A/N : At this time of the year, we all feel like sharing.
For example, Danie is sharing with me her amazing talent, and sent to me the chapter 3. All happy, I'm sharing it with you :) :) :) And of course, I thank you all for giving so much joy with your reviews and comments. My mom is kind of worried now, 'cause I have this crazy smile on my lips for almost a week now. You are just the best Santas in the world :) Merry Christmas to you all !!

Category: Romance/Angst/Action

Pairing : GSR

Raiting : T

Disclaimer : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers : Up to the end of Season 5 (the GSR wasn't canon when I wrote this fic )

SUMMARY : When a new serial killer comes to Vegas, Sara has no choice but to go back to her past… GSR, WIP

Deadly Neglect

Chaptre Three

There was a nervous knot in Sara's stomach as she approached Grissom's office. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure James was still with her. His lips curled up and he shook his head at her as though asking, "Where else would I be?"

At his door, Sara inhaled deeply and knocked. It wasn't the first time she'd felt an assault of nerves at the prospect of having a conversation with Grissom, but this time was different. She wasn't about to spill that she'd come to Vegas to be near him, or make other such confessions… She was a nervous wreck because she had to tell him that Jessica Lown's killer was a serial killer who was killing because of her.

"Yes?" Grissom said from inside.

She pushed open the door and smiled over-brightly. "Hey, Grissom. Uh…you have a minute?"

Argh. Why did this opening remind her of the beginning of the more private conversation they'd had a few months ago? But as usual, he didn't seem overly concerned—obviously not sharing her impression of déjà vu—as he smiled at her.

"Of course."

Sara shot him another improvised smile and walked in with James close on her heels. Strangely, all trace of a smile left Grissom's lips and he frowned. Sara tried not to read anything into it; for one, she'd long ago stopped hoping for anything from Grissom, and two, it was an inappropriate time to start speculating about their relationship.

James greeted him amicably. "Good morning, Mr. Grissom."

"MacDouglas," he said, nodding lightly in response, and then added a touch too coldly, "What's the problem?"

James is right. Grissom really doesn't like him. Andit was the last thing she needed under the circumstances. It didn't actually set the stage for what she had to tell him. But she couldn't let his behavior lead her off course. After all, it wasn't as though he'd never addressed her just as coldly.

She sat in the chair in front of his desk while James held back in the office doorway. She hesitated, not knowing where to begin until Grissom urged her on with an encouraging look.

"Uh… Okay, what I have to tell you is that…" she took a breath, "…remember why I called you this morning?"

He nodded. "You wanted to know Jessica Lown's birthday. Which," he added, "is the same as yours."

Sara nodded, and hesitated again, biting her bottom lip. Go ahead, it's not as though this is really your fault.

"And when you asked me whether it was relevant, I told you that it was." He was frowning as though wondering where she was going with this, and she was mentally kicking herself for giving him a summary of a conversation he could recall as well as she did. "What I'm trying to tell you, in a clumsy way, is that the situation is very serious."

James had come in to stand next her, no doubt sensing she needed his support.

"In a nutshell," he injected, "Sara and I are the target of a serial killer."

He handed the case file to Grissom.

Gil remained calm. He had listened to Sara's clumsy explanation, heard MacDouglas' opinion, had quickly leafed through the case file, glanced at some of the crime scene photos and abruptly closed the folder. He agreed that it was disquieting, but chose not to jump to conclusions until he knew more. He asked Sara and MacDouglas to follow him to the conference room where the rest of the team was waiting for that night's assignments. He was in control of the situation.

His CSIs were all there, and after a few greetings they looked curiously at MacDouglas.

"This is Agent MacDouglas," Gil said abruptly. "He's going to be helping out with our case."

They must have sensed the time wasn't right to ask questions for they each in turn launched into an update of their current cases. He gave Nick and Catherine a new assignment, and sent them on their way.

With only the three of them left in the room, he sighed heavily. "Okay," he told them. "Give me the rest of it."

