And the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all…
--
Grissom hadn't raised his voice at anyone yet, but Greg couldn't deny that he was expecting it sometime in the near future.
And after spending the last hour or so examining what little evidence from the Harrison's house they brought into the garage, it wasn't hard for Greg to see why. He stifled a yawn, putting his mouth over the sleeve of his jumpsuit; warm air seeping into his skin as moisture leaked from the corner of his eyes.
Most of it was the partially charred furniture: the dresser and bed that were still in pretty good condition, suffering from smoke damage more than anything. They also collected pieces of the wooden floor that had been affected by the fire, alongside the section that denoted the point of origin and the source as some kind of candle, which was now just an embossed pool of wax. And judging by the area and the amount of wax that was found, they could say it came from a tall, circular candle – one that probably wasn't meant for lighting and only for decoration.
Based on the results from trace, it turned out a low quality wax was used for the candle; indicated by the small remnants of ornaments and polystyrene found in the wax, the latter of which possibly having something to do with the direction of the flames and how the fire spread. Since they also found polystyrene residue on the floor, it wasn't too farfetched to think the Harrison's could have made the candle themselves, burning the mould alongside the candle.
There was also some evidence of very small traces of lead. Greg was pretty sure it came from the core of the candlewick, but then it would only be used as a stiffener to slow down burning. There wasn't enough lead to place it as anything significant to causing or stopping the fire.
Greg flexed his fingers, rotating his wrist as he turned over a jagged plank recovered from the ceiling; careful not to break it as he moved it to the other side of the table. Most of what they did have all tied back to the little girl: the stuffed teddy bear found at the head of the bed, the pink blanket she was wrapped in, and a small barrette Greg later found inside the blanket after managing to pry the little girl's fingers from around it.
He put his hands on the edge of the table, using it to steady himself as he felt his body lean forward. It'd almost been a week since they started the case, and they were no closer to solving it now than they were then. And while Greg wasn't expecting miracles, he had hoped that they would have at least found something.
The fact that the Harrisons still couldn't be accounted for didn't help matters much. And though there was an APB out on them, Greg wasn't too sure it would do anything because their money probably allowed them the resources to disappear. It was already established they didn't spend too much time in their house in Henderson, but they were able to find another piece of property owned by the couple in Brea, California, where they actually lived; occasionally coming to Nevada.
Brass already made contact with the authorities in Brea, relating the missing couple and their possible involvement in homicide and attempted arson. So far, they hadn't heard anything conducive to the case. And it didn't seem like that pattern would be interrupted anytime soon.
But they already had enough to recreate what probably happened that night. And the images of the Harrisons easily took the places of the blank faces Greg once imagined. He knew how they did it; probably placed the little girl in the blanket first, suffocating her until they thought she was no longer breathing. Then they hid her beneath the bed, eventually leaving her to die in a fire they never intended to spread.
No, that part wasn't hard to imagine at all.
It was figuring out the why that Greg was still having trouble with.
Nick felt his pace quicken as he made his way through the halls.
It wasn't the first time he was conflicted about a case; whether it had something to do with the victim or his own personal reasons. And concerning his feelings about the death of a man who was essentially perpetuating child pornography, Nick could say it was a mix of both.
He agreed with Catherine when she called it a kind of poetic justice. And though it wouldn't prevent him from working to find out who may have killed Wilcox, Nick couldn't help but feel a slight sense of vindication for those kids who were being exposed like that. There was something perversely fulfilling about the knowledge that someone like Wilcox was off the streets for good.
But the fact that Wilcox was connected to something like still weighed heavily in his mind, broaching old memories that were beginning to channel into an anger and frustration that Nick wasn't sure had anything to do with Wilcox at all.
He sighed as he entered the trace lab, biting back another groan when the back of Hodges' head came into view.
It wasn't that he didn't recognise the merits of the other man. Some days, he just preferred not to deal with him and the last few have been particularly trying on Nick. Never mind that he didn't necessarily appreciate what Hodges probably thought was a sense of humour. And while he knew it was more out of annoyance than genuine dislike, Nick wouldn't deny that he still tried to avoid Hodges if he wasn't in the mood.
And today wasn't going to be an exception.
"So," Hodges began; a keen edge to his voice, "I heard about your case." He rolled his chair around to face Nick, resting one of his arms languidly on the table. "And let me just say that ejaculation is not the way-"
"Hodges," Nick said tiredly, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the other man pointedly. The irony of the case lost its humour the moment they discovered exactly what it was that Wilcox was masturbating to. "Were you able to get the results or not?"
