Summary: There's evil once again in the city of sin. Whatever happens in Vegas…might just kill ya.

Timeline: Sequel to Poisonous Fear (recommended that one is read first), Early/Mid Season Six

Spoilers: Grave Danger, Bodies in Motion, Shooting Stars, Gum Drops, Daddy's Little Girl, several references to other episodes

Disclaimer: This is all written in fun. Everything CSI is not mine and never will be. It belongs to the creative talent of the actors, the writers, the directors, and the producers. I am not making any money off of this. Only meant to offer something new on something already so great. No reason to sue.

Title: To Whom It May Concern

By: duffshel

Author's Note: Head's up on this chapter. Might be a bit confusing if you read it too quickly…trying something a tad new. And I must say, this has been one of my favorite chapters to write. Hope you all enjoy. And please review! I miss hearing from you guys! Alright, I hope this works. Bye!

Chapter 12:

Nothing you do for children is ever wasted. They seem not to notice us, hovering, averting our eyes, and they seldom offer thanks, but what we do for them is never wasted.

Garrison Keillor

present…

Nick gently placed his pen down on the lined paper of his notebook. His fingers took a moment to stretch out to their normal length. There was a cramp in his neck from having his head bent for so long. Looking over at the clock, Nick shrugged at the time.

The sun was still out, abet a little lower in the sky. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. But his head really didn't want to think about food at that moment. It was still swimming in the sea of memories and he was drowning little by little. Soon, the only thing he would be able to see would be the last lap of water brushing over his wide, gasping mouth.

His muscles in his butt and legs had gone numb so it took him a moment longer in getting out of the chair than he would have liked. Wobbling his feet a little, Nick was able to take a couple steps forward, enough that he was standing next to his bed.

Everything in him wanted nothing more than to fall boneless down onto the sheets, but Nick also didn't want to make a habit out of napping in the middle of the afternoon. When he finally would return to work, he wanted to be able to fall back into his normal routine with little to no problems. And getting over a nap obsession would be too much.

Focusing on his doorway, Nick tried to make himself walk forward. There were rays of sunlight dancing across the floor outside that door, not a whole lot of darkness waiting for him. But his feet had a mind of their own. He ended up looking down into the green world caught in a bit of glass.

Nick carefully removed the top of the aquarium, turning the light off in the process. His hand seemed large amongst the green plastic vines and small crickets hoping here and there on their own personal missions. The frog didn't bother to avoid him. She sat, waiting, watching.

It was always an odd feeling. Her flesh had no terms to describe them. Nick could tell anyone how the feathers of a parakeet felt different than those of a large, Caribbean parrot. But when it came to talking about the smoothness and sleek shine the frog had in his hand, he was at a loss.

She settled nicely in his palm after some shifting and extending of her fragile limbs. In a way, they reminded Nick of the bones collected in a bird's wing. And her large eyes, they were soft, not menacing in any means. She was comfortable with him and, deep down, him with her.

"How are ya today, li'l darlin'?" Nick drawled out for her, almost sing-songing it for the amphibian. She responded with a twitch of her head, a blink of black eyes. Her toes spread out against the paleness of his skin. The color was intriguing.

"Not gonna talk to me today, eh Reveille? Not even a hello?"

The tiny weight shifted in his hand, her body moving backwards just a little bit. But the frog made no move to jump from his hand. She had never tried to get away from him in all the time they had been together. It was another thing about this situation he didn't get.

When ever they went frog catching when he was younger, the frogs and toads would hop and leap as fast as they could to get away from the children chasing them around. And when you finally did capture one, it squirmed and puffed its chest out the best it could in means to escape. Rev seemed to have no desire to run from him.

Nick smiled and walked his way out into the hallway now. The frog shifted only to take in different view points of her journey. They walked into the kitchen together, Nick standing on the tile for just a moment.

"Gonna have to put ya down for a minute. Should really eat something, haven't eaten since breakfast this morning with Warrick," Nick mumbled as he coaxed the frog down onto the marble of his counter top.

