Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters; they are the property of the creators and producers of CSI.
"Female, 5'7", 32-years-old. Great physical health with a slight back problem," Dr. Robbins explained.
The body of Traci Daniels, a single bullet wound to her right clavicle, shattering the bone upon impact. The body was cold, but it didn't show any signs of a struggle; no bruises or cuts.
"Find anything else?" Catherine questioned.
"She has a beautiful tattoo just above her right gluteus maximus," Dr. Robbins indicated, as he rotated the body to show Catherine.
"Any idea what it is?" Catherine questioned as she stared the pattern on the victim's back.
"I haven't got a clue. But I took a picture and I'll be sure to include it in my report," The coroner concluded, snapping off the latex gloves from his hands.
"Alright, I'll be back to look over the autopsy reports," she concluded, walking out of the cold, and faintly lit room.
On the scene. Residence of Mark Wallis. Las Vegas.
The house was modest; it had the markings of a corporate apartment. The furniture was not new, but was in good condition, the kitchen cabinets where painted an off-white, while the linoleum floors clean. Everything in the room was clean, except for the subtle smell of cigarette smoke that fluttered the air.
The basement, on the other hand was a mess.
Warrick was shocked, a puddle of blood gathered at the bottom of the stairs. The room was cold and silent, the darkness in every corner. A bed was to one side, still relatively warm. As he collected blood samples from the puddle of blood, he cursed himself for not arriving earlier. Knowing that if he had, then this would have been over. He walked around the room, scanning and paying close attention to details, it was only after smelling the overwhelming scent of mothballs did he move to oven the window.
An hour later, Catherine joined Warrick as she briefed him on Traci Daniel's autopsy. Both surveyed the upstairs levels, seeing as they found nothing substantial in the basement. Warrick was in the kitchen, while Catherine searched the bathroom.
Catherine looked in the tub, the sink, and finally the medicine cabinet. 'Always an interesting place to look,' she thought. Inside, she found copious amounts of medication; not just your aspirin or anti-nausea pills, but mainly antidepressants and sleeping pills as well.
"Catherine," Warrick called, standing by the door. Catherine turned and looked up at the tall, sturdy man before her.
"Yeah?"
"Did you see a black truck outside?" He questioned.
"Cause there's tons of service receipts for a truck in the kitchen," he continued waving a piece of paper.
"Services for what?" Catherine questioned, slowly getting up.
"According to this," he paused.
"A built-in hunting trunk," he stated concerned.
"I'll check the garage," she said urgently running past him.
~*~
San Francisco International Airport
San Francisco, CA
The sun began to set as the plane prepared for lift off; Nick and Grissom sat uncomfortably in their seats. The pilot's voice invaded the silence in the cabin, the safety videos came on, and finally they were off to Las Vegas.
It was only hours ago that Nick and Grissom received a call from Warrick, urging them to return home. It had been a long day for everyone, but with new evidence surfacing, they felt that Grissom and Nick were needed in Vegas.
Nick's condition was worsening, his appetite had escaped him, and his eyes told the tale of sleepless nights and nightmares. Grissom's calm expression was haunting, his eyes never divulging any emotions but instead he buried himself in the faxed files he received from Catherine.
Nick sat in his seat, pillow, and blanket in hand. He was tired, but he couldn't think of sleep. The events that have unfolded over the course of the week was overwhelming, Sara, and now Traci. Traci wasn't really Nick's girlfriend, she was just a friend. They had met in a bar one night, Nick had his day off, and well, Traci was a regular. Both chatted, and soon, they had set up a time and place to "date." In fact, he really didn't know much about Traci, only that she was from Texas, that she worked for a radio station in Vegas and that she was just a good listener. Nick was somewhat attracted to the way that Traci knew and restored everything he said, as if reading him. It amazed Nick; it temporarily filled the void of his lack of a relationship with Sara.
He always felt comfortable around Sara, but was somewhat uneasy in her presence. She was overbearingly clever and anti-social, but he always liked being around her. It was to his surprise that he learned of his feelings for Sara. In fact, it was to him, the epitome of how opposites attract. Traci however, was the friend, a confidant. Her death devastated him, 'she's dead because of me,' he thought. He hated himself for what's happened.
'Oh god,' he gasped. 'What's happening?' He questioned himself, it was apparent that his life was crumbling, and he was helpless as to prevent it. He looked glumly into the softened image of the sun, thinking, just letting his mind free.
~*~
Somewhere.
'Oh god, where am I' Sara questioned herself.
