoned, however, by James grinning madly halfway through.
"Perhaps we should discuss this in my office?" Dumbledore asked. Everyone knew it wasn't a question.
"Meet you there, then." The three turned to walk out of the Entrance Hall, but fell on top of each other.
"Agh!" Sirius screamed.
"Ah, we've been ham stringed! How very strange," James said, intrigued. "Ha, I still have a leg to stand on!" Only his left leg was not working, but his right was perfectly fine. He checked Andron and Sirius. His best friend had two sliced legs, while only his brothers left was injured.
"What?" Sirius asked.
"Hamstringing- cutting the tendons in the back of the leg to hinder movement. Used to be used often on run away slaves as punishment for running away. It is also notably hard to repair tendons with magic. Come on, let's get D-ro up these stairs."
"D-ro?" Sirius questioned, as the two hauled Andron up, partly carrying him up the stairs.
"I have many names for him, actually." His phone started ringing.
"Son of a. . . Hello?" he asked, balancing Andron, a phone, and his lame leg, trying to get up stairs all at once.
"James!" Catherine's frantic voice nearly bellowed out of the phone. "Sara is missing!"
'Why can't people simply stay where they are supposed to? Why do they all have to disappear all at the same time?'
"When did this happen?" James asked.
"We found her car an hour ago, and then a miniature of the scene, James. The Miniature of Sara was still moving, she's still alive, under a car, we don't know where though. Can you get here?" Catherine asked.
"Ah, I've sustained a bit of an injury, I may be two or three hours. . ."
"You're injured?" Catherine asked. "How did that happened?"
"It's quite a long story, involving Dark Lords, idiot brothers, and a Hamstringing Hex. Agh, gotta go, see you as soon as I can bye," James said in a rush. He was starting to fall over, and had to regain his balance.
"Could you not drop me?"
"Why don't we just levitate him, James?" Sirius questioned.
"Many reasons, none of which I am at liberty to explain. Until then, haul!" James ordered.
"I'm hurt too," Sirius whined, obviously oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in. James gave a vicious growl, noting that they were halfway up the stairs, and he hauled his brother over his shoulder, doing the same with Andron in one swift movement.
He continued up the stairs, hopping on one foot.
"Put me down!" Sirius complained.
"Dude, don't even try," Andron warned. "You whined about it, so James fixed it for you. You can't complain now," Andron said groggily.
"I'm not complaining! How the bloody hell are we at the top of the stairs?" Sirius asked, banging his fist on James's back.
"I carried you," James deadpanned. "Now shut up, before I drop you back down the damn stairs."
"He'll do it, too," Andron added.
James dropped them off at the Hospital wing, and walked to the Headmaster's office. He gave a brief report, and told his grandfather he had somewhere he had to be. He was sitting across the desk from the other man, who looked concerned.
"How is your leg? Did Poppy heal it?" he asked, his eyes flashing with worry. James shook his head. Pettigrew sat in a cage with an Unbreakable Charm on it, forgotten.
"I don't have time, it will be fine. I have to go," James said, standing up, only getting halfway to the door before he was stopped. His grandfather grabbed his shoulders, making sure he wasn't going to go anywhere, before kneeling down next to his leg.
James felt Albus poke the gash with his wand.
"Fawkes!" Albus said. James felt the tears of the phoenix drip onto the gash, and he hissed as the tendon began healing. He grabbed his grandfathers shoulder, and squeezed it tightly. "There," the older man said, standing up, "now I won't have to worry about you not being able to walk." James stared at him.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. Albus looked at him for a few minutes, before dropping his gaze. James awkwardly pulled him into a hug.
"You don't have to worry about me," he said quietly.
"Yet I do so anyway," Albus replied.
As James drove towards the small circle of cars, he realized where he was. The desert, the same one he'd had a heart attack in. It was weird for him to think that that had been over a year before. So much had happened since then, it was strange.
