Title: Inside My Coffin

Disclaimer: Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

POV: Nick

Chapter One: A Little Murder

It's ironic. The stars in the night sky shine like diamonds. Looking down upon all the people that actually find time to sleep in Las Vegas. Those same stars are a beacon of hope to many. Children look to them and make wishes for happier times. Lovers kiss under them. And yet, others use them as a cover to commit crimes. Something so beautiful, something so deadly.

"Nick, stop day dreaming. Grissom is looking for you," Warrick calls.

I take in the night around me. It should be a quiet time. Families should be sleeping. The kids dreaming about video games and summer time. The parents nestled together under the blankets. Instead the night is covered in the glaring blues and reds of emergency lights. Cop cars and an ambulance take away the peace of the little neighborhood. All the lights work together to create their own unique daylight.

My shoes make little noise as I walk across the drying pavement. At least the rain has let up. It seems wrong to me. Processing a murder under little beacons of hope. The already fallen rain suits my mood. Depressing. Little puddles reflect the many colors of this bright night. They just help to bring this harsh reality closer to everyone else. I see families huddled in doorways. Watching with curious eyes. Mothers hug their children close. It could have been us, they think. They won't admit it but it's there, on all their minds. That relief that it happened to someone else. Human nature.

A slightly cool breeze caresses my bare arms. I can still smell the rain. If I listen hard enough I'm sure I will hear the distant thunder. The rain moves on to wash away the dirt of another day. This time, though, in its wake it left a bloody mess. A mess my mind has to concentrate on. I would rather be home, lying in my bed. Gazing out at the coming dawn. I'd be going through the same torture I've been living for the last week. Sleep is hard to find. And when it does come, it is never the release I want.

"Nick, get your head out of the clouds," Grissom snaps.

I set my silver kit at my feet. My mind finally focuses on the crime at hand. People are rushing about like last minute shoppers at Christmas time. I watch as another ambulance pulls up behind the first. The dark gives away the secret of a yet another incoming ambulance. The call replays in my mind. A family of four; three dead and one found alive.

A chill runs down my spine. I know the address on the house. I had been here not too long ago. A mother lived here with her children. Innocent children. Seven-year-old twin boys and a cute-as-a-button three year old girl. I remember coming out here with Brass. It was a call of domestic disturbance. I really shouldn't have been here. That's not my kind of call. It was end of shift and I opted to accompany the officer.

Little did I know that I would be back. Back to find that the little red-haired girl was all that was left. Someone heard the screams earlier in the night as the storm raged on. It was too late though. The souls of three seemingly innocent victims had been lost in the rain. They left behind the cutest little girl. All alone in the world. No mother to come to her when she cried out in the middle of the night. No older brothers to watch out for her or to play with. Alone. I feel so cold inside.

A warm hand touches my shoulder. "You better get to work or Grissom is going to chew you out."

Sara. Her voice brings me back to the work at hand. I can see the hatred and sadness battling in her tired eyes. Cases with kids are always the hardest. They all say that. But how little they know.

I pick my kit back up and follow after Sara like an obedient dog. We pass Warrick, busy interviewing the first officer to respond. Catherine is kneeling over something on the pavement. She doesn't think anyone notices the tear that escapes to run down her cheek. Mostly likely accompanied by a thought of her own daughter. Inside we stroll pass Greg. The smile ever present on his face is lost to the grim task he is performing. Even Sara is quiet. Everyone is trying so hard not to show any emotion. Failure is all that waits at the other side of the bridge.

"You take the kitchen. I'll start in the living room," Sara says.

Usually I don't take orders from her. But tonight, tonight is a different matter. I don't want to fight with anyone. I don't even want to be here, in this cold and desolate house of murder. I nod my head in silent agreement. Sara tilts her head to the side. I know that she's trying to read my mind. Trying to understand what keeps me from talking. None of them know. Only Brass. He's the only one he knows that I've been here. That I spent my time here cheering up the kids while he did his interviewing.

The laugh of a child plays in my mind. A memory from that day. That warm, sunny day just two weeks ago. Two weeks ago seems like so far. So much has happened. So much has fallen apart instead of falling into place. I ignore Sara and her questioning look to make my way to the kitchen. The silence of the house eats away at my nerves. No more happy days. No more laughing children. No mother yelling at them to play nice.

The kitchen is cold. Quiet. I can still see them, all of them. The three children sitting around the table, chattering, waiting. Their mom brings them their lunch. Their sandwiches made with loving hands. The juice poured for just them. A chorus of thanks fill the room. Each little precious child thanks mom for their lunch. The image fades. The kitchen table stands empty and unused. Longing for the touch of children. Even if it meant having sticky juice spilled on it again.

I look away. I can't be here. My mind won't let me concentrate. Deep down, I know that this is where I belong. There isn't anyone else who needs me more this night. No one.

I set my kit on the stark white floor. The floor that still has muddy little boot prints from the kids. They were alive earlier. They got to see one last rainfall before it ended. Before everything ended. I snap photos of the dried muddy prints. Too small to belong to anyone but a child. Heartbreaking. A glass of warm milk sits on the counter waiting for little hands to drink from it. I snap photos of the kitchen door. The one that leads into the backyard. The backyard with the sandbox and jungle-gym. The swings move with the gentle push of the wind. Empty and unused.

I open the only other door in the kitchen. My eyes try to adjust to the dark. The basement. I step back. A slight panic begins in my chest. I close my eyes and listen to my breathing. I'm fine. I don't have to go down there. No one says that I do. I turn my back to the darkness. Still, I can feel it laughing at me, reaching out for me. Trying to make me its captive again.

Then it all happened too quickly. The muddy prints should have made me cautious. Why wasn't I cautious? My foot slips in the puddle. I lose my balance and fall backward. Into the quickly embracing darkness. I fall a few steps before I stop. My heart racing a mile a minute. I see the light of the kitchen, beckoning me with warm hands. Trying to pull me from where I lay.

"Nick?" Greg is calling my name. "Nick, are you okay?"

I try to answer him. I try so hard. But the fear is choking me. The panic is setting in. I don't want to be here. Not again. Not in the dark. I can feel the sweat as it soaks my clothes. Every little detail plays in my mind. The coffin. The confined darkness of being buried alive. The panic begins to rise. Footsteps upstairs, echoing off the kitchen floor. A frantic search for me.

"Nick?" Sara must have heard Greg calling for me.

"Do you think that door leads to the basement?" Greg asks.

"Nick wouldn't go down there. Not with the light out. He could trip and fall," Sara replies.

Look, please, look, I silently plead. Fear keeps me glued to the stairs. The light flicks on, washing away the darkness. Blinding me and covering me in its saving warmth.

"Nick!" Greg descends the stairs.

I'm able to see how lucky I am. I was sitting on a landing half-way through the steps. From here they bent to the side and continued farther into the basement. The basement with the dirt covered floor. Dirt. Underground, darkness, and dirt. I begin to panic again. I feel Greg as he grabs my arm. Whether he moves me with or without my help, I don't know. I just want to be above ground. Far from the darkness.

Once at the top of the stairs I stumble my way out of the house. Pass Sara who holds her breath. Pass Warrick standing by the front door. I stumble out into the night and fall to my knees in the grass. The wet grass. The grass begging for children to play in it. I can hear Catherine and Grissom making their way toward me. I can't keep it in any longer. The nausea wins over. I feel no lose of pride as I empty my stomach. At least I'm above ground. Safe. Safe from the darkness of the dirt.

"What happened?" Grissom asks as he and Catherine draw closer.

"He fell," Greg replies. "He fell into the unlit basement."

Nothing more needs to be said.