She had finally awoken. Feeling the sharp sting on her side. She struggled to shift positions, knowing that she was going to see a large wound on her side.
She was moving, she could feel it.
The heat was horrible, it was unbearable, she was suffocating. Her muscles ached and her wound was just a nightmare. Her head throbbed, but felt some relief when she heard voices conversing outside. She listened intently, it seemed like there were at a checkpoint. Her brain screamed for her to do something, but the dryness of her mouth and the gag had proved a difficult adversary. Instead, she commenced on trying to make any type of noise. She kicked the panel below her feet, she squirmed and punched the around the small container.
On the outside, the men talked.
"What's the problem officer?" Mark questioned.
"Just standard check point, can you please step out of your-" the officer requested authoritatively. But he was stopped by the faint sound coming from the hunting box in the back. He glanced at the back, but saw nobody. Quickly, he moved his hand close to his gun holster.
"Sir, I would like you carefully turn off your engine, and slowly put your hands up in the air," the officer demanded calmly.
]Mark cooperated, slowly, he slowly motioned to turn the engine off. The officer was relieved at the man's cooperation
"Next, please step out of the-" the officer trailed off. A bullet severing his shoulder. The truck's tires burning as it sped away.
"No," Sara exclaimed, but barely a sound was made. She stopped, knowing that there was practically no hope. She instead opted to conserve what energy she had left. It was hours later, after shedding bitter tears that she managed fall asleep, all faith abandoning her.
~*~
The landscape had changed, she was no longer in the darkness, but instead she was in the middle of the desert. She walked, struggling with every step, sand blasting in her face. The bright sun was focused on her, it was noon. Her throat was dry, screaming for a drop of water. The silence, isolation-and finally she heard a voice. It was Mark's, her heart stopped, and she turned to search for his face. She spotted him, driving a black truck, heading straight for her. She was horrified, and in response, her walk turned into wide strides, and into a brisk walk, and finally into a full on run for her life. The pain on her side intensified, her heart in commotion, but she kept on, knowing that he was straight behind her.
~*~
"Sara," Mark growled angrily. He grabbed her face and brought it close to his.
Sara snapped into the present, away from her nightmare in the middle of the desert. But as she looked up, she realized that that nightmare was about to make itself a harsh reality.
"Don't you ever... ever do that... ever," he screamed. The steam in from his mouth was bitter and pungent.
And as much as Sara wanted to spit square on his face, she resisted the temptation, instead she just sat in her spot.
No emotion escaped her; all the emotion she felt built up inside, knowing that she will have another opportunity to get him.
He looked at her, wondering what the little woman was plotting, it made him feel uneasy. He scoffed,
"If you think that Nick or your little friends will find you?" He paused,
"Don't worry, they will, but if you ever do that again, they would have sort through it piece by piece." His eyes fixed on Sara, she felt the need to say something, but didn't, she only focused her anger internally, knowing that she would get the chance to let him have it. 'Patience Sara, patience.' She assured herself.
Several moments passed, and with this, so did the rage in Mark's eyes.
Sara could feel the slow release of her head, his hand withdrawing slowly. He looked at her longingly, she should see the crazed look in his eyes, a look that scared her and at the same time disgusted her. She looked straight at him, holding in the overwhelming need to vomit.
~*~
~*~
She was in the middle of the desert. She walked, struggling with every step, sand blasting in her face. The bright sun was focused on her, it was noon. She looked tired, thirsty and lost. She hears a voice, and suddenly her walk turned into wide strides, then into a brisk walk, and finally into a full on run for her life. She was horrified, the pain expressed in her eyes.
~*~
"Sara!" Nick screamed, awakening from his brief dream. He turned to see if anybody heard, but he saw that everyone was preoccupied with the movie, Minority Report. Grissom himself had a headphone on, listening intently to some music.
Nick was confused, 'what was that?' he asked himself.
*---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------*
A/N – i'm not sure if there's a such this as a built-in hunting trunk, but it's pretty much a locked box to keep anything for hunting or camping.. like a big huge cooler.
i know that the last part was a little cliché and most definitely controlled by "supernatural forces" but we all know that it could happen. anything can happen, it's just not a common occurrence.
i really appreciate all the reviews, and i know that i need a beta reader but i don't really know how to get one, so that's something that i still have to figure out. but for now, i hope that it isn't too difficult to read. and if you find anything mistakes or questions, please review and tell me.
please keep reading and reviewing, the conclusion is looming. i hope that you're enjoying it so far. i really appreciate all the reviews, suggestions and just the general feedback, it's been a real treat. as i say, love it, loathe it, review it! - oceanwave
"Female, 5'7", 32-years-old. Great physical health with a slight back problem," Dr. Robbins explained.
