Note: thanks again for the reveiws! This chapter takes us just about to the halfway point...I'm not yet sure whether this is gonna be a 20 chapter or a 21 chapter story...so...hope you're enjoying thus far...and hope this remains true to form!
Gracias!

Chapter Ten – Pale Recognizance
Nick, his sunglasses on in an attempt to block the glare of the early afternoon sun, maneuvered his Denali through the heavy traffic as he headed toward South Maryland Parkway. His progress was slow, traffic in the city this time of day was a nightmare, as he attempted to drive in the near bumper to bumper traffic.

Finally arriving at Sunrise Children's Hospital, nearly half an hour later, he wheeled his vehicle in and around the crowded parking lot. Settling for an empty space in the far aisle, he climbed out of the driver's seat, grabbed his kit from the back seat and slowly made the trek to the front doors.

Though the sun was out in full force and temperatures hovered near the eighty degree mark, a chill ran throughout his body. Everything within him seemed to be screaming at him, telling him to turn around, to call Catherine and have her come over to talk to the little girl. What was he thinking, coming to interview this child? Didn't he remember the last time?

The last time. It was enough reason for him to want to run in the opposite direction. Yet it was the last time that kept him moving forward now. There was something deep that kept his feet moving, that kept his grip firm around his field kit, and kept his eyes on the front door.

Walking through the sliding doors into the waiting room, he was surprised by the comfort, the soothing calm, he found. The reception area had a comforting, almost eerie, calm about it. The receptionist, a petite older woman with silver white hair, and a pair of plastic rimmed bifocals hanging around her neck, looked up from her magazine and offered him a smile as he made his way toward the elevator.

Though he knew where he was headed, he busied himself reading the placard directory while waiting for the elevator to arrive. A family of four joined him in his wait for the vessel to take them upward. It wasn't often that he felt self conscious; but the feeling of four sets of eyes on his back, and most notably the field kit dangling in his left hand and the gun holstered at his hip, left him with an increasing sense of discomfort. Why hadn't he left his piece back at the lab?

The elevator, finally arriving on the first floor, opened allowing him to retreat to the back of the little more than slightly compact vault.

"What floor?" the father of the family asked as he followed his family on and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

"Oh, uh…four," Nick nodded, glancing down at the young child that clung to the man's hand. The boy, with his wide blue eyes and white blonde hair, couldn't seem to break his gaze from the kit hanging loosely, now, in his grip. Self-consciously he felt his grip tighten around the plastic handle as he tried to offer his best smile. It felt tense, even to him.

"Honey, quit staring," the mother offered softly, casting an apologetic grin his direction.

"It's okay, ma'am," his voice cracked.

Clearing his throat, he could feel his chest tightening, his mouth becoming parched. He watched, forcing himself to focus on the changing numbers, indicating which floor they were on.

Two…

The elevator was incredibly warm, suffocating even. Looking above him in his corner, he could see that the usual fan meant to keep the elevator slightly cooled and comfortable wasn't working. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, running down between his shoulder blades. His muscles were tightening, his breathing becoming slightly staggered. All of a sudden, his slightly baggy shirt felt much too tight. Slowly, he stretched his neck muscles, working at the collar of his shirt with his free hand.

Three…

Would they ever reach the damn fourth floor?

Could that kid possibly find something else to look at?

He could feel his legs becoming weak, his knees threatening to give out on him. The wall behind him became his primary source of support as the floor threatened to fall out from under him.

Four…

Finally, the doors opened, the family stepped out and Nick welcomed the sweet flood of relief as he stepped across the gap and onto solid ground. A full wall window, just to the right of the elevator, looked out over the parking lot. It was there that he took the time to collect himself allowing the sun streaming through the glass to ease away the tension in his muscles. Noticing the water fountain in the corner, he ran the water taking in the cold refreshment, allowing the clear, cold elixir to sooth his parched throat.

He stood upright now, leaning against the fountain, watching silently as the nurses worked their way from room to room. Some carried trays of medication, others an extra blanket, or an extra chair.

To his surprise, the floor was rather active. He could hear the sounds of children's laughter resonating through the hall.

Slowly working up the courage, he started making his way toward the unmistakable sounds of life.