"Of course I was." Hodges look briefly affronted before he reached for the printer behind him, fingers picking up a sheet of paper from the tray. "Would you honestly expect anything different from me?" he asked as he gave the paper to Nick.
Nick ignored the question as he took the results, scanning the information quickly. Lips turning into a frown, he raised his eyebrows at Hodges in confusion. "He had sildenafil in his system?"
"Yep." Hodges nodded his head. "And between you and me..." He leaned across the table, moving closer to Nick, who appeared wary at other man's telltale expression and Hodge's sudden urge to whisper. "It had nothing to do with treating pulmonary hypertension or angina pectoris."
Nick's face contorted in disbelief. And despite his mood, he wasn't able to hold back the disbelieving snort that came through. "Wilcox died from trying to get it up?"
"It's actually not unheard of. Rare, but you know Viagra's not the "magic pill" people constantly seem to believe it is." Hodges cleared his throat, straightening his posture when Nick looked at him strangely. "Not that I have any experience with something like that, of course. I mean, I'm still well into my prime, you know."
"…right," Nick said slowly, momentarily looking away before taking the initiative to move the conversation in a different direction. He felt a headache coming on; a problem that had already been building up and was no fault of Hodges. Although, that didn't necessarily mean the other man was part of the solution. "But Doc said he didn't have any medical conditions or problems and there were no signs of an allergic reaction. Plus, judging by the fact that he, you know," Nick added as he nodded his head, "had an orgasm, overdosing doesn't seem-"
"That's because he didn't. Or at least there wasn't enough of the substance in his bloodstream to qualify as an overdose when you factor in his age and health."
"What about the fact that he was drinking? Now granted, it wasn't much, but it had to have had some kind of impact or something."
"Alcohol and medicine is like Sanders and hair products – never a good combination," Hodges said wryly, ignoring the annoyed look Nick gave him. "And while the alcohol probably did help speed up the process, in this case it's what your vic took alongside the sildenafil that killed him."
"What was it then, he made trail mix or something?"
"No. There weren't any traces of MDMA, I did find isosorbide dinitrate. It's an organic nitrate that's predominantly used as-."
"A vasodilator, I get it," Nick interrupted as he narrowed his eyes in concentration. "But we know this guy didn't have any medical problems. Why does he even have something like that in his system in the first place?"
Nick doubted Wilcox would have taken the organic nitrates intentionally, but the fact they were in his system could help explain why Acacia Springs was even connected in the first place. Catherine and Sara were there now and as far as they knew, Wilcox didn't have any known relatives in the retirement home. But a place like that was a haven for prescription drugs.
"I couldn't even begin to tell you." Hodges shrugged his shoulders. "But regardless, it's still a bad combination since what both medicines essentially do is lower your blood pressure. Add enough of either one and it can cause severe hypotension. And that could lead to dizziness, light-headedness – you get the idea. And while death is still considered a rare side effect, it doesn't mean it couldn't happen."
Nick didn't speak for a moment, looking over the printout once more before giving it back to Hodges. "Is that it?" he asked. He put a hand inside his pocket, fingers wrapping around his cell phone.
"More or less, but," Hodges said quickly before Nick had the chance to walk away. "I will tell you one thing."
"What?" Nick asked; no small amount of irritation in his voice as he looked up from dialing a number on his phone's keypad.
"If your vic was murdered, then he must have had a part in it or something."
"Then, it wouldn't be murder anymore," Nick replied carefully, unsure of what Hodges was trying to say.
"I'm not saying he did it intentionally but just know that in order for these nitrates to be effective…they can't be crushed."
"So, you're saying…"
"They have to be chewed or swallowed whole."
Greg looked at Grissom patiently, the older man looking over the Harrison's bank records Warrick managed to subpoena earlier. It was a long shot in Greg's mind, but Grissom seemed pretty adamant that the Harrison's account activity would be the turning point in the case. That is, if it had anything to do with trafficking at all. But Greg pushed aside his own doubts in lieu of Grissom and Warrick's experience.
However, he did ask Nick about it last night. And he was surprised to find that the other man seemed to be more knowledgeable about the subject than he would admit. For years, human trafficking and smuggling had been a problem widely unreported in Texas; mostly involving the exploitation of illegal immigrants from Mexico. Nick said he only a few run-ins when he worked as a cop for the Dallas PD, before he became a CSI. And he reluctantly told Greg that the situation there was just as bad, if not worse than in Vegas.
