Author's Note: I added three new chapters this update, so be sure to start back where you left off (probably with chapter 5). Enjoy!
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Present Time
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The wind had almost died down, now just a gentle breeze gently running over her skin, but the sun continued to beat down, burning into her, parching her mouth, saturating the breeze with dry heat. Once she thought she heard the throbbing sound of a helicopter echoing through a valley, but maybe it was just the blood pounding through her arteries, or the buzzing call of a cicada. Sara faced the mountains in the east and forced herself to place one foot in front of the other, but allowed her mind to wander far from the desperate situation.
Not allowing any thoughts of food or drink, aware of her surroundings only enough to avoid new dangers, Sara tried to remember back to her first impressions of the team that had since become her family. Cath was the first I really met, other than Gil... Don't think she really wanted to share him, even though they've only ever been friends. Maybe she thought I was a threat to him... So standoffish! Pretending she wasn't herself to get rid of me, trying to make sure I didn't take over her case. Always protecting Warrick...
Slowly she passed from one bush to another, steadily progressing across the desert, heading east. Warrick. I don't understand why he married Tina, I thought he and Cath would... I guess Nick's abduction caused us to all re-evaluate our priorities, and he decided it was time to live life. Maybe the thing with Cath was moving too slowly, or was deferred because of the damn rulebook... Thank God, Gil's priorities shifted away from that, though we'll have to deal with it sometime, I suppose... Her mind wandered from Warrick and back to that first Sunday, and the feeling of infinite possibilities that had opened up in front of her, when Grissom finally decided that he knew what to do about "this."
After a while, she brought her mind back to impressions of her other team members. Hmmm... first thoughts on Nick... I guess I first met him when he was tossing dummies off the roof at Griss, but I don't think that really counts. No, probably the faked kidnapping that went wrong, that's when I really got to know Nick... Competitive, but fun. The annoying brother. That relationship hasn't really changed much, but ... grown, I guess. One foot in front of the other, plodding steadily east as the sun continued its path across the sky.
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December 13, 2006
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A fire crackling happily, vases of flowers on the mantle-like shelf, books carefully organized by topic, designer shelves holding an eclectic collection of art pieces, newspaper folded on the desk. Another vase on the coffee table, paisley rug beneath, two square tan chairs, a tan bed for a psychiatrist's patient, and a long black couch.
"Hi, Natalie, I'm Dr. Tallman. You need to dust everything in the living area, vacuum the carpet, and change the water in the flower vases. Put in just a drop or two of bleach to keep the flowers alive longer. Be sure to finish by 4:00 so I can take my afternoon nap on schedule."
"Th-that will be fine."
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White vase, short, rounded bottom, tall stalks, red gladiolus sprayed in a wedge. A taller vase, blue glass, straight sides, pink daisies and tulips sprawling haphazardly. A green vase, similar to the blue, a mix of orange and tiger lilies set on green leaves.
Smell permeating the room as a bottle is opened, liquid added to the vases. The flowers droop like melted rubber.
Flash
A strong, pungent smell. The red fading, Chloe disappearing. Tears streaking Daddy's face, red tips on his fingers, sleeves pushed up, hair falling in his face, a bristled brush, spots of light appearing in the red. A pervasive, never-ending smell.
"Don't worry dear. You just put in a little too much bleach. I'll get more flowers tomorrow."
Dark curls framing her face, hands shaking slightly under the tray, white ceramic tea set, one cup, small pot, milk jug, sugar bowl, a silver spoon, two cookies.
"It's time for my nap now. You lock the door on your way out. Next week, you can just use a little less bleach."
Laying on the couch, covering her eyes with the pillow, tea set resting beside her. A grey cat sampling from the milk jug, leaping onto the bookshelf, settling into a favourite spot.
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January 12, 2006
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One last time dusting the bookshelves, vacuuming the paisley rug, carefully adding a few drops to the flowers. A carefully laid trap, a timer set.
A perfect miniature, grey cat, milk in his whiskers, behind his favourite section of art books, each spine labelled neatly. Tea tray sitting on the two-tiered coffee table, white oval vase of mixed flowers beside it, twisted wood spiralling upward, paisley rug beneath, surrounded by two square tan chairs, a tan bed for a psychiatrist's patient, and a long black couch. Just a few more touches, everything in its place.
Flash
Short white vase, rounded bottom, red gladiolus sprayed in a wedge. A taller vase, blue glass, pink daisies and tulips sprawling haphazardly. A green vase, similar to the blue, a mix of orange and tiger lilies.
Miniature flowers held close to a lamp, warming the special plastic, and the flowers droop like melted rubber.
Flash
A deep dark pool, spilling from the sidewalk onto the lawn, red mixing with green. A white shirt and floral skirt, arms curled upward as if in sleep, legs cushioned in the grass, white shoes still pristine. Curling hair sprawled across the ground, green eyes staring blankly.
Flash
Dr. Tallman laying on the couch, covering her eyes with the pillow. The pillow falling to the floor. Curling hair sprawled across the cushion, green eyes staring blankly -- Chloe.
Miniature lungs filled from a syringe, expanding slowly, sealing as the needle is removed. Tweezers carefully placing the lungs into the doll's chest.
