11 May 2003

He rushed through the lab. Not bothering with civilities as he pushed away at the bodies in front of him. The people walking beside him. The obstacles before him.

Even though he was only travelling a short distance, he still felt a sense of urgency. Like he couldn't run fast enough. Like he couldn't think hard enough.

Like he just couldn't do enough.

Period.

He rushed around the corner, barely missing Lisa as she moved away from him. Watching his back recede as she stood against the wall.

Not slowing down, he continued to his way through hall. Almost reaching his destination, the room now within sight. Still moving as if he had no time to spare.

Because in reality, Nick knew he didn't.

"Wait."

"Huh?"

"Stop…" Greg was panting harshly. Beads of sweat trickling down his face. Nick could see the sheen on his body, made apparent by the dim lighting in the room.

"Am I…" Nick lifted his head, peering down at Greg's eyelids, the other man's eyes squeezed shut. "Did I – Did I hurt you?" Nick started to move away, but was pulled back by a strong grip on his arm. The hand squeezing it tightly.

"No…" Greg took a deep breath, his chest rising slowing as he struggled to catch his breath. "Just wait a sec...Okay?"

Nick was on his knees, straddling the man underneath him. He leaned down, still supporting his own weight. Elbows now resting on the sheets. Framing Greg's head.

He felt the wetness from his own face. Perspiration trailing from his cheek, landing on Greg's skin. "You sure? We can stop. Try it another time if-."

"No…I." Greg squinted his eyes in pain. Attempting to keep Nick still as the other man tried to move away. "I just wasn't…I wasn't ready, all right."

"Greg. I can't-"

"Nick." Greg pulled the other man down, taking on the Nick's full weight. His legs stretched out. Their bodies flushed together. Nick's face resting on his chest.

"I want to do this."

"Here."

Sara sat up from the couch, catching a paper bag in her hand. "Thanks…Uh, what is it?" She looked at him curiously.

"I brought a sandwich for you."

She opened the brown bag, taking out the sandwich wrapped in plastic. "Is it-"

"You'd thought I forget?" He raised his eyebrows, taking a seat across from her.

"No, Warrick." They shared a quick smile. "Of course you wouldn't forget."

"Of course."

"Thanks, though." She took a bite out of her sandwich, taking a moment to relish in the taste of food. "I haven't gotten anything in my stomach since yesterday." She picked up a cup from the coffee table. "Except this."

"Was is that?" He looked strangely at the clear cup, filled with a purplish liquid.

"Some kind energy drink with fruits and vegetables. Prunes and asparagus. Supposed to keep you awake."

Warrick made a disgusted face at the concoction. "I think I'll pass."

"It was on sale." Sara admitted.

"I can see why." He shook his head, taking a sip from his coffee. "Did you get anything with the Knott guy?"

"Not the typical loner type. He's very social." She made a face as she drank her juice through a straw. "Everybody I've talked to...They've all said he's a nice guy. Does a good job at work. You know, he even volunteers at the CFIL?"

"The homeless shelter? Trying to throw us off or something?"

"I'd hate to say it, Warrick, but he just didn't seem like the type."

"Well, Brass still has him on surveillance. But nothing suspicious. Guy doesn't even have a rap sheet."

"Since he's so willing to cooperate, we can just ask to see his apartment."

"I'd doubt we'd find anything. And if he is…We don't want to tip him off…"

"I guess, but don't you think he'd want that…?" She moved the straw in her cup, watching the residual circular motions in her drink. "Not like we're being subtle or anything."

"Still, we don't have any reason to-"

"Guys." They both turned at Nick's voice, his head peering through the break room. His face reddened as he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "Grissom got the last letter."

"Where have you been all this time?" Catherine leaned against the closed door; thumb nestled in her right pocket.

"Right, here." He pointed his finger to the floor.

"Here in the lab." She looked at Grissom incredulously, disbelief in her voice. "Two days straight?"

Grissom simply tilted his head, giving her no verbal response.

"Why do I even bother to ask?" She pushed off from the wall. Walking towards the table and taking a seat. "We couldn't lift anything from the envelopes."

