I don't own Grissom. I wish I did, but my genie's out of order.
Grissom stood inside the House of Angels Church, cocking his head at the long, hallow hallway. This should be interesting. Questioning religious leaders was always tricky business for him.
However, this organization was the kind of place only found in Vegas. People of every religion gathered here to give children a good Xmas. The way the non-Christians looked at it, even if Jesus wasn't the Messiah, he was a perfectly nice guy. Nice enough for his birthday to have a holiday, just like Martin Luther King Jr.
There was something irksomely religious about Xmas, though.
The man Grissom was to speak to was a rabbi named Philip Evans. As most Godly men, he somehow sensed Grissom's atheism, and like most rabbis respected him in spite of it. Christians and Muslims weren't quite as encompassing as Jews.
The conversation was very polite, to a point.
"Mister Evans," Grissom began after the standard introduction and handshake. "When was the last time you saw Meg Deed?"
His eyes flickered to the left just before he answered, a sign of honesty. "Just after seven pm on the nineteenth." His expression darkened. "Tragic business."
Grissom grunted in agreement. "Did she seem at all upset?"
"No." There was no precautionary glance. "Everything was fine. She'd just picked up a clothing donation and was in high spirits."
Grissom flipped open a notebook and clicked his pen. "Where was the pickup?"
Evans gave the address which he quickly wrote down. "Does she have a locker or desk here?"
The rabbi shook his had. "You might try her sister's house. She stayed there when she and her husband were bickering."
Grissom raised a brow but wordlessly took the address. Then the politeness wore off and the personal space was invaded. "Don't worry," said Evans kindly. "Her suffering is over. She's happy now."
Grissom forced a smile and succeeded in not rolling his eyes. "That's a nice way to think."
Evans shrugged. He sensed a mountain of good in this man, but the universe is as you perceive it. It's better if not pictured as a cold, empty hole. "Faith is the belief in what can't be proven—yet."
Grissom turned to leave. "I prefer what's already proven right in front of me."
The rabbi grinned sagely. "Open your eyes and you'll find nothing is proven on this side of the grave."
Without warning an intense light filled his eyes as a warm breeze fanned the flames of a hundred candles at the feet of an angel statue. Grissom blinked and turned his head against the brightness, and his eyes slowly adjusted.
The angel hadn't caught his attention when he'd arrived, but it hadn't been lit yet. An open window let in the warm Nevada evening air, feeding the little white candles into a substantial light and heat source.
He turned to warn the rabbi of the fire hazard, but found he was alone. An uneasy sensation rested itself around his stomach, the kind that made him want to run and investigate at the same time. He stared at the winged lady for a long moment.
He felt something. Just felt it.
The awareness that he was being watched edged over his body, mind, and—that's it. He reminded himself. Body and mind. Clay house and mortal resident. He shook himself.
Nerves, surely. Gil suppressed a shudder and strode out. He just needed to get home to his books. How could there be something in charge of all the chaos of existence? Impossible.
As he stepped over the threshold and into the open, the feeling lingered. Almost saying, If you need me, I'll be right here. And then it was gone.
Shaking slightly he pulled out his keys and fumbled to unlock his door. He hesitated a moment, staring at the church.
Christmas.
How could countless people—so many smarter than he—fall for such a sham? He felt the presence all around him, but not touching him again. Not again overpowering his senses. Whenever you're ready, Gil.
He looked skyward. The lights of Vegas didn't block out the stars tonight. For the first time in a long, long while, he spoke to the air.
"If--" he began, feeling foolish. "And that's a big 'If'... If you're there..." he looked around to see if anyone was watching. "Give me a sign," he said so quickly and quietly he could deny saying anything if someone asked.
Having the kind of mind he had, Grissom said "sign" meaning a fax or a message on the Goodyear Blimp or a bewinged humanoid dropping from the sky and saying "Yeah, we're here." Slightly different methods are employed.
As his piercing eyes ran over the parking lot, a perfect white dove landed lightly on his car. He turned at the soft sound of small wings and raised an eyebrow.
"Albino Zenaidúra macroúra carolinésis. What a treat." He waved his hands. The bird didn't move. Grissom glowered at her. "You shit on my car, you join the Endangered Species list."
The dove cocked her head and took wing, rather dejectedly. Back to business. One last time, Grissom checked the area for a sign from this God character. Nothing.
Relieved, he hopped into his car, kicked the engine on and headed for home. Where a perfect white feather waited on his doorstep.
Merry Christmas!