To Whom It May Concern

by duffshel

Sequel to Poisonous Fear. There’s evil once again in the city of sin. Whatever happens in Vegas…might just kill ya. Now Complete!

21. Chapter 21

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: This chapter just seemed to write itself. Still trying to figure out where it came from, but I guess I'm not going to fight the thought process on this thing. Hope it works with the story as it's going. Kind of nervous about this one. Yeah, maybe a lot nervous about this one. I can only wish what I have coming up will come so easily. That would be most awesome. And as always, let me know what you think of this latest….mess of thoughts. Need to hear from you guys. It's like a drug! Have a good weekend! Bye!

Chapter 21:

Choose
The single clenched fist lifted and ready,
Or the open hand held out and waiting.
Choose:
For we meet by one or the other.

-Carl Sandburg

His voice could have worked as Santa Claus. He could have worn the suit, the beard, even the hat. The kids would have line up to sit on his lap, tell their dreams for impressive gifts for the upcoming season. He could have made people smile and laugh.

But he was determined to get screams, fear. If he would have had his choice, children probably wouldn't exist. They would be locked up, or worse, killed. He didn't love anything other than himself. I've been told there is no such thing as being born evil, that it is just a myth, but this guy, yeah, I'd buy it.

The crap about his gods was nothing, but lies. He spoke a great deal about them, but I doubt even he knew where he was going with it. This second time around, he seemed to have left most of that behind him. There were mentions, yes, but nothing like before. New levels were discovered this time around.

Now it was all about destiny and history. It almost seemed to be like the sick version of Achilles if you ask me. Man didn't know what he wanted other than to have to his name written in blood on every stone on the planet. Glory was his new pedestal, his new worship.

I never got it. Never, in all that time. It was something I couldn't grasp. I guess I shouldn't want to figure it out, might make things harder some would say. But, well, I think it would help.

If I knew what was really leading him to this shit, then maybe I could get over it more. Instead I write in the journal about the things that happened to me. The stuff that should be locked away. Nice little pen marks, nice neat little lines. All that shit rolled into one.

At least my stomach only churns occasionally as I'm doing this now. It's an improvement from before. But I gotta say, still impressed I'm even doing this. A week ago, I would have laughed in your face if you mentioned to me that I'd be doing this.

We're getting into the hard, heavy stuff now.

This is almost the middle. Almost to what I feared to do earlier. I have checked the pill content. I think I can make it through this. Thought, I'm sure it's going to take a few sittings to make it work. And I have to get to the doctor's again. Should get a cookie for all my good effort I've made.

All I can say about that one is "yay!"

Maybe I should just stop here. Not go on anymore. I don't know if I have the energy to do it anymore. It doesn't matter that I won't share this with anyone. I don't think I even want to share it with myself.

I can lie about it. No one needs to know. Lying won't hurt. Not in this case.

Sometimes the past is best left in the past. Somebody said that at some time, I'm sure of it. But I really don't have the time or patience to care to look it up. If I'm stealing it, sorry. No mean to take great words and make them my own. I have enough trouble as it is without that on top of everything.

Do I really want to go on? Hell no!

Now that I'm this far, I don't really get why I'm doing this. Doubt is here in full swing. I can't tell if this is helping or forcing me at have an ulcer. Wouldn't be surprised if I have to be locked up when it's all said and done.

I'd swallow the key.

This is the stuff that nightmares are made out of. If you want to scare a kid from going out after curfew just tell them this story. Tell them Santa Claus will take you and your best friend to the brink of hell and back. They won't do anything wrong ever again with that deep in their thoughts.

I bet Steven King or Dean Koontz could make it sound all romantic. Well, as romantic as horror can be. I guess what I mean to say is they could make it sound good. Make it sound like a horror that would never come true.

All I do is scare myself. Facts are facts and they will follow me to my grave. This middle stuff, well, shit…. I really don't know anymore.

Can I really do this? Can I relive this part of it all?

The stuff I've already done? Well, that was easy actually. Would seem hard, but it really wasn't. Sure I got emotionally beat up. I almost lost it more times then I could count. Cried more tears than I've been used to when I'm not in any sort of physical pain. And nothing made sense.

We lost a lot along the way at the end of the beginning there. Hell, the cases were almost secondary to what was happening to us. Sad to say, but justice went on the backburner for personal reasons. Should be put on trial for not doing our jobs in the right way. Somehow it could be obstruction. Sure some lawyer would jump all over it if given the chance.

