Booya! I work faster when I have pointless english homework to do...shit that reminds me I still have to do it... meh! Anyways hears another chappie to tide you over till next saturday or so...maybe sooner...

karmine: Yep, scary and this time more Greg angst...CELEBRATE!

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Secret Whispers: Chapter Twenty Four Memories

Greg sat up, fast, sweating, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He had nearly cracked his head on the attending nurse's sharp little chin, luckily she had jumped back just in time to miss the pain that would've been inflicted on both parties. It took a while for Greg to swim through the layers of his subconsious to the real world, he blinked twice at the young nurse standing before him. She looked quite worried, "Sir? Should I get the doctor?"

Still muddled by the confusing dream he had, Greg shook his head, more to clear it then anything. The nurse left quickly after giving Greg a hard long stare, he seriously thought that that stare equaled him in a padded cell room somewhere in the psychotic ward. He rubbed his forehead and hugged his blanket covered knees, it was near midnight and he could see through the glass door that only a few lights were left on to conserve energy. He buried his head in his arms and closed his eyes, the images from his dream flashed vividly in his head. Greg wanted to open his eyes, wanted to quite seeing the images, but he couldn't, he was drawn to them. Again he was pulled into the nightmare he had been having the last few days in the hospital, at first he had blamed it on the hospital food, but as the images got clearer and clearer he realised he was having some sort of premonition. This time he actually remembered what had happened in his dream.

His body seem to float above the scene, exactly what he was looking at he had no idea. He seemed to be in a spacious room, the rug was a rich blood red and gold and designed lavishly with what seemed to be people in various stages of copulation. Maybe that part was all in his over reactive imagination that liked porn, he shook his head and focused on the things lying on the rug. What were they? People? He flew lower to see, it was. There were three of them, arranged in a kind of triangle. The top of their heads pointed into the middle of it as their rigidly straight bodies pointed outwards. They were dressed in a flimsy white nearly transparent robes which had been arranged carefully to make them look like some god or goddess from the time of the romans.

He flipped over on his back to catch a glimpse at the ceiling before he threw up because of the rotten stench smothering his nose and mouth making it hard for him to breath. Then that provoked the question, can he really throw up in a dream? His stomach was protesting, that was for sure. He rubbed his eyes as he floated on his back, then stared at the ceiling again, it was an exact mirror image of the bodies below. He glanced behind him and then in front, he couldn't believe it, and the stench was now crushing him, slowly forcing the breath out of him. He couldn't breath, he clawed at his throat. Then suddenly a bright light shone and Greg forgot he couldn't breath, a lady with delicate features stared at him. An angel, complete with larger then life silver wings. Okay, Greg thought, this dream was really getting cheesy.

She blinked at him and flew or more like swam closer. Why did she remind him of someone? She was only inches from him, Greg stared at her lips, they were a bright cherry lips just waiting to be kissed. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, suddenly cold fingers grasped his chin and pulled. Greg's eyes popped open and stared at the would be angel, she didn't look quite so pleasant now. In fact her whole being had changed, her wings were tattered, blackened and charred and her silver robe was now an ugly grey. Her hair was tangled and she looked quite deranged. She pointed a finger, the nail filed to a gleaming point, down at the bodies. Clearly she wanted him to go down there and take a look at them, but for what purpose? The longer Greg hesitated, the angel/demon dug her nails into his chin harder. Finally he allowed himself to be dragged down into the stench. She jabbed again, Greg followed her finger which pointed to the face of one of the deceased. His eyes widened and tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and it wasn't from the pain of the viselike grib she had on his face. It was his mother, his actual biological mother.

On his eighth birthday, Greg had managed to wheedle his mother into letting him sleep over at a friend's house. Little did he know that that was going to be the night that he would last see his parents alive. As he was tucked warmly into bed by his best friend's mother and falling asleep with not another thought to the world, his parents were being brutally murdered for nothing more then a few hundred bucks and some jewellary. He remembered the very next day, it had all seemed so surreal, so fake. He had kept telling the police that it wasn't true, that they had made a mistake, that they had identified the wrong people. The detective, in this day and age would've been classified as an old fart, had got so exasperated that he forcefully led the unwilling boy to the mortuary. He had then threw the sheets off of the naked bodies of Greg's parents and Greg had shattered there and then. He couldn't remember what happened afterward, just the faces of his dead parents. Then he had began his trip from foster home to foster home, he neither desired to stay long or was wanted. As soon as he had hit eighteen he had disappeared with his parents money and went to university.

