The truck was backing out of the driveway as I reached into my pocket fishing for my keys, but my fingertips brushed up against something else. Puzzled, I wrapped my fingers around it, and as soon as I did, I knew what it was, even before it was in front of my eyes. The ceramic frog that I'd taken from Catherine back at Kelly's house. I must have slipped into my pocket while I was standing there watching her rework my scene. I took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

I flipped on the light and slid out of my jacket as I looked around, taking in the familiar surroundings. Nigel's face flashed through my mind again, and I took a closer look, checking for anything even a millimeter out of place; any sign that someone had been here while I was out. For the better part of a year after Nigel's attack, I would spend hours each morning when I got home searching through every room for anything even slightly out of place.

Satisfied that I was alone, I tossed my jacket onto the couch and headed to the kitchen, my fist clutching around the frog. The blinking light on the answering machine caught my eye, and I changed course to the desk and punched the button before continuing on. My mothers voice filled the air as I pulled a beer from the fridge.

"Hi Son. We haven't heard from you in a few weeks, just wanted to check in with you. Everything ok?" The cold liquid washed over my tongue and the back of my throat, I felt the chill slide down until it hit my empty stomach with a splash. It didn't ease the guilt settling there. "Your dad and I were wondering when your next vacation is, we thought maybe you'd come home to visit this year."

I took a second tug from the bottle and flopped down on the couch, picking up the remote, holding it in my hand, ready for when the message ended. I stared at the frog as I listened. "I'm going over to Stephanie's house tomorrow, baby sit for a few hours. Oh, you should see your nephew; he's got two teeth and learning how to crawl." She paused and I heard the crack in her voice when she spoke again. "We miss you Nicky. Call me tomorrow, please." I heard the click of her hanging up, then a few seconds of silence before the answering machine beeped, its way of telling me there were no other messages. I licked my lips and raised the bottle to them, taking two long swallows. My stomach churned, the beer sloshing around, swimming with the guilt rather than drowning it.

With a deep breath, I turned on the television, flipping though the channels. Images dashed across the screen like some bad 60's movie. I settled on the news. The weather girl was dressed in goulashes and a bright yellow rain jacket, she was finishing up her report, but I gathered that it was supposed to rain. The camera went back to the anchor desk, and an anchorman with Ken doll hair switched his face from amusement at the weather girl's get-up to suddenly serious, and began telling the audience about the days developments in the trail of a cocktail waitress murderer that I knew Warrick would be testifying at in the next few days. The story ended and the blonde female anchor's face filled the screen. "Shocking news from the business district tonight. Media mogul Patterson Tate was found dead in his corporate boardroom. Here's Trisha Arnold with the story." They cut to another blonde reporter, standing across the street from a large office building, she was bundled up in a camel hair coat, one hand holding a microphone, the other on her head, trying to keep her hair from blowing in her face. In the background, I saw the black Tahoe parked amid the police cars, and as I watched, Grissom appeared from behind the truck, it looked like he was headed to the drivers seat. My attention was fully on Grissom as he turned back around toward the tail end of the Tahoe, then Sara and Greg emerged into view. I watched my friends gather at the side of the vehicle and I could just imagine Grissom spurting out orders, things they already knew to do. Sara had her arms wrapped around her chest and bounced on her toes a few times, she looked cold. The group broke up heading in different directions. "Las Vegas Crime Lab Assistant Director Conrad Ecklie spoke with us moments ago," the reporter was saying. I focused my attention back onto the reporter just as Ecklie's face filled the screen.

"Bleck." I made a noise of disgust and changed the channel. A Law and Order rerun, forensic reenactment shows, an E True Hollywood Story about the latest celebrity criminal. I tossed the remote down onto the couch next to me and downed the rest of the beer in long gulps, got myself another, and continued to channel surf, bypassing a home improvement show, the cooking show, not even ESPN had anything worth watching, so I finally settled on a Cary Grant movie.

I had no idea what movie it was, or even the plot, but I watched Cary smoothly work his way into the girls' heart. And her arms. I looked down at the frog again for a moment before I set him carefully down onto the coffee table. The beer was warm in my stomach, the alcohol flowed through my body, and I was once again surrendering to the day's tolls. My eyes grew heavy, and my grip loosened, I felt the bottle slip from my fingers, settling next to my thigh. My neck felt like it was made of jell-o, my head fell back against the couch.

The door squeaked against the frame when she opened it. "Hey." She said even before the door was fully open. Her hair was tussled, and she gave me a small, embarrassed smile as she raked her hands though it, tucking it behind her ears.

"I woke you. I'm sorry." I was a little self-conscious myself, surprised at my own joy of seeing her.

She stepped back, letting me in through the open door. "You could tell that by my lovely pajamas, couldn't you?" She teased and tugged at the sweat pants she was wearing. They, and the sweatshirt she had on concealed her body, buried her curves.

I raked my teeth over my bottom lip as I took in the sight of her and shrugged. "That's what happens when you date an investigator; we notice everything."

