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Chapter 3

Danny awoke to his cell phone ringing on his bedside table. Squinting at his alarm clock, he groaned. He'd only been asleep for around three hours. Snatching up the irritating piece of technology, he flipped it open.

"What?" he snapped in an aggravated tone.

"You might want to start watching your back more carefully."

"Not you again."

"You don't sound very happy to hear me."

"Could you just answer one question: what were you doing following me?"

"Oh, so you have been watching yourself. That's good. But you'll have to start doing better."

"What are you rambling on about, Lamburg?"

"You'll find out."

Danny began to grind his teeth together. "I thought I told you there was nothing more to do on the case. It isn't my fault they stopped it."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't! Now, can you just leave me alone? I would like to get some sleep."

With that, he closed his phone and fell back asleep.

Danny's heart leapt as his real alarm clock went off. Taking a deep breath and cursing himself for being so jumpy, he shut it off and got out of bed. He stretched and rubbed his eyes as he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Throwing his close in the laundry hamper, he stepped under the warm water.

Ten minutes later, he turned off the water, shivering a little at the loss of warmth, and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. Wrapping it around his waist, he walked tiredly back into his bedroom. He put on his glasses and changed into the clothes he was going to wear that day. Danny quickly made himself a piece of toast for breakfast with a glass of milk and sat down to read whatever magazine was on the table. It was basically the same as every morning.

Until he went to leave his apartment.

As he approached the door, jacket over his arm, he noticed an envelope had been pushed under it. Confused and curious, he picked it up, headed back to the table and sat down to open it. Taking out the letter, he was horrified to find red droplets over it. And he was positive it wasn't paint. It wasn't the right colour or texture. Trying to ignore them, he read the letter:

Messer,

Only a matter of time. I'm going to get you. You'll pay for what you did. Don't think your friends can help you. Don't even think YOU can stop me. You can't. The point of this letter is to give you a fair warning, so that everything that happens afterwards I won't feel guilty about doing, because you were warned. You new it was coming. Not that I'd feelguilty anways.So say good-bye to everyone now, Messer, before it's too late.

You know who.

PS. I'm watching you.

Danny quickly folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He looked around his home, when he suddenly felt a bout of terror, and his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. And seeing as he couldn't see anyone to fight, he got up and all but bolted to his door. He threw it open and jumped outside, closing and locking the door behind. For a moment, he just leaned against thewall and breathed. Why him? Why did these things always happen to him?


"I'm telling you, Aiden, he was following me!"

"Danny, you're just being paranoid."

Danny slammed his locker closed and looked pointedly at Aiden. "He was following me, I know it. I changed direction to prove it to myself and he followed me! I was practically going back the way I came, and went down almost every street in the city!"

That was an obvious slight exaggeration, but it had been many streets. And by the time he'd reached home, it had felt like he'd been around the entire city.

"Whoa...breathe, Danny, calm down. It was probably just some...weird coincidence."

"Yeah, that's what it had to be. A coincidence," he said sarcastically. "He decided to go down the same road as me, then completely change direction at the same time I do, only to turn back at the same time I do. Definitely a coincidence. The fact that he called and admitted it doesn't count for anything."

"Hey! I don't need any sass from you, Messer. And you didn't tell me he called! Like you said yesterday, he's just trying to psyche you out. He's angry the guy who killed his sister got away and he's taking it out on you, one of the investigators. You can't prove he means to actually hurt you."

"Yes, I can! Look, I..." Danny paused and began to wonder if it was a good idea to talk to Aiden about this. Maybe Stella because she had been on the case with him, or Mac. He is his boss. Yeah, they were the better people to go to. When he continued talking to Aiden, his voice was nearly a whisper, "I...I'm sorry, just...just forget I said anything."

With that, he walked past her and out of the locker room. Aiden watched him and then realized that this was really bothering him. She was about to call after him, but decided against it. He probably didn't fell like talking to her much right now.


"Hey, Stella."

Stella looked up from the evidence she was processing at the moment to find Danny standing beside her. He was fiddling with a piece of paper or something in his hand. She could see a bit of red on some spots of red onit and wondered what on earth it was. And if Stella didn't know better, she'd say he was high-strung over something. "Hey, Danny."

