Disclaimer: As much as I would love to be the one responsible for creating
the wonderful characters of CSI, it's just not so. I don't own them, I
think the only ones who truly own them are the actors we all love that
bring them to life. I don't profit from them for writing my stories, but I
certainly hope you enjoy them.
Author's Note: I have several thank yous to make for this particular story. First of all, I want to thank anyone and everyone who has ever served in our military or police force. You have my utmost respect and gratitude for the job you do on a daily basis, putting your lives on the line to defend our liberty and freedom. Thank you.
To Brianna, thanks for reading all of the chapters and giving me your input. It is greatly appreciated.
To all my readers. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my stories. I hope you enjoy them and welcome your reviews.
A special thank you to George Eads and Jorja Fox. Without them playing the roles of Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle, CSI just wouldn't be the same.
This story is written from Sara's point of view.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was definitely one of the strangest cases I'd worked on since I moved to Vegas. Of course, strange cases seemed to be the order of the day, or rather night as it were since I work the night shift. In some twisted way, I'd like to say that nothing surprises me anymore, but at my age, I think that would make me far too jaded, and besides, like I said, this is Vegas and surprises are always around the corner.
It started out like most shifts lately. I arrived an hour or so early to try and catch up on a little paperwork; did my best to avoid Grissom, which seemed to be much easier after he'd turned down my dinner invitation shortly after the lab explosion several months ago; and then got myself a cup of coffee as assignments were handed out. More often than not, I got to either work solo or I got to work with Nick. For whatever reason, we both seemed to be on Grissom's list, and he always seemed to make sure he worked with Catherine or Warrick or both. That was fine with me. I'm a damn fine CSI and so is Nick, and besides, he's a hell of a lot more fun to work with than Grissom has been lately.
Anyway, shift had been rather slow for the most part and towards three in the morning, Nick and I got sent out to a home a bit removed from the suburbs to investigate a suspicious death. As we pulled up the driveway of this ranch-styled rambler in the middle of a generous acre which appeared to be dotted with dead or nearly dead vegetation, I noticed that there was a department issued dark colored Taurus in front of the house. Sergeant O'Reilly was already there waiting for us and I hoped somewhere in the back of my mind that this wouldn't take very long because I wanted to get home and go to sleep. I'd already pulled three double shifts that week by the time Nick and I got the call and I was tired.
The moment we walked into the house, I looked at Nick. He had turned to look at me and without saying a word, we both knew that we would be pulling a double shift.
At first glance, we could tell that this was the home of a World War II veteran; more specifically, a Pearl Harbor survivor. That's why the call coming on this day of all days was eerily strange. The date was Sunday, December 7, 2003, the 62nd anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
I looked at O'Reilly.
"Mr. Williams called 911 to report a medical emergency related to his granddaughter, by the time paramedics arrived, he was deceased. They believe he had a heart attack." O'Reilly explained.
Nick glanced at me and then pressed O'Reilly for a little more information. "If he just had a heart attack, why did you call us?"
"The emergency he reported involved his granddaughter, a Chelsea Smith. We found a woman that we believe is the woman in question in the back bedroom." The detective gave Nick and I a long stare. "Be prepared, this is ugly."
We followed O'Reilly, who grimaced as he entered the back bedroom of the small house. As much as I've seen ugly things in my career as a CSI, nothing could have quite prepared me for this site.
An obviously pregnant woman in her mid-thirties lay on her side on the floor. She was fully clothed, yet it was obvious that she had some sort of chemical burn over a major portion of her body, and there was a chemical odor in the air as a liquid pooled on the floor around the victim. Nick and I immediately pulled O'Reilly out of the room.
"We're going to need hazmat gear to process this room." Nick began explaining to O'Reilly as I pulled out my cell phone and called Grissom to let him know we might need a little more manpower than Nick or I could offer. I shifted into professional mode as we moved outside to wait for the rest of the crew. If I allowed myself an ounce of feeling for the victim, I knew I would lose it. Something I had been doing more often than not lately.
Within the hour, the entire CSI night shift crew was at the rambler. We photographed the body and then Doc Robbins removed the body and we began to collect evidence and photograph the rest of the scene wearing respirators and hazmat suits. Nick and I worked the back bedroom while Catherine and Warrick worked the living room where Mr. Williams was found. Grissom began working the scene as only Grissom can. He wandered from room to room, taking in minute details as he took notes. Each of us brought something different to this job and when you put all those pieces together, it became a well oiled machine that was the reason we were the number two crime lab in the country.
After we had processed the entire house, we made our way back to the lab to begin processing the evidence we had collected.
Grissom finally sent us all home at noon, knowing that we'd all be back in early picking up where we left off. I was fairly certain that when we all returned, he would still be there, wearing the same clothes he'd been in when we left.
