::An Unexpected Visitor::
The officers stayed in the house, looking around for suspicious weapons of any kind. Brass motioned the three CSI's the "okay" and they began their work.
"We missed him again. He must've known we were coming. Bastard." Brass mumbled to Grissom. They stood in the living room, which was a dust landfill. The chairs and tables were all covered with white sheets, haunted-house style.
"I've got the upstairs. Greg, you'll take the 1st floor. And Sara..." Grissom started.
"I have the basement." She finished for him, winking. The crime scene investigators advanced to their given positions. The floor boards creaked when Grissom walked up. His vast, gray eyes scanned the stairs with each cautious step he took. He then stopped, and spotted a thin blonde hair, barely noticeable. But it was evidence.
Grissom reached into one of his vest pockets and pulled out a pair of tweezers. He carefully picked up the hair and took a closer look. He made a satisfied hum, then obtained a small envelope; dropping the hair into it.
The basement was as damp as a sewer.
Sara turned on her large flashlight and scoured the basement. She could hear the distant dropping of water on the cold cement floor, most likely from a leaky pipe. Cobwebs coated the walls and corners, and the wind outside howled. Sara reached the bottom of the stairs and nearly tripped over something. She dropped her kit and it slid across the floor.
Disgusted, she straightened up, and pointed her flashlight to what she stepped on. A body lay right next to her, his face to the floor. He was nearly decapitated. Sara jumped. It was one of Brass' officers. Shaking a bit, Sara located her walkie-talkie and held it up to her mouth.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A deep voice whispered from the darkness. Alarmed, Sara reached for her gun. It was gone! Only the holster on her belt remained. Sara's eyes widened in fear.
"No... How..?!" she stammered, but wasn't able to finish the sentence. The man fired the gun, and silenced blast lightly echoing on the basement walls. Sara let out a deathly gasp and collapsed to the hard floor.
Greg clicked on his flashlight and glanced around the filthy living room. There were large pillows scattered on all the couches, some large, some small. They had no particular color scheme; it seemed as though someone simply was fond of pillows and liked to collect different shades of cerulean, lime and red regardless if they went with the room of not. Greg lifted one of the eccentric pillows, and a huge cloud of dust filled the room. He backed away and fanned the dust away from his face, coughing. The opening revealed one small, black gun.
"Hey Sara!" Greg called from the basement. There was no response. "Hey, come here when you get the chance, I've recovered a gun." Since Greg was new in the field, he was not permitted to handle gun evidence of any kind. But, he could examine it.
The newbie opened a container of white fingerprint dust and a duster. He lightly rubbed the duster in the powder, then brushed the gun. He twisted the brush in an interesting pattern as it flicked dust on any possible prints. Greg smiled with his finished work. One full fingerprint sat on the weapon, perfect for AFIS.
A searing, unbelievable pain shot up from Sara's shoulder. She winced and grasped her arm. The young woman's eyes were closed and her mouth opened. Her heart pumped in her chest, everything was a blur. The screaming pain grew worse and worse; she wanted it all to end, everything to stop. Crimson blood poured out onto the floor. What's going on?! Grissom! Where are you? She cried in her mind. Her eyes shot open. Breathing was getting harder now. She didn't know how long she would hold on.
