People Like You

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Vegas or any of it's characters. This is just a little fun writing exercise I did after I binged the new series and went back to rewatch the more memorable scenes. Just a fair warning that there are some disturbing content in this including murder and rape. Please read with discretion.

Mason was a dolt.

Jeremiah made sure to remind the man of this fact at least once or twice every hour, on the hour. It was one of the few pleasures in his dull, controlled existence within the cold concrete cell that he called home. The rest of his time was spent meditating and reflecting on his accomplishments. These days, his mind drifted to the things that were to come once he got out of High Desert. His days passed slowly, but freedom inched ever closer. He would have to send David Hodges some flowers or perhaps a razor or two (those were so useful) once the man was inside for the rest of his days (however many of those he had left, anyway).

No matter how tedious it may have been, Jeremiah's time in prison had taught him the valuable lesson of patience. He filled his time reading and rewriting his manifesto over and over, perfecting it for the masses but also to give the psychologist he was mandated to speak to once a month more to chew on. Origami soothed his nerves when the isolation and utter lack of interesting sounds wore even on his steady countenance. Mason–stupid, hulking, insufferable Mason–provided little by entertainment and had become a the dullest, densest sounding board in existence. Perhaps after Jeremiah slit Mrs Mason's throat from ear to ear, he would do Mason a kindness and kill him quickly.

Mostly, he fantasized about the flood that was coming. He thought about it and talked to Mason endlessly about it. He dreamed about it. It was coming, and Jeremiah had plans once glorious freedom was restored to him. He brushed his fingers over the star map he'd drawn with a reverent smile on his face.

It was a pleasant surprise to receive visitors. There were few people who came these days, and when they did their conversations were one-sided at best. Jeremiah mused that the world must have been in a terrible state when the most stimulating conversation he'd had that week was whether Mason was going to die early considering the man had eaten a double cheeseburger again. He stared into the back of Mason's head, wondering where he would need to cut deep enough or at what angle to best see the cholesterol build up in that ridiculous, dim-witted body.

"Mason," Jeremiah started, leaning his head back against the dingy wall. "Have I told you about the days ahead? The great reaping is upon us. So it has been foretold! Call it whatever you will. Bible. Quran. They had it all wrong, but we'll make it right. It's coming, Mason."

He launched into the latest iteration of his manifesto. It was more for his benefit than for Mason's. He suspected that most of the words–many with more than two syllables–would be lost upon Mason's Clark County public education. The steady timbre of his voice bouncing off of the concrete walls soothed him, and his words–now more prophetic than ever before–filled him with a primordial glee.

Though Mason staunchly refused to engage or even shush him, Jeremiah saw the way the dolt's jaw clenched and the stiff set of his shoulders. The vein on the side of Mason's neck was rock hard with tension. Jeremiah often wished he could reach out and run his finger down it.

To his delight, the heavy thud and metallic slide of the gate down the corridor was what interrupted him. Two people came striding in with one of the other nameless drones: a man and a woman. Jeremiah's interest was instantly piqued as he took them in. His mind (a writer's mind) went into overtime to describe them, to memorize their every feature since they were new things in his sheltered, near monochromatic world.

The man was in his late thirties or early forties and a handsome specimen of male ruggedness. Yet he retained a disciplined and orderly look, a working man in some sort of law enforcement position judging by the confidence in his body language. His brown hair was short, neat, and Jeremiah saw the most charming hint of gray at his sideburns. Guarded blue eyes coolly, unflinchingly, looked at Jeremiah from the other side of the reinforced polycarbonate wall. Jeremiah smiled winningly at the Alpha Male (a much coveted title by Mason), and then glanced over to take in his partner.

She was a lovely little thing, an exotic transplant from some foreign land. Middle Eastern or Indian perhaps. She stood half a head shorter than her companion, but wasn't disgustingly scrawny like the second girl Jeremiah had sent to the stars nor chunky like the fourth. Her darker complexion mixed with high cheekbones and large, doe-like brown eyes made her age hard for him to gauge. He eyed the soft-looking shoulder-length hair, and had such a strong urge to touch it that he had to clench and unclench a hand. It didn't go unnoticed, judging by the way she blinked rapidly and shifted her weight ever so slightly under his scrutiny.

"Oh," he breathed, his heart picking up the pace as he looked between them. "Look at this pair."