"Uh...could I talk to you a minute?"

"Oh...I'm sorry, but right now I'm a little busy. Could it wait? I think I might have found something important for the case I'm working on with Mac."

"Oh, no, it's okay," he said, shifting a little. Danny looked around somewhat nervously.

"Are you sure? Because if you'd just wait a couple minutes..."

"No, it's...it's fine. I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Bye"

"Yeah," Stella said, and watched him as he turned and walked away. "Bye."

Stella didn't go immediately back to the evidence. She frowned at Danny's back. Something wasn't right, and she was concerned. He wasn't usually so nervous...normally, he'd be tossing around jokes, mostly it wasn't on purpose, they'd just slip out. Or if it was a really bad case, he'd be a little...uptight, but not full blown-out anxious like he was right then.

Maybe she was just thinking about it too much. Turning back to the evidence she had been working on, she started again.


There was a slight knock on his door, and Mac looked up from his desk. "Danny, come in."

Danny closed the door behind and sat across from Mac. As Mac watched his CSI's behaviour, he came to the same conclusion as Stella: something wasn't quite right. It was obvious something was bothering him. But Mac just smiled a little before continuing. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to talk about...the Vanessa Lamburg case," Danny stated quietly, not looking Mac in the eyes.

Mac sighed and rubbed his forehead. "What exactly about the case? You shouldn't be worrying about it anymore. I know you're upset that you and Stella couldn't catch Vanessa's killer, but-"

"Mac, it isn't really the case directly...it's more about her brother."

"Oh."

"He didn't take the news too well and he-"

Danny stopped when Mac's desk phone rang. Mac looked apologetically to his CSI and picked it up. "Hello?...Could you hold on a second? Thanks," the head CSI looked up at the man across his desk. "Danny, could you hold on a second?"

Danny was thinking that the world was against him talking about what Jim Lamburg was doing to him. And he hated it was bothering him so much. What did he do to deserve this? "You know what, Mac? I'll just...come by later, and continue then."

Mac frowned, but nodded. "If you're sure..."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

Mac watched him go before turning back to the caller on the other line. "So, what were you saying?"


Danny (and he hated to admit this) was on the verge of tears. This guy was serious, Danny knew it now. He wasn't playing a mind game or anything. He was on the hunt for revenge, and poor Danny didn't know how he was going to throw him off his scent. The CSI was now so wound up about this, he couldn't concentrate on his work.

It was a slow day, so they were all just going over papers on their desks. But Danny couldn't think of anything aside from Jim. He'd pay for it later when he had more paperwork to do, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't going to let the guy see he was getting to him so easily. Hell, he was going to fight back when he got the chance. His very survival depended on it. If Danny had lost a family member to murder, only to find the case was called off, well, he'd probably be angry, too. He'd want revenge, but would he actually go through with it?

That didn't matter at the moment, though. All that mattered was that Jim wanted revenge, and Danny was the victim of his rage.

He was pulled from his thoughts when someone called his name. He looked up to find Stella beside him. Realizing he still had the letter in his hand, he placed it under all the papers on the desk, hoping she'd let it go.

"Hey, Danny? Are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Oh...yeah," he said quietly. "I'm just not feeling that great. Stomach's bothering me."

"This doesn't have anything to do with what you wanted to talk about before, does it?"

"No," Danny lied, and he knew Stella could see right through it. Still, ever like the mother figure, she put her hand on his forehead, as if checking for a fever.

"Well, you aren't warm. Do you think you should be here? Maybe you should go home, get some rest."

"That sounds like a great idea, but shift isn't over yet," Danny pointed out.

"If you want, I can tell Mac you're feeling sick and I sent you home."

"I dunno..." he trailed off. Home wasn't exactly the place he wanted to be at the moment.

"Well, it's your decision and you have three seconds before I force you to go home."

He just sat there, mulling it over in his head.

"One..."

He could go home and rest, probably have a nightmare or two. Jim said he was watching him. Did that mean he had his house monitored?

