CSI: NY

I'm sorry for the very, very, very long wait. Really, I do. I've been extremely busy; can't afford the time to update this. But I've managed to write this chapter up. : D

So as usual, before I start, I'd like to thank chili-peppers, Mac's Girl and xbexyboox for your reviews. I'm glad that you like the previous update. I hope you'll enjoy this as well.

Oh, and I like receiving reviews..

Chapter Ten

Featuring:

Doorframe—Down Under—Strand of Hair—the Unvoiced Thoughts

"So, what happened next?" Stella asked, finding the story all the more intriguing as the moment went by. She somehow felt guilty for being so eager to know. After all, it was obvious Lindsay wasn't so willing to talk about it at the very beginning, and here was Stella, wanting to know more.

"We walked down yet another passageway until a flight of stairs came into sight," Lindsay continued. "The width was as narrow as the last one and the smell was just as bad. If anything, it was worse. Then a flight of stairs came into sight. We ascended each steps, going slower this time, and I felt the need of helping Irina by holding her arm."

Lindsay slid the key into the lock and turned it until she heard the familiar soft click. It was soft, yet it echoed down the empty space behind them.

This time, Irina invited herself to walk through the door first. Picking up the envelope with that same question mark on it, she opened it.

Clue #3:

THE KEY HAS THE LOCK

THE LOCK HAS THE DOOR

BUT WHAT DOES THE DOOR HAVE?

THAT'S YOUR NEXT DESTINATION.

"What?" Lindsay asked.

Refusing to repeat herself, Irina simply handed the clue over as she walked further inside, only to discover that there were many doorways in front of her. Something clicked in her head.

"What does this—" Lindsay was saying and as she stood beside Irina she stopped, the paper in her hand momentarily forgotten. "Of course," she mumbled to herself. "The door has a doorframe."

"Riddle solved," Irina declared, "but how are we supposed to know which one to go through?"

"We'll look for one that is without a door."

"Did you find it?"

"We did," Lindsay nodded. "It wasn't that hard to find.

Stella was about to speak when her cell phone vibrated. She slipped her hand into the front pocket of her jacket and pulled put the vibrating object. She excused herself and walked out of the room. Flipping it open, she pressed it to her ear.

"Bonasera," she greeted.

X

Hawkes directed the flashlight in his hands to the opening of the secret door in the ground. From where he was standing, it looked like an abyss; a bottomless pit, a dark and never-ending journey down to nowhere. For now, the only thing that he could see was Danny's head slowly being swallowed up by the darkness as he made his descent, the rusty metal ladder rattling and creaking under his weight, complaining. He was disturbed by it and feared for his friend's safety; it looked as though it was going to come off of the side of the wall anytime soon.

In a distance, he could hear Mac's voice talking on his cell phone. He heard him saying that Flack was on his way back to the lab with the evidence that they had discovered earlier and he could only assume that it was Stella he was talking to. He wondered if she had gone back to the lab or was still in the hospital with Lindsay.

It only took him a one loud and abrupt thump to get his full attention back at the task at hand. For a moment, he panicked, thinking that the ladder had finally had enough sustaining Danny's weight. The ladder was still attached to the wall; it was only Danny that he couldn't see. Squatting down, he strained his eyes trying to locate his friend, vainly hoping that he could see despite the darkness. He shone the beam of light frantically and then called out to him.

No response. His voice echoed back to him.

"Danny?" he tried again.

Mac appeared next to Hawkes, concern etched upon his face. "Where is he?"

"Not on the ladder," Hawkes returned not glancing up at him, "that's for sure."

The two waited, straining to see and to hear if there was any kind of sound that might confirm Danny was okay. Then suddenly came the coughing and a string of profanities uttered softly in Italian that only Danny would say. Hawkes shook his head, relieved and in disbelief. He clearly had no reason to worry about Danny dying from just falling from a ladder; it was going to take him more than just falling from a rusty, old ladder.

"I'm okay," Danny finally called back, reassuring the two men. He pulled out the flashlight which he had pocketed earlier (and miraculously wasn't damage from the impact of the fall) and shone it in their direction. "I think I've got a—" He stopped abruptly the moment he felt something trickling down the side of his face. He touched it. It felt wet and as he shone the beam of light at his fingers, there was blood on it. Above him, on ground level, he heard a faint chuckle, coming undoubtedly from Hawkes.

"You think?" Hawkes retorted.

Mac, not wanting to get sidetracked, spoke up. "Do you see anything, Danny?"

