I am starting to hate this fic, and I am fairly sure it hates me.
Anyway, on with the show!
Please R+R!
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The bar was closed for refurbishments.
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"Hey, Gris, I've got something!"
"What is it?"
Sara and Gil had been processing the car for nearly an hour and so far had come up with two hairs, a smattering of white powder and a candy necklace. They had been immediately sent to Trace, but so far no results.
Sara held up a small notebook, with what looked like hairs trapped in it.
"Get that to DNA right now. I don't think Greg's busy; get him to do it,"
"Technically he's not a lab tech anymore,"
"I'm his boss; he's whatever I tell him to be,"
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"Greg?"
Greg was sat on a chair in the corner of the lab, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked as if he hadn't slept in ages.
"Yeah?"
"Grissom says to a DNA test on this," Sara held out the hairs and notebook, trapped in a plastic bag. "Greg. Greg?"
Greg, who had been happily drinking a cup of coffee, was staring at the notebook looking as if it would not just bite but savagely rip him limb from limb.
"You ok?"
"… I'm- I'm fine. Just… would you please just… go?"
"Ok," With a last puzzled glance, Sara walked off.
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This can't be happening. This CANNOT be happening.
Greg still hadn't touched the notebook. It just lay there, looking small and insignificant but it was laughing at him.
OhmygodI'mgoingtojailThey'llthinkitwasme…
He pulled on a pair of gloves and delicately opened the notebook. The pages were covered in neat writing, but what he read chilled him to the core.
Catherine Willows
-Has a daughter called Lindsey
-Likes children/ child abuse?
-Rape?
Can't read fingerprints if the print is smudged
Sara Sidle
-Violence against women
-Domestic abuse?
All of the pages were covered in similar notes, about the other CSIs, or forensics, or even locations that had recently been involved in a crime. And the worst part was he, Greg Sanders, recently made a CSI, had told him all of it. Every detail of how he could create a scene from his friends' worst nightmares. It was all his fault.
"I'm… I'm sorry,"
No-one could hear him. It didn't even make him feel any better.
This guy… he was beyond crazy. He was twisted.
He was very shortly going to be confronted by a very angry Greg.
But that little scene is going to be saved for the next chapter.
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The body had been dumped near a wall, next to an overflowing dumpster. Like last night's rubbish. Nick could see even from this distance the white crystals scattered liberally around the body, and felt sick. He was glad Warrick wasn't with him on this one.
This victim was a girl in her late teens. Beneath the mass of bruises and burns covering her face, she looked as if she might have been pretty. The halo of blood soaking through her long hair showed the same method of killing as the boy. Nick leant down and pulled one of her sleeves down, as her hands were nearly as badly burned as her face. This girl was black, too.
"Just what we need," he muttered to himself, kneeling down next to her. The boy hadn't been a random killing. This was the start of something, something serious.
On top of everything else, Nick wasn't sure they could manage.
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Those dear boys from that racist group were so happy to oblige my little requests. I'll have to find some way of calming them down soon though, I don't want a race war. One or two bodies will be enough to get my point across to Mr. Brown. What an appropriate name. Wonderfully ironic, just the way I like things.
Well, maybe three. I'm enjoying this far too much, really.
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"Oh my god…"
Warrick Brown had seen a lot of things as a CSI. He had seen bodies dismembered, hacked up, placed in all sorts of weird places. He thought, privately, he had seen it all. Most of it, anyway.
But never in his life had he seen anything like this. It was a sight he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.
The sad, twisted mass of burned flesh in front of him was barely recognisable as what it had once been.
It was a baby.
"Whoever these guys are, they're getting worse," Brass said, looking over Warrick's shoulder.
"Yeah…"
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Eve Mackenzie's mother had asked Catherine to come to her funeral.
There was not going to be an open coffin, of course. No-one wanted to see the blank holes where the eyes had been removed. The coffin was completely covered in flowers, and there were many more people than Mrs. Mackenzie had expected. There had even been a photographer from the paper there, until someone threw him out.
Catherine felt incredibly uncomfortable. The people around her were all crying, or walking around blankly, in a daze.
"Ms. Willows?"
"Yes?"
It was Mrs. Mackenzie. She was wearing a long black dress, and her eyes were very red.
"I just wanted to say… Please don't feel bad about not finding Eve's… I'm sure you did your best,"
"I…"
Catherine didn't know what to say. 'Yes, I did, and it wasn't good enough.'? 'Well, those criminals are just getting smarter!'? Everything seemed too flippant, too wrong… Not for a little girl's funeral.
She was saved from having to answer when another woman came over and put her arm round Mrs Mackenzie's shoulders. It was about to start.
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Sara knocked on the door of Gil's office.
"Come in,"
"Hi," She opened the door and took a step in. "Have you seen Greg? I can't find him anywhere,"
"He should be processing that notebook. Haven't you got the results by now?"
"No,"
"Oh. I don't know then,"
"Ok,"
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"Greg?"
She opened the door. The lab was empty. The notebook was lying on the table, almost glowing red against the grey. There was a pair of gloves next to it, as if someone had pulled them off in a hurry.
Sara couldn't resist it. Pulling on another pair, she carefully opened the first page.
Catherine Willows
-Has a daughter called Lindsey
-Likes children/ child abuse?
-Rape?
Can't read fingerprints if the print is smudged
Sara Sidle
-Violence against women
-Domestic abuse?
"Oh my God…"
She picked up the notebook and ran back to Gil's office.
"I think you should see this…."