A/N: Once again, thank you so much for reading! Only five more chapters to go. And I've already written the last two. Connecting everything together is the fun part.

Chapter 20:

Brass stood in the door as he told him, "Archie got a hit on Agent Collins' cell phone signal, I'm taking a couple of FBI agents with me. Detective Nowlins is reassigned to you, and uh, Detective Commons is sitting on Fischer."

"Good luck," Nick told Brass as he kept his eyes on the computer scene. He'd been doing some digging on Todd Stevens, the SunWest Delivery driver who was killed.

There wasn't much about the guy. He was twenty-five years old. High school graduate, never got into trouble. He was working for SunWest because they had a higher education tuition assistance program. Stevens had applied for community college, and was expecting to start classes in the Fall semester. Such a shame that a guy like Lincoln Fischer cut his life short.

The two were the same age, so he checked their backgrounds and got a match. They both attended the same high school, though Fischer wasn't in the graduating class; he'd been a drop out. Fischer had been in juvenile hall, jails, going back to when he was fourteen. The guy was trouble, so why Todd Stevens? Was it just for the delivery truck? They could've just jacked it without killing the driver. Waited for him to be out of the truck, then took it.

Fischer confirmed that Starling was in the delivery truck, not Lecter, but Lecter's prints were the only ones on the package that Lincoln Fischer delivered to the crime lab. Starling must have worn gloves, and up until that point, no one knew that Starling was also in Las Vegas. The only evidence she was in Vegas were fingerprints found on the wall in the hotel room, along with Fischer's statement.

Nick sighed as he tried to figure out what it meant, if anything. Going back to Todd Stevens, he searched next of kin, any family the guy had, and found a sister. She was nearly ten years older than Todd. Her name was Amy Stevens. Amy worked—

"Huh," he said as he brought up Amy Stevens' employment record. "She works at SunWest Delivery too, but at the airfield. She's a member of the flight crew."

Picking up the phone next to the computer station, he made a call to Amy Steven's residence. There was no answer at her home so he tried the cell phone number on file and received no answer. Then he called Detective Nowlins, asked him to go by her residence to see if she was home.

While he waited, he went to the break room then glanced into the conference room and saw nobody there. Glancing towards Grissom's office, he saw the door shut and lights off. He wondered what happened to the boss man when several minutes later he got his answer via phone call from Catherine who was processing a box truck up on Pahrump. As of further notice, she was acting supervisor.

He sat back down in front of the computer when he thought to call out to the SunWest Delivery airfield to see if Amy Stevens showed up for work.

"She did," he said into the phone as he talked to the supervisor. "Is she there now? Can I speak with her?"

As he waited for Amy Stevens to come on the line, his cell phone rang. It was Nowlins. Lowering the landline phone, he flipped open his cell and placed it to his other ear and said into it, "Hey, Nowlins, Amy Stevens is at work—"

"Unless she's there in spirit, I highly doubt that," Nowlins said. "She's dead."

"This road through the mountains takes us back towards Pahrump," Sofia said right before the detective's car hit pavement. Luckily no other cars had been coming because there was no sign to mark the intersection. She swerved the car to the left as she glanced over at her, asking, "Are you okay?"

Catherine had felt her stomach leap into her chest, but other than that she was okay. "Thus is back roads Nevada. No lights and not too many road signs."

Sofia kept driving as she said, "Let's see what's this way and then we'll figure it out if we keep hitting dead ends. Tell Sara to go right when she hits pavement."

Catherine glanced in the rear view and wondered what was taking Sara so long. She should have caught up to them by now. Flipping her cell open, she rang her phone. It rang a few times and went to voicemail. "Hey, Sara, we're heading uh, northwest, veered to the left out of the mountains. Why don't you canvas the other way. And call me back, please."

She snapped the phone shut as Sofia said, "We found a sign."

Looking up, she saw it appear out of the night sky being lit up by the headlights. It read: SunWest Delivery Airfield 4 Miles. "That's something."

"Coincidence?"