Reveille got interested in her new spot quickly, taking small steps with her long limbs. She looked over the newspaper he had sitting there while the Texan whipped some frozen burritos out of his freezer to nuke them in the microwave.

As he waited for the beep, Nick shuffled around in his fridge, grabbing a bag of shredded cheese and a can of root beer. He set the stuff down and watched Rev move closer to the aluminum can. She reached out and put her front right pads on the coolness only to pull her leg back quickly. Nick couldn't help, but to chuckle at the confusion he found. If one could say a frog got confused that was.

"Better watch out, Rev. Kinda cold. Might stick to it if you're not careful."

It never occurred to Nick that talking to a poisonous dart frog was probably not a good thing. But, he knew, that whether it was this frog or something else, he needed something to talk to. And Rev was actually pretty amusing in the end. It was almost as if she had a personality all her own and was giving him those puppy eyes for the best crickets money could buy.

The microwave dinged and Nick quickly wrapped his hand in a towel to remove the hot plate. He quickly sprinkled some cheese over the top of the steaming burritos before simply chucking the bag back into the fridge. Nick walked his plate and the can out into the living room and placed them on the low table in front of his couch.

Then he walked back and collected the frog.

Rev took up the other cushion on the plush sofa. When Nick had first tried this, he had been worried the fabric of the cushion might do something to the tiny frog. But she seemed to enjoy it, tucking her legs up underneath her as if getting ready to relax. In fact, there had been a couple of times that she had fallen asleep like that, with him on the couch.

Nick smiled and reached for the remote. It flipped on, the speakers emitting some noise from some movie Nick had no interest in. The channels ate into one another and Nick blinked with ever switch. He found some random golfing match out of some city. It was enough background noise for him to wolf down the burritos.

Slamming back the rest of his root beer, Nick leaned back and propped his feet up on the table. The match was good, leader in front by four strokes. It was a twelve under par match. Lots of big names, lots of money at stake. And some award that the announcer seemed obsessed with.

Not realizing it, Nick's eyes suddenly felt heavy. His head fell over to the side, rolling along the back of the couch. He fought to keep his eyes open. But he was slowly losing the battle. As the newest golfer on the screen stepped up to the green, Nick let his eyes fall shut. And welcomed any dream that would obviously result from it.

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()+

There was a knock at the door. Nick groaned and kicked out his feet. His right foot came crashing down right on top of a cold, crusty plate. He made a face as he peeled the mess away from his flesh. A couple particles of dried burrito came off as well.

Nick stood, stretched his back with his hands pressing hard onto the lower part of his back. His mouth opened wide into a yawn, breath rushing out in a low rumble from deep in his chest. Licking at his lips absently and running his hands through his short hair, Nick shuffled towards his door. A glance at the clock told him he hadn't been asleep for very long.

Wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand, Nick reached out and unlocked the door. No one had said a work on the other side of the wood, but it didn't seem to occur to Nick at all in his sleepy state. The knob turned easily. And the door seemed to open with no help from him. As if the wind pushed it wide open.

At first, Nick saw no one. His eyes shifted to the right, to the left under his frown. It was only when he lifted his right hand to scratch at his neck was his eyesight turned downward. His confusion got even greater.

"Miguel? Wha' are ya doing here?"

A mop of light brown hair covered the boy's face from the angle Nick was looking down at him with. What he could see was the fumbling hands, twisting around each other in a nervous fashion. The kid was dressed in blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and white sneakers.

"Miguel?" Nick tried again.

The boy looked up at him, brown eyes full of question, "Mr. Stokes, can I come in?"

Nick and Miguel had seen each other a few times since the events that had happened to them. The boy had been over to his house before, but it was a good walk from the foster home he was living in. Leaning out a little more, Nick scanned his driveway and the street.

"How'd you get here?"

"I rode my bike," Miguel pointed to the Trek lying in the grass, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure. Right this way."

There was some awkward movement, but they both stood in the open area between the kitchen and the living room. Nick took to studying the boy, trying to figure out why he was here, now. And Miguel was interested only in the tile of the floor.

Dropping down to his knee, Nick leveled himself with the boy, "Hey bud, what brought you here?"

