To Die in Las Vegas

Nick Stokes and I made our way slowly to the Break Room. The dizziness and shock had not passed; I still found it hard to believe someone was out to get me. It's got to be just a joke, I thought to myself, and then I remembered the faces of the CSIs. They had been worried. And anything that got a CSI worried, well...

"Is it just me or does everyone seem to be overreacting?" I said to Nick on the way. He shrugged.

"Death-threats aren't taken lightly around here," he said darkly. I was silent as he led me into the Break Room. "Tea?" he asked me, moving towards the bench. I shook my head. I didn't think I could keep anything down at the moment.

I flopped onto the couch like a freshly-caught fish. Who was this psycho sending those letters? I wondered. Catherine said it was probably someone in the Lab. But who? Hundreds of people must work here. And hundreds more would have access...police officers, coroners, medical examiners...So many people. But who would be unhinged enough to threaten my life?

Nick sat down next to me a moment later with a cup of coffee. "You okay?" he asked, his dark eyes concerned as he looked over at me.

I sighed. "Not really. I guess before now...things didn't seem very real. It only takes someone threatening your life to make everything seem extremely real," I added sourly.

"It happens more than you'd think...but usually we can track the letters. Most of the time they're from people we've helped put away, or their angry families. I wouldn't be surprised if it was someone from the Lab, whoever it is knows enough to cover their tracks." Nick sipped his coffee, frowning.

"What about the nail lacquer remover?" I said. "They slipped up." We were talking like...friends. Like he wasn't seeing some girl on the side. I wondered how he could act so nonchalant. I'd ask him about it, as soon as an opportunity arose.

"Maybe it was planned, put there to throw us off balance," said Nick. "Seriously though, how far can you get with nail polish remover?" His voice was derisive.

"Yeah. Guess it was stupid of me to think it'd help track down this mental ward escapee." I looked away. Nick reached out and took my hand. Surprised, I looked at him. What about his other girl?

"Hey," he said gently. "It's not your fault. You did everything you could where the evidence was concerned. Not many people can say that."

I smiled slightly, uneasily, but my heart wasn't really in it. I exhaled heavily and tilted my head back to rest on the couch. The slightest feeling of doubt was niggling at my heart. Maybe he wasn't seeing another girl...

But no. Nick was a ladies' man. And I'd heard him say 'I love you' to his other girlfriend. Other? I'm not his girlfriend, I insisted to myself, glancing down. Nick's hand was still resting on mine, but I didn't mind too much. "I can't believe this is happening," I said, and I wasn't talking just about the letters.

"Yeah, well, working here does come with its share of trouble," Nick said. "Just gotta take the good with the bad, I guess." He turned my hand over and traced his fingers along my palm. I shivered.

"You cold?" he asked, his eyes twinkling at me. I grinned.

"Nope. Kinda warm, actually." Lame. Oh so lame. He's not even interested any more! He's got another girl! I thought, groaning inwardly.

He didn't laugh. Instead he clutched my hand tightly as if it was going to fall off. "Sadie," he said. "I'm really sorry about all this."

"Why?" I said. Was he apologizing for cheating on me? Christ, Sadie, you're preempting. We weren't even together. Not properly. "It's not your fault." Yes it is, you bastard! Jerking me around like that, making me think you were interested!

He shrugged and sighed. "Yes, it is. I mean...if we hadn't....if you and I weren't..."

I hesitated. Okay, now was time to find out if all my suspicions were true.

"Together?" I offered tentatively. He nodded, slowly. "Are we together, Nick? I mean...after that time you came to my house...it's like I haven't existed. Not in that little bubble that you call your life, anyway. I've barely seen you this whole week."

Nick looked embarrassed. "Actually...one of my sisters came to town," he said. "I've been taking a lot of time off to spend time with her. That's why I haven't been in touch."

So that was who he was saying "I love you" to on the phone! It had to be. I felt an enormous sense of relief as I rushed to accept this probability, even though I had pretty much forced myself to try to forget about Nick since then. "Oh."

"Plus you've been working days," he pointed out gently, looking at me. "I'm on Graveyard."

"Yeah," I said guiltily. I didn't like the transition to working days; it had taken too long to get used to working nights. Now my sleep pattern was completely out the window, as evidenced by the dark circles under my eyes that took three inches of makeup to cover. "Departmental shuffling. Gotta love it."

"I do still want to have dinner with you," Nick said, changing the subject. I looked away. "My sister's going back this weekend, and I still have some time off. So if you wanted to-"

A loud cough sounded behind us. Nick broke off. I sighed heavily. He was about to ask me out, damnit! I thought angrily, looking down at my feet. I heard Nick speak to the owner of the cough.

