Chapter 6
Darien burst into Sara's bedroom, immediately looking at the window to see if the intruder had already gotten away. To his surprise, the window was shut tight.
Sara was sitting up in bed, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her face was so white it looked like a beacon in the dark. Her black hair was mussed up from sleep and she was sweating bullets. She looked at Darien and said, "I'm sorry..."
Darien sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand. "You okay?"
She shook her head slowly. Quietly, she murmured, "I heard Kaye Shelton's screams..."
Darien frowned. "Who?"
She simply shook her head, not wanting to explain it out loud. A few months ago, a couple of hikers had found a dead woman in the hills, wrapped in a blanket. She was dead from a gunshot wound to the temple and had been for several days. The coroner revealed that she had been subjected to many years of abuse at the hands of her husband. Sara had nearly ripped the guy a new one, but had been held back by Grissom. Even when it looked like the husband would get off, Grissom had put in the extra hours to make sure he was arrested for the crime.
Now... it was all coming back to her.
Darien seemed to understand and pulled her close to him, giving her a tight hug. She finally pulled away and scooted to the side of the bed. Darien took her hint and laid down next to her. She embraced him again, resting her head on his shoulder. Quietly, she began to explain. "My mom... was hit by my dad a lot. Every night, it seemed. I would hear them at night and try to sleep through it, but... you can't sleep through that." She squeezed her eyes closed. "Eventually, he killed her. I... I was in the next room."
Darien stroked her hair softly, listening.
"Every time... every time we get a case about spousal abuse I can hear him hitting her... hear him calling for another beer..."
Darien squeezed her tighter and whispered, "Just go to sleep, Sara. It'll all be okay."
---
Hobbes shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to cover his feet with the blanket Claire had pulled off the bed for him. He glanced at her, comfortable and fast asleep on the soft mattress, her head supported by TWO pillows... and he was stuck in the Barcalounger from Hell.
He grumbled and shifted again, trying to find a sweet spot. What he found instead was a spring in a very inconvenient spot. He yelped, then looked over at Claire. She was still snoozing. Finally, he threw the blanket off and stood, tip-toeing across the room. He carefully peeled the blankets back, keeping an eye on Claire for her response. She showed no signs of waking.
Carefully, he slid into the bed and pulled the covers up over him. He was asleep before he could congratulate himself on a job well done.
---
The lock snapped easily. Cross decided that the crowbar had barely been necessary; he could've snapped it with his bare hands.
He opened the door, stepping inside the barely lit hallway and inhaling the stale stench that rose from the tile. He had never been in a morgue before; he hoped to never be in another one after this night.
He walked carefully, purposefully, down the hallway until he found the door he was searching for. MORGUE. He pushed the door open, surprised to find it unlocked. A desk lamp provided the sole illumination. If Cross had been thinking clearly, he would have realized this was NOT a room that was closed for the night.
He searched the drawers, all of which were marked with masking tape. He finally spotted "CROSS, SHANNON. BEATEN SEVERELY."
He opened the drawer, sliding it out. The shape under the blankets was malformed, the result of losing a head. He touched the sheet, his fingers trembling. "Ah, God... What did I do?"
Wrapping his wife tightly in the blanket, he lifted her off of the slab. He cradled her in his arms and turned... to see two men standing in the doorway. The taller one, wearing glasses, said, "Who are... You!"
Cross rushed forward, slamming into the bespectacled man and knocking him to the floor. Cross managed to regain his footing and ran towards the door he'd broken in through.
He burst into the arid Las Vegas night, holding his wife like a precious treasure. He looked both ways, as if he were lost, then ran straight ahead.
---
Inside the crime lab, Grissom pulled himself up. He grabbed the coroner, Dr. Robbins, and said, "Call Brass. Tell him Cross was here and he abducted his wife's body. Then get me Warrick and Sara."
Robbins asked, "Where are you going?"
Grissom was already halfway to the door. "After Cross!"
---
Sara jumped at the ringing phone, surprised to find a warm body snuggled against her in the bed. For a moment, she was afraid she had made yet another drunken mistake, but it slowly returned to her what had happened the night before.
She kissed Darien on the cheek, laying her head down on his chest and trying to fall back to sleep. Unfortunately, the phone wasn't so forgiving.
She picked it up and mumbled, "Hello?"
"This is Dr. Robbins... the coroner?"