"If there's one thing that Grissom has taught this team over the years is that there is no such thing as coincidences."

"Why not?"

"He believes in God's will."

Sofia glanced at her in consideration before saying, "I can see that. It does seem like it's the little things, in the coincidences, where we find the piece of evidence we need to get the bad guy. Whether it's God's will is up for debate. I just think it's good investigative work."

"I'm with you on that one," she said as Sofia made a right turn at the security gate that kept people out of the airfield. They weren't just people, and after flashing badges and Crime Lab IDs they were permitted access.

While the Security Guard went to open the gate, he said, "He must have found something, huh?"

"Who?" Sofia asked.

The Security Guard, who's name tag read Richards, said, "The other CSI and a detective. Uh, Stokes and Newsom, I think it was. He come through here about ten, fifteen minutes ago."

Catherine immediately pulled out her cell and called Nick. The moment he answered, she asked, "Why wasn't I informed that you were coming to Pahrump?"

Nick went to answer, saying, "I got a lead. Grissom always—"

"I'm acting supervisor. Who's Detective Newsome?"

"Newsome?" Nick asked in confusion. "I'm here with Nowlins."

"And I'm here with Sofia at the airfield. Where are you, Nick?"

A little sheepishly, Nick gave her directions to hanger 4, which was across the airfield. Arriving on scene, she spotted him along with Detective Nowlins talking to one of the employees. "Where's Sara?" Nick asked as they approached.

"Hopefully not lost," she said. "I gave her a call, left a voicemail." Pulling out her cell, Catherine called Sara again and left another voicemail to let her know where they were and how to get there. "She should be here shortly."

As she hung up, Sofia asked, "Still no word from Sidle?" When she shook her head, the detective stepped away while unclipping her radio from her belt. "I'll radio Deputy Grant. See what's causing the delay."

Catherine tried not to worry too much as she turned her attention back to Nick, asking, "What brought you two all the way out here?"

"Todd Stevens," Nick answered. "He has a sister, Amy Stevens, who, according to the supervisor, clocked in today around four o'clock."

"Did she not show up?"

"According to the time clock, she did," Nowlins said as he walked over to them. He'd been speaking with someone she assumed to be a supervisor. "But seeing how she's been dead for nearly a day we think someone took her spot."

"Who?" Catherine asked.

"That's what we're trying to find out," he said as he gestured to another employee who was walking their way. "This is Mr. Timothy Powers. He's one of the grounds crew. Loaded up the plane Miss Stevens was supposedly on." As Powers stopped in front of them, he said, "Mr. Powers, I'm Detective Nowlins, this is CSI Willows and Stokes from the crime lab. We have a few questions for you. We're told that you helped to load a plane this evening. Flight N788AL."

Powers gave a tentative nod as he answered, "Yeah, that was an early flight. It departed around seven."

"You have the manifest?" she asked, interrupting Nowlins.

Powers dug into a cargo pocket in his pants and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he looked it over before handing it to her as Nowlins asked him, "Do you know Amy Stevens?"

"Sure do. She's been here for years."

Nowlins gave a nod, "Huh-uh. You see her at work tonight?"

While Nowlins kept questioning Powers, she read over the manifest. The preparing ramp agent was Powers, and the flight destination was 'BIL'.

Powers answered, "Nope. But there was another woman in her place. I didn't catch a name."

"Another woman?" Nick asked. "Can you describe her?"

Powers shrugged as he said, "Uh, medium. Kinda cute."

Catherine tried not to roll her eyes and sound annoyed as she asked, "Medium and cute? That's it?"

Nick pulled out a photograph and showed it to Powers and asked, "Is this her?"

Powers eyed the picture and gave a nod. "Yeah, could've been. She was wearing a hat, y'know. Uniform. Hair in a ponytail. Medium," he said again, "in height and build, just average."

Nick seemed just as annoyed as she felt. "Yeah, ok."

Catherine showed Powers the manifest and asked, "What's BIL?"

"Billings—Logan," he answered. "It's an airport in Montana."