To his left, just past the elevators, he paused as he came to the recreation room. The walls were a bright yellow accented around the border by a brilliant shade of orange. Pictures drawn by patients covered the walls. The far wall, cut in half height-wise by a massive window, allowed the early afternoon sun to fill the room. The tile floor, normally solid white in most hospitals, was vibrant, a kaleidoscope of colors.

Easels, sporadically placed around the large room, displayed bright paintings of various outdoor scenes. Children, clad in hospital pajamas, most bald from chemotherapy, some confined to wheelchairs, others with IVs still connected, busied themselves at the many tables scattered about the room. Some worked jigsaw puzzles, others played board games. In the far right corner he could see a group of boys playing video games, and having a good time at it. It was their laughter that filled his ears the most.

"You must be CSI Stokes," he heard a sweet voice come from behind him. Turning from his spot near the door of the community room, he met the owner of the voice. "I'm Sam, we spoke on the phone," she offered a wide smile and her hand for shaking. She was young, possibly in her late twenties. Her brown hair was pulled loosely into a ponytail. The pink scrubs she wore only helped accentuate her peaches and cream complexion.

"Nick Stokes," he nodded with a grin. "You're Emily Harris' nurse?"

"That's right," she nodded as her hands swiped a strand of hair behind her ear and then clung to the stethoscope around her neck. Her eyes followed his back to the scene within the room before them. "They're amazing aren't they?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a deep breath.

"So you want to see Emily?" she asked turning to lead him down the hall.

"Yeah," he nodded again, following her lead. "How is she?"

"Tired," she shrugged resolutely. Emily's room was only three down from the community room. "But, she's always tired. How much do you know about her condition?" she asked, stopping outside her room.

"Acute Myelogenous Leukemia," he shrugged. "I know the chemo has quit working…she's waiting for a bone marrow transplant? I, uh, just came from her house. I saw the medications she was on."

"Yeah. We're basically doing what we can to keep her comfortable," she nodded. "Just keep in mind, the medications she's on can make her kind of loopy."

"Loopy, huh?" Nick offered a half grin. "That a technical term?"

It was a comment effective enough to bring a grin to the nurse's face, her straight white teeth showing through her parted lips. "I'll go in and make sure she's ready to talk," she nodded.

Nick leaned his weight against the pale yellow wall. He wasn't even sure he was ready to talk.

The photos of Emily haunted him. Photos of a little girl laughing and enjoying life.

He'd seen it all before.

He'd seen it in Cassie McBride.

It was with Cassie the last time that he'd been in a hospital, this hospital, talking to her about the death of her own family.

He'd broken then, crumbled under the weight, his heart completely wrung out for her. He didn't know if he could go through it again.

"Nick? You can go in, now," Sam smiled tenderly, her eyes full of concern.

"Thanks," he nodded brushing past her and gently closing the door behind him.

And there she was.

"You were at my house," Emily Harris said, a hint of recognition lighting up her eyes as Nick stood just inside the room.

"That's right," he smiled warmly making his way inside. She was sitting up, her legs crossed Indian style in front of her, her back supported by a couple of pillows. An IV, dispensing a saline drip and morphine, hung from a metal pole and entered into the back of her right hand. She didn't have her scarf around her head today. He could see in the dim light, the feather-like down that was beginning to show across her scalp. "I'm Nick," he smiled taking a seat, now, in the chair near the head of her bed. "I was hoping you and I could talk a little. I'd like to ask you some questions…about… about what happened at your house last night, if that's okay. You think you're up to it?" he started slowly, carefully.

He noticed the tension, the fear, cross her face immediately. Her eyes fell to her lap, her grip tightening on the blankets.

"Emily," he reached out a hand and gently placing it on hers. It was an abrupt move, one he wasn't sure should have been made so quickly. But, it seemed to work. Slowly her grip loosened. "I know this is hard. I know it hurts to remember…but…I…I need you to try. I'll help you, okay? And, we can stop anytime you want."

He'd said the same thing to Cassie.

Slowly, her eyes met his. A silent tear fell down her cheek.

He felt his throat close up, his eyes dam up, threatening to release the flood of emotions he'd worked hard to barricade deep inside. This little girl, one of the strongest people he'd met in his career, was threatening to be the cause of his complete and utter emotional breakdown.