But, well, it all comes together. Like a good little story, things fall in their places. The nightmare has to complete itself somehow. And what's a nightmare without several freights, right?

I know when I used to like Halloween, the more scare for your buck was what you wanted. If they didn't go much, too little blood, too little jumps, you wanted your money back. Same with this one. I paid with more than paper currency though.

I paid with soul currency.

And I guess, I got more than my money's worth. I got a whole lot of extra baggage that they really could take back. Not needed here. I have stuff already stuffed away in my attic. No thanks.

I'm stalling, aren't I?

But who cares. What, is Mead going to jump through and kick my ass for it? Yeah, now that I'd pay to see. Someone jumping out of the notebook to kick my ass for not wanting to get into the middle.

Hell, who said a story needs a middle anyways.

Only person I can think of would be my ninth grade English teacher. And seeing the fact that I went into chemistry and then law. English wasn't high on my list of cares. So, I really don't think I need to follow the conventional order for a story.

I could skip the middle. I could get to the end, to where I am now. It's not so bad now. I can deal with now. Nothing unexpected in the right now at least.

Seeing the fact that I don't have to share this, I could do it. I could. No one would yell or tell me what a bad thing it is. No grade needed. No need to type it up, twelve font, one inch margins on all sides. No points off for grammar.

Yeah. I could skip it. I can move on. No need. No need for a middle.

Skip it!

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

present…

Nick pushed himself away from his desk. He looked over at the clock, frowning at the time. Seems like he would lose himself in this journal every time. It was late. Later than he had been ready for. But he had to admit, sleep was the farthest thing on his mind.

He was at the hard part of his story telling. This was where he didn't think he would be able to make it. And it was making him a little queasy.

Thinking about it, Nick went over to his closet and selected a few things. He changed into the sweatpants and the t-shirt. His mind needed to be cleared out. Nick needed some time to think through some of the stuff, see what he could really remember or not.

The house was quiet, a few lights on of course. Nick moved with some ease, walking over to one of the drawers in his kitchen. It slid open without a creak. This was his version of a handyman's hideout in the kitchen. But Nick mainly wanted to the large flashlight.

With a push on the switch, the tiny bulb lit up. The batteries were good. Nick had just replaced them the night before. He would be good. Only planned on being out for a few minutes anyways.

Nick grabbed his key chain that held only his house key and let himself out into the night. It was fairly warm, though cool enough to cause a slight chill. Perfect jogging weather.

He locked the door, set the alarm. Nick turned again to face his driveway, arms stretched high above his head. Some pavement pounding was all he needed. And then maybe, maybe he could do some more of this.

Jogging slightly in place, shaking out his arms, Nick breathed deep and steady. He planned his path out in his head. The flashlight lit up the way. It was heavy. Would knock someone out if he were to slam it into their head.

His feet dug down, pushing him off. Nick began to make his way down the driveway. He only slightly hesitated at the end before turning into the street. The street lights watched from above.

It was all quiet. No one was moving. It might be safe.

The constant thudding of his feet on the cement filled his ears. His breathing sped up, making his chest expand to its maximum. And his blood pumped quicker through his veins. Nick could almost feel his body cleaning itself out as he ran.

Thoughts were taken away, put back. All he knew was the street in front of him and the fact that he was alive. This was allowing him to show the world his freedom. Nick Stokes wasn't afraid to run alone in the streets in his neighborhood.

A red truck turned down the street he was currently working on. Without event thinking about it, Nick moved closer to the curb. His hand clutched at the flashlight a little more as the lights approached. The pace of his run dropped, slowing enough so he would be able to charge off in another direction if he really needed to.

The windows were down. There was a arm, a hand resting on the car door. In the street lights, Nick could make out enough of the face to identify the person. The hand lifted, a small wave. Nick nodded his head at his across the street neighbor and picked up his speed again.

Slap, slap.

Nick tried to avoid watching the light from the flashlight as it bobbed up and down in front of him. His eyes scanned as much as they could as he covered more ground. The edge of the familiar homes was coming, quickly. Seems he was running faster than he was used to. The sweat running down his back was testament to that.

Two more cars passed him, these people unknown to him. But they ignored him as he tried his hardest to do to them. There were a lot more cars at the last intersection to the neighborhood. Nick stopped for a moment, hands on his knees, panting for air to watch them. None of those people were concerned about anything. Simply driving along like nothing else was going on around them.

