THE AMBULANCE RIDE

Chapter Three

By the grace of God and the strong pectorals of my flock of guardian angels...I know ( I've seen them!) I made it to the scene. A big sigh of relief puffs the cold black air. I puff out again, entertaining myself briefly, before tugging a forelock to the master. I do your bidding , Grissom. Should I wear a French maid's uniform? To make the arrangement clearer? Hmm. Halloween is coming up...might just give that costume a twirl. Or a lady pirate. Always been a fantasy of mine! Do we have that in common as well? We do, you know. Have a lot in common. Lost our fathers young. Grew up fast. Found ourselves in science. Lab coats and latex. Books, not boyfriends or girls. Some would say we were meant for each other. The majority, even. But will you even entertain the thought? Ever? This century? Aggravating man.

Another lonely DB. Out in the blackness of night, bathed in blood and moonlight. Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It's quite black. I crouch in a familiar pose, my knees protesting. CSIs ruin their knees. Ask Grissom. But, wait, that's a congenital condition. Bowleggedness...torsion something or other... I can't remember.

Focus. Sidle.

Pipe down!

I can't think with all you voices in my head!

Oh shit. Do I hear voices? Am I demented? Or just strung out? How can an insane mind diagnose an insane mind? How can the cracked shell criticize the cracked bowl? In a city of fools, none stand out. Fool. Fool for love. Pro in every other way. Don't you see me, Grissom? How obvious do I have to be? Greg knows. Brass too. Catherine has her cheerleader outfit on...egging you to score. Nick would be delighted. Dave would feel a pang but he was too bashful to get this girl. My heart was already taken. You do get a C for cute, though.

My fingers twirl the fingerprint brush. I'll let them take over. This is going to be one well dusted crime scene. Even if it looks like a straight up suicide. Finally I stand wearily, crack my back, crack my neck (twice) pack up and stow it away, I realize I am starving. How long has it been since I had solid food? Do I think I can remember? Nah.

First diner I see, I vow. I'm running on fumes. Something to soothe this stomach ache too. Like a kick to a sore belly. Really hurts. A few truck drivers droop over the counter where I decide to rest. The light is un unflattering flourescent light, but I'm not gonna be choosy. Something smells good. I peruse the menu. It's one of those glossy platters of meat and potatoes in vivid color. You know, that's kind of equal opportunity if you think about it. You can be mute, or speak a foreign language or just be shy, and still be able to order something recognizable.

I get a platter of home fries, some apple juice, water and toast. This should help. Steady these ragged nerves, I hope. Frayed like a cuff. Cuff. Handcuff. Ruff. Muff. My wandering mind takes a stroll. The plate is shoved in my direction. It's hot, not much to taste but grease and cardboard...so I give the salt shaker a shake. The cap comes off! A big pile of salt all over those hashed brown hot potatoes. Shit. Very funny, asshole, you'll get yours. I can't help it. I'm too hungry to wait. I try nibbling around the edges. I break the yolks and between that and the jelly, I've made a right mess of my plate. I'm sticky and hungry as a junkyard dog. I'm going to skip the niceties. I wave the waitress over and explain. She trots off for a new plate. This one is even blander than the first but it's hot and it's here and I devour it. Heartburn ignites my breastbone. Oh shit. This is not a happy camper.

On auto pilot, I return to the lab. I walk like a good soldier to evidence and fingerprint labs (better avoid Mandy for a while, 250 print lifts and not a sign of anyone else in the room?) and then to the office of the man who holds my heart.

TBC