Nowlins glanced around and asked, "Do you have security cameras?"

"Of course. One at the gate too," Powers said.

Catherine then asked the only other question needed asking, "Was she alone?"

Powers gave a nod. "It was just us. Me, um, Ethan, Jones, and the woman. She was in the cabin mostly. I loaded the cargo."

Nick asked, "What did you load?"

"Boxes and crates." Powers shrugged again, saying, "The usual."

"Anything unusual?" Nowlins asked.

Powers gave it some thought and said, "Not on that flight. Had one not too long ago with a last-minute change of itinerary and cargo. What was a loaded domestic flight turned into an overseas 'DG' designation. One package. That's it. That never happens."

Nick asked, "What's 'DG'?"

"Dangerous Goods. In this case, it was sensitive material. All hands off but one. Never seen the guy before, figured he was a higher up, y'know. It was just him and the pilot."

Catherine glanced at Nick as she told Powers, "We're going to need to see that DG manifest."

Powers unzipped a pocket in his jacket and pulled out another folded sheet of paper and handed it to her. "There's always paperwork." As Catherine took the sheet and opened it up to read, he clarified, "I'm the Preparing Ramp Agent."

"I see that," Catherine said as she was reading it over. "It also says here that you certified that all DCS listed on the DG manifest were loaded in approved positions on the aircraft and that compartment limitations had been observed in accordance with policy and regulations. It has the Captain's signature and says that an ADG is on board and a signature is required, but I don't see a signature."

Powers gave a nod, telling her, "ADG is a Dangerous Goods Agent. He said he didn't need to sign my copy. Only the pilot's copy of the manifest. I took his word for it."

"This DG agent, what did he look like?"

"Old guy. He had an accent. British, I think," Powers said as he scratched at his five o'clock shadow.

Nick had another picture and showed it to Powers as Catherine anticipated the answer.

Without hesitation, Powers said, "That's him."

"Are you positive?" she asked. "He's not medium?"

Powers almost laughed. "No, that's definitely the guy. I actually talked to him. I didn't talk to the woman."

Catherine gave a nod, saying, "That'll be all, Mr. Powers. We'll need to keep this manifest for evidence. We can make a copy for you. Oh, and this destination?"

Powers looked at the manifest and shook his head. "I don't normally work on the international side. I normally handle domestic flights. Like I said, it was a last minute change," he told her before walking away as he went back to work.

Nick caught her eyes as he said, "He ID'd both Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. Both were here—"

"Catching SWD flights out of Nevada," she finished for him. "One to Montana, one overseas, but this destination isn't familiar to me."

Nick took the manifest, read it, and said, "I have no idea. How about it, Nowlins? Seen this before?" he asked the detective as he handed it over.

Detective Nowlins took the manifest from Nick to look it over. "Are you shittin' me?" he said with a smirk. "MAD? That Norman Bates freak's already there, but for which airport with that designation, I have no idea. Do I look like I travel much?"

Nick was repressing a laugh as he took the manifest back and said, "I'll ask around."

Catherine watched as he walked away as Sofia walked back over. She immediately knew something was wrong. It was in her eyes and her face was nearly white. "What's the matter?"

"I couldn't get a hold of Deputy Grant or Sara, so I radioed into the nearest local trooper or patrol in the area. They found Deputy Grant dead. He'd been murdered. SUVs still there. Catherine, Sara's missing."

Her heart nearly dropped into her stomach as those words hit her hard in the chest. Sara wasn't only a friend and colleague but she had been her responsibility. "What?" She had so many questions but her only immediate course of action was to get back to the scene. "Nick—"

Nowlins turned and called out to Nick, "Stokes! Get your ass back here!"

Nick stopped halfway across the hanger and turned to run back over to them. "What's going on?" he asked as he slowed to a stop.

"Sara's gone missing," Catherine told him before Nowlins hurried away, over to the supervisor he'd been talking to earlier.

Calling out, Nowlins told them, "I'm going to have them ground all flights and notify Billings–Logan airport to secure flight N788AL when it lands. We'll need the FBI to get in contact with the international airport."