Time was standing still.

The world was fading away.

For now, his entire world was Emily Harris.

"Mom was crying," she started slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "She never cries," she shook her head.

"Do you know why she was crying?" he asked gently, his voice cracking under the emotional duress.

She shook her head, her eyes again downcast. "I think she was scared," she shrugged.

"Do you know where your sister and brother were?"

Again, she shook her head.

"I could hear Hannah crying too."

"Emily," he coaxed her to look at him. "I need you to think really hard, okay? Did you hear anyone, or see anyone in your house?"

It seemed forever before she answered. Her voice came out a cracked whisper.

"There was a man," she whispered, her eyes widening in fear.

"There was a man?"

"He was with my mom," she nodded slowly. "They were in my room. I was supposed to be sleeping, but I was just pretending. He was whispering. She didn't like him very much. I don't think my dad liked him either."

"Why do you think that?"

"Dad yelled at him."

"Did you see the man?"

Slowly, hesitantly, she looked to the door, as if making sure no one else could see her.

She nodded her head.

"Where was he?"

"In the hall," she began to cry softly. "I got scared."

"It's okay, sweetheart," he responded, his voice choking. He tightened his grip on her hand, hoping it came as a sign of assurance, of encouragement.

"I wasn't supposed to be out of bed. Mom didn't want me getting up. But I did. I looked outside."

"Into the hall?"

"I could see him through the crack," she nodded. "I hid, so he couldn't find me," she whispered.

"That's good," he nodded offering his best encouraging grin. "That's good."

"Mom told me, if I ever got scared I should hide. No one knew where my hiding spot was. Not even Nathan and Hannah."

"What happened after you hid?"

She didn't want to answer this question.

Slowly she released her grip on Nick's hand and hugged her knees to her chest, holding them in with her arms.

"Emily, sweetie, I know it's hard. I know you don't want to remember. I know it seems easier to forget, but I need you to try for me," he moved to sit on the side of her bed, facing the scared little girl. Gently he used his forefinger to lift her chin, bringing her sad eyes to his. He could see a part of himself in those eyes. "It's okay," he nodded. "You're safe now. The man can't hurt you." He heard his voice faltering, cracking under the weight of his threatening emotions.

"He…he came…he came into my room," she managed. "He knew my name."

"So, you heard his voice?"

She nodded.

"Did you know his voice? Did you recognize it?"

She shook her head frantically.

The look in her eyes was terrifying.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked hoping to ease her mind from the conversation. "See this box I brought with me?"

She nodded, her eyes trained on the silver box.

"Well, it's full of magic stuff," he smiled as her eyes looked at him with skepticism. "Seriously. I wouldn't lie to you, I'm not allowed," he grinned. "You know what my job is?"

"You're a policeman," she nodded.

"That's right. But, I'm a special kind of policeman. See, I'm the kind that gets to use the magic," he smiled opening his kit. "See, people lose a lot of stuff. When they do things they sometimes leave stuff behind. And regular police can't see most of it. So, I get to help them find it. You see, without me the police couldn't catch the bad guys," he winked at her. "So, I get to go into all different kinds of places and help them find things. These things I find? They help put the bad guys in jail."

"So, what do you find?"

"Well, sometimes the things I have to find are pretty big. Guess how big," he smiled playfully.

"I don't know," she shrugged. A smile curled the corners of her mouth. It was the first he'd seen of the girl from the framed photos.

"Come on, guess."

Again she smiled, shaking her head.

"Would you believe I get to find cars? Sometimes I get to find bikes. One time I had to find a boat. Guess where I found the boat?

"Where?"

"In someone's driveway. One time? I even had to go to the gross landfill and dig through trash. Know what I found there? A frying pan," he smiled offering a little laugh. "But, sometimes? Sometimes the things I have to find aren't so easy to see. Sometimes they're invisible."

"How do you find them, then?"

"It's hard," he nodded. "But you see all of this?" he motioned to his open field kit. "All of this helps me find things that are invisible. That's why it's magic," he winked. "What kinds of things do you think this helps me find?" he asked holding up a bottle of black print powder.

Taking the jar into her hand she looked the contents over.

"I don't know," she shrugged.