When I got home, I was so exhausted that I didn't even bother to undress. I simply crawled onto my bed and pulled the comforter over me, falling asleep almost immediately.
Author's Note: I have several thank yous to make for this particular story. First of all, I want to thank anyone and everyone who has ever served in our military or police force. You have my utmost respect and gratitude for the job you do on a daily basis, putting your lives on the line to defend our liberty and freedom. Thank you.
To Brianna, thanks for reading all of the chapters and giving me your input. It is greatly appreciated.
To all my readers. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my stories. I hope you enjoy them and welcome your reviews.
A special thank you to George Eads and Jorja Fox. Without them playing the roles of Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle, CSI just wouldn't be the same.
This story is written from Sara's point of view.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was definitely one of the strangest cases I'd worked on since I moved to Vegas. Of course, strange cases seemed to be the order of the day, or rather night as it were since I work the night shift. In some twisted way, I'd like to say that nothing surprises me anymore, but at my age, I think that would make me far too jaded, and besides, like I said, this is Vegas and surprises are always around the corner.
It started out like most shifts lately. I arrived an hour or so early to try and catch up on a little paperwork; did my best to avoid Grissom, which seemed to be much easier after he'd turned down my dinner invitation shortly after the lab explosion several months ago; and then got myself a cup of coffee as assignments were handed out. More often than not, I got to either work solo or I got to work with Nick. For whatever reason, we both seemed to be on Grissom's list, and he always seemed to make sure he worked with Catherine or Warrick or both. That was fine with me. I'm a damn fine CSI and so is Nick, and besides, he's a hell of a lot more fun to work with than Grissom has been lately.
Anyway, shift had been rather slow for the most part and towards three in the morning, Nick and I got sent out to a home a bit removed from the suburbs to investigate a suspicious death. As we pulled up the driveway of this ranch-styled rambler in the middle of a generous acre which appeared to be dotted with dead or nearly dead vegetation, I noticed that there was a department issued dark colored Taurus in front of the house. Sergeant O'Reilly was already there waiting for us and I hoped somewhere in the back of my mind that this wouldn't take very long because I wanted to get home and go to sleep. I'd already pulled three double shifts that week by the time Nick and I got the call and I was tired.
The moment we walked into the house, I looked at Nick. He had turned to look at me and without saying a word, we both knew that we would be pulling a double shift.
At first glance, we could tell that this was the home of a World War II veteran; more specifically, a Pearl Harbor survivor. That's why the call coming on this day of all days was eerily strange. The date was Sunday, December 7, 2003, the 62nd anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
I looked at O'Reilly.
"Mr. Williams called 911 to report a medical emergency related to his granddaughter, by the time paramedics arrived, he was deceased. They believe he had a heart attack." O'Reilly explained.
Nick glanced at me and then pressed O'Reilly for a little more information. "If he just had a heart attack, why did you call us?"
"The emergency he reported involved his granddaughter, a Chelsea Smith. We found a woman that we believe is the woman in question in the back bedroom." The detective gave Nick and I a long stare. "Be prepared, this is ugly."
We followed O'Reilly, who grimaced as he entered the back bedroom of the small house. As much as I've seen ugly things in my career as a CSI, nothing could have quite prepared me for this site.
An obviously pregnant woman in her mid-thirties lay on her side on the floor. She was fully clothed, yet it was obvious that she had some sort of chemical burn over a major portion of her body, and there was a chemical odor in the air as a liquid pooled on the floor around the victim. Nick and I immediately pulled O'Reilly out of the room.
"We're going to need hazmat gear to process this room." Nick began explaining to O'Reilly as I pulled out my cell phone and called Grissom to let him know we might need a little more manpower than Nick or I could offer. I shifted into professional mode as we moved outside to wait for the rest of the crew. If I allowed myself an ounce of feeling for the victim, I knew I would lose it. Something I had been doing more often than not lately.
Within the hour, the entire CSI night shift crew was at the rambler. We photographed the body and then Doc Robbins removed the body and we began to collect evidence and photograph the rest of the scene wearing respirators and hazmat suits. Nick and I worked the back bedroom while Catherine and Warrick worked the living room where Mr. Williams was found. Grissom began working the scene as only Grissom can. He wandered from room to room, taking in minute details as he took notes. Each of us brought something different to this job and when you put all those pieces together, it became a well oiled machine that was the reason we were the number two crime lab in the country.
After we had processed the entire house, we made our way back to the lab to begin processing the evidence we had collected.
Grissom finally sent us all home at noon, knowing that we'd all be back in early picking up where we left off. I was fairly certain that when we all returned, he would still be there, wearing the same clothes he'd been in when we left.
When I got home, I was so exhausted that I didn't even bother to undress. I simply crawled onto my bed and pulled the comforter over me, falling asleep almost immediately.