"I'm on it," Sofia said as she already had her cell phone out to make the call.

Catherine had calls to make herself, and she wasn't looking forward to any of them. Pulling out her cell phone, she made her first call to the Sheriff.

Then she called Grissom.

Gil shifted on the sofa in the hospital room. He'd meant to leave but his body was too tired. The last time he had a full night's sleep was before South Carolina. He would leave in a few hours, once he rested. Ever since this case started, he'd been restless while awake and when he did try to sleep, he dreamt of things that sent him panicking and unsure of what was real or not. A familiar ache gnawed at his control as he yearned for a drink to get rid of the nightmares.

The room was quiet except for the heart rate monitor, the ticking clock, and the rush of blood in his ears. He could hear his heart beating as he laid there in the dark. Swirling around his head were all the thoughts from the day. The questions spun, dipped and dived, as they tried to make connections like drowning hands grasping at straws. As soon as he grasped one, it slipped through his fingers.

The only source of light in the room came from the soft orange glow through the slit in the bathroom door. He focused on the ceiling as the walls seemed to creep in closer as it grew darker. He needed the darkness, it was the only way he could find what he was looking for. He'd gladly let it swallow him whole. As dark as his mind as he closed his eyes and drifted into it. There was no pendulum to steady his mind and no ticking to keep him from falling.

His eyes grew heavier as the night wore on. The weight in his body seemed to disappear as he eased into the sofa. He blinked once, then twice…

The light in the bathroom went out. Sitting up on the sofa, his hand went to the back of his neck as he felt a breath on it. His own breathing was coming in gasps as he tried to breathe. Sweat rolled off his forehead. Reaching up, he wiped the sweat away as he heard a noise out in the hallway; it sounded like a door shutting.

He stood, walked through darkness to the closed hospital room door, and opened it.

He could hear the buzzing from the overhead lights as he stood alone outside of the hospital room where Heather slept. His eyes swept over the white walls of the hallway, the nurse's station, and didn't see anyone. The floor was empty.

In the split second it took him to consider whether he was awake or dreaming, he turned to go back into the room when he saw the Dragon Slayer. It stood a few feet from him, huffing out shallow breaths that matched his own. The overhead lights buzzed and flickered above the Dragon Slayer when down the hallway one of the lights went out. Then, like a snowball effect, all the rest of the lights started going out one-by-one as an avalanche of darkness headed right towards him.

The Dragon Slayer smirked, showing its teeth, before turning to walk right into the darkness heading their way. As if being pulled on a tether, he followed as the darkness hurried to overtake them. The white cedar block walls he passed were leaking. Cedar was porous and out of the porous walls ran something red. Reaching out, he ran his fingers through the red wetness, feeling what leaked out from it like sweat, and realized it was blood. The walls were bleeding.

The further he walked, following the Dragon Slayer, the walls around him started snapping, breaking, bulking out from the pressure of the blood that desperately wanted to break through. The darkness he'd been walking towards suddenly blinded him as a thundering thump shook the walls, the ceilings, as all the lights went out.

He was left in empty darkness, but he wasn't alone. He knew what awaited him in the dark.

"Welcome to your life, dear Will. There's no turning back now, is there?"

As his eyes searched the darkness for the face of the man who had spoken those words, a dim glow from a soft light illuminated the shadow. He saw no man, but a monster. Horns protruding out of its head. It looked like a demon. And he hated it.

Then it spoke again, asking in a voice not of Hannibal Lecter but his own, "Do you dream much, Will?"

Standing with his demon in front of him and the Dragon Slayer behind him, he felt his body constricted. He couldn't move. His arms were being restrained around his chest. A thug of hands strapping a tight hold around his body that he couldn't escape. It was like he was being put inside a straitjacket. As he was being restricted from behind, in front of him a mask was fitted against his face. A mask that kept him from biting out people's tongues.

