A/N: Okay, I am posting this a day sooner than I planned, because I won't be able to get on the net tomorrow, sigh. Hope you'll like this chapter and that you will find some of the answer, if not all, LOL. Thanks goes to the four readers who reviewed, your words made me really happy -content smile on my face- as well as to my great beta TangledPencils for her help and fast reply as always.

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Fire and water

by Nicol Leoraine

Chapter 4

"Body? What body?" Nick asked somewhat dumbly. Grissom raised his eyebrows, then with a shake of his head reached out, silently asking for the whole file about the case. Nick gave it to him, still waiting for the reply.

"So?"

"To be exact, it was found on five bodies," Grissom finally started, his eyes scanning the report with a growing frown. "Three women and two men, all between twenty and forty years, all Caucasian. They were found at various places, each killed differently. Well, the primary cause of death was different, but the secondary was multiple stab wounds."

"You worked the case?" Nick asked, feeling the growing tension. If this were true, then Jamie's death probably wouldn't be the only one.

"No, but George Hayburn did. He was my supervisor some fifteen years ago. He died four years ago of cancer."

Nick blinked.

"I'm sorry," he started but Grissom waved him off, quickly flopping down into the chair behind Nick's desk and turning on the computer.

"That case is almost thirty years old, Nick. The killings happened in different cities across California and Nevada. There was hardly any evidence, only a few suspects that were later cleared. Five victims Nick…in a timeline of two months. Then it all stopped." Grissom snapped his fingers and Nick jerked at the sound.

"Two weeks after the last murder, a news station in L.A. got an anonymous phone call. It was a woman and she gave them an address of the killer. When the cops burst in, they found five dead bodies, each of them with a single stab wound to the heart." With a few hits on the keyboard, Grissom put in his password and opened the file. Nick leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen, just as the pictures from the crime scene popped up. He grimaced at all the blood, but observed the scene, for a second tuning out Grissom.

The first set of pictures took in the whole room. It looked like some kind of cellar, without windows. But it was well lit and spacey, the ceiling higher than normal. The walls were originally white, now painted with symbols. The floor was full of them too only it was hard to see, because of all the blood. But there in the middle was a clear pentagram. And at each point of the symbol, there was a dead person.

"My God," Nick muttered in disgust, when he realised the youngest of them couldn't have been older than sixteen. "They were just kids."

"Not all of them, Nick. Peter Cornwall, the leader of the group would've turned twenty eight that month."

Grissom tapped some more keys and a new file opened, showing Nick the photo of a young man. He looked normal, almost shy, and definitely younger. When Nick looked down, he saw the year it was taken and realised that it was six years before Cornwall died, by a police photographer right upon Peter's arrest. Under the longer dark hair there was something in that glare that was rather unsettling. Well, more unsettling than the records Nick was just reading through.

"God, that guy spent most of his life in institutions." Nick shook his head. "Burglary, multiple assaults, sex offences... it looks like he wanted to get back to prison every time they let him out."

"Does it remind you of something, Nick?" Grissom asked as Nick silently read the report of the psychologist that was made before they released Peter Cornwall for the last time.

"It sounds just like the one about Charlie Manson. Another serial killer. What was his story?"

"In truth, we never learned. Even though there were some notes, it was more about the victims and their deaths, than about the belief that led to them."

"So you think that someone from Cornwall's group survived and started killing now?"

Grissom shrugged in reply and get up from the computer, taking off his glasses.

"I don't know, Nick. It could be a copy-cat, god knows that on that case the reporters knew almost as much as the cops. Or it could be someone who knew Cornwall from that time. Whatever the case, we should be prepared for another victim. Because I am sure there will be one."

"Damn," Nick cursed and pulled put his cell. "I should call Brass and inform him."

"Do it," he said simply and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait," Nick stopped him. "Where are you going?"

"My office," Grissom replied with raised eyebrows. "I need to re-read those files and make a call to California. Maybe I can find someone who worked on the original case."

"Oh, okay. So we're working on this together?" Nick sounded strangely nervous and relieved at the same time, which puzzled Grissom. He knew the young CSI had wanted to impress him earlier, but he thought that Nick was past that. They'd worked together quite often for the last few months and Nick was never this nervous about a case before.

"Is there some problem, Nick?" Grissom asked and Nick blinked, obviously startled by the question.

"Uh, no. I just..." The younger CSI was clearly uncertain how to approach the subject and Grissom's frown deepened.

Nick saw it and realized that he didn't have much choice. If Grissom was working the case, he would sooner or later find out, and from experience Nick knew that it was best if he told him sooner rather than later. So taking a deep breath he spoke.

"You should probably know that I uh... that I knew the victim."

This time it was Grissom who looked startled, so Nick decided he would elaborate a little, before the older man came to the conclusion that he once again managed to get himself into some mess. Not that the incident with Kristy was really his fault, Nick thought bitterly.

"I met her when one of my school buddies called me for lunch. He'd just moved into Vegas with his wife. She's the vic. I hadn't seen her since then."

"What about your friend?"

"I was there when Jim told him about his wife." Nick didn't mention the small incident that caused the couple of bruises on his back, but he knew it wasn't important. If Grissom was right, then this wasn't just about Jamie. And even if it would've been... Nick was sure he could handle Travis. "I want to work this case, Grissom. I can handle it."