"I remember there was this one woman. She didn't speak any English, but that wasn't too rare in Texas, you know." Nick smiled softly, a pained expression briefly crossing his face. "She was real sweet and a maybe a little younger than I was then."
Greg sat on the bed silently, legs crossed and hands in his lap as he waited for Nick to continue; the other man still in the middle of changing his shirt.
"When they first found her, she wouldn't let anyone touch her, wouldn't let anyone near her until the second day – the day I met her. And for some reason…for some reason she would only talk to me." Nick shook his head. "She told me it was because I had kind eyes. Can you believe that?" he asked, turning to Greg as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Greg didn't think it was that hard to believe but knew the question was more or less rhetorical.
"But she'd been working for this one guy who smuggled her into the country…" Nick released a bitter laugh. "She'd been working for the bastard for three years on the promise that one day she'd be able to see her two year-old son. But it turned out he was killed as soon as she made it into the States."
Nick was now supine on the bed, hands propped beneath his head and gaze turned to the ceiling. "You always hear about that bond between a mother and child, but I never really understood it until then. I'd never seen someone break down and cry before." He paused before softly saying, "Not like that."
"Did you ever catch the guy?" Greg asked tentatively, unprepared for the derisive smile Nick sent his way.
"What do you think?"
After that, Greg laid himself down and didn't bother trying to ask again. Nick didn't want to talk about it anymore and that was fine. Greg wasn't going to be one who made things uncomfortable between them, again. Not for something work related, at least.
Yet, Greg knew it was more than just that. Nick's case was turning out to be more problematic that it initially appeared and the other man was becoming more irritable because of it; his past coming into play. But Greg didn't question something he already knew. It was simply a part of Nick he'd already accepted a long time ago. And even though he wasn't sure how to approach what happened to Nick as a child, it was clear how it affected how the other man when it concerned certain cases.
Though, Greg didn't feel bad asking Nick about his time in Dallas. Nick didn't bring it up before and Greg was usually receptive whenever that happened, but he'd barely been able to repress the curiosity that wanted him to push Nick further.
On a competent level Greg could say that he could grasp the concept, but he'd never really thought about human trafficking in earnest. The most exposure he had was limited to hearing about a case the team worked last year that had to do with Russian mail-order brides; when he was involved with the preliminaries of the Sherlock case. And even then, Greg knew it wasn't the same.
"And unless she was adopted or the Harrisons were her guardians," Grissom said intently, his voice breaking Greg out of his musings. He pointed to the monitor in front of them, a picture of a driver's license on the screen. "It's highly unlikely that she's related to them."
Warrick was standing behind them, hand resting on the back of Greg's chair as he looked over the younger man's shoulder. "She also doesn't have anything criminal on file. The only reason she's even in the system is because of an internship she took some time during her junior year at UNLV."
Greg looked between Warrick and Grissom in confusion. "So, how is she even connected to the Harrisons?"
"Evidently," Grissom began, "they were transferring funds to her account."
Greg took a closer look at the picture, taking in the woman's dark complexion and the short hair that framed a somewhat babyish face. "What kinds of funds are we talking about, here?"
"In the thousands," Grissom said, peering at Greg from above the frames of his glasses. "And all within from the first two weeks of September."
"Right before the Harrisons went missing," Warrick continued. He let out a low whistle. "That's a whole lot of money at one time for a student in college."
"That's a lot of money at one time for anybody," Grissom countered.
Greg looked at Grissom sceptically. "But I still don't get it, though. What does she have to do with trafficking, then?" If anything, Grissom was persistent, and it wasn't like him to suddenly lose interest in a particular angle of a case.
"Possibly nothing at all," Grissom confessed somewhat grudgingly. "But as of right now…it's the only lead we've got."
Nick looked at the man sitting in front of him thoughtfully.
It didn't take long for Sophia to find David Masterson, the man Susan Wilcox was having an affair with. After Sara and Catherine went to the retirement home and discovered a trail of missing patients' prescriptions pills, including isosorbide dinitrate, it wasn't hard to make a connection. The staff at Acacia Springs admitted they didn't notice the discrepancies until recently, but were able to correlate them with the time Masterson began working there. But unfortunately, that wasn't quite enough incentive to bring him in for questioning.
However, Masterson was already in the system for a breaking and entering charge that was eventually dropped for unknown reasons. It happened when he was a minor but was what allowed them to take him into custody, anyway.