"I heard you saw my dad."

It was quiet and Nick almost missed it. Almost. But when his brain put meaning to those seven words, his back went stock straight.

"From who?"

"Mrs. Krahn heard about it. And she was talking to someone on the phone. I was in the hallway at the time, with Tom."

"But how did she find out?" Nick didn't remember anyone contacting the woman about the boy she had in her care recently. But there were more people on the police force than he knew so it might be possible.

Miguel shrugged, didn't say a word. He had gotten a little taller, a lot skinner since the time with the mad man. The boy had handled the situation with his parents fairly well. He had never been to see his father in the prison. And it interested Nick why it was such a big deal now.

"Hey, you thirsty? I got root beer."

"Okay. Thanks."

"You take a seat. Oh, and look out for Rev. She's on the couch."

Walking quickly into the kitchen, Nick tried to keep the questions in his head in order. He didn't want to sound like a blubbering idiot to the kid. Fishing out two more cans of soda, Nick walked back into the living room. Miguel had sat in the chair on the other side of the table.

Nick reached a can over before settling himself back down onto the sofa. He had checked the frog, but she didn't move at all. She was completely asleep.

"Why did you come here today, Miguel?"

Again, the boy shrugged, "I dunno. Just…"

"Curious about your father?" Nick tried to prod out.

"Yeah…I guess. I mean, I haven't seen him in awhile and stuff. Does he miss me?"

"Miguel, bud. I didn't really have a chance to talk to him about that stuff. We had some questions about his brother. I'm sorry, but we didn't mention you. It's probably for the best."

"Yeah, I'm only his kid after all. Don't need to talk about me," Miguel's tone had dropped, taken on a harder edge.

Nick shifted his weight around as he thought hard over his next words, "Look, I'm sorry. I told you before though, if you really want to go see him, I can take you. No problem. All you have to do is ask."

"I suppose. But I don't know if I should. He wasn't nice to me at all. Tried to kill my tadpoles and everything."

They both fell silent. Nick fidgeted a little, wishing he could think of something perfect to say. Something that would make everything better, everything clearer. But he was coming up with a blank.

Except for a small thought in the back of his head. It made Nick frown suddenly. He took in the boy sitting across from him with a new eye. Something wasn't right.

"Miguel, what is today?"

"I dunno. Didn't look, don't care."

"But, I saw your father months ago, in that prison. Not today. No, not today. I went to the doctor's today…"

"You saw my father! Did he say he missed me?"

"Not today, no. Something's wrong," Nick stood and looked quickly over his living room. There were suddenly flashes of light, like lightening from outside his window.

"Mr. Stokes, you saw my father? What did he say?"

Miguel was at his side, holding his hand now. It was ice cold. Nick tried to pull away, frown getting deeper in his brow. But the hand held tight. And the cold seemed to be moving up his arm now.

"Miguel, something isn't right here. What day is it?"

"It doesn't matter. You saw my father. What did he say?"

The questions were getting meaner with each passing through the boy's lips. Miguel's face was losing its color. His eyes were shrinking back into his skull. And the lightening was getting brighter, faster.

"What did he say?"

"Noth…nothing about you. I'm sorry, but it wasn't today," Nick's voice came out in a rush of air. His lungs began heaving as he tried to figure this out. But his lungs exploded out every drop of oxygen he held when Miguel's neck opened and the blood began to pour out.

His hair suddenly went damp, tangled up. The color changed, going into a blonde shade. It worked with the paleness his skin had taken. And the blue tint of his lips seemed to match the freeze in his hand, still clamped hard on Nick's.

"Did he offer you any gum?"

Nick's heart stopped, "What?"

More blood poured from the slit now across his neck. The edges turned out a little, green puss filling the voids free of red. A smell of swamp and water filled Nick's mind.

"My father. Did he have any gum?" the voice began to get raspy.

Nick couldn't move, horror filling his entire face. Everything began to change around him, shifting from his living room to trees and water. And Miguel's eyes changed right before his.

"They came to my house. They had a fight. They couldn't find what they were looking for..."

