A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed to the last chapter, I'm terribly sorry it took so long for me to write that. But to make it up to you all, here is a quick update for the next chapter. I don't think it's very long, but it's still an update. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope that when I post it the formatting looks okay, because I'm not on the computer I usually post things on, and sometimes with this one, it ends up looking weird once I post it. Oh well, I'll just hope it looks okay. Now I shall stop rambling because it's the chapter you want to read, and not my ramblings. Haha, enjoy!

Chapter 4 - Rotten Luck

I need to get out of this house. I need to get out and I need to get out now. There's a killer watching me. Nick's thoughts raced.

He frantically pulled on his coat and headed in the direction of the door. His fingers touched the cool metal of the knob when he heard the sound of his cell phone ring. He now realized that writing down the cell phone number right beside his telephone so that he could remember it and call it in case he lost it wasn't such a nifty idea after all. That was probably how the killer found the number in the first place.

Do I risk it? Do I just run? I'm so close... maybe I could make it outside. But what if he has a gun... and is just waiting to shoot the second he sees me open the door?

Nick took a deep breath and started to turn the knob when he noticed something fly past his head and into the wood of the door. It was a bullet. The killer did have a gun.

The phone was still ringing and Nick cautiously made his way over to answer it. His hands were trembling, he knew who was calling. He feared for his life.

Trying to hide the shakiness in his voice, he picked it up and quietly said 'Hello'.

"Trying to make an escape I see? I guess I showed you that that's not a very bright idea."

Nick was unsure of how to respond. He closed his eyes, just wishing that he could make himself disappear. He wished with every fibre of his being that every thing was just a dream -- just a horrible nightmare. A nightmare like the ones that kept him up for countless nights. He longed to feel the sense of relief when he would wake up safe in his bed, knowing that what he'd just dreamt hadn't been real.

But this was real.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you. Just as long as you keep my secret. Also, I don't think that you'll need to be leaving your house. If you're not in your house... it makes it harder for me to watch you. It makes it harder for me to make sure you're not telling your cop friends my secret. You just witnessed wht'll happen when you try to leave your house without telling me."

Nick couldn't tell for sure, but the voice sounded to be that of a man. Although, whoever it was could be disguising their voice. But if I was a man... it could very well be Nigel.

He wanted told himself to ask if it was Nigel but the command died somewhere along the way.

"Well, I suppose I shall be going now. Remember, I'll kill you if you tell."

The killer's voice began sickly casual with those last words. It sent a chill trickling down Nick's spine. The killer made it sound like killing someone was just as socially acceptable as shaking someone's hand. Then again, that's probably how the killer saw things in his mind.

Once Nick hung up the phone, he almost unconsciously slumped down onto a chair. His heart was still racing, despite his attempts to calm himself down. He wondered why these things always had to happen to him. Why he was the one with all the bad luck.

A few moments later, he found himself pacing around his house, unsure of what to do. After walking by a mirror on his wall, he looked at his reflection. Every time something would happen to him, he always found himself staring at his reflection -- staring at the damaged man looking back at him.

His face was drained of all color, and his eyes were red from the tears he so desperately was trying to hold back. He hated crying. He found himself thinking back to when he was nine. Thinking back to the longing for his mother. It had felt like an eternity before she ever came home. Even when she did return, he couldn't tell her what happened. He just tried to manage on his own. No one would ever have to find out about what happened.

His life had taken a turn for the better, and he finally thought that things would be okay until the night when he first had a gun in his face. Nick could still see Mrs. Hendler's face, her very expression as she held the gun up, her finger placed on the trigger. He'd thought for sure he was going to die, that was until Grissom had come in and saved him.

Finally after he'd shaken off what had happened to him that night, the incident with Nigel Crane had occurred. Having the gun in his face for a second time didn't bother him as much compared to the fact that he was finding out that he'd been watched for who knows how long? Compared to the fact that Nigel had been in his attic, watching Nick's every move, his every step.

He had tried to move on from every thing that had happened to him, until he was taken and placed in that box -- until he was buried alive under the soft brown earth. Until he was attacked by those ants, until he was mere seconds from taking his own life. Nick could feel the cold metal of his gun in his hand as he stared at his reflection, as his eyes remained glued to the mirror. Of course, there was no gun in his hand, it was just his imagination, but he could feel it there, just like he'd felt it there when he planned to shoot himself so that he wouldn't suffocate.

Subconsciously, he raised his hand and the imaginary gun up to his head as he thought back to his first therapy session that he had to go to before returning to work.

"You're going to be okay, Nick."

"Yeah... until my rotten luck strikes again and something else happens to me."

His finger pulled on the imaginary trigger, but there was no sound of a gunshot. He stood there, in front of his mirror -- just staring at himself-- with the imaginary gun placed to his head. He stood there for countless minutes until he finally realized what he was doing. He lowered his hand and stepped away from the mirror.

"There has to be a way out of there... there just has to be," he told himself softly, his voice barely above a whisper.