"James!" he heard Catherine yell as he got closer. She looked a bit dishelved, and had dark smudges under her eyes. Grissom looked worse, by far.
For some time, James has suspected that there was more to the relationship between Grissom and Sara, but it wasn't his place to say anything. This only cemented his theories.
It seemed like every crime scene investigator from the Vegas area was there, not to mention the police, detectives, and reporters.
James parked his truck, and limped over to Catherine. She raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head.
"How are things going?" James asked. He looked around at the barely concealed panic, and again shook his head. "Not well, I see."
"Quite the observation," Grissom said. "Do you have any ideas?"
"Many."
They spent fifteen minutes explaining everything to James, who only nodded, staring at a nearby table, but not really seeing it. When they finished, he moved to the table without a word, clearing it of everything but the map that was in the middle.
He took a pen out of his pocket, and began marking the map in different areas.
"Did anyone else notice it's raining?" he called over the sound of the rain. "Did the miniature look wet?" he asked. He continued with the map after getting a negative response. "How far of a perimeter have you covered?"
"Ten miles," a deputy responded. Harry nodded, turning to Grissom.
"Sir, I need a tent," he said. Grissom looked a bit surprised, but ordered that a pop up tent be put in place. The only problem was that it didn't have walls. James stared a tit thoughtfully, before he went to his truck, and took two sealed packages from under the passengers seat, and some zip ties.
Each package contained two bed sheets, and he opened them. With the zip ties, the attached a sheet to each side of the top, and then fastened them together. Effectively making walls for the tent. He used a switchblade from his pocket to cut down the middle of one of the sheets to make a door.
When the tent was complete, he pulled Catherine and Grissom into the ten, and conjured a table. Catherine gasped, before remembering herself.
James began pulling objects out of pockets. Pockets that appeared out of nowhere. He took out a cauldron, and ingratiates for an all but illegal locator potion. It was considered a branch of Dark Arts, simply because people with darker tendencies used it to locate their victims.
Yet he didn't feel bad about using it, either. He was trying to find someone with the intention of good. Honestly, the silly labels had to go. He worked with his usual air of extreme efficiency.
It took him ten minutes to get to the final stage of the potion. James looked up at his colleagues.
"Do either of you have anything belonging to Sara?" he asked, his eyes resting on Grissom. He produced a hair tie, and James eyes lit up, after he saw a few strands of hair on it. "Perfect!" he put the tie in the potion. . .
And nothing happened.
"James, what went wrong?" Catherine asked. James looked up at her, confused.
"Nothing that I am aware of. The colour, consistency, and temperature is correct. I need a map of the surrounding area- no, no, don't concern yourself, I happen to have one," James said, taking a map out of his never ending pocket.
He spread it out on the table, using various objects to hold it in place so it wouldn't roll back up. He poured the potion on the map, and then cast a charm over the whole thing.
Various areas lit up, some faintly and some brightly. The brightest spot was twenty miles to the north.
"Ah, found her!" James said neutrally. "Twenty miles north."
"The cars won't start!" Nick's surprised voice called.
"I was afraid of that," James muttered. He covered his face with his hands, and sighed. He turned to the two other people before he continued. "I believe, well, I don't believe. I can feel evil tainting this place. Magic has been used here, hundreds killed, slaughtered, tortured. The ground is saturated in magic."
"What does that mean?" Grissom asked.
"Magic makes muggle things, like electricity, go haywire. When you turn the key in the ignition, the car momentarily runs on the battery, before the internal combustion motor starts up. The magic in this area won't allow the battery to start," James explained. "Over the last few years, more and more magic has found it's way into the ground of this desert. I can feel it, it's almost frightening. Now, how do we get twenty miles north, with no motor vehicle?"
"A helicopter?" Catherine suggested. Her face showed that she barely understood half of what James was talking about. James guessed it was the magic bit.
He tilted his head to the left, and nodded slowly.
"It could work," James said. "Or it could end in everyone in the helicopter victims of an explosion." Catherine stared at him.