Ten year old Cassie McBride looked up him through dripping eyelashes, blood covering the front of her shirt. Her hand was just as cold. And Nick couldn't help, but to scream as her eyes changed yet again taking on an aged appearance.

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()+

The scream erupted from deep inside him, filling the living room with the fear and pain. Nick fell oddly to the floor, kicking as he went down. He quickly pulled both his hands up to his heaving chest. Everything hurt, especially his heart.

He scanned the room around him, eyes wide and glossy. Tears rested just on the inside of his eyelids, waiting to be released. His ears open to any sounds that shouldn't be in the room.

Reveille croaked, rudely awoken from her nap. Nick's eyes snapped to the tiny, black ones. He tried breathing through his mouth, tried counting backwards in his head. Nothing was working to calm his nerves, slow his heart rate.

No one was in the room with him. He hadn't been brought from his sleep by a knock on the door. Nick was alone in his living room. There weren't any eyes on him.

Shudders ran through his form as he tried to bring himself back together. A hitch in his breath caused him to start coughing, punishment on his torso. Groaning, Nick placed his left hand on his stomach. The right one was reaching out to the light switch.

There was more light, more security. Nick leaned forward against the wall. His breathing began to not hurt anymore. He was able to focus. No one was in the room with him, but he had to be certain.

Nick moved to his doorway with shaky footsteps. His mouth was dry, tongue seemed to be swollen to the roof of his mouth. Carefully, as if the door were red hot, Nick reached out and flipped open the viewer. He looked through it.

Miguel wasn't there. There wasn't a bike in his grass.

Laughing a little breathlessly, hysterically, Nick took a couple big steps backwards, away from the door. He turned to the frog watching his every move, "Come on Rev."

He scooped her up and walked away from the front door, flipping on every light switch he passed, electric bill be damned. Once he was inside his bedroom, Nick closed and locked the door. Instead of putting Reveille back into her home, he took her to the desk with him. She settled onto the wood without hesitation.

Nick sat heavily into the chair, looked down at the notebook. His hands were trembling, along with his bottom lip. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Everything was coming too forward, too quickly. This wasn't supposed to happen.

All he wanted to do was pick up the notebook and rip out everyone of the pages. Throw them across the room, along with the damn pen. Nick wasn't nothing more to do with this. It hurt too much. Made him think about things he didn't care to. And it made his ache.

His right hand reached out, fingers brushed over the pen. It rolled a little before he caught it and picked it up. Every fiber wanted to break it, remove it from his sight. Along with all the pain he was holding inside.

But he maneuvered it in his hand so it rested against his thumb and middle finger of his left hand. With one more quick glance at the pale green frog, Nick began to write some more.

!#$&()!#$&()!#$&()+

That was a piece of hell! My god! Why did that have to happen? And now of all times. This isn't making sense to me anymore. I don't want to do this.

I hate the doctor for making me write these things down. Having to relive so much that hurt too damn much. It isn't fair! She doesn't know what she's asking.

And shit! My hand won't stop shaking. This isn't going to work.

I can't think about him and them at the same time. Cassie and Miguel have nothing to do with him, not this time. They shouldn't have to bear anything he caused, even in my head. It isn't right.

Something needs to change. I need to change. I can't do this anymore.

And I can't write about Cassie anymore. I won't be able to live through that again, not on these pages. She is worth so much more. Cassie is a fighter, a good person. She will not have her story written by me, not on here.

The doctor can go to hell if she thinks I should. Hell, I won't even mention what the dream is about, to anyone. No one needs to know. I can do this all myself. I'm stronger than them, than him. I won't be defeated by this.

Cassie will not be mentioned anymore. I can't handle it. She will be free to away from this nightmare, even in thought. And I want her free of my dreams. I've seen her enough in my sleep and always to late.

This is one battle I won't give in to!

TBC…

Extra: I don't know about P.D. frogs, but I did have a gray tree frog that you could carry around with you like that. So, thought I'd use it. And, bonus plot hint for anyone who can guess the significance of the new frog name. (Emphasis on GUESS!) gins