Still, Nick had a hard time picturing what someone like Susan Wilcox saw in the man. He wasn't much to look at; brown hair and brown eyes, but no features that immediately stuck out in Nick's mind. He would have been tempted to say he was average at best if Masterson didn't look so cagey, as well. And while he knew the signs to watch out for in a possible culpable suspect, Nick was almost unnerved by just how conspicuous the man appeared.
Either Masterson was a really bad actor or he was just plain guilty.
"That's a nice ring you have there, Mr. Masterson," he finally said, following a period of silence that was obviously doing more than simply distressing the other man.
"Uh, my ring…" The nervousness was evident in Masterson's voice. His gaze was erratic, eyes constantly moving in different directions as he continued to tap his fingers against the edge of the table. "Thanks," he managed to stammer out.
"Mind if I ask you where you got it?" Nick shared a knowing look with Catherine before turning back to Masterson.
"…Nowhere special."
"I don't know," Catherine said; her voice tinged with doubt. "Nice ring like that...it had to be from somewhere. What do you think, Nick?"
"Can't say I-"
"Susan made me get it," Wilcox suddenly interrupted. There a slight pause until he sighed heavily, the tension in his body disappearing as a noticeable relief appeared on his face. "She made me finger the stuff from the geriatric place."
Geriatric place, Nick silently mouthed to Catherine, who could only mirror his incredulous expression. It wasn't that he didn't know what it meant, just that Masterson saying it took him by surprise. Although, it did give more insight into how Masterson truly felt about the retirement home; possibly using it as a means to get easy access to drugs. At this point, the only evidence they had was circumstantial at best, but they were only looking for a confession from Masterson.
"And what about the other prescription medication missing from Acacia Springs – You take those, too?" But if Masterson did admit to stealing the isosorbide dinitrate that killed Wilcox, there was a good chance that he took other drugs, as well. And while Nick wasn't too worried about it right now, he did want to make Masterson aware that they had some idea of what else he was doing.
Because if push came to shove, they could at least get him for that if not for Wilcox's murder.
The guy would probably crack over that, too, anyway.
Masterson was silent for a few seconds, eyes darting between Nick and Catherine before quickly saying, "Susan made me do it. She told me she wanted to settle some kind of thing between them."
"You mean you wanted him out of the picture for good," Catherine suggested. "That's why you took the pills and-"
"Yes." But taking notice of what he said Masterson shook his head fervently. "I mean, no. They didn't spend that much time together anyway, so why would I care? I only spent time with Susan because she was pretty. She wanted me, and even I know that I'm not much so I definitely wasn't going to turn that down. That and the fact that she was a really good fu-"
"So," Catherine began, coughing slightly. "What about the phone call to Wilcox's room we traced back to Acacia Springs?" She continued at Masterson's blank look. "What – You thought we wouldn't be able to trace that back to you?"
"I swear I never set foot in that hotel."
"And you weren't in Susan Wilcox's room last week?" Nick asked dully, knowing Masterson was the man he caught a glimpse of through Susan's door.
"Except for those times, yeah, but that doesn't mean I went in her husband's room."
"What about the phone calls, then? The ones placed from the retirement home to Wilcox's room?"
"I was in Acacia Springs calling her. I told her to just crush the chewable tablets I gave her and put it in his drink or something. That way, it wouldn't have that much of an effect on him."
"You're saying you gave the drugs to Susan Wilcox so she could give them to Thomas Wilcox?"
"Exactly," Masterson agreed, leaning over as he placed his hands back on the table. "And I swear I didn't kill her husband, all right."
"Oh…" Catherine nodded in understanding. "So, you already know that Thomas Wilcox is dead?"
"Yeah," Masterson replied hesitantly. "But wasn't it already on the news or something?"
Nick shook his head, the corner of his mouth slightly lifting. "Not this time. But nice try, though," he said, a mocking kind of encouragement in his tone.
"Look, I only gave Susan a few pills from my stash. I don't claim to be a doctor, but I know it wasn't supposed to be enough to do anything but make him dizzy – That's what she said she wanted and I only gave her enough for that."
"But unfortunately it was," Nick's admitted, what Hodges said earlier about taking organic nitrates coming back to mind. If what Masterson said about telling her to crush the pills was true, it suggested that Susan Wilcox purposely didn't adhere to the man's instructions. It didn't excuse Masterson, but it did make more sense for Wilcox to accept medicine from his wife rather than the man she was sleeping with, which also meant that Wilcox had probably seen his Susan sometime during his stay at the Venetian.
Catherine leaned back against her chair, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear before crossing her arms. "And Susan told you she'd give you a ring in exchange for the pills, right?" Catherine added. "Unless it was just-"
Masterson cut her off with a snort. "I don't know about Susan. I mean, I like her and all but just not like that, you know?"