The older CSI watched him for a moment, and then slowly nodded.

"If there's any trouble, any conflict of interest whatsoever, you let me know, Nick. Is that clear?"

"Yes Boss," he replied quickly and let out a relieved sigh when Grissom left. He stood before his desk for a good minute, just looking at the door and waiting for Grissom to come back and tell him he was off the case. But nothing happened and slowly Nick picked up the forgotten cell and dialled Brass. It was time to get back to work.

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Three hours later the building was bustling with life and Nick was sitting in his car, cursing the broken AC. All the windows were down and even though it was only ten in the morning, the air was unbearable hot. He was tired and the heat made him slightly dizzy. He realised he hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and that was almost a day ago. But getting home and taking that cold shower was just so much more enticing than waiting several more minutes at the take out. He could easily order a pizza after all.

So while the traffic made him curse the slow speed, his mind drifted to the past night and to Travis. They knew each other from high school and had spent quite a lot of time together either on the field playing football, or going out on double dates with girls. Nick knew from those times that Travis had a temper that easily flared. Several times he got them both into a brawl. But he also knew that Travis would never harm his wife, or any other woman. He just wasn't that type of a guy. And the dinner he spent with the couple when they moved to Vegas just assured him of that. Jamie was a smart and scarily independent woman, one that had Travis totally wrapped round her finger. With her, the man was harmless as a kitten. Nick wondered what would happen to Travis now. Where would all the anger go? He just hoped the man wouldn't find the killer before them.

Finally he made it home. Nick automatically locked the door and for a second stopped in the hallway, just listening. It was kind of a ritual he couldn't shake off ever since Nigel Crane invaded his home. Those first weeks after the house was repaired and the only reminder of the stalker's presence was the smell of fresh paint, he used to check out the whole house with the gun in his hand, ready to shoot. So pausing to listen for a moment seemed like a great improvement in Nick's mind. After he was satisfied that there was no foreign sound, he quickly stripped, throwing the clothes haphazardly across the floor, heading for the shower.

Half an hour later, Nick was sprawled on the couch, the box of half eaten pizza lying on the table. His breathing was slow and deep, a clear sign that he was asleep, despite the TV turned on. The rapping on the door melded with the shooting on the screen, but it quickly rose in intensity, penetrating through the dream like haze of Nick's mind. He blinked, mumbled something incoherent and turned, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. But the rapping continued and it brought to notice the headache that was creeping inside his skull. With a moan, Nick opened his eyes and rolled out of the couch, wincing at the stiff neck it'd given him. Definitely not the best place for sleeping.

"Coming!" he grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, while his hand paused on the lock.

"Who is it?"

"Travis."

His hand paused and Nick became alert.

"Come on Nick, I really need to talk to you." the voice was pleading and with a sigh and a farewell to any chance of sleep, Nick opened the door.

"Travis, what-" he didn't get a chance to reply, because the bulky man pushed around him.

"Man, I am really sorry, but I couldn't stay home. I-I just-" Travis started stuttering and one look at his miserable face made Nick feel like scum. He couldn't throw him out of the house, not like this.

"I really couldn't, Nick. I tried, but wherever I look, I see her, only... only now it is with that fucking carving on her face!" he shouted and started pacing Nick's hall.

"Hey, that's okay. Why don't you come into the living room? Did you eat something, man? I have some pizza left."

So when they were both sitting on the couch and staring unseeingly at the TV, Nick rubbing tiredly at his eyes while Travis muttered silent curses, sending whoever harmed his wife to hell, the CSI started thinking about what really made Travis come to him.

"Listen, Trav... you know I'm sorry for what happened to Jamie and I really don't mind you being here, but it's against the rules and they can pull me off the case. I shouldn't even talk with you without someone else present," he said, trying to keep back the yawn that threatened to split his jaw in two. God, but he was tired.

"B-but we aren't talking about anything, Nick," Travis looked startled, almost as if he thought that Nick would just walk him to the door. "I-I just... I can't be alone right now. That's all."

"What about your friends? Or Jamie's family. You told them what happened, right?"

"I called her parents. They're flying in from Texas, but... I don't have a very good relationship with them. Jamie didn't, either. That's one of the reasons we skipped town," he said with a hint of regret. Yeah, maybe if they'd stayed in Dallas, his wife would be still alive. Or not. She could've died in some car accident.

"And the only friend I have in Vegas is you, Nick."

The CSI had some trouble believing that. He clearly remembered Travis always having some friends around. But obviously none of them worked on his wife's case. With a sigh, Nick acknowledged the fact and pushed it away. If Travis wanted company, so be it. He could give him that one. It would be worse if he wanted the killer.

Right now, the man mostly needed a friend to talk to.

"Do you want some beer?" Nick asked and stood to get the beverage. He wouldn't drink, not with the nightshift starting in seven hours. But Travis didn't have to go to work today.

"Sounds cool," the guy on the couch replied, unenthusiastically flipping through the TV channels, pausing at the sports channel. When Nick returned with the beer and a soda for himself, Travis looked up at him, eyes rimmed with tears.

You know that Jamie hated football?" he said and his voice hitched.

"And she still married you? Man, she had to love you," Nick said with a slight smile and made himself comfortable on the couch.

"Yeah, that she did," Travis whispered and for a long moment that was the only thing spoken.

TBC

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