The body of Traci Daniels, a single bullet wound to her right clavicle, shattering the bone upon impact. The body was cold, but it didn't show any signs of a struggle; no bruises or cuts.
"Find anything else?" Catherine questioned.
"She has a beautiful tattoo just above her right gluteus maximus," Dr. Robbins indicated, as he rotated the body to show Catherine.
"Any idea what it is?" Catherine questioned as she stared the pattern on the victim's back.
"I haven't got a clue. But I took a picture and I'll be sure to include it in my report," The coroner concluded, snapping off the latex gloves from his hands.
"Alright, I'll be back to look over the autopsy reports," she concluded, walking out of the cold, and faintly lit room.
On the scene. Residence of Mark Wallis. Las Vegas.
The house was modest; it had the markings of a corporate apartment. The furniture was not new, but was in good condition, the kitchen cabinets where painted an off-white, while the linoleum floors clean. Everything in the room was clean, except for the subtle smell of cigarette smoke that fluttered the air.
The basement, on the other hand was a mess.
Warrick was shocked, a puddle of blood gathered at the bottom of the stairs. The room was cold and silent, the darkness in every corner. A bed was to one side, still relatively warm. As he collected blood samples from the puddle of blood, he cursed himself for not arriving earlier. Knowing that if he had, then this would have been over. He walked around the room, scanning and paying close attention to details, it was only after smelling the overwhelming scent of mothballs did he move to oven the window.
An hour later, Catherine joined Warrick as she briefed him on Traci Daniel's autopsy. Both surveyed the upstairs levels, seeing as they found nothing substantial in the basement. Warrick was in the kitchen, while Catherine searched the bathroom.
Catherine looked in the tub, the sink, and finally the medicine cabinet. 'Always an interesting place to look,' she thought. Inside, she found copious amounts of medication; not just your aspirin or anti-nausea pills, but mainly antidepressants and sleeping pills as well.
"Catherine," Warrick called, standing by the door. Catherine turned and looked up at the tall, sturdy man before her.
"Yeah?"
"Did you see a black truck outside?" He questioned.
"Cause there's tons of service receipts for a truck in the kitchen," he continued waving a piece of paper.
"Services for what?" Catherine questioned, slowly getting up.
"According to this," he paused.
"A built-in hunting trunk," he stated concerned.
"I'll check the garage," she said urgently running past him.
~*~
San Francisco International Airport
San Francisco, CA
The sun began to set as the plane prepared for lift off; Nick and Grissom sat uncomfortably in their seats. The pilot's voice invaded the silence in the cabin, the safety videos came on, and finally they were off to Las Vegas.
It was only hours ago that Nick and Grissom received a call from Warrick, urging them to return home. It had been a long day for everyone, but with new evidence surfacing, they felt that Grissom and Nick were needed in Vegas.
Nick's condition was worsening, his appetite had escaped him, and his eyes told the tale of sleepless nights and nightmares. Grissom's calm expression was haunting, his eyes never divulging any emotions but instead he buried himself in the faxed files he received from Catherine.
Nick sat in his seat, pillow, and blanket in hand. He was tired, but he couldn't think of sleep. The events that have unfolded over the course of the week was overwhelming, Sara, and now Traci. Traci wasn't really Nick's girlfriend, she was just a friend. They had met in a bar one night, Nick had his day off, and well, Traci was a regular. Both chatted, and soon, they had set up a time and place to "date." In fact, he really didn't know much about Traci, only that she was from Texas, that she worked for a radio station in Vegas and that she was just a good listener. Nick was somewhat attracted to the way that Traci knew and restored everything he said, as if reading him. It amazed Nick; it temporarily filled the void of his lack of a relationship with Sara.
He always felt comfortable around Sara, but was somewhat uneasy in her presence. She was overbearingly clever and anti-social, but he always liked being around her. It was to his surprise that he learned of his feelings for Sara. In fact, it was to him, the epitome of how opposites attract. Traci however, was the friend, a confidant. Her death devastated him, 'she's dead because of me,' he thought. He hated himself for what's happened.
'Oh god,' he gasped. 'What's happening?' He questioned himself, it was apparent that his life was crumbling, and he was helpless as to prevent it. He looked glumly into the softened image of the sun, thinking, just letting his mind free.
~*~
Somewhere.
'Oh god, where am I' Sara questioned herself.
She had finally awoken. Feeling the sharp sting on her side. She struggled to shift positions, knowing that she was going to see a large wound on her side.