"I didn't think so."

"Guy probably had gloves on…But it doesn't hurt to try, though, does it?"

"No…Any good hits on the car, yet?"

"Zip and nada. It could just be another thing to throw us off – Like the envelopes. Why do you still think it's a name, anyway? It could be anything." She twisted in her chair. "A place, a phrase, God forbid an anagram…"

"Just…Just trust me on this Catherine." He looked in to her eyes, leaning on the table. "Do you trust me, Catherine?"

"Gil – I…" She released a slow breath. "You know I trust you."

"I just have a feeling, that's all."

"You? Mr. Evidence Freak?"

He only shrugged his shoulders, having nothing more to say about the matter.

"Well, we're still getting hits on anyone registered with an Acura. Any model released in the last three years." She bit her bottom lip. "And trust me, Vegas has a lot of them."

"The cop, Neil, said it was a blue one, right. Like a sports model or something?"

"Yeah…RSX." She turned her head. "Where are you going with this?"

"Has anyone shown Neil a picture of the car Knott has?"

"Yep. Said it looked familiar, but he couldn't remember."

"Where do you usually find those kinds of cars?"

"You think someone in…That doesn't make any sense. It does even fit."

"Our killer's profile doesn't fit, either." He shook his head at her. "Just tell me where you usually find those types of cars."

"On the strip…Like from that case Nick and I did last year. But what makes you think of a street car."

"Neil said the car looked like it would be a showroom, right?"

"Right…"

"So, I want you to narrow your search to people who are in that general area. Whoever goes there often."

"What-"

"Hey…" Catherine and Grissom turned to Nick's voice as he entered the room. Sara and Warrick following closely behind him..

"Sorry we're late." Sara held up her half-eaten sandwich.

"Not important right now. We need to go over these letters. Fast."

"You find something?" Warrick asked. Taking a seat beside Catherine, resting his elbows on the table.

"Yes. And you know you're here because we got another letter this morning."

"We don't have much time left." Nick was trying to keep the unease from his voice.

"No…So we need to do this quickly." Grissom waited for the others to nod in understanding before he continued.

"I've been going backwards with the quatrains. From the most recent to the earliest victims. We already know that he takes quotes and rephrases them. Hiding them in his own form of poetry.

"But what we didn't know is that he's repeating the same message. Four recurring themes: Conceit, simplicity, suffering, and youth. And in that order.

"Now, we're getting something, but how does he choose how long he keeps them." Nick asked.

"The final letter for each victim. In the last letter." Grissom unfolded the paper in his hand. "Listen to this."

Misfortune from him curb

Or serve from thee the stigma

In manner unapologetic

Onto he, the multifaceted youth

"Tell me what you notice." Grissom demanded.

"Nothing much different." Catherine looked at him warily. "Still out there."

"It doesn't rhyme?" Sara asked, curious to her own answer.

Grissom nodded in approval. "That tells us that something about this one's different…Even if he's still quoting Whitehead. Because all the other ones rhymed in some shape or form." He turned his attention to Warrick. "Now, what are the letters at the end of each line?"

"Curb, stigma, unapologetic, and youth." Nick listed the last word from each line.

"B, A, C, H." Warrick looked at Grissom.

"Bach, as in Johann Sebastian Bach?" Sara asked when their supervisor didn't answer. Her brows creasing, wondering what the composer had to do with the quatrains.

"Fourteen…Fourteen and Bach…I get it."

"Nicky?" Catherine turned to him, surprise in her voice.

"He keeps them for fourteen days, not two weeks." He moved in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. "Greg told me about Bach's signature. He believes classical is a part of rock." Nick shook his head. "Anyway, but you know what I'm talking about right? From a musical scale?"

Catherine, Sara, and Warrick wore equally confused expressions on their faces. Prompting Nick to explain further. "See, people think it was a kind of moniker or something. Because he used them so often…Like A is one, B is two, C is three and H is nine."

"And all four put together is fourteen…Grissom." Sara looked at him for confirmation. Almost doubting and unbelieving of something that seemed so arbitrary.

