Title: Found

Chapter 6

Spoilers: Anything this season is fair game.

Warnings: There's a slightly uncomfortable autopsy thing. Nothing graphic, but be forewarned.

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Decomposing. The word rings through my head again and again. Decomposing. My body, my flesh, my bones…they're lying in the ground, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Rotting. Decaying. Decomposing.

So, that's pretty much what I've been thinking about for the last couple of weeks, and I've got to say…it's not doing much for my mood.

Using my rotten mood as justification, I've spent the past few nights freaking out the graveyard shift. I started out with little things—knocking pens off tables, tapping people on shoulders. Two days ago, though, things escalated. I started slamming doors, banging on lockers, and yesterday, I knocked over a chair in front of the night shift supervisor.

My behavior is wrong, I know. H would call me on it if he knew. But it's wrong in an amusing and oddly soothing way. And anyway, it's not like I'm going to get caught.

Besides wreaking havoc, I've also been weighing my options. I've realized that I can't just lurk in the locker room for the next few hundred years. I'll go crazy. So, I need to find a way to communicate with the living, because as much as I don't want to admit it, I need people in my life. I need my friends.

I figured that my best shot was to communicate with Alexx or H. Alexx is open to the idea of ghosts, and H has actually heard me once. Of course, I'm not sure how I'll handle the inevitable freak-out from their end when I actually do make contact with one of them and they realize they're talking to a ghost. But hey, no plan is without its complications.

For a week, I tried to communicate with H. I sat in his office and yammered about everything I could think of. Additionally, I tried to will myself to become visible to H. I mean, I've read tons of books about people seeing ghosts. It has to be possible. But no matter how hard I tried, or how loud I got, H couldn't see or hear me.

This week, I've been concentrating on Alexx. Currently, I'm "assisting" her with the autopsy of Mike Malloy, a 17-year-old carjacking victim. Basically, Alexx is removing Malloy's clothing while I stand here making cute comments. Alexx and I make a great team.

"Alexx," I say, leaning forward, "I think this guy is dead."

The db in question is standing across the room, trying hard not to look at his cold, lifeless body. "Very funny," he says.

Shrugging, I say, "I try."

The one thing about trying to communicate with Alexx is all the ghostly interruptions. Since the first day I visited the morgue and whined about the lack of spectral activity, this place has become some kind of lounge for the dead. And they all want to talk to me.

"Detective?" Malloy says.

"Just a second, kid," I say. Then I turn to Alexx. "Come on, Alexx. You said you believe."

Alexx caresses Malloy's cheek with a gloved hand. "You went much too young, sugar."

"Nobody's ever old enough, Alexx," I say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Malloy inching his way toward Alexx and me. He cocks his head to get a better look at his body, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to look at me.

"Detective?" Malloy says.

"Just a second," I say. Taking a step forward, I place a hand on Alexx's shoulder. "You know I'm still here, Alexx. Talk to me."

Malloy taps me on the arm. "Detective?"

"What?" I snap. "What? Can't you see I'm trying to talk to my colleague?"

Malloy narrows his eyes. "I don't think she can hear you."

"Really?" I say, "Thanks for the head's up."

Frowning, I return my gaze to Alexx. She's cleaning the blood off the kid now. Soon, she'll be cutting him open.

He doesn't need to see this.

Placing a hand on his arm, I lead him toward the door, I say, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Where're we going?" Malloy asks.

"Out into the hall. She doesn't need us here now."

Malloy and I stroll easily through the double doors into the hallway. The kid doesn't even flinch when we pass through solid matter. Apparently, he's adjusting to the ghost thing a little quicker than I did.

"So," Malloy says, tugging on his bottom lip, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Oh perfect.

"Sure," I say, "What is it?"

He licks his lips. "How'd you…you know?"

"How'd I die?" The muscles in my face twitch. "Line of duty."

"Well…were you shot?"

"Yeah," I say, slumping against the wall.

Malloy nods. He's quiet for a few seconds, and then he takes a step forward. "Did you take any perps down? Did you shoot anybody?"

My breath hitches. "Kid, you sound like a bad detective movie."

Shrugging, Malloy paces back and forth. After several moments, he turns to me. "What now?"

"Now?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, "What do I do now?"

I gaze at the ceiling for couple of seconds, and then I say, "I don't know."

He walks over until he's beside me. Then he leans his body against the wall, mimicking my position. "Well," he says, "You still work here or something, right? Where do you live?"

"Live?" I say, raising an eyebrow, "I hang out in the locker room."

"You live in a locker room?" He grins. "Cool. Maybe I should haunt the girl's locker room at my school."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Look, I got myself killed in the line of duty. Now I haunt a locker room. I never said I was a role model."

Malloy juts out his bottom lip. "You're the only one I got."

Licking my bottom lip, I place my hands on my hips. "You got parents?" I ask.

"Yeah," Malloy says.

"Then go home to your parents."

He frowns. "What for? I'm a ghost, right?"

"Mike," I say, in what I hope is a firm, authoritarian voice, "Your mom and dad need you. Go home."

Malloy looks as if he wants to argue with me, but instead, he nods. "Okay," he says. He gazes at me for a few moments, and then he turns to walk down the hall.

"Mike," I call after him, "If you need anything, check the locker room. Down the hall, take a sharp right, then two lefts."

"Okay, Detective," Malloy says, "And thanks."

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After Malloy sulks away, I trudge hollowly down the hall and out the front door. I'm halfway across the parking lot before I realize I don't know where I'm going. Letting out a breath, I turn to head back up the steps that lead to the lobby.

But before I get there, I realize I'm not the only one in the parking lot. A few yards away, I see the New Guy, standing by his car, peering into the engine.

Out of curiosity, I guess, I amble over to him. I have half a mind to introduce myself to him. I can just see the look on his face.

Stopping next to the New Guy, I gaze into the engine. "Car's like a human body," I mumble, "Has a heart, a brain…and it's all pretty fragile."

"Yeah, I guess," the New Guy says, glancing up. He holds out his hand. "Hi, by the way. Ryan Wolfe."

I feel blood, or whatever I have now, drain from my face. He heard me. The New Guy heard me. And since he's looking directly at me, he must be able to see me, too. Either that or he's comfortable talking to air. I bite down hard on my bottom lip and fight the urge to hug the New Guy and tell him how wonderful it is to meet him face to face. Instead, I settle for a neutral but pretty shaky, "Are you talking to me?"

Wolfe grins. "There's no one else here. You night shift?"

"Not really," I say, "So, do you work here, Wolfe?"

"Yeah," he nods, "CSI, day shift."

I swallow. "What's up with the car?"

"I don't know," Wolfe says, "I called Triple A." He grins. "Poking around in a car engine involves getting dirty, and I don't like getting dirty."

I laugh. "How do you work with Delko?"

Wolfe narrows his eyes. "You know Delko?"

"I used to work with him," I say, shoving my hands deep into my pockets.

Leaning against his car, Wolfe says, "So, I've never seen you around. Did you transfer to another crime lab?"

"What?"

He points at me. "You're a criminalist, right? I mean, I guess I assumed since you worked with Delko. And, you know, you're wearing a badge."

For a long moment, I stare at him. Then, holding my breath, I slowly let my eyes trail downward. Sure enough, my badge is still clipped to the waistline of my jeans…I still have my badge. Wow. Who knew?

After several seconds, I let my face break into a grin, and then I look up at Wolfe. "Yeah, Wolfe," I announce, "I'm a CSI."

And it's high time I acted like one.