The angel/demon led him to the second body, he stared down at it for a few seconds before he realised that this had been one of his foster brothers. Greg had been somewhere in his early teens, twelve or thirteen, he had thought himself very lucky to have landed himself with this set of fosterparents. They were both very nice and unlike the others they hadn't treated him little more then shit. Jake Peters, the fosterparents son, was a just two years older then him. He had treated Greg with respect and integrity, something Greg had been missing for most of his miserable life. They had became fast friends but when Jake hit sixteen, he had started pushing Greg away. At first Greg was hurt, but then he realised it was just Jake being a teenager. But Jake had gone deeper then that, he had started coming home high and took his frustration out on Greg as his parents pretended not to notice. Then one night, Jake never came back. Later Greg found out he had overdosed on heroine, that's when the Peters turned on him, blaming him for the cause of their son's death. They practically enslaved him and that was when Greg found out the wonders of what cutting could do for him. At first they had been little nicks on the forearm, then they had became wider and deeper and closer to the main vein running down his arm. After a particular hard month at the Peters, he had finally slit his wrists, but he had paniced and had dialed 911 with shaking bloody fingers. He had woken up in a hospital and the child services rep had profusely apologized to him over and over again for not checking up on him and making excuses. Greg hadn't cared, not then not now.

Greg was drawn to the last body, he floated there without the lady's help. He hardly noticed as she floated back and melted silently into the darkness. He found himself staring at the pale face of Ryan, his mouth formed a 'what?' He shook his head in denial, it couldn't be, Ryan wasn't dead, was he? This dream, it was all a lie. He couldn't be dead, Grissom hadn't phoned and told him or anything, but then that was Grissom, he never told anybody anything. He was suddenly pulled into a fairly recent memory. Ryan was leaning against the counter in the breakroom, twirling a pen through his fingers and looking in disgust at a jar. Greg knew that it was probably one of Grissom's crazy experiments, he tried not to think of Nick's outrage when he found out it had been sitting next to his sandwich again. Greg gave a slight nod at Ryan and poured himself a cup of coffee, on an impulse he had asked some stupid question of death and what Ryan had thought of it. Ryan had stopped twirling his pen and looked down at his shoes, he had turned to Greg and said, "Death frees us from our mortal bodies. Free for us to be like the wind." he then looked sheepish, "I should really stop listening to my english professor, his words-" he made quotation marks with his hands, "-of wisdom have stuck in my head." he had then left to go finish up the samples that still had to be analyzed. Greg had stood there for minutes trying to decipher what he had meant, in the end he had to agree, death frees the soul.

Warm blood trickled down her arms, Andrea watched one particular drop as it dripped onto the carpet, pooling there just next to her latest victim's head. She hadn't meant to kill them, but the blood lust had been too strong. She stared in disgust around her, blood had splattered all over the walls and her, dying it a pure red, seriously she hadn't intended to kill tonight, if she had she would've worn something more fitting. Andrea had just ruined her blouse and dress pants, the ones she was going to wear when she confronted Grissom the next day. Hell at least she got to go shopping for the last time. Andrea had snuck into the house full of sleeping people so she could spy on the Feebs and most importantly Grissom, stupid girl had woken up to find her staring out the window. Not her fault that girl tried to scream and rouse her parents up, in the end Andrea had killed everyone including their dog because of one stupid little girl.

Andrea placed the bloody tip of the knife to her cheek and thought, 'Hm...what should I carve upon their backs? So many questions.' She gazed around the room for some inspiration and decided to do a huge carving, each body would host some part of the carving. She grabbed the husband by his armpits and dragged him over to the wife and daughter, she then kicked them over so their backs faced the ceiling. She carefully sliced their tops off and started her work.

Hours later, Andrea got up and studied her handywork while stretching, it was no mean feat to remain bent over for hours at a time. Claude Monet's Water Lily Pond, incidentally the very one that hung in the CSIS waiting room, though she did not know it. She contemplated whether or not to take the knife with her, but in the end opted to leave it behind. They would know this is her work, but on the off chance that they would think this was some kind of copy cat...

Andrea did a full 360 sweep of the room, she opted to leave the knife in the head of the little girl. She kneeled and with slow precision, she sunk the knife in to her open eye, instantly a river of red flowed out and pooled on Andrea's hand and shoes. She let it soak her already blood stained clothes before moving towards the bathroom, she had herself a nice warm bubble bath and cleaned herself throughly of any traces of blood. Rubbing a fluffy white towel over her hair, she kicked her clothes into the hamper, it left a trail of blood. She bent down and scrubbed the rest of it up before discarding the towel too.

Walking naked through the hallway, she entered the husband and wife's bedroom. She rummaged around in their closet before coming up with a decent set of clothes that didn't involve some stupid flowery print. She dressed quietly and efficiently, however she didn't want to put on some dead woman's underwear. Slipping on the black slacks, she grabbed a decent set of heels and her coat before leaving the house and neighbourhood, no one the wiser except for her.