"Some people believe it was in fact a signature of his. The number fourteen encoded in a lot of his music."

"This wasn't on the other quatrains, was it?" Catherine asked.

"Almost the same thing…But only three of the letters in Bach's name were the last quatrain for each of the previous victims. The quatrain about youth."

"Because the vics are all under thirty." Catherine was tapping her pen lightly on the table. Her thoughts running anxiously. "Ages nine to twenty-nine."

"But if he randomly picked his victims, why be so picky about their ages?" Warrick asked.

"I think he just looked for younger people." Sara answered.

"I don't really care how you came up with the themes." Catherine looked to Grissom. "But what do they…I mean, what's the deal with conceit, simplicity, suffering and youth?"

"That's why I had the hunch about searching near the casinos." He looked at the rest of his time, brushing off their puzzled faces. "I'll explain later." Returning his attention to Catherine. "Think about what this guy probably sees on a daily basis."

He held out his hand, listing the themes with his fingers. "The conceit of those who think they can win. The simplicity of the act of gambling. The suffering people willingly put themselves through. And the folly of youth who gamble for greed."

"So what is that, an attack on people in Vegas because we have legal gambling?" Catherine furrowed her brow. The whole idea ridiculous.

"I don't know, but I think that's our best bet, right now."

"A vigilante or something?" Warrick mused aloud.

Grissom shook is head, relaying that he didn't know. "Haven't you been searching for a number Sara? Something to connect all the victims?" She nodded her head at Grissom, confirming his question. "I think he just gave it to us."

"So…The number fourteen?" Sara asked him. "It's like he has some kind of obsession with it."

"Right. Fourteen letters." Warrick added, nodding his head. "He kept the victims for fourteen days."

"And Greg is the fourteenth victim." Nick stated softly. Remembering they had less than three days to find him. This was the last letter. But he assured himself it wasn't going to be the last indication of when Greg was alive.

"The graphology, right?" The team looked to Sara. "That's why he used their handwriting."

"Punishing them or something, I guess." Grissom took off his glasses. "But what else can the number fourteen mean that deals with this guy, specifically?"

Catherine began snapping her fingers, the words on the tip of her tongue. "The standard notice. Two weeks is the standard notice before you leave your job."

"But what does that have to do with anything." Warrick stared at the table, trying to come up with an answer.

"This is our last chance to catch him." Grissom looked at him with his lips pursed, pressed in a flat line.

"Grissom…" Nick was worried by the expression on Grissom's face. Grave and almost reconciled.

"This is his last letter." He held up the paper in his hand. "This is his letter of resignation."

"I get it, we're rushed for time…But how will this help us find Greg?" Catherine turned to Grissom, her voice expectant and eager. Pointing toward the paper in his hand.

"It doesn't. He never wanted us to find the victims." Grissom looked at his team. Sighing at their haggard faces and bloodshot eyes. Not much different from his own appearance. "At least not until the fourteenth day."

Can I say awkward szmex moment? I know Jack Daniel's about szmex. And I'm not afraid to admit it. And Greg may seem a little (forgive me) desperate, but it's just to show that he more than simply liked Nick, and Nick is in the process of realising this. Plus, the flashbacks are actually relevant to Nick's feelings at the time.

Szmex and Mr. Szmanda….Let met stop there. And I apologise for the quatrains, but that was the last one. I promise.

So, I'm almost to chapter twelve (insert joy here), and I seriously think I may get flamed if I put it up. At first I fell in love with it, but now, I'm not so sure. I can say eleven (twelve will be, too) is the last of its kind…And please no rotten tomatoes from the penny seating…which really isn't seating at all. It's just standing right next to the stage…Anyway, yeah, I give thee fair warning for that which lies ahead.

And remember when Greg heard the man humming something from Bach? That was a clue. Oh goodness, I'm bad. Especially with the casino thing...A bit of a stretch there.

So, thank you to those who are bearing with me. And of course, thank you to silverrayne666, HappensToBeMe, and lil'spencefan for reviewing.