Sara and her friend traded a quick look, and then MacDouglas reached out for his file and laid it on the table, opening it.

"A little over six months ago, in March of 2005, I was assigned to a murder case," he started, leafing through the folder as he spoke. "It was a difficult case. The victim, a thirty-three year old woman, had been mutilated. Her eyes and tongue had been ripped out, her ears and fingertips severed, except for the right index finger. The cause of death was stabbing, twice in the abdomen. The victim had been propped up and bound by her hands to a bedpost, but she hadn't been raped."

He slid a crime scene photo of the young woman across the table to Gil. His stomach knotted at the similarities with his own scene the night before. He looked at Sara. Her eyes were glued to the picture, her face deathly pale.

MacDouglas continued. "During the autopsy, the coroner noticed a strange mark behind the woman's left knee, some kind of symbol. I won't lie to you; that symbol was familiar to me, but I'll come back to that later."

Gil's uneasiness grew. Given how quickly Sara had been able to recreate the symbol, it had been familiar to her as well. It explained why she had been in a hurry to speak to the man that morning.

MacDouglas handed him another photo, a close-up of the symbol in question. It was the same.

"We didn't have much to go on," he continued. "We called in a CSI team from Los Angeles, but they couldn't do much with the little evidence we had. A month later, in April 2005, I was assigned another murder case, this time of a thirty-four year old man. He had also suffered mutilations of the eyes, ears, tongue, and fingers, but that's where the similarities ended. He was killed in his kitchen, throat slit. Despite the similarities between the two murders, I didn't immediately think that I was dealing with a serial killer because the victims were not the same sex and they were killed differently."

New photograph: a brown-haired man, lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Mutilated. MacDouglas continued. "But when we found the same symbol on the back of the man's left knee, I became suspicious.

"May: thirty-three year old woman, brown hair; bound, stabbed, mutilated. June: thirty-four year old man, light brown hair, in his kitchen, slit throat, mutilated. July: again a woman, this time a red head; same CD, same MO, same signature as the female victims from March and May. And finally, in August, three weeks ago: brown-haired man, same birthday as the other two, same MO and signature."

MacDouglas had punctuated each case by slapping a picture of the victim on the table. By June, Sara had lowered herself into a chair, shaken, her head between her hands. Gil wanted set her mind at ease, but in truth, he wasn't feeling very well either. He swallowed and met MacDouglas' cold, sober gaze.

Gil had many questions for him, and now struggled to prioritize them in his mind. "But…," he began, "Once you knew you were dealing with a serial killer, why didn't it make the news?"

MacDouglas shook his head. "Of course, each murder was reported in the papers, but they never made the front page. The MO is too complex for the media. Their definition of a serial killer is someone who targets a particular type of victim and executes the crime in the same fashion. Nonetheless, this is one. He alternates between men and women, but his method of killing is identical for each sex."

Sara sat up straight, but the slight tremor in her voice when she spoke was proof that she was still shaken. "Why does he leave the right index?" Her eyes were bright with unshed tears; she looked angry and confused.

Gil hated to see her that way.

MacDouglas lowered his eyes to her. "Our experts wondered the same thing for a while." His voice had softened and filled with concern when he spoke to her. "The only logical explanation we have is that he wants us to be able to take the victim's fingerprints."

That surprised Gil. It sounded like something they might have pulled from thin air, but as he thought about it… "It's provocation." He looked at MacDouglas. "He wants to make sure we know that none of the prints found at the scene are his."

MacDouglas nodded, seemingly impressed that he'd come to that conclusion so quickly. "However, we have yet to explain the other mutilations. They obviously mean something to him, but we can't figure out what."

"I agree that you're dealing with a serial killer," Gil said. "But what makes you think that he's after you and Sara?" The two exchanged another glance and Gil sensed that the more complicated aspect of the case had yet to be revealed. It was Sara who spoke.