For some reason unknown to him, Nick suddenly felt disgusted at them all. None of them knew anything about life and its pains. He was the only one that seemed to have every cruelty known to man on his list. Those cars hid those people from the real world, real life.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Nick placed his hands on his back forcing his spine to arch and stretch. Nick tried to clear his head of those ideas. The people that were to blame weren't in any of those cars. Those people in those cars had their own things to deal with. No point trying to compare apples to oranges on such matters.

The sweat on his body began to evaporate into the night air. His skin began to shiver. Nick turned around and began a brisk jog back in the direction he had come from. Last thing he needed was to get sick on top of everything. Needed to be on the top of his game for all the doctors.

Everything seemed quieter on his way back. The lights in the homes that had been on were now all off. Nick slowed a little and took a better look around him. It was almost as if the world were shutting down and leaving him out on the curb with nothing, but a flashlight.

"You're losing it again, Stokes. Just get your ass home," Nick huffed out between intakes of air.

He finally turned back down his road, feet getting faster without him really thinking about it. As he pounded the road back to his house, Nick could see the truck he had passed parked in the correct driveway. Lights were on in that house.

All the lights were on in his house. For some reason, it brought Nick back to another stop at the end of his driveway. Looking in from that spot, Nick could see light illuminating through almost every available window in the structure.

It looked ridiculous. Nick began to suddenly wonder what everyone thought when they passed his house. If he had become the crazy light guy yet or not. And it wasn't a good thought. People would look. People always looked at things that were different, odd. A house with all its lights on at all hours would be an attention getter.

A sound filled the air. It sounded strange yet so familiar. Nick scrunched up his eyes trying to figure out what it was. It happened again. And this time, he was able to find the origin of it. The noises were his own personal sobs.

Emotions rained down on him as he stood at the end of his driveway. Thoughts he had tried to avoid washed back to the front of his mind. Nick clutched his arms around him, trying to fight the chill without and within. He couldn't do this.

Sprinting up the pavement to his door, Nick fumbled to get his key out of his pocket. The flashlight fell from his hands and began to roll back down the driveway. Nick watched it go, hesitating only for a moment before moving back onto his door. The light would be able to survive the elements of the night a lot better than he would have been able to.

Unsure fingers scrambled to type in the code to his alarm system. Warm tears ran down his cheeks as he tried to make his hands work correctly. Nick couldn't control what his mind was doing. It was not what he wanted. The thoughts were not what he wanted!

Suddenly that was all he could see in his mind. Warrick having his head shot off like Kelly had just done to her own. His brains would be like strawberry ice cream with pink swirls of brain all over the floor. And Nick would have to pick them up and put them all in individual little baggies.

It was dark. No light was able to reach any inch of his body. Nick's mouth opened wide, scream loud to his ears as it echoed around the small room. No one was coming!

His head blew apart from the impact of the bullet. The gun fell from his hand that had positioned it to his chin. Nick sat frozen, hands sweating on the steering wheel.

The voice brought him up short. His breathing quickened a little as he pressed the phone tighter to his ear. It didn't seem possible that this was happening. Something was off in the voice, a fear of some sort.

Pain flared through every fiber of his body. There was only so much he would be able to handle and this seemed to be the limits of it. No amount of pleading or crying was able to make it change. More just kept coming. He had let them down. Nick couldn't do anything for anyone. Ever.

It was sudden. Nick wasn't ready for it. His emotions had taken over, losing everything for him. The phone was almost a battle for him now. Nick managed to fumble it open.

He wrestled with the zipper of his case. The bag was getting old and the zipper stuck about half way down. Nick knew he should look into replacing it, but never actually took the time to do it. Grabbing an evidence bag from the inside, he ripped the top of a marker off with his teeth. The shoe fit in just fine, sealed from the night air. Nothing else special to about it to catch his attention.

The steel was warm in his hands. It had been used. He had seen it. And now, it was his. But in the darkness, there was nothing to aim at. Well…there was one thing.

He could feel something in his hand, knew it was important in some way. A distant sound told him to pay attention to it. But all he could hear was the gunshot. All he could feel were the small trails of blood on his face. The dripping from his chin to his shirt almost seemed to weigh his torso down too much.

His weight fell in through the door, mostly from the quick snap shots flashing across his eyes. Nick landed hard on his knees, grunting from the impact. Loud, keening sobs were escaping now. Pain from inside was taking over. And along with his fear and pain, rage was swelling up as well.

If it wasn't for what that man had done, he wouldn't be like this. Ready to cry and sob at the drop of a hat. Nothing was working. Everything was against him. Nick couldn't see his way out. Even after all the time, the help. There wasn't any way to be free anymore.

