When Frank Connor came to, it was a very slow process. The first thing that returned was his hearing. Strange noises were all around him: clicking and beeping and humming. Then came the feel of his own body. Strange, painful and... as if he was hovering in thick layers of cotton.
Frank wanted to open his eyes and couldn't. Simply couldn't!
That was when panic struck him.
And he couldn't scream!
The medical staff sedated him and tied him up to prevent him from hurting himself further. Then they called the CSI to tell them the first witness was conscious again.
An unknown span of time later the door opened once more. Frank heard whispering voices, then a smooth, dark man's voice was addressing him:
"Frank? We are CSIs with the Las Vegas Crime Department. I'm Warrick Brown and with me is Sara Sidle. We would like to ask you some questions about last night, if that's OK?"
"Hi." A dry female voice greeted him curtly.
"Yeah." He rasped. They had removed the tube from his throat but he was still sore from it.
"In addition we would need to take your fingerprints. Sara will do that while we talk, OK?"
"Why?" Frank found this slightly unsettling. In his imagination fingerprints were only taken from suspects.
"We need all prints so we know which ones are those unidentified." Sara explained.
"Hmm."
Frank noticed several sounds. Paper being shifted, something ripping apart and the metallic sounds of boxes being opened, feet moving around.
"What happened at the club last night, Frank?" the man's voice again.
"We went there to have some fun, we're regulars there."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Deirdre and me. We took Billy along because he was so down."
"Can you describe Deirdre?"
"Sure. She's 5'4, brown hair, gray eyes – hey, you would know her, wouldn't you? Is she OK?" Frank's face ached under the thick padded bandages. Why would they ask these questions. And there was no answer.
"Is she OK?" he demanded again, tense and shaking off the hands that were busy taking his fingerprints as he talked.
"We're not sure. What did she wear last night? Do you remember?"
Frank rattled down what he remembered. As if he would not know what Deirdre wore! He adored her!
"Frank, I'm sorry. But Deirdre died last night here in the hospital."
"No! You're lying! She can't be dead! She..." Frank fell silent again. It was all too much and he was numb to the bones. Deirdre dead…
"Do you know if she used those drugs herself?"
"Yeah. She did."
"Did you take them?"
"No!"
"We can make a test to find out, you know that?"
"I ain't takin' no drugs man!" Frank did not know where he found the strength to be angry any more.
"Did she give out some of the stuff to others?"
"Yeah. She gave Billy some, would make him feel better she said. Oh God!" Frank sobbed.
His fingers were being cleaned by now. Gently but thoroughly. The woman's hands were cool and dry.
"Can you describe Billy? Tell us what he wore?"
"I'll try." Frank told them what he could remember. He had never been a too good oberservant and now, after everything was a blur of blood and panic, Frank found it even harder to remember.
"Did it make him feel better?"
"At first. But then... "
"Something went wrong?" Warrick helped.
Frank nodded. It was an ordeal to tell what had happened, as far as he remembered it. The CSIs were patient and gave him all the time he needed to bring out all those pieces of the puzzle.
"Will they sue Billy?" he wanted to see Billy burn for what he had done.
A sigh, a pause, "No. Billy is dead, Frank."
They left him. Left him behind with his agony and anger, tied to a bed, crippled and marred for life. Went on to something else as if he was nothing but another case. What, in fact he was.
Frank wanted to open his eyes and couldn't. Simply couldn't!
That was when panic struck him.
And he couldn't scream!
The medical staff sedated him and tied him up to prevent him from hurting himself further. Then they called the CSI to tell them the first witness was conscious again.
An unknown span of time later the door opened once more. Frank heard whispering voices, then a smooth, dark man's voice was addressing him:
"Frank? We are CSIs with the Las Vegas Crime Department. I'm Warrick Brown and with me is Sara Sidle. We would like to ask you some questions about last night, if that's OK?"
"Hi." A dry female voice greeted him curtly.
"Yeah." He rasped. They had removed the tube from his throat but he was still sore from it.
"In addition we would need to take your fingerprints. Sara will do that while we talk, OK?"
"Why?" Frank found this slightly unsettling. In his imagination fingerprints were only taken from suspects.
"We need all prints so we know which ones are those unidentified." Sara explained.
"Hmm."
Frank noticed several sounds. Paper being shifted, something ripping apart and the metallic sounds of boxes being opened, feet moving around.
"What happened at the club last night, Frank?" the man's voice again.
"We went there to have some fun, we're regulars there."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Deirdre and me. We took Billy along because he was so down."
"Can you describe Deirdre?"
"Sure. She's 5'4, brown hair, gray eyes – hey, you would know her, wouldn't you? Is she OK?" Frank's face ached under the thick padded bandages. Why would they ask these questions. And there was no answer.
"Is she OK?" he demanded again, tense and shaking off the hands that were busy taking his fingerprints as he talked.
"We're not sure. What did she wear last night? Do you remember?"
Frank rattled down what he remembered. As if he would not know what Deirdre wore! He adored her!
"Frank, I'm sorry. But Deirdre died last night here in the hospital."
"No! You're lying! She can't be dead! She..." Frank fell silent again. It was all too much and he was numb to the bones. Deirdre dead…
"Do you know if she used those drugs herself?"
"Yeah. She did."
"Did you take them?"
"No!"
"We can make a test to find out, you know that?"
"I ain't takin' no drugs man!" Frank did not know where he found the strength to be angry any more.
"Did she give out some of the stuff to others?"
"Yeah. She gave Billy some, would make him feel better she said. Oh God!" Frank sobbed.
His fingers were being cleaned by now. Gently but thoroughly. The woman's hands were cool and dry.
"Can you describe Billy? Tell us what he wore?"
"I'll try." Frank told them what he could remember. He had never been a too good oberservant and now, after everything was a blur of blood and panic, Frank found it even harder to remember.
"Did it make him feel better?"
"At first. But then... "
"Something went wrong?" Warrick helped.
Frank nodded. It was an ordeal to tell what had happened, as far as he remembered it. The CSIs were patient and gave him all the time he needed to bring out all those pieces of the puzzle.
"Will they sue Billy?" he wanted to see Billy burn for what he had done.
A sigh, a pause, "No. Billy is dead, Frank."
They left him. Left him behind with his agony and anger, tied to a bed, crippled and marred for life. Went on to something else as if he was nothing but another case. What, in fact he was.