Title: Fall to Earth

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan

Author's note: I thought of an idea for a story, posted it on fanfiction, and left it without an ending. That was about five years ago. Recently, I dug out my old account and came across it and thought that I should rewrite this story. Hopefully it'll work out. Do leave a review if you think I should continue. I'm not quite sure as to which season this timeline should adhere to, but I'm a fan of the "old-school" CSI episodes. So this story will take place with all of the original members of CSI (Grissom, Nick, Sara, Catherine, Brass, Sofia etc) and will take place a few months after Warrick's death.

Please forgive me if I get the sequence wrong. The last time I watched CSI was a really long time ago.

So let's start the adventure, shall we? Here goes...

Chapter 1

She hobbled as fast as she could. Terrified, wide-eyed. Her breath came in rapid, short gasps.

Run…

That was the only word she could think of. She ran faster, or at least she tried, her left leg slowing her down with every stride. Her surroundings merged as she raced through the forest, trying to find a safe sanctuary among the black trees that stood up in random directions.

Get away! Get as far away as you can!

Her brain ranted on with advices she already knew. Her feet kept catching onto exposed roots and broken rocks. Wild thorns from foliages grabbed the skin on her hands and face, tearing into her flesh, not letting her go. She got use to the pain after a while, feeling the warmness that oozed from her wounds, trickling down her skin.

Her body yelled for her to stop, every ounce of pain magnified by ten-folds. But she ran on anyways, panting up a sleep slope, hoping the rest of the team would come and save her.

She didn't expect to end up this way. A target to a game. A prey to a predator. In her line of work, she had seen victims stabbed, shot, strangled, poisoned; killed in many different ways by many different monstrosities. As a CSI, she would be the person, on the outside looking in. Trying to figure out what happened to the victim; to speak up for them when they couldn't.

Tables have been turned. Now, she's the victim.

A jutting tree root tripped her, breaking her momentum. She stumbled to the ground and rolled down the thorn-infested slope. She quickly got up, trying to ignore the burning sensation that coursed through her hip. The pain was excruciating. She bit back the pain and tears, clambering up the slope on all fours, dragging her injured body along.

Just then, something flickered at the corner of her eye. Its lingering presence drew closer. The sounds grew louder. She looked over her shoulder and saw movement between two trees, glowing with life. Its outline had caught the white moonlight as it shifted from left to right. She froze where she was, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. Slowly, its silhouette disappeared as it ventured in the opposite direction, like the evanescence of midnight mist.

She sighed, relieved as she leaned heavily against a tree. She could barely move any further. After surviving with injures she had sustained hours ago and without warmth, no real rest and no shelter, her chances of surviving were slim and she knew it.

She heard a twig snapped behind her, as she turned around to face…

Earlier that day…

"John Allen, you're under arrest for the murder of Megan Smith. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right…"

The Miranda warning read by a uniformed officer. Police lights, mixing with the sun's rays, forming an unusual blend of colours through an open window. The sound of metallic handcuffs clicking into place. Not the best way to start the morning for some, but for others...

It feels really good.

Nick watched the scene unfold through the shades of his sunglasses. Looking at the two officers, one on each arm, leading the suspect out of the house and towards an awaiting cruiser brought satisfaction to his busy week. The suspect was about Nick's age but thinner, slightly taller and fairer. His shirt untidily tucked into his pants, its buttons not in their respective holes. His dark hair was in a mess, and it appears as if he had just woken up. Obviously not ready for jail time.

This was the serial killer the CSIs had been looking for. Not as presentable as they had imagined, but Nick couldn't help but think about the killer's name: John … such an ordinary name. There were at least a thousand other John in Las Vegas alone. There's a good chance he would have bump into a John in his school's hallway a long time ago, on his way to work or in a club. One of Disciples of Christ was named John; even the unidentified males in police cases were called John Doe. The only thing interesting about this John that separates him from the rest was what he does best.

Killing women.

Sara and Nick spend the past 72 hours going through the evidences. There were at least five victims, found in different areas around the outskirts of Las Vegas. They had only managed to arrest him for one murder. But at least it was a start. The murders took place within a span of five months. An average of one kill per month.

It's the beginning of April. Hopefully, this month would be different.

"John Allen… white Caucasian male in his mid 30s—it's ironic how the evidence ratted him out. Who knew that the car that was supposed to be his getaway would be the key to solving this case?" Nick posed the rhetorical question to Sara, as she stood next to him to get a better view of the commotion. John's fingerprints were a match to ones found on the victim's car. That was enough for a judge to provide a warrant for his arrest.

"It's a good thing we got him today. Something tells me that he would have been gone by tomorrow."

"Yeah." Nick said, turning to look at Sara. From the looks of it, he could tell that she was tired. She had dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was dull, the typical symptom of a person who had spent the whole night awake. She must have been up for at least 2 days. He was beginning to think that she lied about taking a nap while he slept in the break room.

But who can blame her? The case was an intriguing one. The victims were found in places that were heavy forested. Eyewitnesses were forest rangers and hikers that came across their bodies by accident. Some were dead for less than 6 hours; some were close to decomposition, with flies and maggots around. They had blisters around their feet and hands, and cuts and bruises caused by Mother Nature's rocks and trees. Their cause of death was all the same.

Exsanguination. They were beaten, stabbed, shot and left for dead.

"You went to see him again, didn't you?"

Grissom looked up to see Catherine standing by the doors of his office.

"How did you guess?" He replied. He looked back at her as she looked at him with a friendly concern, her stance radiating with curiosity.