"Be nice, Mr Dalt," Mason chided immediately. To their guests, he gruffly added. "You get five minutes, tops. He's already too excited."

The dolt strode a few feet away, staring dead ahead. Jeremiah wondered if their visitors took note of his nervousness. Probably not. Mason and he shared a little secret that was theirs alone.

He leaned casually against the wall and looked between this beautiful couple (Oh my goodness, what a treat this is). "Sorry about Mason. The man is a dolt, but…he does bring me my lunch."

Alpha Male spoke first. His voice was flat and professional, his expression inscrutable. "Mr Dalt. I'm Josh Folsom. This is Allie Rajan. We're from the Las–"

"Honey," Jeremiah immediately interrupted. "Do you think I care about what your job is? What you do to earn a wage?"

There wasn't even a hint of a reaction. Stoic blue eyes stared back at him like he was something interesting to be studied but only from a distance. This clearly wasn't the first criminal this Alpha Male had come into close contact with. How interesting.

Jeremiah went on. He had the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. "That's not what interests me about people like you."

At this, she–Allie–spoke up, and Jeremiah was utterly charmed by the soft, British accent he detected. "People…like us?"

"Couples," he clarified, meeting her pretty eyes directly. He felt the gaze of the Alpha burning into the side of his face. Still, Jeremiah couldn't help but to go on. "One of them was spooning when I…"

He slid his thumb slowly across his neck. He could perfectly recall the satisfying way that the knife had sunk through the girl's throat and the split second of horror on her husband's face before Jeremiah had made quick work of him too. Not as stoic as her partner, Allie dropped his gaze uncomfortably. Her discomfort spurned the other, Josh, into action. He held up a yellow evidence envelope and spoke in a way that was clearly meant to draw Jeremiah's attention back to him. "We found these at a murder scene."

Ah, his tokens. Jeremiah spared them only half a glance and then looked back at the pair. "They're beautiful, don't you think? Origami is so calming. Just let your mind go. Picture anything. Anything," He smiled brightly at Allie, "while you do it."

Did she wear just a t-shirt to bed the way Number Three had? Would it ride up the same way up her back when her partner curled around her in bed? Or were they the type to sleep naked, just enjoying the intimacy of skin on skin contact even without the love making. He tried to picture what their bedroom might look like from outside a window.

Allie's eyes flicked from him to her partner briefly in another unconscious self-soothing gesture. Josh, for his part, didn't look impressed by Jeremiah's statement. He waved the envelope briefly. "These have your prints on 'em. How'd they end up at the Funhouse Motel in Esmeralda?"

Another spark of elation shot through Jeremiah. He could see the star map he'd etched into the wall out of the corner of his eye. "Mm…don't know. I've never been. Bet I could find it on a map, though."

He looked back at pretty Allie, into those bright, intelligent eyes. She gazed back without saying a word. Did she defer to her partner so readily at home? What was the power dynamic like when there were no eyes watching? Was Josh Folsom a typical Alpha that was all bluster and smokescreens out in the world and then an emasculated errand boy behind closed doors?

Josh pulled out a cell phone and presented a picture. "How do you know this guy?"

Jeremiah gave the picture a skeptical glance. "I don't."

Much to his ear's pleasure, Allie spoke up. "Well, Mr Dalt, um…We believe he's been copying you?"

"The way of lesser men, isn't it?" Jeremiah scoffed easily. "What has he done?"

Allie nervously (interestingly) glanced up at Josh, who had fallen silent and was studying Jeremiah as if he were dissecting him mentally. She answered with a breathy edge in her voice, indicating an elevated heart rate. "Uh. Two victims. Dressed as…clowns."

Oh. Oh. Jeremiah couldn't hide his joy. It was working. He wanted to ask more questions, to get information as to exactly what it looked like. The devil was in the details, after all. His instructions had been specific, but he'd been magnanimous in leaving his Chosen recipient room to be creative. When left to their own devices, people–even decent and "normal" people–were capable of some truly fascinating and horrific things.

He met Josh's searing, knowing gaze and smirked. "Don't be so upset. He made sure they didn't feel anything. Didn't see it coming."

"How did you know that? How did you know that he killed them in their sleep?" Josh demanded. His words brought such profound joy to Jeremiah. With two down, that left six to go. He suddenly wanted to consult his star map; he had updates to make.

