Hey, guys! I know the prologue was a little vague, and there will be a few chapters until you figure out what led up to it. I hope you like the story! This chapter is dedicated to InsaneOnTheInside. Don't worry, I don't think I'll abandon this story anytime soon.
"Female. Looks to about forty."
"Got an ID?" Sara questions Greg.
"Um...Yep. Annie Freeland. I was right, 46 and local."
"We're thinking foster mom, right?" Nick questions from the dead body he kneels next to.
"I'm thinking a whole foster family," She watches as David loads a little girls body onto the gurney. "Different races, ages, sexes."
"It's filthy."
"Foster homes aren't always as amazing as we picture them," She stares at the dirty walls and pushes away thoughts of what life was like when she was in one.
"Hey, I'm going to go check out upstairs," Greg says, and she nods.
"I got another body!" Sara shouts over her shoulder. A little boy, no older than five, lies in a pool of blood in the kitchen.
"Um...Guys? We got a problem up here,"
"Not now, Greg," Nick shouts over his shoulder.
"Yes now. Sara, seriously!" She sighs and carefully walk up the stairs, looking for blood. "In here," She follows his voice into a room that smells of urine and is crammed with beds.
"What is it Greg?" He gestures at the closet with his hand. Her eyes widen as she begins to understand. She pulls out her gun and aims it at the door. Silently, she mouths one, two, three. One three, he yanks the door open. A tall girl with long, curly blonde hair stares back at them with her chocolate eyes from her spot in the corner. She silently puts her gun away as Greg takes a step into the closet.
"Hey, what's your name, sweetheart?" She stares at him, guarded, then notices the vest. Her features immediately soften.
"Åshild."
"Hey, that's Norwegian, right? It means fighting women," She nods, and her hand flies to the necklace on resting on her collarbone, confirming Sara's fears.
"My dad is Norwegian."
"Hey, so am I!" She bites her lip, but then gives in and sends him a smile. The chip on her front tooth makes Sara's heart stop beating.
"So, you feel like coming out of the closet?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On who the hell you are," He gives her a little grin.
"Greg Sanders. Las Vegas Crime Lab," A small smile inches up her pale cheeks.
"My mom was a CSI," He gives her an encouraging grin.
"So you know you can trust me," She pauses for a moment, then stands, reaching behind some cardboard boxes and producing an old wooden one. She then comes out of the closet. Greg grins at her.
"Okay Åshild."
"I go by Ash."
"You got a last name, Ash?"
"No," She states. Greg tilts his head to the left.
"Everyone has a last name."
"Not me. Just Ash."
"Alright, just Ash, do you mind coming down to the station with me?" She thinks about this for a moment, tugging at the necklace on her chest.
"Like where my mom used to work? The Crime Lab?"
"Exactly, sweetie," Comforted by this, she grabs the box, takes Greg's outstretched hand and begins to walk out of the room. Neither of them notice the fact that Sara stays in the room, staring at a forgotten picture in her wallet.