"Thanks, James."
"I'm simply being realistic. There is something I could do, but I could only do it to one vehicle. And I need. . . Hello, Andron," James said, looking at his friend. Andron looked extremely happy, and James was almost afraid to ask why.
"That is one evil Nazi Woman," Andron pouted. "So, what's the problem? And why are we here? This place feels weird."
"The cars in the area won't start, and we need to be twenty miles that way," James pointed north, "as soon as magically possible." Andron nodded.
"Let me guess, magic has saturated the batteries? That's easy to fix, but we could only do one car," Andron said. They turned to Grissom. "Which car?" Andron asked.
"James'."
"Righty-o, then, James. Los gehts," Andron said, walking out of the tent. The other three followed him. James noticed that Grissom's eyes were growing more and more desperate with each passing moment.
"What are you doing?" Nick asked, as Andron popped the hood of James' truck.
"Fixing a car," Andron replied. James laid down and pushed himself under the truck, staring up at the motor. "It might take a minute, there is no magical solution for the problem, you know."
"That's it!" James yelled, jumping up. He fell back down when his head collided with something hot and metal. "Ow."
"What's it?" Andron asked. "And hurry up, the rain is picking up!"
"Magical solution. . ."
Within ten minutes James and Andron had the car running. Grissom, James, Nick, Warrick and Greg rode in the bed of the truck, while Andron drove, and Catherine, Brass, and two paramedics rode inside.
"I can't see anything!" Andron called out the window. James rolled his eyes, and went to the toolbox by the window. He opened it, and rummaged around. Inside were rolls upon rolls of duct tape, a shotgun, a highly illegal automatic weapon, and his omnioculars.
He climbed on top of the cab of the truck, making Nick and Warrick stare at him like he was absolutely nutty.
"Keep going, coming up ten miles on the left," James said. The rain poured down, beating on the truck like thousands of small hammers. The dirt had turned to mud, making steering harder for Andron, and the road bumpy for the passengers. James was able to stay on the roof by sheer will, and magical power.
The truck came to a stop, also with help from magic, meters from an overturned red sports car. With an agility not stereotypical for his age, Grissom was out of the truck and sprinting toward the car in seconds. The rest of the cars occupants followed, slipping and sliding in the mud.
"Of all the times it rains in the bleeding desert, they pick today?" Andron asked, after falling on his face. James' work boots were caked in mud, and getting heavy.
Grissom was down on his knees, kneeling next to the car, trying to find a pulse on the visible wrist. Nick and Warrick were attempting to move the car. Andron and James walked over and picked it up, making it appear as though they did it with physical strength, instead of a Levitation Charm.
"Bomb!" Nick roared, indicating something under the car, right above where the half conscious Sara was laying. Nobody in the area was a part of the bomb squad, nor did they have the training or the authority to disarm a bomb. "Look at Sara's work vest. It's got a flashing light, just there."
James looked, and then looked over the car at Andron. The flashing light was part of a sort of motion sensor. Once the car was a certain distance from Sara, it would blow up.
"Andron, what distance are we looking at?" James called, over a clap of thunder. James took that thunder as a very bad omen, indeed.
"It would have to be close enough to injure Miss Sidle, and anybody rescuing her, Grissom being the most likely secondary target. But, maybe it's based on time. That makes more sense, you know. Just how far away could you get in, say, sixty seconds?" Andron posed the question just as more thunder drowned out the very thoughts being thought.
"If Sara is going one way, and the car the other, how far indeed? Two trains leave the same station going opposite directions." James raised his eyes towards the sky. "I say twelve thousand feet, just under a lap on a track. With C4 like that, it should be enough," James said.
The rest of the people were looking at them, all except Grissom.
"Let me get this straight," Catherine said in her maternal tone, "you plan on carrying the car in one direction, while we move to safety in the other?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between the two young men.