Out of the darkness came walls, grey concrete blocks in the dark cell, aquarium glass and bars imprisoning him to the outside world. It was his worst nightmare. He started to pace back-and-forth like a caged animal, a caged monster. As he paced, the Dragon Slayer watched him without saying a word. It never spoke. It didn't have to. Their thoughts were the same.

They were being held captive. Their freedom stripped away, and pleasure gone. They only had themselves to amuse. They couldn't do anything, but they could dream about everything.

Dreams of Europe. Italy, France, and Lithuania. Rolling fields in the countryside. Fresh air. Reading beneath a tree, drawing his deep dark longings, and clipping flowers in the garden. Peaceful, yet, in the room where a fire cracked as it devoured the fuel it needed to live, he heard screaming. Harrowing screams coming from the depths below it. The dungeon where he kept—

He stopped pacing. His smile an amused smirk as he glared unblinking at the horned shadow in the dark. It had a stench of fear that lingered in the air along with its shaving lotion. He so much wanted to break it into two. How?

How could he get that thing to break? How to torture its heart? He wanted to put it in a cell where it could never be free. Prove just how much smarter he was. Show the world who the real monster was. Though it may take time, years, he had all the time and patience in the world.

There were more pressing issues that he needed to answer. He needed to know how he was found. How did it learn who he was? What gave him away, he wondered. He'd been so careful.

Blinking once, the answer formed in his head. I showed it what I was. I gave myself away. He saw me in the way that I had killed.

But when…

The car cleared the trees, drove past the "Dead End" sign, left the paved road, and drove out onto the gravel. Once the car parked, he got out of the passenger seat and took in the bank of the Bush River. They were to the east of Baltimore and west of Philadelphia. The sun was starting to set despite it only being a little after six in the evening. Winter was trying to give way to spring but holding on as he noticed the patches of snow on the ground.

The bridge going over the river that he stood next to wasn't for cars but the Amtrak train. Hanging from a post next to the train tracks was the young woman's body. Well, parts of it were on display before them. Some of her was missing. What was left, including her head for identification, was cold to the touch, and blue, having been exposed to the elements overnight.

This wasn't where the killer had placed her after the kill. From the blood and lividity alone, he knew that the young woman, college age, had been killed right there.

"She either knew him, or he abducted her and brought her out here."

Crawford turned to him as he asked, "How's that?"

"This wasn't a body dump. He brought her here, alive, either willingly or unwillingly. This was where he killed her. Why here?" he asked as his eyes searched beyond the riverbank, over the water, and south along the river. He saw buildings, towers, a processing plant, maybe? "What's that?"

"Don't know. Hey, Officer," Crawford called out to a local police officer who was securing the scene. "What's that?" he asked as he pointed down the river.

The officer returned his attention to where Crawford was pointing and said, "That's the sewage plant."

"Waste," he voiced as he turned his eyes back to the young woman. "Human waste."

Crawford's eyes were on him. He could feel his stare. "What'd you see?"

He hated what he saw, but worse, what he felt inside as he thought about how the killer saw the victim. "A pig. She wasn't anything to him, not human, not a daughter or a sister…Nothing, but a pig. This was hate. He hated her; wanted to humiliate her. The extension of that hate reached out to—" he stopped himself before he asked Jack, "Who called it in?"

"Amtrak. One of their train operators reported it. Thought it was a prank."

He gave a nod. "When we find out who she is, someone in her life, a parent…would be a rider on the train. It's the main commute back-and-forth from Baltimore, up through Philly, Jersey. It's quite possible that a member of her family already saw her like that and had no idea it was her."

"That's sick."

"This isn't the same as the bow hunter, but it's him. He has a signature."

"Which is?"

"Bestow the masterpiece." He hated it that he viewed the dead body that way, but it was how the killer saw the victim in her death. "His M.O. is constantly in flux."

"Okay, then what's not changing? What's staying the same, Will?"

He shook his head as he went over all the other victims. What was common among all of them? "Putting his victims on display. The humiliation, the cruelty, of his kills. He doesn't love anyone. He's a destroyer of people. He hates human beings, Jack. The removal of organs—"

"That's not with every kill, Will, only some of them."

