LINE OF FIRE

::Prolouge::

(This is a prolouge, so it's a little short. Sorry! Much, much more to come!)

Sara sat impatiently; toying with her fingers as their massive, black SUV rolled up the rocky road. She glanced around at her partner Greg, whom was new in the field, then at the other cars ahead. Her straight, brown hair sat at her shoulders as her dark brown eyes gazed out the window. Brass was in the passenger's seat, on the phone with someone and Greg simply stared at the car floor. Sara cocked an eyebrow.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I... I guess I just can't stop thinking." He replied, then shook his head. "Do you... Do you remember that day when the lab exploded?" he combed through his spiked hair with his fingers.

"Of course." She answered softly, reliving her past. An image of a younger Sara walking down the hall played through her mind. She wanted to ask Grissom something. Her supervisor moved through the hall, occasionally stopping to check in on evidence being processed, or to talk with some other co-workers about a pending case. Sara patiently traveled in his wake, waiting until he was free to talk. She followed him to his office, where a fellow CSI walked in to ask Grissom a question. The woman then smiled and shook her head hopelessly and gave up. She then continued to walk down the hall, grinning to herself. That's when it happened. A monstrous explosion erupted from the DNA lab, throwing the young woman to the wall.

"How could anyone forget..." she said softly.

"I just keep having nightmares from it. I guess, well... It was scary."

"It was scary for all of us, Greg." Grissom said from the driver's seat. "We're fortunate everyone got out alive."

Sara nodded. The car stopped at an old, seemingly vacant house.

"Okay, here's what's goin' on." Brass uttered as he opened the car door. "Charles Holmes; prime suspect, fled from his apartment home to this...um..." Brass glanced at the decomposing structure. "Anyway, we're to clear the scene, then you guys can take over."

Brass and his team of heavily guarded police officers entered the house. Three officers took the 1st floor, two took the 2nd, and one took the small basement. The house was on slanted land, which means there was an entrance from the back to the basement. The officer slowly descended the stairs, his gun held out in front. Within a second, a black figure crept up behind him and slit his throat with one swift slice. The officer fell to the cement silently, and lay motionless. Upstairs, the officers yelled "Clear!" as there was no one on that floor but themselves. Brass took a count. He approached the basement door and called out, "Johnson!". The killer cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted in a pitch almost identical to his victim.

"Clear!"