"Hey, Mandy."

It was Mandy Webster, one of the fingerprint technicians. She was dark-haired and often looked quite miserable; we hadn't exactly made friends. Still, I knew her, being a lowly tech myself. "Hi," I said. The look she shot me was pure venom. It was so full of hatred I almost jumped back. Nick didn't seem to notice, he just turned back to drinking his coffee. He did not take my hand again, though.

Mandy addressed me slowly, the look of hatred gone. I wondered if I'd imagined it. "Grissom sent me," she said. "I'm to be your babysitter, I guess." She smiled. I smiled back, tentatively, wondering why Grissom had decided to send Mandy after me. Who knew why Grissom did anything, anyway? I decided to go with it.

"Okay. Is there anything I can do? I mean, I'm gonna go crazy just sitting here, and Nick isn't helping." I grinned slightly as Nick elbowed me in the ribs.

"Actually, yes," said Mandy. "There's some clothing in the Drying Room. It's part of Warrick and Sara's case – a recent shooting. I guess you could help me sort it out."

"I thought you were the print tech, Mandy," said Nick teasingly, raising his eyebrows over his coffee cup at her. She hesitated, but then smiled.

"Well, with the whole stalker business, Warrick and Sara are all tied up, so..." She trailed off.

"Right." Nick grinned. I looked at him.

"You going to be all right on your own?" I said. "Or do you want to come with?"

"Nah, I'll stay here," said Nick. "I'm like Warrick, the Drying Room gives me the creeps. I'll meet you back here in, say, an hour?" He glanced at his watch.

"Sure." I got up. Nick grabbed my sleeve before I went and looked up at me.

"Hey. Be careful. You never know where this psycho might be hiding."

I nodded. He let go of me and I joined Mandy as she strode from the Break Room. We walked in silence to the Drying Room – like I'd said, Mandy and I? Not the greatest of friends. We were colleagues, though, and the silence (or so I'd like to think) was that of contemporaries working together.

We entered the medium-sized space that served as the repository for victim and suspect's clothing, nicknamed the Drying Room. Racks and racks of clothing filled it, desks too, with a couple of microscopes for examining fibres. A computer used for bloodspatter analysis and other goodies was set up in the corner.

Mandy led me through the racks into the very back of the room. "So, where's this clothing you were talking about?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Here somewhere," Mandy murmured, crossing to an evidence box stacked in the corner and opening it up.

I found myself watching Mandy carefully as she rummaged through the box. I found myself thinking about fingerprints. A couple of partials had been found on the envelopes the letters were sent in, right? I looked at Mandy's nails as she picked up the box and put it on a nearby desk. Her nails were painted black.

I'd gone through a 'Goth' stage in high school. Every week I would paint my fingernails black. Black nail polish tends to chip very easily, though, so every Friday I would get out the nail lacquer remover and re-paint my nails.

Oh my God. It can't be Mandy, can it?

"Um, Mandy," I said nervously. "I just remembered. I have this...thing, and I have to go. Do you think you could handle this on your own?"

"No," said Mandy, and from the box she pulled out a .38 caliber gun, and pointed it at me.

My thoughts whirled into the chasm of hysteria. It's Mandy, she's going to kill me, she's been stalking Nick and now she's going to kill me! I thought frantically, backing away and bumping into a rack of clothes. I was probably tainting the evidence but I didn't care. The barrel of a gun was staring me in the face and my blood felt as if it had turned to liquid nitrogen.

"Mandy, what are you doing?" I said, laughing nervously as I held up my hands. "I thought we were sorting clothes, not examining guns."

"The only piece of this gun you're going to be examining is the bullet when I put it between your eyes, slut," Mandy snarled. The look of hatred I thought I'd glimpsed back in the Break Room had returned. I had no doubt that Mandy loathed me with every fibre of my being. I just wondered why.

"Why?" I echoed my thoughts, trying to keep my voice steady. Panic was rising within me – we were both out of sight, hidden behind racks of clothing, so no passing staff member would see and come to my rescue. I was alone. Totally alone and defenceless...

"You stole Nick from me!" Mandy spat. I blinked. "He was MINE, my man, MINE! And you took him. You, with your diplomas and your lab coat and that deceptively innocent look on your face. I saw through it, though. I saw through your transparent personality! I knew what you were up to. And now I'm going to put a stop to it." Mandy pulled the hammer of the gun, and I heard the loud 'click' as a bullet was loaded into the chamber. I felt cold sweat sliding down the back of my neck. There was no way I could dive out of the path of the bullet in time.

"Mandy, Nick and I-" I began, but she cut me off.