"Well," he started off, looking around. "There's a door with chains around the handle to my right. Other than that, there's nothing else."

"There's another door?" Hawkes couldn't help but asked, baffled.

"It's locked," Danny shrugged.

"And we've come unprepared," Mac sighed. The other two—one at his feet and the other one down below in the dark—looked at him, waiting for his next order. Hawkes could practically imagine the gears working in his brain, analyzing the situation, just from the serious look on his face. With another sigh, though this time softer, he said, "We'll come back first thing tomorrow, break the chains and see what's beyond that door."

"Or," Hawkes suggested, rising to his feet and dusting himself free of the dust particles of the dirt from his pants, "I can try to pick the lock."

Danny's snort echoed up and reached Hawkes ears. "Can you?"

Hawkes grinned down at him. "I'm not a pro but I can still try."

"Okay," Mac agreed, gesturing Danny to come up. "You don't want to be down there, Danny."

X

Stella walked into the break room, a red plastic file in her hands, containing the DNA result of a strand of hair that she had found on the white blouse which Flack had brought it in for her not too long ago. She wondered where he had gone to after that. They barely spoke when the evidence was being handed over; Flack seemed like he needed to be somewhere else and was running late and Stella was just a little over excited to process the evidence.

When she did so though, she wasn't that happy. She was disappointed. The red stain on the white blouse wasn't even blood at all – something which she hadn't hoped for because she was going nowhere with it but with her close and immaculate scrutinizing, she found a strand of hair. Now that was when she felt her spirit being lifted up. Maybe this piece of evidence would be something that the team could work with to aid in their investigation.

She clamped the file down under her armpit as she opened the refrigerator door and bent down to retrieve a bottle of water. She walked over to a table, placed the file upon it and sat herself down. Uncapping the cap of the bottle, she brought it to her lips and gulped the water down.

She opened the file and read over the result.

X

It was close to evening and Flack figured that since he had to pass by the hospital on his way home, he would drop by and pay Lindsay for a short visit. That was his plan but somehow, he ended up being on Irina's floor, walking towards her room. He found himself hesitating to enter when he saw a man sitting by the bed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

He was going to turn and forget about visiting at all but he was too slow. The man had looked up and their eyes met – green on blue. It was the same kind of green that only Irina had, that he longed to see ever since that day when they found her unconscious.

The man beckoned him over. Flack obliged but before he could say anything, the man asked, "You a friend of hers?"

"Don Flack," he introduced himself, extending his hand out for a friendly handshake. Who the hell is this man?

"Oh, you're the detective," he said, smiling for the first time. "I'm Zachary Callahan, her brother."

The brother, Flack thought, of course.

"Have a seat," Zachary offered the chair that he was sitting on earlier but Flack refused immediately. "It's okay. There's another one for me. Oh, by the way, I don't think she'd want you here if she was conscious," he told him.

Occupying the chair that had been offered to him earlier, he thought to himself: Why am I not surprised?

"It's not that she hates you," he continued, his eyes on his sister. "It's just your name."

Flack looked at him, confused.

What, she hates my name?

He thought back to those first two weeks—almost two weeks if she hadn't gone missing on the fourteenth day on the job—when she came in. He tried being a friend, he was nice to her, tried to buy her lunch but she kept her distance with him, like she didn't like and want his company. She wasn't like that with Danny though – the man who had shamelessly flirted with her.

"Oh, come on," Zachary chuckled. "Don't give me that look." What look had Flack given him? "That pathetic, baffled look," he added. "Don't be ridiculous, all right, Don, may I address you by that name?" Flack nodded. "She doesn't hate your name."

"I know that," Flack lied. With that, he steered the conversation to another direction. "How's she doing, by the way?"

The brother shrugged in return. Wasn't it obvious that there had not been much progress? She was still as unconscious as the first day she got admitted, though she wasn't as pale as the sheet now; she looked much more alive but still, technically dead.

"I'm still waiting for her to open her eyes," he remarked.

Me too, Flack told himself, me too. He could have said it out loud but he didn't want to. He looked at Zachary apologetically as he felt his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Standing up, he said to him, "Excuse me. I have to take this call."

"Go on ahead, Detective."

Once outside, Flack answered the call.

"Hey, Flack," Stella's voice reached his ears. "You remember that strand of hair I found on the white t-shirt?"

"I'm listening," Flack answered.

"Well, listen to this: it's Lilith Crawford's."