Nick crawled into his house more, hands reaching up to enable the locks and security system behind him. No one was going to get into his house, not anywhere close to him. Panic welled up.

A voice from the very back of his mind was trying to scream through the rest of the mess. It was trying to help calm him. Help him to organize his thoughts enough to get someone there. Warrick would be there in a heart beat if Nick asked it of him. But the voice was lost in the waves of torment. There were no breaks on this one.

His feet were unsteady under his weight, but Nick made them work anyways. Anger colored his world red now. Nick's hands clenched, nails digging into his palms. Tears were still running down his face, but he ignored them completely. There was no name for the sounds escaping his throat now.

The battle was still lost, even after all this time. Nick didn't understand that. Everyone said he would be alright. Time would help heal all wounds and all that bullshit. But here he was. Lost in his own house. Nick wanted someone to suffer for it.

All reason was lost in. Nick didn't have any control anymore. He was back, back in that place. And now he was free. No one was in his way. This time, he would break free.

If anyone heard the crashes from inside his house, no one came knocking on the door. Sirens didn't come screaming down the street to stop in front of his driveway. People had turned there backs to the Texan. No one cared that he was destroying anything he could get his hands onto.

Until the first sign of blood. Nick gasped and looked down at his bloody hand. The glass had shattered in his grasp before he even had a chance to get it thrown into the far wall. The weight of the world crashed down onto his shoulders. Nick hit the floor tiles in his kitchen.

His eyes were wide, unfocused. Air gushed in and out of his lungs, almost to the point of hyperventilating. Nick tried to bring himself back under control. He fought everything in the way. It was a hard battle, but he soon was able to focus on the here and now.

Nick looked to his right. His cell phone had been thrown, but he didn't realize that the kitchen had been the spot he was aiming for. Hell, he hadn't even realized he had thrown the damn thing. But it was there. Stretching, Nick grabbed it.

The number went through on speed dial. It wasn't long, "Hello?"

"Warrick?"

"Nick? What's up man? It's late."

A gulp stopped him from responding for a moment, "It's happening again."

"Shit. You okay?"

The sobs were coming back, "No."

"Alright. You stay put. You're at home right?"

"Mm hm."

"Don't move. I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay together bro. I'll be there."

"Okay. Hurry, please."

"Trust me Nicky. It'll be okay."

"Never okay," Nick hung up the phone. He let it drop to the floor. His body slanted sideways. Glass crushed under his body, but Nick didn't care. The ending was all he wanted now. Again.

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

The ground underneath him didn't hurt anymore. It was soft. Nick sighed and turned his cheek deeper into the plushy feeling. And his skin was warm again. It was almost peaceful.

"You awake yet, man?"

A deep tenor drifted to his ears. Nick's face frowned and he shifted deeper into the warmth. Something heavy was now on his shoulder, but it wasn't scary. It was reassuring. Nick murmured something into the softness.

"Nick. I need you to wake up. Still have to make sure you're okay. I think I got your hand cleaned up fairly well, but just want to make sure. Wake up for me, bro."

A slight shake came now. Nick groaned and tried to turn away from it. Whatever it was persisted and the shaking got a little harder. There was no way he could ignore it anymore.

"Wha're d'ng t' 'e 'ere? 'eave 'e 'une."

"Yeah, that's not even close to being close to English. Gonna have to tell Greggo you're learning his type of speak if ya keep it up."

Nick managed to open his eyes and looked up into the amused green ones above his head. His lips turned upward into a sneer, "Wha' you want? Sleepin'."

"I know, hind side. I was the one who hauled your ass into here after you destroyed your house. And when I say destroyed, oh I mean it. You went ape shit on it dude."

"Huh?"

"You take your pills yesterday?"

A hand rose and scratched at his nose, "I don't know what you're talking about 'Rick. My house?"

"Geez. I knew these episodes could get bad, but you haven't had one like this in awhile. Thought we had it dealt with. Guess I was hoping for something to soon. How's the hand?"

Pain suddenly reminded him he even had a hand. Nick looked at the bandages wrapped around his hand, the one he had brought to scratch at his itch. And seeing the pink working its way through the bandages was enough for Nick to remember.

"Oh shit!" Nick buried his face into his pillow, trying to suffocate the thoughts away.

"Shit is right. Gonna take some work to get things cleaned up. What set this one of?"

"I dunno. Went for a run. Clear my head," Nick sat up, hair in disarray, "Came back…shit, got to the end of my driveway. Saw the lights or something. I dunno. Snapped I guess. Haven't done that since right after. Thought I was done too."