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Present Time
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Grissom stared at the trail of footprints leading away from the hectic activity at the scene as if it was his lifeline. Sara. In the background he could hear Nick offering to go with Sophia, going to search the roads to the east. He could hear the helicopter searching over the desert in the distance, Greg still on board. But the footprints, made so many hours ago when the ground was still wet, were what drew his full attention. Sara had gotten out, and she had left a path behind her.
Can't just run off out here, gotta let someone know where I'm going. "Catherine! I got shoe prints."
He scanned the area, looking for any sign of Sara on the desolate flat area between the ranges, vaguely hearing Catherine come up beside him. "She got out from under that car." We knew that Cath, but where is she now?
Catherine shouted back to the crew behind her, "Okay everyone listen up, we're searching on foot." Grissom scarcely allowed her to finish before he moved out toward the trail, still scanning desperately for some sign that the marks continued into the distance.
Catherine kept close behind him as he followed the trail, pausing whenever it was lost in the sand to scan for damp areas. Looks like she kept close to the bushes when she could. Smart, Sara. You meant to leave this trail, didn't you.
The scattered trail of footprints led them to the foot of a large hill then started to climb, and Grissom could hear Catherine muttering, "Looks like she was heading for a high point, to look around." Slowly, they climbed to the top, occasionally seeing a slight impression that indicated where Sara had stood, hours before.
As they reached the top, Grissom couldn't help but feel some of the despair that Sara must have been feeling as she stood upon the hill. God, endless desert... There's nothing to see from here. He scanned the area rapidly with his binoculars, but saw no signs of life. Out in the sand swept desert, there was nothing moving, nothing...
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January 13, 2007
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!beep! "You have .. one .. saved message, sent .. Saturday .. December .. ninth .. two-thousand .. six."
"Hey, it's me, Ernie. I just spent the last five hours at the police station. They showed me pictures of those miniatures of yours. Said whoever made them was a killer. I'm comin' over. To talk."
!beep! "Message has been .. saved."
Not Ernie. Grissom was wrong.
A small photograph of Izzy Delancy holding a newborn Emma, a cushion from the couch of Penny Garden, the window of the chicken plant where Raymundo worked.
Chloe, you tell Grissom. He was wrong. He killed Ernie.
A small newspaper, detailed print, carefully placed onto the miniature desk.
One month, Grissom. One month to save Chloe.
Flash
"But you got to promise me, you won't kill nobody else. Promise me you'll be a good girl."
"You're special girl?"
"That's right... My special girl."
"I promise."
I promise, Ernie... Not me... Grissom.
All the clues there, everything in its place. A tightly sealed box, red stamps declaring it Fragile and Confidential, a carefully typed label:
Gil Grissom
Las Vegas Crime Lab
3057 Westfall Ave
Las Vegas, NV 81956
One month.
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February 18, 2007
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Aisles of food, multicoloured, stretching in front of her. A small TV blaring in the corner.
"What happened to my sister was not just some isolated tragedy. There have been four other murders, four deaths, which could have been prevented had the public been warned by the people sworn to protect us. Barbara Tallman was the latest victim of a serial killer the LVPD has known about for months."
"What do they call him?"
"Well, they call him the miniature killer because he makes little models of his victims posed in the places where they died."
No. Not me. I didn't do it, Ernie. Not me. I promised.
Grissom. He was wrong. Again. He didn't save Chloe.
I'm a good girl. You're special girl. I promise.
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Present Time
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Grissom continued to scan the surrounding desert, desperately looking for some sign of Sara, some indication of her direction. Suddenly, Catherine called out, "Gil, look at this! Doesn't this mark look like someone might have fallen here and tumbled a little way down the hill? See how it's a little deeper here? The wind's blowing the edges smooth now, but I think this might be the way Sara came down."
He clambered down from the boulder that had been offering a vantage point, and looked at the depression Catherine was pointing out, partway down the eastern slope of the hill. East, how did she know? How did she know that was the way back? She must have known, somehow... there's nothing to see from here, but she chose to head east.
Slowly, they made their way down the eastern face of the hill, but saw nothing else, nothing that would indicate that Sara had continued this way. He continued to scan as his mind wandered, I wonder how long she sat on top of that hill, maybe waiting to see if a search was on its way... Her prints may have been scattered, but they were clear on the other side. The land must have dried a lot while she sat up there... If only we'd been a little faster getting the choppers out this direction.
His desperate train of thought was interrupted by Catherine, "I'm not seeing any more footprints, are you?"
"No." He continued to look around, hoping for a sign.
"I think we just lost the trail."
No. NO! We can't have! We just need to look closer. He picked up his binoculars and began to scan the area, logging every detail of sand and bush, hoping... hoping. What's that? He focused the binoculars on the small stack of rocks, blatantly clear on the packed earth. "Cath, look."
They rushed toward the miniature cairn, his hopes lifting again as they arrived, knowing Sara was aware enough to leave a trail, whole heartedly agreeing with Catherine as she said, "This is better than a footprint." Thank you, Sara.
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TBC
A/N: Natalie's voice mail messages were taken from CBS's CSI miniature killer webpage.
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