"Well," he began by taking the jar back, "this helps me find fingerprints. Want to see how it works?"

She offered a sweet smile as she nodded her head, "Okay."

"Here's what you do. Take your hands like this," he demonstrated laying his hand out palm up, "and rub your head," he smiled ruffling his own hair. "Now, slap them on this," he laughed laying a piece of paper atop her bed and finishing his demonstration.

He smiled watching her comply with his instruction.

"Now watch," he motioned with the jar of print powder. "I take this brush, dip it in the powder, and then brush the powder over the paper," he demonstrated with the smooth twirl of the brush. "Check it out," he smiled showing his now visible hand print. "Wanna give it a shot?"

She smiled taking the offered brush and dabbing it oh-so-carefully into the open jar of powder. With the intricate care of a first grader, she maneuvered the brush over the paper.

"Good job," he laughed as the girl's tiny hands slowly came into view.

He hesitated then, wary of the next question he knew had to be asked. "Do you know why I was at your house last night?" he asked, gently bringing the conversation back around.

"To find things?" she asked with all the innocence of the child that she was.

"That's right," he nodded. "Emily…" he hesitated again, not sure how to tell her what was jumbled in his head. "The man in your house was scary, wasn't he?"

She nodded slowly.

"The man hurt your mom and dad, didn't he?"

Another slow nod.

"And Nathan and Hannah?"

One more nod.

"Emily, I…I found your hiding place. Did…did the man in your house find it?"

"No," she shook her head, her chin quivering.

"The space in your closet, behind your puppet stage, right?"

She nodded slowly, unsure, her eyes again cast toward the door.

"It is a really good hiding spot. I bet you could stay there all the time and no one could find you."

"I bet you could find me," she tried to smile.

"Emily…can you help me try to imagine what this man looked like? Did you see his face?"

Again, she was hesitant to answer.

He knew she didn't want to.

"I only saw his back," she shook her head.

"That's okay. Just tell me what you remember," he nodded.

"He had brown hair."

"Brown hair?"

"And he dressed like my dad."

"Okay," he nodded coaxing her on. "Okay. Was he tall or short…maybe taller than your dad?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe. I…I couldn't see."

"Okay, that's okay," he turned his attention to his field kit once more. "Can I show you one more thing?" he asked pulling out a cotton swab, its amber plastic cover closed over the cotton tip.

"What's that?" she asked.

"This? Oh, this is a giant Q-Tip," he smiled removing the protective plastic cover. "Wanna know what we do with these?"

She nodded, her eyes again wide with interest.

"Check this out. This helps me find DNA. Do you know what DNA is?" he asked, squinting his eyes slightly.

She shook her head in the negative.

"Well, DNA helps tell me who people are. If I don't have pictures of a person, or I don't know who they are, DNA can tell me," he smiled opening his mouth and swabbing the inside of his cheek. "That's how it works," he shrugged closing the plastic cap. "Doesn't even hurt. Wanna give it a go?" he asked handing her a swab.

Mirroring the CSI, she swabbed the inside of her mouth.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" he smiled. "And…if I mix them up I have a special machine back where I work that can tell me which one's yours and which one's mine," he smiled taking the sample from the girl's hand, as she leaned back heavily into the pillows. "Getting tired?"

She nodded, her eyes clearly becoming heavy.

Silently, Sam breezed back into the room. Quite skillfully, she proceeded to check Emily's IVs and vitals.

"How's the pain, honey?" she asked quietly, gently placing a hand on the child's cheek.

"Okay," Emily yawned.

"How's Nick, here?" the nurse motioned with her head.

"I like him," the child smiled.

Nick smiled as he silently sat watching, impressed by the gentleness of the nurse.

Jotting a few notes on the patient's chart, she returned the clipboard to its spot at the end of the bed. Offering a soft smile to the CSI, she left as silently as she'd entered.

"Are you leaving now?" Emily asked with a yawn as she watched Nick pack up his kit through her drooping eyelids.

"Not if you don't want me to," he shook his head standing from his seat next to her. Gently, carefully he pulled the blankets up around the girl's thin frame.

"Stay," she nodded, her eyelids growing heavier.

"Alright. I'm not going anywhere," he smiled his hand gently stroking the child's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."