Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Honestly, I don't know what to say to you guys anymore. You are just all so fabulous and wonderful and supportive that I am at a loss for anything new to say about you. Maybe I will consult a thesaurus so I can find more words to describe your awesomeness. CSI does not belong to me something that depresses me every time I write it. Oh! I think you will be happy to note that I have finally managed to find my way out of the plot grave that I had dug for myself. Hopefully, the story will actually start moving forward, seeing as it has been trapped in some sort of strange, driveling vacuum for the last three chapters. I've got my fingers crossed – have you?
* * *
The ride back to the lab was silent but for the first time in a long time, there was none of that awkward tension in the air. Sara had grown used to the sounds of people not talking to one another. It was the strangest sort of silence because although no noise was made, it spoke volumes about the people encompassed by it. For so many trips in the last three months the sound of silence had been the only accompaniment. But now as Sara, Nick and Grissom drove, there was only a companionable sort of quiet. No words were spoken, but none needed to. There was a calming sense of release. The smoke had cleared and the team was finally ready to become a unit again. For three months they had been working together separately. They were individuals when they should have been a group. It seemed now that the healing process had begun and they could finally move forwards in their lives. Since that awful day in Rachel's kitchen they had all been living in a sort of time warp where they were never able to progress into the future. They had been rooted firmly in the past. Yet today had been a pivotal day for them. It was on this day that the dam finally broke and month's worth of emotions and frustrations had sprung forth. Yes it had been painful, but it had been high time for them to face the demons. Now that they had dealt with them, they could focus all of their energies on this intense and highly personal case.
Catherine was waiting for them when they came in. "How's Greg?"
Grissom answered. "He's fine Cat. He's going to stay overnight, and Brass has placed a guard on him just in case. But we lost out key witness. So please tell me that you have some good news for me".
"Well I have news, but I don't know if it's good." She hated to crush their hopes like that. "I have spent the better part of the day with the handwriting analyst. I have learned more than I ever need to about what a person's handwriting reveals about them."
"So what does out note writer's hand writing reveal about him?" Sara was itching to get the information.
"Well I learned that the person writing the note has a tendency towards organization, they were shy, they are left handed and that they were very, VERY nervous when writing their note"
Nick was impressed. "You can tell all that by the way they write?"
Catherine grinned. "Well I can't, but our analyst sure can. It has to do with the way your letters slant, the size of the letters and the way that you draw your loops and dot the 'I's'. It's fascinating stuff actually; you can tell a lot about a person by the way they –"
"Catherine?" Grissom interrupted. "That is interesting but that information that you gave us doesn't do anything to help us narrow down who wrote it."
Sara spoke up excitedly. "Yes it does! All we need to do is get a sample of Ray Jacobs' writing and compare it to the note!"
"Not necessary." Catherine said. She looked puzzled; she still didn't know the details of what Nick had learned. "Who is Ray Jacobs? Never mind; fill me in later. Anyways, I already got a sample and the analyst confirmed it. I know who wrote the note".
"Well if it wasn't Jacobs' – seeing as you don't know who he is yet –then who was it?" Nick said looking quizzically at Catherine.
"The note was written by Rodney Thorpe – our victim."
* * *
For a moment nobody spoke. And then they all spoke at once.
"What?!" "You're kidding?" "Are you sure?"
Catherine held up her hands. "Whoa! One at a time, please! I am going to explain it to you, if you would all hush up for a second!"
They grew quiet as they looked at her with expectant eyes. She began to tell how she had made this startling discovery.
"The handwriting analyst said that it seemed strange that the writing on the note would be indicative of nervousness, given the confidence that the killer seemed to have displayed at the crime scene. He said that statistically speaking, criminals who perform murders that are so detailed and so well thought out would have written the note beforehand and they would not have been nervous about it. He also said that our killer was unlikely to be shy – as the note indicated – because of the intimate nature of the crime scene. So he asked for the victim's driver's license. He compared the signature and suggested that we obtain a sample of Rodney Thorpe's writing. I went over to Mr. Thorpe's hotel room and searched it. I found a memo in his briefcase and I brought it back here. The analyst said the writing was a dead-on match. It matched right down to the way he crossed his 'T's'. So whoever killed these men had Mr. Thorpe write that note. He knew that if he had the victim write the note, we would trace it back to someone who was already dead."
Grissom shook his head. The killer had thought things through. "Have you contacted Mr. Thorpe's family?"
"Still trying. There's been no answer the last couple of times. Brass said he'll keep trying." Catherine was glad that she wasn't the one who would break the tragic news to the family. Having a loved one die was hard enough. Having them be brutally butchered was quite worse.