"You shut up, bitch!" she almost screamed. "I was always just the fingerprint tech," she continued in a calmer voice. I noticed her hands were shaking. Maybe if I could just leap forward...but no, her finger was on the trigger, ready to squeeze it. I was doomed. I don't want to die, I thought frantically. Keep her talking, keep her talking...got to keep her talking... "Running prints all day. That's all I've ever done. But you...you got everything. You got to work in DNA, in Trace, in QD...you got Nick..." Her voice trembled.

"You can have Nick," I almost sobbed. All rational thought was gone from me now, and all I could feel within was the burning desire to survive. I didn't want this crazy woman to kill me! Not now. I had too much of my life ahead of me. I didn't want to end up on Doc Robbins' autopsy table. "You can have him!"

"Oh, can I?" Mandy's eyes gleamed manically. "I'll keep that in mind after I kill you." She aimed the gun.

"No!" I screamed and charged forward. I knew she was going to shoot me, but if I had anything to do with it, she wasn't going to do it while I just stood there like a statue.

She was so shocked by my action that she didn't have time to pull the trigger. I crashed into her, bringing her to the ground. The gun skittered away, out of her grasp.

I tried to pin the writhing woman beneath me, but she raked her long black fingernails across my face. I cried out as pain seared three lines on my cheek, falling back a little. Mandy crawled out from underneath me, reaching for the gun, which had fallen underneath one of the clothing racks. I grabbed at her clothes, her hair, anything to keep her from getting at that gun. Snarling, Mandy turned back to me, smacking me so hard in the mouth my lip bled.

"Bitch!" she screamed. "I'll kill you!"

I punched her in the face, so hard my knuckles hurt. Mandy cried out, hair flying, eyes wild, and lashed out at me. She kicked me in the gut and I doubled over, winded and wheezing. She got up and staggered away, fingers grasping for the gun.

"Stop right there!" a strong voice rang out. I was still hunched on the ground, gasping, blood dripping from my lip and the cuts on my cheek, but I recognized the voice. It was Homicide Detective Jim Brass.

I'd met him once, on my first day at the Vegas Crime Lab. Grissom had been showing me the interrogation rooms when we ran into a short, balding man in a suit with a face that slightly resembled a bloodhound's. "Call me any time you need help, okay? Just as long as it's legal," he'd said to me, smiling.

Well, I sure as hell needed help now.

Mandy froze for a moment. I took the opportunity to look around – Jim Brass, flanked by Grissom, Catherine and a couple of police officers, stood at the edge of the row of racks. They all had their guns drawn, and Brass had his pistol levelled at Mandy.

Slowly, she got up, gun in hand. "Put the gun down, Mandy," said Grissom from behind Brass. "You don't need to do this."

"Oh yes I do," said Mandy. As if in slow motion, she turned towards me, raising the gun. I threw an arm over my face, as if that would stop the impending bullet. I heard Brass, Grissom and Catherine yelling, and then a fourth voice joined the cacophony. A gunshot rang out through the room, drowning the voices, so loud and close it deafened me. I waited for darkness to descend upon me, but I felt nothing. No pain. No bullet.

I was still alive.

Slowly, I lowered my arm. I saw Nick Stokes, prostrate on the ground, a struggling Mandy held on her stomach beneath him. The gun had again been thrown out of reach.

"Why didn't you just tell me, Mandy?" Nick was saying. "You should have told me! You didn't have to do this!"

"You never noticed me," Mandy said in a hollow, defeated voice. Tears were streaming down her face, onto the cold floor. "You never did."

"Oh, Mandy," said Nick, sounding tearful himself. I was still too winded to stand or speak, so I just crouched on the ground, letting the scene play itself out. "This is not dandy."

The police officers that had been flanking Brass stepped forward. Nick relinquished his grip on the stricken tech, and the officers grabbed Mandy by the arms, hauling her up. They handcuffed her and lead her from the room, sobbing all the way.

I managed to get myself into a sitting position with my back against the wall. There was blood all down my neck and the front of my shirt and lab coat. My face and lungs felt like they were on fire, but I was alive. Nick walked to me and crouched, taking my shoulders into his hands and looking in my eyes.

"You okay?"

I nodded, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Nick pulled me close into a tight hug that took my breath away – literally. Still, I held onto him for dear life, letting the tears flow. Everything had gotten on top of me, it seemed, and I was finally given an excuse to let go and just cry.

Getting a gun pointed at you was a damn fine excuse for crying, too.

"Don't worry," Nick whispered into my hair. I realized I was getting my blood all over his shirt, but I didn't think he'd mind. I didn't either – it was one of his disgusting shirts, a horrible paisley monstrosity. "It's over."

I sobbed into his shoulder like a little baby. And for once, I didn't feel ashamed of myself.

"It's over."

It's over.