"Two..."

Or maybe home was the safest place he could be, aside from here that is. Yeah, it should be safe. Should be...

"Three..."

"I think I'll stay here, Stella, thanks anyways."

"Alright. Hope you feel better soon."

He watched her leave and resisted the urge to slam his hand down on the desk. He hated this feeling of vulnerability. He'd only felt it once before (that he could remember), and that was when Mac was working the Tanglewood case. But this was way, way worse. Mac hadn't mentioned that yet, and Danny prayed he never would. That's the closest he was going to get to it going away. Jim wasn't going away. Not until he died, or he won. And both thoughts weren't very comforting to Danny.

Sighing, the CSI glanced at the papers in front of him. Setting to work, he put all his will into not thinking about Jim.


Danny just stood outside his apartment door, staring at it like it was the door to the underworld. He swallowed and opened it, stepping back as he pushed it open. Nothing. He mentally kicked himself. 'Come on, Messer. You're better than this. Don't let some freakin' maniac make you afraid to enter your own apartment.'

He did the normal things he did when getting home, like everyday. He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket on his chair, and headed for the fridge. But when his phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Growling, he reprimanded himself. 'What a mess you've turned out to be. You can handle blood and gore, guns, and dead people, but you're afraid of some guy who won't even threaten you in person. Yeah, what a great CSI you are.'

Picking up the phone, he answered with a terse "Hello?"

"So you are there. When you didn't answer I thought you'd gone off to a friend's house with your tail between your legs like the cowardly dog you are."

Danny bristled at the comment. That was the last straw. This guy was getting bolder, but Danny was not going to let the guy talk to him like that. "Listen, you sick bastard. I'm not hiding from you, so why don't you just come and get me, like you threatened? Oh, that's right, that's all they are. Threats. Empty...pathetic...threats."

"Yeah, you'd like to think you aren't afraid of me, but guess what? I know you are. I've been watching you, and I see how nervous you are. You look around you seven times a minute, just to see if I'm there, but you can't see me. And that's the worst part. You can't see me."

Danny's heart dropped into this stomach. He was watching him. Somehow. He began to turn around in circles in his house, trying to see if there were any cameras or anything. And who wouldn't be afraid of this guy? He was crazy. "You're sick," he managed to choke out, softly.

"Oh, you'll see just how sick I can be."

"Why don't you just go to hell, and leave me the f--- alone," he nearly shouted, the anger, frustrationand fear finally getting to him. And to think, Jim was able to do this to him in a matter of days. This guy was a great manipulator, and if it weren't for the fact that he was out to get Danny, the CSI would have been in awe of him. Wasn't it just a little while ago that he and Aiden were laughing over the whole situation?

He hung the phone up forcefully, and he wouldn't be surprised if it never rang again. There was a knock at the door, and Danny looked around for something useful. His gun. He had to get his gun. The knocking grew louder and harder. Danny searched his pockets, but wasn't able to find it. 'Shit, I must have left if in my locker! Or the desk drawer...I'll have to find it later. How stupid can I be?' Searching through his kitchen drawers, he pulled out a rolling pin and for one amusing second, he thought, 'Oh, how cliché, Messer.'

He hid his 'weapon' behind his back and slowly moved to the door. He peeked through the eye-hole, but didn't see anyone. Either Jim was hiding out of view, or Aiden was pulling a horribly mean trick on him. Taking a deep breath, Danny yanked the door open and found...

Nobody.

It must have just been his imagination. It should be running wild with everything that was happening. He began to close the door, when someone jumped in front of him and struck him over the head with something thick and hard. There was the noise of something shattering, and he suspected the object had been made of clay. He fell and his glasses went skittering under the chair his jacket was on. When he opened his eyes to try and get a sense of where he should go, he could only see red. Panicking, he began to shuffle backwards and reached one hand up to rub at his eyes. They must be filled with blood, but he doubted they were actually bleeding. Which meant he had a serious head wound.

He heard someone walking towards him, and was very surprised when an obviously heavy, thick boot came in contact with his head. Hard. The last he remembered thinking was that his head injury must be beyond severe now.