"You have that look." She smiled. "Was Sara with you?"

"It was her idea actually. Her car is in the shop at the moment, and I merely serve as a mean for her to get there... not that I mind." He laughed, smiling as he breathed air out from his nose. "We went early this morning, saw him and left. I just dropped her off to meet Nick not too long ago."

Catherine nodded absentmindedly. "She's been going to see him quite a bit huh?"

"Every chance she gets."

"How do you think she feels?"

Grissom sat up and leaned back against his chair. Sara was not the kind of person who would talk about emotions easily, but she would open up once someone had broken through the wall. Grissom thought he had done that. He thought he had done that the moment she opened up to him in her room about her past; the moment he had agreed to be together with her; the moment she decided to leave but told him where she was going. But this time was different. They never talked about his life or his death – or at least he did and not her. The only closest thing he had of her expressing anything Warrick-related was that she wanted to see him that morning at the cemetery.

But words need not be said, when the actions speak for themselves. Grissom could see it. She seemed almost eager to get to work in the mornings, leaving without him but writing a note as to where she was headed, a morning ritual now. In the afternoons she would immerse herself into whatever cases she was given to work on. If there wasn't a case to solve, Sara became anxious waiting. She would calibrate pipettes and equipment that didn't need calibrating. She would look through closed cases. She kept herself occupied until another case opened up, and would proceed to devote her time and concentration onto that case, completing the cycle.

Catherine herself became an unintended witness to Sara's unusual behaviour. It occurred one night when she had to go back to the lab to retrieve something she had forgotten, and saw Sara in the locker room alone, sitting on a bench adjacent to what was once Warrick's locker. She held her breath as Sara stood, and continued to watch as Sara's fingertips traced the lines of his locker doors, opening them. She hesitated before touching the sleeves of his lab coat, but later held it as she would his hands when he was alive. The glass door that stood between them had made Catherine practically invisible from the inside, preventing her from interrupting this sacred moment between the living and the dead. To this day, Sara had no knowledge of her being there, and Catherine was more than contented keeping it that way.

"How do you think she feels?"

There was a pause as silence filled the room, and neither Grissom nor Catherine could provide an answer to the question.

"Sorry I'm late." Noise flowed into the room like an ocean wave just as a man walked in, carrying a suitcase that had paper jutting out from its sides. The door closed with a sigh and a clank. Voices banished, and the interrogation room was once again plunged in solitude.

"My client is willing to make a deal." Brass and Sara stared at the character that took a seat across from them. John had lawyer up. His lawyer was local, insecure and nervous, a total opposite from his client.

"What's the offer?" Brass questioned, his voice booming with authority. He wasn't really the sort of guy who loses his temper but today, he was not having a good day. This interview was the extra weight he didn't need to carry around his tired shoulders.

"In exchange for a promise of leniency in sentencing, my client will agree to lead law enforcements to the exact locations of his other victims."

"Are you serious? You have got to be kidding me." Brass said, pushing his chair roughly as he stood. "We've all ready got you for murder. More charges are being looked upon by the judge as we speak."

Sara gently placed her hand on Brass's wrist. She knew that the case was taking a personal toll on him. One of the victims was about his daughter's age. She was about the same height, the same hair colour. Taking in the fact that Ellie doesn't talk to him anymore, he could only imagine her ending up like one of them some day. He could feel it in his bones.

The suspect wasn't really interested in what's going on. He seemed almost bored.

"Now, let's be reasonable here—" John said, spreading out his arms like he's selling invisible products before him. The movement carried a strange kind of grace to it. "Do you know… how long it takes for a person to bleed to death?" John asked, suddenly serious. "Maybe about… 8 hours – give or take."

It amazed Sara how causally someone could talk about death.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked. If he's saying this to get her attention, he's got it.

"Let's just say that… in the next... I don't know... 6 hours," He uninhibitedly looked at Brass's watch, which bothered the detective so much that he withdrew his hand from the table. "In the next 6 hours, I would have killed another one." He said cryptically, his voice pitched as he leaned back against his chair.

"Are you saying that someone's out there? Alive?" Sara said, as she took a glimpse at Brass. He's losing his patience. It was just a matter of time.

John gave her an evil, mischievous smirk. He shrugged. "Last I checked."

"Where, John?"

His lawyer opened his mouth to whisper some advice into his ears. He whispered back.

"My client is prepared to make the deal official. He claims that if he does not personally provide the whereabouts of the victim, then she will most likely not survive long enough to be rescued by the present search operation."

It took everything in her power to stop Brass from breaking the suspect's arm and killing him with it. John's lawyer stood up, covering his surprise by adjusting the rim of his glasses and yelling empty legal threats. All John did was held up a hand to silence his lawyer, enjoying the attention he's getting. Sara placed her hand onto the older man's arm, watching as the redness of his face dissipate into their respective vessels. Brass readjusted his suit, squaring his shoulders as he began to close the deal.

But the suspect was having too much fun to stop now.

"Oh…and one more thing." John said, making eye contact with Brass for the first time since the start of the interview. "Other than the promise of leniency, I'll only reveal the whereabouts of the victim if Ms. Sidle comes along…. Not alone, of course. Just not with you." He winked at Sara, who was actually surprised to hear his request.

"As long as you tell us where she is." She replied, her voice steady and even.

John stood up from his chair, almost deadly calm as he locked eyes with Sara. He then turn towards Brass, his body reeked with deceit as he began clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

Tick tock, tick tock…

TBC

Hope you had enjoyed this chapter. What do you think? Like it? Hate it?