"But didn't she tell you the ring belonged to her husband?"
"Yeah," Masterson said, looking at Nick and Catherine somewhat brashly. "And I was going to pawn it."
"Never thought I would actually miss college, you know," Greg said, dodging a student that almost ran into him but not able to escape the not so gentle nudge of a heavy backpack against his side.
Warrick gave Greg a questionable look as they continued to manoeuvre their way down the dorm hall. "Really? The way you tell it…"
"Yeah, but it just seemed like one of those appropriate things to say." Greg gave Warrick a cheeky grin, the smile widening when the other man turned away from him. "Second time I've been here in less than month, though."
"Won't argue with that."
Greg only gave a slight nod of his head.
"Here it is, room 406," Warrick said as they stopped in front of a door with a dry-erase board hanging from it. The name Megan was written on it in bold red ink, followed by various notes of differing handwriting scribbled beneath it.
Greg spared a quick glance to other man before knocking on the door. "Megan Peterson?"
"Hold on, I'm coming" came a muffled reply from inside of the room. However, he and Warrick didn't have to wait long until Megan opened the door, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. If she was surprised by their appearance, the expression on her face didn't show it.
Despite seeing her picture beforehand, Greg didn't know what he'd been expecting or why he even had this preconceived notion of her. Yet, he couldn't say that it didn't unnerve him that she looked so young. And he didn't think it had anything to do with her height compared to his.
But maybe he was just getting older.
"Yes?" she said, covering her mouth as she began to yawn; the action prompting Greg to do the same. "Sorry, I've been up all night studying so I'm not exactly in the best state of mind."
Warrick held out his badge briefly, flashing it at Megan before closing the wallet. "I'm CSI Brown and this is CSI Sanders," he said, slightly nodding his head in Greg's direction. "We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning your connection to Nathan and Carol Harrison."
"I guess you can, but it's not as if I know them personally."
"Well, it had to be personal enough if the Harrisons transferred more than ten thousand dollars to your bank account," Greg pointed out. "And they did it on more than one occasion."
Altogether, it wouldn't have seemed so suspicious if Megan claimed to know the Harrisons in some facet. But it still sounded pretty peculiar for a college student to be receiving such a large amount of money at one time. That was a pattern usually associated with a hitman or at least someone orchestrating something similar. His own familiarity barred, while Greg had heard of taking the odd job or two during college, he wasn't sure where murder and arson may have come in.
Still, Dawkins didn't mention seeing anyone else when the Harrisons left that night. But then again, Dawkins had already lied before.
"I've never met them in person if you want to be more specific," Megan continued. "To be honest, I don't even know what they look like."
Warrick didn't seem dissuaded by her response. "Do you have someone to account for your whereabouts the morning of the seventeenth?"
"Last Saturday?" Megan straightened her glasses. "I was doing damage control on a horde of drunken freshman from the night before. I'm the new RA and the beginning of the year is never the easiest. You can ask anyone in the hall, but I doubt many would remember much of it." She looked at her watch. "It's what, almost noon? The only reason any of them are even up today is because there's a mandatory freshman assembly outside.'"
Greg decided not to comment about her nonchalance in regards to the underage drinking. It would be a needless sentiment about something most people were already aware of. "So, the Harrisons must have been feeling really charitable if they didn't even know you."
"Not really." She shrugged. "I'm just a vehicle to transfer the money to someone else. So in essence, all of it wasn't mine."
"You mean you've done this before, then?" Warrick asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Maybe once a month, but I probably do it twice a month at the most."
"Who do you send the money to?"
"To be honest, there's just an account number and the name Baitu to go by. I only have a few linguistics classes to back me up, but I'm pretty sure it's Chinese in origin."
"And how did you meet this…Baitu," Greg asked, trying to emulate Megan's pronunciation of the name.
"I found out about it online, and at first I thought it was spam, you know. Though, I don't know how anyone would fall for something that alternated between capitalisation within words and when those words weren't even spelled correctly – but that's a different story."
"What made you think this was any different?" Warrick asked.
"Well, first it sounded too good to be true, like all those other claims. Aside from presentation, it looked like another one of those get rich quick schemes. But I kept finding it on different job sites; the big ones like Hot Jobs, Craig's List, CareerBuilder and none of them requiring me to spend anything to make a quick buck. I just had a feeling that something about it was legit and turns out it was."
"And you just took to it like that?"