She was moving, she could feel it.
The heat was horrible, it was unbearable, she was suffocating. Her muscles ached and her wound was just a nightmare. Her head throbbed, but felt some relief when she heard voices conversing outside. She listened intently, it seemed like there were at a checkpoint. Her brain screamed for her to do something, but the dryness of her mouth and the gag had proved a difficult adversary. Instead, she commenced on trying to make any type of noise. She kicked the panel below her feet, she squirmed and punched the around the small container.
On the outside, the men talked.
"What's the problem officer?" Mark questioned.
"Just standard check point, can you please step out of your-" the officer requested authoritatively. But he was stopped by the faint sound coming from the hunting box in the back. He glanced at the back, but saw nobody. Quickly, he moved his hand close to his gun holster.
"Sir, I would like you carefully turn off your engine, and slowly put your hands up in the air," the officer demanded calmly.
]Mark cooperated, slowly, he slowly motioned to turn the engine off. The officer was relieved at the man's cooperation
"Next, please step out of the-" the officer trailed off. A bullet severing his shoulder. The truck's tires burning as it sped away.
"No," Sara exclaimed, but barely a sound was made. She stopped, knowing that there was practically no hope. She instead opted to conserve what energy she had left. It was hours later, after shedding bitter tears that she managed fall asleep, all faith abandoning her.
~*~
The landscape had changed, she was no longer in the darkness, but instead she was in the middle of the desert. She walked, struggling with every step, sand blasting in her face. The bright sun was focused on her, it was noon. Her throat was dry, screaming for a drop of water. The silence, isolation-and finally she heard a voice. It was Mark's, her heart stopped, and she turned to search for his face. She spotted him, driving a black truck, heading straight for her. She was horrified, and in response, her walk turned into wide strides, and into a brisk walk, and finally into a full on run for her life. The pain on her side intensified, her heart in commotion, but she kept on, knowing that he was straight behind her.
~*~
"Sara," Mark growled angrily. He grabbed her face and brought it close to his.
Sara snapped into the present, away from her nightmare in the middle of the desert. But as she looked up, she realized that that nightmare was about to make itself a harsh reality.
"Don't you ever... ever do that... ever," he screamed. The steam in from his mouth was bitter and pungent.
And as much as Sara wanted to spit square on his face, she resisted the temptation, instead she just sat in her spot.
No emotion escaped her; all the emotion she felt built up inside, knowing that she will have another opportunity to get him.
He looked at her, wondering what the little woman was plotting, it made him feel uneasy. He scoffed,
"If you think that Nick or your little friends will find you?" He paused,
"Don't worry, they will, but if you ever do that again, they would have sort through it piece by piece." His eyes fixed on Sara, she felt the need to say something, but didn't, she only focused her anger internally, knowing that she would get the chance to let him have it. 'Patience Sara, patience.' She assured herself.
Several moments passed, and with this, so did the rage in Mark's eyes.
Sara could feel the slow release of her head, his hand withdrawing slowly. He looked at her longingly, she should see the crazed look in his eyes, a look that scared her and at the same time disgusted her. She looked straight at him, holding in the overwhelming need to vomit.
~*~
~*~
She was in the middle of the desert. She walked, struggling with every step, sand blasting in her face. The bright sun was focused on her, it was noon. She looked tired, thirsty and lost. She hears a voice, and suddenly her walk turned into wide strides, then into a brisk walk, and finally into a full on run for her life. She was horrified, the pain expressed in her eyes.
~*~
"Sara!" Nick screamed, awakening from his brief dream. He turned to see if anybody heard, but he saw that everyone was preoccupied with the movie, Minority Report. Grissom himself had a headphone on, listening intently to some music.
Nick was confused, 'what was that?' he asked himself.
*---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------*
A/N – i'm not sure if there's a such this as a built-in hunting trunk, but it's pretty much a locked box to keep anything for hunting or camping.. like a big huge cooler.
i know that the last part was a little cliché and most definitely controlled by "supernatural forces" but we all know that it could happen. anything can happen, it's just not a common occurrence.
i really appreciate all the reviews, and i know that i need a beta reader but i don't really know how to get one, so that's something that i still have to figure out. but for now, i hope that it isn't too difficult to read. and if you find anything mistakes or questions, please review and tell me.
please keep reading and reviewing, the conclusion is looming. i hope that you're enjoying it so far. i really appreciate all the reviews, suggestions and just the general feedback, it's been a real treat. as i say, love it, loathe it, review it! - oceanwave