HOUSE OF MIRRORS

Gil

His blue eyes drift from side to side as he walked down the cobble stone street. For a second there he was certain he had just stepped into a temporal rift of something. It was hard to believe this place existed in time in modern day Vegas. He walked through the empty street of the ghost town. A gust of a cool breeze blew across the desolate street as darkness fell over the street.

He watched with some interest as a man with a long torch walked the streets lighting the gas lamps. He watched this man systematically going to every street lamp lighting them with ease. Over and over again, the system repeated itself and Gil found himself intrigued to say the least.

"Excuse me," he said quietly to the torch carrying man.

"Sorry, can't stay and chat, got work to do," he skittered off into the darkness.

He walked the small block a ways taking glances into the small deserted shops. There was a fabric shop, a shop for stained glass, a book shop, a floral shop, a diner, and of course the mandatory saloon. He stood there for a second thinking a saloon should be filled to the brim at nine o'clock on a Friday night. Slowly, the veteran criminologist pushed through the double-hinged doors. The scene was different than he would have expected. The saloon was covered in dust from years without use.

Without warning, a large clunk sounded throughout the bar. His attention centered as he peered around the room looking for anything or something that could have made such a clunk. Suddenly, in the distance a player piano played its cheerful western tunes and a group of mingling people could be heard in the distance.

He wasn't the type to believe in spirits or ghosts, but this was definitely on the verge of creeping him out. For the time being, he told himself there had to be a logical explanation for the music and the spirited crowds. However, as he looked for that explanation, the answer kept drifting further and further away from him.

Gil Grissom walked around turning over rocks long since forgotten about as he investigates not only the murder at this place, but the history behind it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like that had some importance to this specific case.

The pale yellow beam of his flashlight swept through the corridors of the old saloon, as Gil looked for anything out of place. Slowly, he walked forward, ignoring for the time being the player piano and the cheerful crowd mingling in the distance. The wood-planked floor was too covered in a layer of dust. That didn't seem out of place to Gil, because everything else was covered in at least the same amount of gray dust.

His own heartbeat could be heard as he continued his journey down the corridor until he randomly and suddenly stopped. There was no logic to why he stopped other than he felt like it was the right thing to do.

"Hello?" he called out, nearly sensing the presence of another person. He turned around and there stood a southern lady wearing a hoop dress twirling her hair seductively between her slender fingers.

"You shouldn't be here," she told the man.

"Where should I be?" he asked, taking a few moments of silence to study her closely.

"You shouldn't be wandering with a murderer on the loose."

"Yes, I know," he decided the best thing to do was to play along with the girl. "But, I want to find this man."

"So chivalrous of you to go wandering all alone in these corridors looking for the man who wants to kill you," she gave him a quick look, nearly as though she wants him to take her to bed.

"Kill me?" he repeated. "Who wants to kill me?"

"My husband of course," she winked.

"And why would he want to kill me?"

"For stealing his girl. No one steals his property and gets away with it." She blew him a kiss and disappeared down the hall. He continued his way down the empty dust-filled corridor until he saw boot prints leading straight to a wall. His curiosity boiled with wonder and fascination at the sight. He photographed them slowly and walked to the wall they seem to disappear behind.

Interested in the wall he felt around searching for something. What, he did not know, or understand, but he was certain something was there. He was about to give up the endeavor when he nudged something just right. The wall slid open revealing a pitch-black hole in the wall. He tried to shine his flashlight, but nothing could be seen. With a certain amount of caution, he proceeded through the hallowed out wall blinded by the darkness that surrounds him.

He had at last come to a dead end. He stood there wondering maybe even questioning what tunnel leads to a dead end. But, that was before the floor gave way and he felt himself falling, sliding down a long shoot he knew not where it ended. Down it took him as if it were sending him straight to hell.

At the bottom he expected there to be a rather loud thud, but, was rather surprised to find it was rather soft and padded. There was no sound, no light, and a musky smell he knew not what it was. Bringing himself to a standing position, he felt around the narrow walls until he saw beams of light peering out from under a door. He goes to the door, which opens ready for him. He walks through curiously trying to see just what it was on the other side. On the other end, there was nothing but mirrors reflecting images of himself back at him.

Endless faces belonging to him starring back at him. Endless possibilities of directions he could choose and all but one will lead to a mirror wall. Contemplation was high in his eyes as he scanned the way of mirrors looking for any way out of this. Before his eyes a beetle appeared. It was rather a curious beetle. One he hadn't expected to see in Las Vegas ever. He watched as it flew across the many mirrors seeming to grow in size the further it came. He watched as it fluttered around and down the aisle of mirrors.

He was lost in that endless sea of mirrors with seemingly no way out. He was trapped.