"Uh-huh... yeah, what is it?" She checked the clock. Five a.m. She and Darien had been asleep only an hour and a half.
"Cross was here. He took his wife's body. Grissom ran after him, but I don't think he'll have much luck."
Sara was sitting straight up in bed now. "Cross was in the morgue? How?"
"I'm not sure. The guy's a psychopath."
Sara sighed and said, "Okay. I'll be there as soon as possible."
As she hung up, she noticed Darien was awake and looking at her with guilty eyes. "There, uh... there's something I should probably tell you."
---
Claire woke, running her hands over the chest of someone who was sharing her bed. She mumbled in her half-awake state and curled up against the man's side. He had an arm wrapped around her, holding her against him.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at his face.
"BOBBY!"
Hobbes woke at her shout, shocked out of his slumber. Claire sat straight up, trying to cover herself with the blanket. "What are you DOING in my BED?!"
"Our bed, Keepy... It's registered to both of us, remember?"
She tried to gather more of the blanket, wrapping herself up in it. "That does NOT explain why you are in MY bed! We agreed you'd have the chair and I would..."
"Have you tried to sleep in that chair? It's like..."
"...have the bed! How dare you sneak into bed with me..."
"...sleeping on rocks! I swear that..."
"...First Darien breaks into my house, now you sneak into my bed..."
"...I'm gonna have to get a chiropractor when we get home..."
"...Do I have any privacy at ALL!"
They both stopped talking at once, causing the room to drop into an uncomfortable and odd silence. Claire tucked a strand behind her ear, looking down at the blankets. "I'm sorry, Bobby."
"No, I, uh... I shouldn't have gotten in bed with you. I shoulda just stuck it out..."
"...no, don't be silly. If your back hurts, your back hurts. Besides, it's not like we DID anything..."
"Right, right, we just cuddled a little."
"Right."
Silence again. This time, Bobby broke it. "Maybe we should go downstairs."
"Yes! Downstairs."
Neither moved. Hobbes said, "I'll cover my eyes so you can get dressed."
---
Dawn broke in Las Vegas, bringing with it nearly unbearable heat. AJ Cross sat in the closed movie theater, the blanket-covered corpse of his wife seated next to him. He nervously tapped his foot, thinking over his plans. He had so many plans, so many plots... So many people trying to pull him in so many directions.
He had spent the better part of the morning pondering the ancient Chinese Apothecary. After several hours of thought, he finally concluded that the old man was a figment of his imagination and didn't deserve being listened to.
Before breaking into the theater, he had managed to shatter the window of a pawn shop and get away with a gun and three bullets. It would be enough, he figured. He didn't plan on needing much ammo.
The gun was now in the waistband of his pants, the ammo loaded. He was thinking clearly for the first time in almost a week, but he still didn't feel like himself. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the pawn shop mirror. His eyes were silver. The very thought sent chills down his spine. He tapped his foot on the floor and made a decision.
He had lost control, killed his wife. He had gone mental and killed the man in the bathroom for his CLOTHES. He had tried to attack the girl in the stairwell - planned on raping her - but had been interrupted by someone that his clouded mind didn't even let him see.
He had come to a conclusion; he was possessed by the Devil. When he had been a boy, his mother had forced him to go to church every week. As he had sat in the uncomfortable chair, wearing his uncomfortable little suit, in the unbearably hot foyer, listening to the preacher as he rambled on about Jesus, God, the Holy Trinity and the battle with Satan for our very souls.
Now, all these years later, he had forgotten the lessons learned in Sunday school. He had gone astray and become a product of the secular world. He had gone away from God and the Church and the Devil had taken ahold of him.
And now there was only one thing to do. Quietly, he gathered his wife and headed to the exit door he'd forced open several hours ago. Today was going to be a big day.
---
Gil looked up as the four people filed into the room. He recognized Darien and Hobbes from the day before, but the woman bringing up the rear with Sara was a stranger. Hobbes said, "Oh, uh... Claire Keeply, Gil Grissom."
They shook hands. Gil got right to the point. "Cross has plans. Big plans, I'm assuming. Here's a trail of his crimes. After he left here, he took his dearly departed wife to a pawn shop. The owner reported only one gun was missing; a .45 pistol and ammo to go with it. Then a theater owner reported a busted lock on a side door. He didn't find anyone inside, but did say that one of the theaters smelled like a dead body."