"Remember anything major with it?"

"Lots of flashbacks. Lots of darkness. Need to get my flashlight."

Warrick chuckled at that one, pushing Nick back onto the bed as the man fought to get to his feet, "I grabbed it on my way in. Was sitting in the middle of your drive. Almost ran the damn thing over with my truck."

"Hm," Nick looked around his bedroom, suddenly unsure and uneasy.

"What's wrong Nick?" Warrick asked, gripping Nick's shoulder in a friendly vice.

"Something's wrong with me. I'm crazy. I should be locked up."

"Nah man. Nothing wrong with you other than your style. Shit was hard. And a lot all at once. Believe me, I'm still dealing with it as well. Wasn't no picnic. Just glad you called me when you did."

"Should have done it right away. I know I thought of it. Just didn't do it. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Warrick got to his feet and began to wander around the room, not wanting to make Nick feel like he was beginning to smother him. His eyes rested upon the open journal with the pen resting on top of the pages.

"You having much luck with this thing?"

"It's that fucking thing's fault for all of this!" Nick burst out, "If she didn't make me start this, remember everything, maybe it would all go away."

"Hey Nick, you ever think that this is a good thing? I mean, yeah, you're wrecking your stuff, but at least its on the outside. Imagine what you might do if you kept it all on the inside."

"Oh yeah, and I know how well you're doing with your own man. Don't lecture me on this stuff."

Turning back to the bed and its occupant, Warrick placed his hands on his hips, "I have other means to do this. Nick, I have a wife at home now. It is a big help. You're here alone, with that damn frog. And you wonder why you freak out. Shit."

"How can it be a good thing? I do nothing, but panic," Nick asked with wide, questioning eyes. His fingers were playing with a string from his blanket, eyes downcast.

"You're dealing with it. Might not be the most cost effective way, but you're doing it the way you need to. You had similar things after…well, after the other time. But this one, lots of shit with this one, man. I wouldn't blame you for much right now."

"Should be locked up."

"You and half the planet," Warrick walked a little closer to the bed, "You're doing fine Nick. Have to replace half your kitchen, but you're fine. No need to lock you up."

"Don't deserve to get to go back to work."

"Uh huh, sure. Like the lab will be able to survive without you there helping us out."

"Us? You're still out too, Warrick. And they seem to be doing just fine without me right now."

"Nick? What really is the problem? Nothing to do with work or anything like that. What really set you off tonight?" Warrick asked with no resistance in his voice.

Nick swallowed and frowned, "The journal. I'm to that part. I've been writing things down the best I can remember. And I'm to that part."

"What part?"

"His part. The middle of everything. I can't do it anymore Warrick. I'm done with the journal. It wasn't a good idea. I was getting better before that damn thing made me relive everything again. And this I can't do."

Warrick breathed deep through his nose, "You lived through it once. I think writing it will be easier. You want me to stick around and help you do it? Might do me some good too."

"I dunno. I think I'm going to skip it and move on. I want to get back to normal again."

"Ain't no such thing as normal with you anymore Nick. Hell, ever at that. Should just accept that. You're a lost cause," Warrick teased as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"What about your wife you have supporting you back home? Won't she get curious to what you're doing over here at this hour? It is late after all, like you said."

"You ain't that good looking, man," Warrick snorted at the attempt Nick was trying to make at loosening up the mood, "And Tina knows what's going on. She wants to help too if possible. Still can't figure out how she likes you better than me. I'm her damn husband."

"I'm smarter than you," Nick grinned as he ran his good fingers over the bandages on the bad ones.

"Yeah, forgot about that one. So…you want me to help you? I think the two of us can get through this without you trashing your living room next. Last thing I want to listen to is you bitching about how you destroyed all your precious bird documentaries. A root canal would be preferred to that one."

"Thanks Warrick. I mean it. For everything."

Warrick nodded his head, smiled, "Nothing you wouldn't do for me. Now. Let's see how well I can remember this shit. Hell, I should have brought my journal along. Could of filled it up with doodles or something. Get brownie points next visit."

"No gold stars in this one. No gold at all in this one," Nick mumbled as he got out of his bed and walked to his desk. It taunted him. A shiver went up his spine. The middle was waiting.

TBC…

Author Question: Just wondering how everyone is doing with the length of this story. Do you think it is getting too long? There are a few things I can do to shorten it up if need be. Otherwise, thinking this will be about thirty chapters long. Don't want to make it too dragged out. Let me know what you think on this. Thanks.