Her eyes widened, panic crept into them. "Did we have a date for breakfast?" She spoke quickly, rushing past me toward the bathroom. "I can be ready in just a minute."

"Hey, hey, Kelly." I grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. I shook my head and looked at the floor for a moment, trying to trying to hide a smile and failing. I looked back up to her confused face. "No. We didn't have a breakfast date." I took a deep breath and licked my lips. "I just wanted to see you."

Her face softened, and for a moment, I was terrified that she was about to cry. Her lips twitched into a smile. "Oh" she said softly, tilting her head. "Would you like some coffee?" She was already moving toward the kitchen, I grabbed her arm again.

"No. I don't want any coffee." I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her. She draped one arm around my shoulders, and folded the other next to us, placing her hand on my chest, smiling up at me, and I thought for sure she could feel how fast my heart was beating.

"Oh." She said gently, her lips forming into an inviting arc. Her mouth was slick against mine when I kissed her; she tasted like warm summer berries and red wine. I ran my hand up her back, pulling her shirt away from her skin. She had on a lacey camisole on underneath, it was silky against my palm, and I pulled her in tighter to me.

Bright morning light shined through my living room windows, hitting me in the face, turning the inside of my eyelids a translucent orange. I woke up with a sigh, keeping my eyes closed, fighting to keep the dream with me. I couldn't remember exactly what I'd dreamed, but I did know it left me encased in tender warmth, and I didn't want to leave it. I heard a brass honking noise coming from the television, curiosity made me open my eyes. The Marx Brothers had replaced the long gone Cary Grant movie.

Sitting up with a groan that reminded me of my father, the muscles in my back protested, my spine audibly cracking. I rubbed my neck, still trying to recall the dream even as it slipped away from me.

I fumbled around for the remote and clicked off the tv. I hadn't moved during the night and my beer sat half full, wedged between my thigh and the arm of the sofa. Grabbing it before it did spill, I slid it on the coffee table. The digital clock on the entertainment unit said 6:21 in big red numbers. I still had several hours before I had to get back to work, so I headed down the hall, peeling off my clothes as I went, and crawled into bed, yearning for the dream to return.

The alarm went off at noon; I reached out slapping it into silence. I felt hung over, groggy from to much sleep, no matter how badly I might have needed it. Swinging my feet onto the floor, all I wanted was a hot shower.

The muscles in my back had just started to unwind when I heard my cell phone ringing. With a groan I shut off the water and hopped out, wrapping a towel around me as I followed the trial of clothes down the hall like some erotic version of Hansel and Grettel. My jeans were halfway down the hall. I found the ringing phone still attached to the belt.

"Stokes." I croaked into the phone.

"Hey." I could practically hear Catherine's eyebrows rise. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

"Yeah. Too much. What's up?"

"The parents are here."

For a moment, I thought she meant my parents. "Who's where?"

"The parents. Kelly's parents are in Vegas to claim her body."

I felt chill and numb at the same time. Her parents. My mind brought up the photo I found of them; it felt like an eternity ago.

"Nick? Still there?"

I blinked. "Yeah."

"I'm about ten minutes away from your place. Give you enough time?"

"Yeah. I'll be ready. See you in ten." I was already grabbing the rest of the trial of clothes off the floor and headed to my bedroom.

Twelve minutes later I was standing in my driveway. I didn't have time to shave and I ran my hand over my cheek, the stubble scratchy under my palm. Better avoid Ecklie I thought to myself as the Tahoe pulled into the drive.

"Mornin'." Catherine's smile was bright as I slid into the seat and pulled the seatbelt around me. She handed me a cardboard cup of coffee, the steam seeping out from underneath the lid.

I felt her scrutiny as I thanked her and took the coffee. My stomach sank as I suddenly remembered the pilfered frog; just before walking out the door I'd moved it from the coffee table into my bedroom, where it sat now, on the bedside table, next to the alarm clock. Could she know I'd taken it? Accidental or not, my guilt churned. I sipped the coffee she handed me, and met her gaze. "Hey." I forced my voice to be steady, and smiled my most charming smile.

"You look rested. Expect for this." She ran the back of her fingers lightly over my days growth of beard.

I snorted. "Yeah. Well, that's what happens when the boss calls from ten minutes away."

She slid the gearshift into reverse and began to back down to the street. "Yeah. Well. Try to avoid Ecklie, would ya?"

I drained the last of the coffee as I reached the door that led into the lab and its habit trail like corridors that would take us to the morgue and Kelly's parents. Dropping the cardboard cup into the trashcan with one hand, I held the door open for Catherine with the other. She thanked me and flashed me a smile as she breezed by.

I still haven't adjusted to the lab during the day. Day shift staff, while always recognizable for a nod hello, I probably wouldn't recognize them outside of the lab walls. And I still didn't know most of their names; the anecdotes Sofia would sometimes tell in between sips of coffee were always peppered with my interrupting her with questions of 'which one are they?' And only her answering with a vague description of a former day shift co-worker 'Tall guy, glasses' 'Short blonde hair, wide hips' could tell me which one she was talking about.