Sara asked, "Any clue where he... where THEY'RE headed next?"
"None. Warrick and Catherine are checking out the hotel where the couple originally stayed. Nick has an eye on the airport."
Sara shrugged. "So? Where does that leave us?"
Before Grissom could respond, the phone rang. He tensed as he answered. "Hello?"
---
Cross sat on the edge of the roof, looking down over the city. The cell phone trembled in his hand as he spoke. "Good morning. I saw you on the news."
His wife lay next to him, staying quiet. AJ made a mental joke that it was the first time he could stand to be alone with her in all the years they'd been married. "I'm going to kill myself, Mr. Grissom; throw myself off of Caesar's Palace. You have fifteen minutes to get here to witness the end of my miserable life."
He disconnected and hurled the phone over the side, watching the phone as it arched towards the pavement. When it hit the ground and shattered, a smile spread across his face. In ten minutes, he would follow... only his splatter would be all over the news.
---
He was a teacher back home. He coached little league baseball most summers. He taught math to a bunch of seventh graders at Harrison High School. People called him Mr. C. Four years ago, when his job had been put in jeopardy due to budget cutbacks, a bunch of students formed a petition and single-handedly saved his job. He had thrown a pizza party for them a week later using his own money. He had never felt so loved.
His marriage to Shannon had been, on the surface, perfection. They had their problems; hell, everyone had problems. But it was nothing they couldn't hide beneath phony smiles and fake kisses in public. To his neighbors, AJ Cross was the most upstanding citizen in America.
He could see the papers now: VEGAS CORRUPTS LOCAL NICE GUY. How would the newspapers even BEGIN to tell this story? How could a beloved teacher beat his wife to death, kill a stranger in cold blood, run from the police and end up hurling himself off of a casino? He could already see the school being closed in honor of him. He could see the students crying on the news. He could see the heartbroken principal (Mr. Vedeo) faking sympathy to the camera.
Cross fingered the .45 that he was cradling in his lap. Three bullets. If luck held out, he would only need one.
He heard the door open behind him and people step out. "Mr. Cross?"
He didn't recognize the voice; it wasn't the man from the news. He half-turned his head. "Who're you?"
"My name is Darien Fawkes. I'm a federal agent."
"Who gives a shit?" He turned back around, looking down onto the throng of people gathered below. He smiled. "Human beings... we have the nerve to call each other civilized... but when one of us threatens to jump off a high structure... they turn out in droves to see the blood, to hear the splatter. I'm sick of it."
"Step back from the edge, Mr. Cross."
"Stop calling me Mr. Cross. My name is AJ... no... Arthur. No one ever calls me Arthur. And I don't want to come down... at least, not that way." He placed the barrel of the gun against his temple.
"Cro... Arthur, don't do it. We can help you."
Arthur shook his head. "You can't help me." His face was covered with tears, the silver in his eyes reflecting in the trails. "I'm actually thinking clearly... I want to do this before I take any more lives."
His heart was pounding. He was down to his last few moments on Earth.
"No, Arthur. No one wants you to die."
Cross sobbed and said, "At least... at least I'll get to see my wife again."
---
Darien never even heard the gunshot that took Arthur Jamison Cross's life. The man simply jerked to the left all of a sudden, his entire body going limp. A second after the slump, he fell forward. The crowd screamed as they realized this wasn't going to be a close call. There would be no save at the last minute.
They had just seen a man die.
Darien collapsed, his entire body numb. "It's my fault," he muttered. "All my fault..."
6 hours later...
Federal agents had taken Cross' body before the CSIs had a chance to poke around for clues. Grissom was simply informed it was a federal matter and would be dealt with as such. The Las Vegas Crime Lab had effectively been shut out of the case. Case closed.
Darien and Sara said good-bye at her apartment over pasta and wine. They both hated to say good-bye, so they left by saying 'see you soon.' Both knew that the chance of seeing each other again was slim, but it kept them from spending the night together...
Cross' body was cremated as soon as federal agents had control of it. No official story was ever released to the public other than 'he simply snapped.'
The night that AJ Cross commited suicide, Darien, Hobbes and Claire boarded a plane back to San Diego. Darien's tattoo had began filling again as soon as AJ was dead. Whatever had taken his madness from him had returned it in death.
Everything was, on the surface, back to normal. But on a deeper level... it would never be the normal again.