"So where do we go from here?" Sara looked at the senior CSI's intently. For once they didn't have an answer. They had exhausted almost every option. The note had been their best chance at finding the killer and now it was useless. Any physical evidence that they had recovered had either yielded nothing or had yet to be processed. They had reached a dead end, at least for the time being. While they were trying to figure out their next move, Nick filled Catherine in on what he and Greg had learned that evening. He told her about Ray Jacobs' and about losing Father Manilla. He looked tired as he spoke. This case was getting increasingly frustrating. They needed a break. They were about to get just that.
* * *
The ringing of the cell phone interrupted any conversation. A quick check determined Nick's phone to be the culprit. He flipped it open and answered. The team obviously couldn't hear whoever was on the other end, but judging by the fact that Nick's eyes were now as big as saucer's, they had to be telling him something good. He managed to mumble a good bye and turn the phone off. He was staring at it with a look of complete shock on his face. His team mates were looking anxiously at him. He looked up and tried to focus his tired mind into forming something that resembled a coherent sentence. He had to make this good. This was likely going to be the defining moment in their case.
"That was Brass". Oh, good start Nicky he grumbled to himself. Way to open the biggest conversation we may ever have in the dullest way possible. He tried to be a little more theatrical as he continued.
"He finally contacted Thorpe's wife. He managed to learn why Thorpe was out here visiting" He was practically shaking with excitement. Grissom glared at him.
"Nick, you are starting to act exactly the way Greg does. Might I remind you that being dramatic tends to annoy me? Please tell me there is a point and that you are going to get to it soon."
Nick didn't even flinch. When he told Grissom what he knew, his boss would forget his annoyance in a heartbeat. He continued.
"Rodney Thorpe was out here visiting an old friend. An old friend by the name of Father Martin Manilla".
* * *
For the second time in ten minutes the room exploded as everyone began to speak at once. When no one would listen to Nick asking them to be quiet, Catherine finally got fed up and put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Grissom and Sara stopped yelling theories at one another and looked at her.
"Thank you. Now, Nicky, did you have something you wanted to add?"
He smiled at her. "Thank you Catherine; I do have something to add. Brass also told me that he was able to get a warrant for Ray Jacobs' arrest. The judge apparently thinks that Jacobs owes us at least some sort of explanation for what the priest said. Brass is bringing him in now."
Grissom looked relieved. "Thank God. Now maybe we can finally get some answers about what happened in the desert last night." He would have said more but Nick suddenly looked like he had had the idea of the century.
"What is it Nick?"
"I think I know where Father Manilla might be! It just occurred to me, just this second. Do you mind if I go check? I mean, I feel sort of responsible. He did take off on me. He probably didn't trust me to protect him – can't say I blame him; my head was in the clouds at the hospital. But now I can reassure him that he'll be safe. He's probably really scared for his safety right now."
Grissom thought momentarily. He didn't need everyone there when they questioned Jacobs. And finding the priest would take a load off everyone's mind. Plus, they needed his statement anyways. "Sure Nick. Take Sara with you. Just bring him back here when you find him, ok? Brass is going to need his statement".
Nick agreed and together he and Sara left the lab. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. It made perfect sense to him now. There was only one possible place that a priest could go to in their times of trouble.
"Where are we going?" Sara looked at him.
He simply replied: "To church".
* * *
CSI Headquarters – Interview Room #3
Grissom entered the interview room with Catherine at his side. He sat across from Ray Jacobs, the man who was their prime suspect in the brutal murders of two people. He would be the first to admonish that you can't judge a book by its cover, but even he would admit that Jacobs didn't fit the profile of a murderer. The man in front of him was an imposing six foot-three with shaggy blond hair that hung down to the collar of his dusty denim jacket. His eyes were green and they carried a sense of quiet dignity. His face was weathered by the sun and right now wore an expression of utter calm. He looked like a man who had nothing to hide. But looks can be deceiving. Grissom led off the line of questioning.
"Mr. Jacobs, am I to understand that you are waiving your right to counsel?"
"Yes sir, I am" His voice was deep and gravelly.
"Very well. Are you aware that at any time you may request the presence of a lawyer?"
Jacobs nodded. "I am aware of that as well sir. But it won't be necessary. I will tell you all you want to know".
Catherine and Grissom exchanged looks. Catherine spoke. "Are you aware that two people were found brutally murdered in the desert early this morning?"
"Yes ma'am I am. I saw it on the news this afternoon. It's a crying shame."