We stopped at DNA; I waited in the hall as Catherine checked on the tooth she turned in last night after dropping me off at home. Through the glass wall, I saw the lab tech - what's her name again? – shrug and shake her head, the tooth hadn't been processed yet. As Catherine listened to the explanation, I glanced around me, wondering what it was that made this place feel so different during the day, save for the lack of the people I thought of as my co-workers. I hadn't figured it out yet when Catherine bounded out and gave me a shrug of her own. "With in the hour. She thinks."

The absence of Greg's music boomed throughout the halls, like a consuming void and in the encasing silence, Catherine's heels clicked on the tile floor, throwing echoes up and around us. It's a decidedly female sound, and I focused on it, unconsciously matching my own steps to hers, losing my self in the rhythm.

We turned the final corner before I even realized we were approaching it. The click of Catherine's heels stopped suddenly, replaced by the sound of a grieving mother. Wet gulps of air were quickly followed by shuddering exhales. I recognized her immediately from the photograph in Kelly's house. Her face was inflamed from the effects of her anguish, the bright smile from that celebratory night had been banished. She was sitting on a bench, across from the double doors that lead into the morgue, and her dead daughter. Her back was bent, as if she was physically carrying her emotional load, her hands grasped together in her lap, tearing a tissue into small jagged pieces. Her breathing hitched and became quiet as Doc Robbins bent down and murmured something to her that I couldn't make out.

Next to me, Catherine took a deep silent breath, her shoulders rose and fell, and for just that instant, I could read her mind. There but for the Grace of God. With a glance to me, she began the short journey down the hall, toward Kelly's mother, her heels clicking.

I watched as Catherine slid down onto the bench, trying to offer comfort and gain answers at the same time. I've never felt comfortable being around a grieving family member, and mothers always seemed to hit me the hardest. I glanced at the double doors that Kelly was behind, laid out on a cold metal table. I knew they'd soon be getting her ready, slipping her into one of those black bags, pulling the zipper closed, sealing her away. I needed to see her before that happened.

With Catherine and Robbins focused on Mrs. Knight, I knew this would be my only chance to slip in unnoticed. My heart pounded against my chest, like it was trying to get out. I kept my eye on my supervisor as I took the few steps toward the doors, then pushed the left one open, my palm flat on the door.

I stopped just inside the door, and held my hand out behind me, stopping the motion of the swinging door. The morgue was colder than I could ever remember it being. Kelly was lying on the table; a baby blue synthetic sheet covered her from just under her armpits to her knees. As I took the steps that brought me to her, I wondered if, when reading her fairy tales, she had ever imagined herself Snow White, after the poisoned apple, sleeping until her prince awoke her with a kiss.

I stood above her, staring down at her inert face, almost expecting her eyes to open, for her to smile up at me. Reaching up, I lightly passed my fingers over the hair on the top of her head, my thumb briefly rested on her forehead. I felt vacant.

"She was a pretty girl, wasn't she?" A strained male voice spoke from behind me. I jumped, and turned toward the speaker. "Sorry." Kelly's father approached from the corner of the room. "I didn't mean to startle you." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he shuffled up next to me. "It's a strange feeling." He stared at Kelly's face as he spoke. "When your child … dies. Can't stand to be in the room with her body, and yet" his eyes pooled as he spoke, tears making his eyes glint and sparkle in a way that I imagined they once did out of pride and love for Kelly. "I can't seem to leave her alone either."

I cleared my throat, swallowing the frog that had settled there. "Mr. Knight, I …" he cut me off.

He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. "You a cop?"

"Crime scene investigator." I answered. "Mr. Knight" I began again, wondering, even as the words left my lips, what the hell I was going to say, "We're going to find out who did this to your daughter."

He nodded again, turned and took a step away, our shoulders almost touching. He glanced back, taking one last look at his daughter. With a sigh, he turned away from her and placed a brawny hand on my shoulder, as if giving himself a push. "Yeah" he said as he headed for the door, "she always was a pretty girl."

I waited for Catherine in her office, on the edge of the couch, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

"Hey." She said quietly from the doorway, something in her voice, something that sounded suspiciously like pity, made me wonder how long she'd been standing there, watching me. I lifted my head, blinking to focus my eyes, Catherine perched herself on the front edge of her desk. She looked at me for a moment before wagging the folder in her hands. The air in the office stirred, a slight breeze caressed my face, stinging my already to dry eyes. "DNA report on the tooth." She handed me the folder.

I took it from her, watching her eyes watching me. There was something odd about her stare. "Anything probative?" I didn't open the folder.

"Yeah." She pushed herself back further on to the desk and crossed her legs. "Seven markers in common."

"With who?" I asked tearing open the folder and answering my own question. I looked back up at her, somewhat shocked, but not really surprised.