"I did do a couple of background checks. I have a few friends who are good with that kind of stuff and nothing seemed illegal. We traced the account back to somewhere in Europe, but we don't think the money really ends up there. I don't doubt that your people are good, but I know people who are even better and if they couldn't get a stable trace…"
Greg nodded. "Well, it would still be helpful to have any copies of the transfers you made, account numbers, and-"
"Right here," she said as she retreated back into her room, leaving the door ajar. "Again, it seemed legit. Plus, I really couldn't pass up the opportunity for something that paid that well and didn't mean I had to sacrifice my school work."
"Ever heard of shooting the messenger?" Warrick asked as she came out of the room, a manila folder in hand.
"Frankly, I never intended to hide anything. Still don't. I keep soft and hard copies of anything that has to do with my finances, even receipts." She handed the folder to Warrick, who accepted it somewhat warily. "It just makes it easier for you, right?"
"Yeah, but…" Greg began, looking at Megan with something akin to concern. "Aren't you worried about this getting back to you? I mean we were able to find you and-"
"Oh, I doubt this will put me in a questionable position." She shook her head. "My…employer knows and doesn't hold me responsible. Then again, he doesn't disclose more than necessary to get the job done."
Warrick released a derisive snort. "So you say."
Disturbed by Warrick's voice and the implications behind it, Greg tried to think about how Megan seemed sure that her employer was a male. It may not have been much in the grand scheme of things, but Greg was ready to hold on to any detail he could, no matter how small. "You said your employer's a "he"…have you spoken to him before?"
"I usually get instructions by mail with no return address. I'm not sure if it was the guy behind everything, but last summer I did speak with someone when we were first finalising arrangements. I would give you the number, but it was just from a payphone off of Boulder Highway."
Warrick narrowed his eyes at her. "And you didn't even think to question any of it at this point?"
"Being the middleman isn't illegal," Megan retorted, that fact that Warrick was looking down on her not an intimidating factor. "They didn't tell and I didn't ask because I wasn't going to assume a position of accountability." Megan shrugged. "Shady maybe, but it's an acceptable means to an even better end; especially considering how much money grad school's going to be."
She sighed when Warrick didn't waver in his gaze. "Look, I've taken the moral high ground for the majority of my life. Trust me when I say I already know it won't get me where I want to go." She didn't break eye contact with Warrick, crossing her arms as she leaned against her doorframe. "I got accepted into Yale, you know. And it wasn't by playing the nice girl. Besides, everyone walks the fine line once in a while. We wouldn't be human if we didn't."
"But did you know you could be supporting child trafficking?" Greg intervened before Warrick had a chance to say anything. The tension between the other man and Megan was palpable and was making Greg feel more than just a little uncomfortable.
She cocked her head to the side. "Funny enough, I wrote a paper on something that mentioned that for my woman's studies class last semester; female infanticide in third world countries."
Warrick took a step back, the tone in his voice similar to disappointment. "And then you're dealing with something like this."
"Mr. Brown, Mr. Sanders...it's a sad world we live in. I won't deny that but sometimes – sometimes you have to play the game in order to be able to change the rules." She sighed again, almost pained by her own admission. "Is that all you need?"
"Yeah, that's all." Warrick nodded; an indisposed understanding in his expression. "We'll keep in touch if we have any more questions."
"Wouldn't expect otherwise," she replied, about to turn around when Greg said her name.
"What are you going to study at Yale?" he asked before Megan placed her hand on the door handle, his voice seeming to reverberate in the empty hall despite the soft tone he used.
She paused before slowly turning around, her mouth forming into a small smirk that reflected the gleam in her eyes.
"Criminal law."
Honestly, I'm a bit suprised at myself because normally I write rather quickly (even though the chapters are progressively becoming longer). However, I'm a little anxious when it comes to this; finding my free time spent researching for this monster and writing other things I'd otherwise be procrastinating, as well. But I am intermittenly working on other chapters and will try to write more if only because I wish to complete this as soon as possible...before the seventeenth if I can.
On a side note, I'm not going to say what Baitu means because then I'd feel even more corny and abstruse than I do now. I also took artistic liberties with Megan's situation, but only since the show's writers aren't exactly faithful to reality, either. That's my excuse for now. But I couldn't care less because I really did love writing Megan.
Oh, and just out of curiousity, did anyone actually yawn after reading that particular scene?
So, thank you for reading and thank you to Brieze, silverrayne621, DemonUntilDeath, LaughableBlackStorm, and Andrew-Squee for reviewing.