A/N: Sorry this took a few days. Also, this story is set in MY time, which means prior to Speed's death.
John Hagen figured he was the luckiest man alive. Dressed in his nicest suit, and with a generous spraying of cheap cologne, he was ready to ooze charm all over his date. He eased his car through the massive iron gate, which closed behind him slowly, and down the drive of the house. Unlike the posh homes around it, it had a Gothic, creepy feel about it, as though it would be more at home in a stormy fog. Hagen smiled. It had to be custom-built.
What a way to rebound.
He adjusted his tie as he rang the doorbell, trying and, obliviously, failing to look seductive and suave. The woman who answered was in a black robe that could have been mistaken for a priest's alb, her waist accentuated by a silk tasseled cord. She smelled of floral and musk. "Come in," she said quietly.
She had soft features and pearly grey eyes that gave her an almost catlike appearance. Her hair reached to her shoulders and was wavy, black, and slightly damp.
"Sorry I'm not ready," she said. Her voice was low and rich for a woman.
"No problem," said Hagen, looking around at the interior of the foyer. It was ornate and Baroque-reminiscent, and it could have put the Paris Opera House to shame. A pair of fine black Pharaoh Hounds were lounging, somewhat out of place, on the lushly carpeted staircase.
"Isis, Osiris," she called to them, "Come and meet John!"
The gorgeous animals responded, rubbing lovingly against the both of them.
"Oh, they like you," she cooed happily, "Tea?"
"Sure," he said, rubbing Osiris behind his jackal ears.
She led him into a room that could have been mistaken for a forest at twilight; cool and dark and almost damp. She motioned him to sit down in a place where, if it had been a normal parlor, a chair would have stood. Instead it was an extra-plush spot of deep green, mosslike carpet. A spot of bare hardwood held an earthy teapot and cups.
"Go on and drink," she urged, "I'll be down in a minute."
He took a sip and screwed up his features. She chuckled. "It's pennyroyal," she chortled, "You'll get used to it."
The CSI unit of the Miami-Dade Police received the call early that morning about a seemingly mummified body, found in an alleyway behind a row of expensive and decadent manors. By 7:15, Erik Delko was snapping pictures diligently, and Alexx was prepping to get a first look at the corpse. Horatio Caine and Tim Speedle pulled up in a CSI Hummer just as the sun was glaring over the top of the home in front of them.
"What happened to you, huh?" Alexx was asking the body as she pulled away the muslin strips that wound his face. After squinting at the slightly shriveled countenance a moment, she gasped. "Horatio," she said, "Come look at this."
Horatio pulled off his sunglasses and craned his neck at the sight. "Hagen?" he asked, bewildered. Alexx nodded. "Well, well, well," he said, "One of our own. In a manner of speaking."
Speed looked down at the distorted, iridescent powder-coated face of the former Detective John Hagen. "Why would anyone in their right mind leave something like this out in the open?" he asked.
"Simple," said Horatio, putting his sunglasses back on, "Either they want to be found...or they're not in their right mind."
Cue theme song