"Of course. Don't worry," Andron assured, "we do this all the time. Now, I'll make an educated guess. As soon as you remove that sensor from her vest, the car will blow anyway. Simply removing the vest may work, but that could be a decoy, meant to lull us into a false sense of security. Yes, I think we've come up with the only safe plan."
"Do we have a back board? Yes, ah, good. Get Sara on that. Tightly, man. If you can get her on the truck, and out of here, that'll get her even further in the allotted time. Dron and I will take care of the car," James said. The others reluctantly agreed.
Catherine's thoughts were going ten paces at once. In the mere seconds of stress following the start of the race of time, she found herself thinking of a startling array of random thoughts. From how far gone Sara looked, to what she was going to eat when she got home.
Her thoughts then strayed to her daughter, Lindsey, who was preparing to go on a trip to New York with her class over winter break. She was probably safely in bed and asleep at that moment.
She was in the bed of the truck, helping hold the back board in place, as the bumps, caused by the mud, jarred the board terribly. Exactly one minute after the chaos started, there was a horrible explosion behind them. It lit up the dark sky a glowing, taunting orange.
Barely turning her head, Catherine could see the explosion out of the corner of her eye. What she saw made her blood run cold. Two distinct black shapes were being thrown away from the blast. One was moving in the same direction as the truck, moving faster than the truck dared.
As if in slow motion, she watched the body fly overhead, landing twenty feet in front of the moving truck. Warrick, who was driving, didn't have enough time to stop, or swerve.
The tires hitting the body made Catherine nearly shriek. Her nerves were severely on edge, and that had not helped at all. Her phone started ringing, and she pulled it out. Just as she was about to answer it, the phone let out a horrible high pitched noise, and then went dead.
Nick was staring at her by this point.
"Cath, are you alright?" Nick asked softly.
"Nicky, I think this is what most people call a 'nervous breakdown'," Catherine said, her tone strangely detached. He nodded, looking down at Sara.
They arrived at the hospital less than a half an hour later. There was frenzy as Sara was brought in. All of the CSI tem close to Sara stayed at the hospital in the waiting room.
Gil Grissom sat in a chair, staring off into space. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his arms were rested on the chair. Catherine thought he looked more lost than anything else.
Nick Stokes stood, leaning against a wall, absently flipping through a pamphlet on menopause. His eyes weren't moving, and he was flipping the pages too fast to actually be reading.
Always the odd one, Greg Sanders was talking to a hospital lab worker, about something Catherine was too stressed to understand. She could see in his eyes, though, not his usual playful humour, but a quiet kind of reserved fear.
Even more out of character, Warrick Brown was quietly sitting of to the side, his shoulders drooped and hunched over, he was staring at his hands.
Jim Brass was talking to a doctor and looking part frantic, part professionally calm. In any other situation, Catherine would have found it funny, but now it was a bit annoying.
Catherine Willows herself was pacing the waiting room like a speed walker training for some event. Her strides were long, and her long wet hair hit her face and neck with each step.
Missing from the scene were two boys, whose whereabouts and conditions were unknown. No one knew which one had been hit by the truck. Nor did they know the fate of the other.
There was an uproar by the front door.
"Burn victims!" one doctor called to a resident. "One run over by a car!"
The Crime Scene Investigators jumped up, and most of them rushed forward.
Grissom was the only one with the sense to stop a doctor, and demand details. He used his badge to get the real details.
"About two seconds ago, a boy of about seventeen walked in, carrying another boy. The boy who was conscious has severe burns, on his arms, face, chest, legs, over eighty percent of his body. He has a few broken bones, and an array of other things. The unconscious boy has a broken spine, severe burns, also an array of other things," the doctor explained. Grissom nodded.
"And the boys, can you describe them?" Catherine asked. "Skin color, maybe?"
"The conscious boy was…"
TBC
Yes, my worst cliffhanger ever!
Ah, I can see your faces now. Haha, you're not scaring me. Okay, yes, well, a little. And Lauren, put down that eyebrow. And the torches.
I'll update soon!
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