She smiled a hard smile. "Yes it is. Tell me, do you know why Father Manilla would say that you had gone out to an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere? Do you know why he would say that you hid buckets of sheep's blood there?"
Ray shook his head, almost sadly. "No ma'am. I don't know why he would say that. I wasn't anywhere near that church of his. I haven't been there in some time now."
"But you admit to being there before?" Brass interjected.
"Yes sir. I went out there quite some time ago to check up on it for Father Manilla. But I've never been back there."
"Did you happen to see anyone the last time you were out at-" Brass consulted a file "-Christ the King?"
"Yes sir, there was a woman there."
Grissom's heart leapt into his throat. This is it, he told himself. "Do remember the name of the woman you met that day?"
"Oh yes sir, I could never forget her. Her name was Rachel Hubert".
Grissom slumped back in his chair.
* * *
CSI Headquarters – Main Lobby
Warrick was racing towards the lab. He had finally gotten an ID on the second body. It had taken nearly all day, due first to poor photos taken at the scene, and then later due to a backup in the dental records. But he had finally identified the second victim. He asked where Catherine and Grissom were, and was told they were interviewing a suspect. He decided to interrupt. This was important. Grissom would understand.
* * *
Holy Order of the Cross Church
A couple of wrong turns later, Nick had pulled up alongside Holy Order the Cross. He was sure that they would find Father Manilla inside. Little did he know that something else would be awaiting him.
* * *
Somewhere…
It was oppressive here. How long must this go on? The evil was growing impatient. It needed to do this – NOW. It was time. The blood shed was not over. In fact, it was just about to begin.
* * *
CSI Headquarters – Interview Room # 3
"What was your relationship to Ms. Hubert?" Grissom tried to keep his voice calm. He felt Catherine clutch his hand under the table.
With a sigh, Ray Jacobs began to recount his relationship with one Rachel Hubert. His eyes got a distant look in them as he traveled back in time, to the place where he had first met the woman who would later dub herself the "New Messiah…..
She had been sitting in front of a grave with her head in her hands. She had been sobbing to herself but had looked up when Ray approached. Her eyes were so sad that he couldn't help but go and talk to her.
"Miss? Are you alright?"
She had wiped her eyes absently. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. I don't know why I keep coming here; it brings me neither answers nor closure. But I just feel like I owe it to him, you know?"
He had sat down beside her. "Owe it to who?"
"My brother Cory" she gestured towards the grave. "He died almost ten years ago, but it feels like it was yesterday. I named my son after him; do you want to see a photo?" She brightened momentarily as she showed Ray the picture of her son. He smiled.
"He looks like a great kid."
"He is. Just like his uncle was…." She began to sob again.
"Miss? Do you mind if I ask what happened to your brother?" He handed her a handkerchief.
She gratefully accepted it and blew her nose. "My brother was a very good man. He was full of dreams and wild ideas. I used to tease him about those big plans of his, but secretly I wished I could be more like him. He was going to do great things you know." Her voice grew hard and her eyes grew dark as she continued. "But life had other plans. This world can be so cruel sometimes. My brother was corrupted by it. It took his dreams and crushed them. He was subjected to one failure after another. Every time he managed to get back on his feet, this world would knock him right back down. In the end, the world, and all that is wrong with it, is what finally took him away from me."
"What happened?" He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her brother. To be on the receiving end of constant disappointment must be devastating.
"He killed himself. He took Daddy's gun and took his own life. He left me a note saying that he couldn't stand to live anymore in a world that was so cold and uncaring. He said that the evil was greater than him. The day he died was the same day I lost my life. He was all I had. And now I have nothing!" A fresh wave of sobs swept over her. Ray had stroked her hair and tried to reassure her.
"Shhh. Don't say that. You have your son. He needs you. Your brother wouldn't want you to be so unhappy"
She had smiled. "Thank you. You know, you are the first person I have been able to really talk to in a long time"…
Ray looked at his audience as he retold his story. All three of them looked completely engrossed in his story. He continued without any prodding.
"After that, I went out to visit her at her home a couple of times a week. She often talked about how the evil was the stronger force, and how the dreamers would always be run down by the world. At first I was intrigued by what she had to say. We were both just a couple of lost souls. A couple of fallen angels. I didn't think too much of it. I thought that she made some interesting points, even if they were a bit dark."
"Did she ever make reference to the 'New Messiah'?" Brass asked quietly.
"Yes sir. It was an inside joke. I used to tell her that she sounded like she was going to revamp the world's religion and she would jokingly call herself the New Messiah. I had no idea that she was serious."