"First, the birth dates. All female victims, including Jessica Lown, were born September 16th, 1971. Like me. And the men were born the same day as James, February 4th, 1971."

Okay, that's strange… "I agree, it's a hell of a coincidence, but you're not the only people to have been born on those dates," he softly replied.

In lieu of an explanation, James slid another picture over to Grissom—that of the symbol.

"I agree with you, Mr. Grissom. But how many people born on those dates carry the same symbol on the back of their left knee?"

If MacDouglas had intended to stun Gil into silence, he'd succeeded. After a few seconds of jaw dropping astonishment, his wide gaze automatically found Sara's. "You have that sign on the back of your left knee?"

She nodded, and understanding that the scientist in him would want proof, she left her chair and raised her left pant leg up over her knee.

Gil crouched behind her. By squinting he managed to find the symbol, no more than a small whitish scar now. Forgetting himself, he stroked it gently with the tip of his finger and felt Sara shiver in response. Realizing how ambiguous this gesture may seem to her, he quickly removed his hand and stood, feeling the heat of the moment lightly flush his cheeks. This is not the time, Gil…

Clearing his throat, he turned to MacDouglas. "And…you have one as well?" The man nodded but didn't offer to show it to him. But it raised more questions. "Can I ask how you both ended up with this symbol, and why you're so sure that it concerns only the two of you?"

Sara resumed her seat and gently stroked her temples, as though soothing the beginnings of a headache. "When we were kids, we had a friend named Patrick Miller. We were an inseparable trio for nine years. Until we turned thirteen. We created this symbol as an identifying mark of sorts for our group. Not long before we were separated, we decided to carve it on our body. So we could remember each other…"

She quickly shook her head, grimacing as if remembering something particularly painful. "That year wasn't a very good one for me and Patrick." Looking at MacDouglas, she added, "I think you were the only one spared from a crazy family, Jamy." She gave him a small smile devoid of humor.

"Watching my two best friends suffer wasn't exactly a riot, you know," he returned softly.

A pinprick of jealousy skewered Gil's heart, surprising him. He was beginning to like MacDouglas—he'd proven to be an intelligent, serious man—but right then, he envied his close relationship with Sara. Yet, he had also been close to her once upon a time. And I ruined it by cutting myself off from her… And now, he could feel the powerful bond between her and MacDouglas and it was making him nuts in a way he couldn't even explain.

He had to keep his cool; focus on the case.

"So you think that Patrick Miller is the serial killer?"

Faces sobering, they both nodded.

"But… Why?"

"We had promised to always be friends; to never let go of each other," Sara said in a small voice. "That year, Patrick was placed in a foster home. He wasn't as fortunate as me. They sent him out of town, probably out of State. We tried to find him for a while, but we were kids; we really couldn't do much. And then, other things happened. Time passed…"

He assumed she wanted to say, 'I forgot' but didn't dare. He couldn't blame her. He suspected that the other 'things' she mentioned were her own problems with her family. Her mother stabbing her father. His heart clenched painfully at the thought that she had trusted him enough to share her most painful secret with him, and that he had, in a way, destroyed that trust by sleeping with Sofia. You're a fool, Gil.

"I had a hard time believing that Patrick had killed all these people," MacDouglas continued, snapping Gil out of his thoughts. "But the more I thought about it and remembered things from our childhood, I realized it was possible. Patrick was brought up in an unhealthy environment. His mother was an alcoholic and he had a new step-father every two months; they weren't angels. Patrick was a very intelligent kid—very intelligent. His mother never would have thought of testing his IQ, but I'm convinced he would classify as a genius."

Sara absently nodded. "I remember. But he could behave…strangely. Excessive behavior, sometimes violent. He was a lunatic. He could be all smiles one minute and the next blow up in a fit of anger. He would sometimes go off in a rage over a bruise on my face… He often said that he wanted to kill my father…"

Listening to her speak of the mistreatment she suffered as a child filled Gil with more empathy than ever for her. And something else…a surge of pride for her courage, especially for her work and the cases that likely made her relive the darkest moments of her life. Today more than ever.

