Catherine and Jim were standing in the parking lot of Bob Futon's apartment complex. The lead CSI was eager to get things going with the interview. When she had updated Grissom on the situation, the supervisor had insisted that he meet them there. Catherine wasn't thrilled with the idea of his tagging along. They were merely following a big hunch, and there wasn't really a need for the three of them to crowd the suspect. Secretly, she wondered if Gil didn't trust her to handle things after their bumble with Sikes.

It didn't take long before the older CSI drove up; he'd all ready informed her that Warrick was not going to be a part of this interview. Apparently Grissom had sent the brooding man home. Warrick usually handled his emotions well during sensitive cases, but the strong-willed criminalist was very much like his best friend, Nick... stubborn. His anger had no direction once they'd dismissed Sikes as a suspect in Nick's attack. Grissom didn't want things to get mishandled because of hot tempers.

The three of them stood in front of Bob Fulton's door, waiting for him to answer after several knocks. There was noise blaring from a television. The sounds of some action movie could be heard, including rocketing gunfire and explosions.

"Maybe he can't hear us through all that racket," Jim suggested.

Grissom tilted his head and tried to peer through the window. The shades were drawn and he couldn't detect any movement from within. Catherine placed her hands on her hips as she considered their next move... since they were here without a warrant. She looked over when she saw an older man walking towards them.

The elderly man moved slowly, a very angry expression on his face. "You guys friends of Bob's?"

"No, sir. I'm Detective Jim Brass, and these two are Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows with the Vegas crime lab," he explained, flashing his badge.

The man looked unimpressed. "You're the police?"

Jim looked over at the two CSI's, raising an eyebrow in mild annoyance. "Yeah."

"Well, good, it's about time. Sam Perkins, property manger. I've called the cops for hours over all of this damn noise," he complained.

"Do you know if Bob is home, sir?" Grissom asked.

The old man grumbled. "Hell no. He left a while ago, leaving his damn TV on. The volume is causing headaches, and I've got tenants screaming at me to do something 'bout it. I've warned him time and time again about the noise levels, but he never listens." Perkins eyed up the trio. "You guys are with the police. Can you go in there and turn the damn thing off?"

Jim's smile was very shark-like. "We can with your permission."

The crotchety man's eyes lit up. "Hell yeah. Do whatever you want." The man fiddled with his keys and opened the door.

Jim kept his hand on his gun and entered first. "This is Detective Brass with the Las Vegas Police. Anyone home?" Receiving no answer, Jim scanned the living room and proceeded deeper into the apartment. After several minutes he reappeared at the front door. "No one's home. It's all clear."

Catherine and Grissom walked in; the supervisor turned off the TV with a gloved hand. Bob Fulton's place was small. His living room was sparsely furnished, with a couch, a chair, a few book shelves and his television set. Grissom looked around, not really sure what he was searching for.

Catherine wandered into the kitchen. There was a juicer and a blender on one of the counter tops. She glanced around, knowing they really weren't allowed to dig through things, even with the super's permission. Anything they gathered would be thrown out in court. As she fiddled with a few fitness magazines on the kitchen table she heard Jim shout at them.

"You guys might want to check out the second bedroom."

Catherine followed the sound of the Detective's voice and met Grissom in the master bedroom. Fulton used the bigger room for a work out area. There was a weight bench, a treadmill, a boxing bag hung in the corner as well as various small weights and dumbbells. Catherine stood next to Jim who was looking at a writing desk. Laying right in the middle in plain sight were several bags of pills.

Grissom came over, and arched his eyebrow. "Hmmm, wonder what these could be?" he said with a mild note of sarcasm.

Jim opened a few drawers, now having probable cause on his side, and whistled. He started lining up several bottles of antacids, each one containing a decent amount of tablets.

Grissom picked one up and unscrewed the cap. Inside were an ocean of blue pills. "I don't think these will settle an upset stomach."

Catherine looked at him in disbelief. "How much steroids does one guy need?"

Grissom finished placing the bottles on top of the desk, counting a total of four. "Bob Fulton looks like one very good customer." Grissom peered at his partner with the same surprised expression she had.

Catherine took a deep breath and expelled it. "We were totally on the wrong track."

Grissom pulled open the middle drawer as Catherine began scanning the far wall that was plastered with pictures and papers. The supervisor rummaged through the drawer and pulled out a yearbook that was stuffed inside.

He flipped through the front pages of the ragged looking memento. Inside were the usual well wishes. Grissom studied the different pieces of handwriting. He chewed on his lips as he processed this new information.

"Gil, you might want to take a look at this," Catherine called out.

Grissom held out a finger, signaling her to hold on, while he continued absorbing the different scribbled notes inside the book.

"Grissom, this is important," Catherine hissed at him impatiently.

The older criminalist closed the book and walked over with an annoyed look. "What is it, Catherine?"

Grissom took a small flashlight and shined it all over the wall. There were dozens of photos of Michelle Wilson, Roger Sikes, Nancy Brookes, and Blair Olsen as well as other staff members. The pictures ranged in age. Some appeared recent while others looked dated from high school. Large black X's were drawn over some pictures, others were obviously ripped in pieces and then taped back on. Some of the photos had the eyes scratched out.