Catherine spoke. "When did you know she was serious?"
Ray scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well ma'am, I would say that it was around the time that she started to refer to her children as dreamers. She was insistent that they not have grand thoughts because they would end up like her brother. She said that it was too late for them ad that she was going to deprive the world of what it wanted more than anything. She was starting to get fanatical and she would get this look in her eyes when I talked to her. It was all getting to be too much for me and I cut off my relationship with her. Not long after I heard that she had murdered her children."
"How did that make you feel?" Grissom looked intently at Ray.
"Horrified. Shocked. Sad. You name it, I felt it. I had no idea that she had that kind of capacity for evil. I never thought that she would ever do something like that. If I had had any idea of what she was thinking, I would have tried to stop her. In fact, not a day goes by that I don't blame myself for the deaths of those two little boys."
Catherine touched his hand without even thinking. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known." She caught Grissom's gaze and withdrew her hand as though she'd been burned.
It was Brass who spoke next. "So have you spoken to her since her arrest?"
Ray shook his head. "No sir. I haven't spoken to her in many months. After she was arrested I started going to Church again. I was troubled but I found my salvation by returning to God. It's never too late to make amends. Father Manilla taught me that. He was my biggest supporter and a very close friend. This is why I can't understand why he would point the finger at me. But I swear to you that I had nothing to do with the murders."
Grissom was just about to ask for an alibi when he saw Warrick waving furiously at him through the door. He looked antsy. He must have identified the second body. Grissom quickly excused himself and stepped outside.
"What is it Warrick?"
"I just got the ID back on the second body. It's bad Grissom."
"Who was it?"
"A priest. A Father Martin Manilla".
And the world stopped.
* * *
The evil was growing impatient. It didn't know how much longer it could survive in here. It was stifling. The evil was on fire because it was in the one place that evil is never supposed to be. But evil doesn't play by the rules. The evil had turned to the one place that no one ever thought that it would go. As the good approached, the evil readied itself. Its weapon of choice may have changed, but its intent was the same: Destroy the good.
* * *
Holy Order of the Cross Church
"Father Manilla?" Nick called out as he and Sara entered. "Are you here?"
The response came from inside the actual Church. "I'm here. Come on in."
Nick and Sara entered the sanctity of the Church. They found Father Manilla standing near the altar. He looked very calm. He also looked very glad to see them.
"Father! I was so worried!" Nick exclaimed as they walked closer. He introduced Sara and asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "Why on earth did you leave? We've been looking all over for you!"
Father Manilla smiled slightly as he pushed his black hair off of his pale face. "I'm sorry if I worried you. But I just got scared. All I could think was that Ray might come after me, so I ran".
Sara cut in. "Didn't you think that this would be the first place he'd look?"
His brown eyes flashed briefly. "I didn't even think of that. I guess I am pretty lucky, huh?" There was something different about his eyes. They weren't the same muddy brown. Now they seemed much darker, much more intense.
He had seen that look before. But where?
* * *
CSI Headquarters – Interview Room # 3
Grissom grabbed Warrick by both arms and asked him to repeat the name. Warrick did, oblivious to the implications that this had for the case. Without another word Grissom flung open the door and burst back into the room.
"Mr. Jacobs? Did you lend your truck to anyone yesterday?"
"Yes sir I did. That's what I have been waiting to tell you folks. One of the parishioners asked if he could borrow my car so that he could take care of some business."
Oh God. Oh God. They had it all wrong. Grissom took a deep breath and asked the most important question.
"Mr. Jacobs, can you please tell me the name, and give me a brief description of the man you lent your truck to?"
"Sure. The man's name is Joseph Parnell. He's about six feet, mid forties I guess, black hair – but he's starting to lose it I must say - , let's see brown eyes…" He trailed off as he saw the look on Grissom's face. It was matched by the one on Jim Brass' face. Grissom was already drawing his cell phone as Brass nodded, confirming Grissom's worst fears. He dialed and prayed as he waited for his answer.
* * *
Holy Order of the Cross Church
Nick felt very cold. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew Sara felt it too. The ringing of his cell phone halted any further thoughts. He answered.
"Stokes."
"Nick, thank God. Where are you?"
"I'm at Holy Order of the Cross Church." He turned away from the altar and walked a few feet away. "It's Father Manilla's parish. But he's here, don't…"
"Is he with you right now?"
"Yes, Grissom, what-" that was all he managed before he heard the click from behind him. He turned around, with the cell phone still in his hand. Grissom was on the other end of the line, frantically calling his name. And then-
BANG!
A scream followed.
Then the sound of silence.