"Mason. I think I need to be alone now." With a grin to himself, Jeremiah turned away from the Criminalist pair and sat on his sad, stone hard bed.

"You can just tell us. It's over," Josh pressed. Poor, deluded Alpha Male. These two had no idea what was in store.

"It's really not," Jeremiah drawled with one last leer at the pair. Mason uneasily resumed his post and effectively ended their conversation. He watched them leave out of the corner of his eye, feigning disinterest even though he continued to build a profile until the very end. Allie hurried out first with Josh deliberately a step behind her, perhaps acting subconsciously as a shield between her and the scary man in the glass box.

Jeremiah sat back and glanced up at the ceiling of his little hole. The little hole that he'd soon be escaping from. He smiled to himself, savoring the calmness that settled over him after every job well done. He closed his eyes and replayed the entire interaction from the beginning, wanting to commit every detail about Allie Rajan and Josh Folsom to memory. He'd be seeing them again real soon.

"Mason. Did you enjoy that? I hope you were taking notes," Jeremiah needled. He laid back and closed his eyes. Mason didn't reply, but Jeremiah went on anyway. "Every couple is different. So interesting, isn't it? That's what makes it fun, Mason. That's what made every one of them fun. You never knew what to expect."

He reviewed his observations. On the surface, the two had seemed like an odd couple, a mismatched pair that somehow just worked together. What did a soft-spoken English rose and a stoic, macho Alpha type have in common? He would have loved at least another hour of talking with them to discern this. The devil was in the details, remember?

It was always in the little things. Like the way the nervous Allie had constantly glanced at her partner for reassurance throughout the exchange. Josh had not appeared to notice or even looked at her, but Jeremiah likened the behavior to a guard dog that kept his eye on the threat at all times to better react and protect. They hadn't played the typical good cop, bad cop routine that his past visitors had. Their questioning had been an earnest attempt at finding answers, which was respectable.

"I bet she's a good lay, Mason. The English are like that. The accent leads you to believe that they're so polite and soft. Get her alone and I bet she takes skin when he doesn't strip fast enough," Jeremiah mused. "Do you think she's a screamer? I hope so. I bet he makes her scream."

Mason made a small, disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "That's enough, Mr Dalt."

Jeremiah grinned and began to construct a house and a life in his head. He had new actors for his play.

He imagined that they'd come home in one vehicle at night after a long day spent chasing evidence and criminals in fair Las Vegas. She'd walk in first, throwing her bag and keys onto a nearby table while her partner followed, ever a protective shadow at her back. Their platonic work identities would fade away with each gradual step into their shared home. Conversation would inevitably be about work at first but then slowly transition to the mundane exchange of daily domestic life.

Allie would strip naked and entice Josh to join her in a shower. The water would run cold long before any productive showering was achieved. By the time they were bathed and fed, it would be eleven, maybe midnight. They'd lock up their house and then stumble into bed together. Jeremiah tried to imagine who would spoon who, but he liked the idea of it starting with Allie as the little spoon and then ending with her as the big one. He pictured the way Josh might nuzzle her neck with his nose, and the sleepy kiss she'd give him before they truly settled in for the night.

Then, in the dead of night, that's when Jeremiah would emerge from the closet or from behind a shower curtain of the secondary bathroom that they rarely used. He would take in the sleeping couple for a moment. Then, he'd have to kill Josh first. Perhaps he'd do it with a bullet from the man's own gun (because OF COURSE he'd have a gun) or maybe by a quick series of stabs to the throat. That always had a satisfying personal feeling attached to it. Messy, though.

By that time, Allie would have woken. She'd probably scream, and Jeremiah would allow himself a second to savor it. He wondered if he would instantly kill her in the same way or if he'd test his theory of whether or not she was a screamer. Hmm…it could go either way. It depended on his mood at the time. Most likely, though, he would off her quickly to spare her any further pain from losing her lover so suddenly and brutally. And like the other stars in his star map, they'd be immortalized together in death.

Jeremiah woke with a half smile blooming on his face. Immediately, he fished for his journal and pen. What a nice first draft that scenario would be. It would need some refining, but luckily he had time and patience on his side to work out the finer details, to flesh out the weaker parts of the narrative.

Soon, after David Hodges' day of reckoning, Jeremiah Dalt would be a free man. In the meantime, he had some planning to do.

~Fin~