Grissom scanned the wall, his mouth hanging open slightly. There were articles about the gym, personal profiles about the owners and staff. One article in particle focused on the uniqueness of the employees. The writer concentrated on the "family aspect" of the business. Michelle Wilson had made it a point to hire people from her high school. It was hard to read in some spots. The word LIES was written all over in places.

Catherine looked at her boss and back at Jim, who was reading the wall as well. "Bob Fulton was obsessed with his ex-classmates."

Grissom nodded. "Well, from what I can tell from his yearbook, it would seem that many memories were not all that pleasant."

Seeing her confused expression, Grissom handed over the yearbook. Inside were notes that taunted the geeky man.

"'Thanks for all the laughs, Bob, maybe one day you'll become somebody,'" Catherine read out loud. "'Stop pretending you're something you're not. Go back to you textbooks, geek boy,'" Catherine continued to read some of the hate filled words of a bullied teen. She looked at the supervisor in shock. "Why would he let them write such things?"

The corner of Grissom's mouth twitched. "Maybe he didn't. If you're going to write something hateful to another person, you do it when they're not looking."

Grissom spoke like a man who stung from such an experience. Catherine exhaled a heavy breath. "Only cowards write anonymous crap like this."

"I'm sure Fulton knew who each one of them was that wrote that stuff. All he had to do was close his eyes and hear their voices in his head. We use the same words written or verbal," the supervisor explained.

Catherine flipped through more pages, noting that some of the sports highlights were circled as well. Each time a picture of Roger or Walter appeared, their faces were blacked out. EGOMANIACS was scrawled in large letters. She continued to thumb through until she came upon another note that was circled.

"'Thanks for all of your help during my hard times in math. You're a sweet man, Bob, and I would never had made it this far without you. If you ever need anything don't' hesitate to ask. Truly, Michelle.'" Catherine read the only nice thing written in the book; obviously it had been cherished.

Catherine looked at Grissom, his face reflecting a mixture of sorrow and alarm. "We'd better alert Roger Sikes and Michelle Wilson of this. Who knows who his next target might be," the supervisor warned.

Jim spoke over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room to make a call. "I'll get a warrant for this place. So you guys can start processing it."

"Look at this, Grissom." Catherine found a pair of gloves thrown carelessly aside next to some dirty sweatpants. She picked them up and motioned towards a battered lamp cord. She arched her eyebrow. "This might be the murder weapon, and those gloves might have been what was used to cover his prints."

Jim looked at the duo for a moment. "One thing I don't understand. I've seen this guy," the man chuckled, "he doesn't seem the type to be able to over power and murder two people, let alone take down Nicky."

"Its not about muscles and size, its about rage, Jim. One thats on over charge, almost super human for several mintues depending on themix of drugs." Grissom shrugged.

Catherine stood next to her boss. "The guy's short, but very compact. Did you ever notice the size of his arms? The man's all upper body strength."

Jim didn't comment further, and just contiuned to scan the room

Grissom dug into his kit and brought out his camera. The CSI began taking photos of the wall, still fascinated by the whole thing. Catherine was moving towards her kit when her cell phone beeped. She went to the far corner of the room by the window to answer it.

Grissom was too engrossed with the wall of weird to pay much attention to the one sided conversation. His head whipped around when he heard Catherine raise her voice several octaves in anger.

"What do you mean you and Nick are heading over to Gold's Gym? What the hell is going on, Warrick?" echoed in the room.

Pissed off, she flipped it shut, shaking her head. She looked at her boss. "You are so not gonna to believe this," she seethed, obviously worried.

TBC...


Author's notes: And so it begins :-)

Tanquay:

I heard abou that blizzard. Glad you were able to sit and read it all at once. You did't have to wait like everyone else! Thanks for taking the time to say hello, good to see new faces.

Groban:

We'll see the trouble coming up! Good to hear from you.

amrawind:

Here is another chapter to feed your addiction. Hoped you enjoyed it.

witchsword:

Hmmm, if Nick was a pateint of mine, I don't know if I could keep myself away :-) No matter how grumpy he was. However Greg had to firgure out how to handle the stubborn one, he did good!

csifan:

Thanks again! This chapter was just the begining of the last roller coster ride, expect some action coming up. Hope you can hold on till then.

staresp4cat:

I did enjoy having Catherine ogoling at Nicky myself. How could one not, dripping wet from a shower. Whoo!

rozzy:

Yes indeed, that was a nice peice of scenery. Maybe I'll try some more heat during some other story.

Charli:

Thank you. I guess I'm obsessed. There only a few chapters left, I wouldn't want to drag anything out. I hope the pace was done well, thanks again.

Pietrabob:

WOw! Thank you. I'm happy that the details make everything seem more real. I try to do that since I kind of branch off from the show plotwise.

Designation:

Hehe everyone wants more tension, well your wish is my command. Just wait just a little longer.