"He's the one who insisted we carve the symbol on our bodies," MacDouglas continued. "He was adamant that our relationship should withstand the test of time. He never wanted other friends, in fact, wouldn't like it if we tried to play with anyone else. He was very possessive. So…it's possible that he's mad at us for not finding him."

Gil thought of his victims and the fact that Sara was his intended target, and vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe.

"Listen, I had a great idea last night."

As they had every Thursday for two years, Sara, James, and Patrick had met in their secret hiding place. Actually, it wasn't much of a hiding place since it was out in the open, but it was their meeting place. It was at the top of a half-abandoned building, one of the tallest in their neighborhood. They would climb the fire escape to the roof, which would take them a good ten minutes to do, six minutes if they ran up, and once up there, they were free.

They had a golden rule. If for whatever reason they couldn't meet in a given week, they had to make an effort to get there for one hour on Thursday afternoons, between four and five o'clock, or longer if possible. It was a risk, but they needed that moment of détente no matter what their parents would say or do afterwards, because for an hour, they would have been together, the three of them, to reaffirm their friendship.

That Thursday afternoon of September 1983, they were on their roof, and Patrick had told them he'd had an idea.

"I hope it's not another idea that ends up getting us in trouble," Sara teased.

Patrick shook his head, his expression extremely serious. Sara's smile died on her lips. When Patrick made that face, it was that he was about to say something profound. She glanced at James, and saw that he was also wondering what Patrick was up to.

Patrick looked at each of them in turn. "We're the best friends in the whole world, right?"

"Of course," Sara said, nodding.

"Friends for life!" James affirmed with a grin.

Patrick finally relaxed and he too smiled, and then dug into the inside pocket of his jacket to retrieve a…scalpel. Sara froze and felt James stiffening at her side. What the hell was he doing with that? she wondered, slightly alarmed.

"Then we have to have something to always remember each other by. That way we'll never forget to call or go see each other. See what I mean?"

Sara nodded lightly. She knew Patrick would get upset if they didn't play along, and looking at the thing in his hand, she didn't particularly want to set him off. James seemed to feel the same way.

"Okay! We're going to carve our sign on our bodies, that way we'll be linked for life."

Sara wasn't really thrilled with the word 'carve'. She had enough marks on her body thanks to her father, the last thing she needed was a carving. "Uh…Pat, I'm all for not forgetting each other, but I don't think we should—"

"Lya," he interrupted. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I read a lot of medical books and learned how to use one of these."

She didn't dare ask what he'd practiced on.

James intervened. "That's not the point, Pat. It's just—don't you find that over the top?"

Patrick frowned. "I thought we were friends. Friends trust each other."

"Of course, we trust you!" exclaimed Sara.

"Then, let's do it. It won't even hurt."

Sara would have protested, but she didn't want to fight with Patrick. He and James were the only friends she had and she wouldn't risk that for anything. Finally, she said, "Okay, let's do it."

Patrick smiled then looked at James.

He glanced at Sara, and then at the scalpel. "Fine. I say we do it, too."

Patrick grinned widely. "All right! We need to do pick a secret spot so we're the only ones who know where it is. I say we do it behind the knee."

They all agreed and James went first. He didn't even flinch when Patrick traced their symbol on his skin and Sara thought he was very brave. It was her turn next. Patrick hadn't lied. He knew how to use the thing. After he was done, she soaked up the blood with a tissue so it wouldn't stain her pants.

Patrick couldn't do himself, so Sara agreed to do it. She had never used a scalpel, but Patrick told her it wasn't hard. She pressed the point against his skin and started to trace the J, not liking the sensation of the blade cutting through skin. And she hated the sight of the blood dripping from a wound she was inflicting, but she tried to ignore it as she finished the job.

She would be seeing a lot more blood later that night.

TBC