Disclaimer: C.S.I. and it's brilliant characters are not mine.
A/N:
a) I put my other story on hold because it's pretty icky.
b) So I tried suspense. I hope you enjoy.
c) This story will be shown from a different point of view each chapter.
d) I update sporadically. Sorry.
e) I appreciate reviews. They make me feel giddy. Even the bad ones.
f) Expect no less than 8 chapters.
Alternate Angles Are
Chapter One: Parallels With Coffee
"Stokes."
Nick nonchalantly picked up the phone and held it firmly between his ear and shoulder. He was in the middle of making his last coffee, the one he took with him on the way home every night. He pulled a double shift, unraveling the culprit behind Las Vegas's latest slaying. It was a ten-year-old boy. His name was Jason. He liked to play softball. He hated peas. He killed his best friend.
Nick never understood these cases. These cases were the ones that kept him up at night. Of course Jason didn't really mean to kill his best friend. Death doesn't even seem to strike a chord with some kids. They seem to think that dead people will live again, just like that. Just like in the video games. But they don't. And now, Jason still doesn't understand. But that's okay. He just threw away his entire life. He can think about that while he's in juvi for the next eight years. And he just might have to think about it some more for the rest of his life.
"Stokes." Nick repeated.
There was static, a lot of it, but he could barely make out some of the background noises. Whoever was calling him was in a car. He accidentally spilt some of his sugar on the counter. Shit. He grabbed a napkin and wiped it off with a quick swish.
Abruptly, the static disappeared, and he heard a few car doors slam. A timid voice asked barely above a whisper, "Nick?"
"Sara? Is that you Sara?"
Nick checked his watch: 9:17 AM. Sara had left about fifteen minutes ago with her trademark thinking frown, or that Grissom face, whatever you want to call it. She was trapped inside her mind, inside the case she was working on that night. She's always staying late to finish a last minute this, or last minute that. Nick thought that she just wanted to prolong the inevitable. She didn't want to go home. He knew she had no one to go home to. He dealt with the same problem every day. But Sara, she had no one to call, no family to visit, and the only thing on her mind all day was work.
"Nick, you have to help me."
Her voice was wavering but she tried to stick to that professional tone she held up at work. She was distressed but she tried to cover it up. Her voice, still barely above a whisper, discharged a wave of urgency that you rarely heard in Sara's voice. That lilt she had when she spoke, the calm one she used when she explained something to Greg, the impatient one she used when she addressed Grissom, the unyielding Wrath Of Sara Sidle voice she used in the Interrogation room when she knew something didn't add up; all of that ebbed away with each syllable.
"Sara, what's going on?"
His hand was in mid-pose, holding the sugar packet upside down over his coffee. Sara never asked for help. She just kept on falling and falling and falling. She falls at full speed, she falls with gravity, and she falls with determination.
"I don't know. I don't know, Nick! I don't know where I am, I'm in my car."
Her voice was beginning to bare signs of hysteria. Nick imagined her sitting in the front seat with her head buried in her hands. Strands of her bronzed brown hair would drop limply, covering her face. His heart fractured into a billion pieces and dissolved in his brain. Nick's sugar vanished into his coffee.
"Why are you whispering?"
He tossed the now purposeless sugar packet into the trash. Nick fumbled his coat pockets for his car keys, preparing to drive an intoxicated Sara back home to her small but well-furnished apartment. It happened before, five or six months ago. And then it happened again three months ago, except that time she was driving under the influence. The first time it happened she had called him, he had driven her home, she had thanked him, he had sat in his car staring at her window until the lights dimmed, and then he drove home. The unwritten rule was to never bring it up. He was concerned for her welfare. He would lose sleep worrying about her. She thought she had no one, but she could have everyone if she wanted.
"They're coming back, Nick. Oh my god, Nick. They're coming back."
This time she had one too many. How much did she have to drink? She's having delusions. Sara Sidle is seeing things.
"Sara?"
Nick spoke softly, stirring in the cream with a red stirrer. He expertly withdrew the stirrer and tapped on the rim of the cup.
"Nick! I'm in an alley. Off of The Strip."
He could hear the stifled sobs fighting to extend beyond her lips. Nick visualized her again, now this time her free hand was clenched in a fist, pounding on the perimeter of the steering wheel. Her eyes would blink back tears that were struggling to be released and she'd bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from exploding. She was his pseudo-sister. He would die to protect her, his heartstrings tugged every time she got in trouble.
"Sara, get out of the car."
Nick grabbed his coffee and headed out towards his Denali. As he arrived at the doors he turned around and proceeded back towards the break room. He opened the too small fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. His neck was beginning to cramp, holding the phone in that way. Where was his headset?
"I can't. I'm in the trunk."
Both the coffee and the water slipped simultaneously onto the floor. The creamy coffee he spent ten minutes perfecting splayed into intricately patterned droplets on the blue hallway floor.
"What?"
People were beginning to stare. Nick stalked off back into the break room again, only this time Warrick had occupied himself by doctoring a cup of coffee on the couch. He eyed Nick uneasily and sneaked a glance at the mess in the hallway. One look and he rolled his eyes. Warrick gently placed his coffee back onto the table and stood up to grab the paper towels. As Warrick headed towards the door, Nick blocked his path.
"Sara? Have you been kidnapped?"
The roll of paper towels spun idly into the spilt coffee. It absorbed the globs of coffee instantly, as it was supposed to.
A/N:
a) Booyah baby, that's chapter one.
b) Review, please.
c) Next Chapter posting within 2 weeks.
d) Sorry folks, I've got exams this week. And a mock trial. Oh joy.
Much Love,
Veronica T.