"Then the question is, why take her organs? Why the bow hunter's?"

"And why not Verger's or—"

"For a cannibal, he's choosy with who he puts in his mouth. As for why not Mason Verger, Verger raped his sister. I wouldn't want to put that in my mouth…Would you?"

Crawford had that look again. What he'd said unnerved him. He remained quiet as he let him think. Or, as Jack would say it, let him off the leash. He knew he was close. And Jack was right. He was so close to his killer. "So, he's mocking her, her family…us?"

Not us, he thought. Me.

He could feel it. The truth in that thought. It came out of nowhere. There was no proof, but it was there. Why was it there? The taunting reached beyond the dead. It reached all the way out and touched him. That's why he knew. He felt the humiliation. Their killer knew he'd be able to feel it. He wanted to mock him with his inability to find him. Mock him for letting him get away. This kill was a statement; it was proof of how incompetent he was at seeing him.

"This is for my benefit. He's laughing at me."

"What're you saying? You think our boy knows you're looking for him?"

"Not just that," he found himself saying. "I've talked to him. He's proving how much smarter he is. He's smarter than me, because I had him, and I let him go."

Crawford didn't like hearing that as he said, "We've talked to hundreds—"

"You've talked to hundreds. I've talked to, what? Twenty?"

"We can narrow it down with a profile—"

"His profile changes—"

"What does that tell ya?" Crawford threw back at him.

They were all fundamentally the same at their core. Even this monster; this destroyer of people. Putting it all together in his head, he worked it out as he told Crawford, "He's organized. Intelligent psychopath. A sadist. No traceable motive, no patterns, and he will never kill like this again. He doesn't keep mementoes because he knows they link him back to the victims. He's careful. Cannibalism…He only eats those he has the most contempt for."

"That could be anyone, for any reason. Why—"

He shrugged, saying, "I don't know. But she angered him. Whatever it was, she brought the monster out. In his everyday life, he appears normal. It's a disguise. He wears a fake face…fake everything. He's not human. He's only pretending to be. You know the worst part of it is?" he asked nobody in particular before answering himself, "He won't stop, Jack, this is what constitutes entertainment. There's no greater pleasure in his life than this."

"He gets his rocks off killing—"

"There's no sexual pleasure displayed here. It's not about sex. It's an…intellectual pleasure. The instant gratification he feels during those moments he's with his victims isn't based on sex. It's…the thrill of the kill. He's a hunter. Everything after the kill is just…attention seeking behavior."

Crawford grimaced as he said, "He wants the attention."

"If he didn't, he wouldn't leave his kills on display. He would bury the bodies or keep them hidden. Displaying them like grotesque pieces of art for all to see is because that's how he sees them, and he wants others to see them the same way. He wants admiration for what he created. He has no reason to come back to relive the event. He relives it by eating the organs or serving them to others. It brings him a sense of…being above everyone else while mocking those beneath him. He knows their families, their friends or…social circle, somehow. Professionally, maybe. He won't be a blue-collar worker. He has a degree, several, works in an office, or a hospital. Given his expertise on human anatomy, he has a medical degree. Look for someone who is now, or has been, a doctor, specifically a surgeon."

"Not a Medical Examiner or—"

He shook his head. "You can't play God with an already dead body. M.E.'s, coroners, morticians, those professions don't come with high social status. The sense of superiority that he requires to feel important. Plus, they don't normally host dinner parties. His elaborate dinner parties will be the talk of the town. He will have a very extreme personality, Jack. Larger than life persona. Flamboyant lifestyle. It'll be there, in the details, but he will try to hide it." He had gotten lost again, in his thoughts, the killer's thoughts, before coming back up for air to say, "This is a game and we're all playing it. But he's not a player himself. He's the overseer; controller. Manipulator. He sets the board. Then he sits back and watches how us humans respond. This is by design, his design. He created it. He's the only one who can end it."

Crawford regarded him as he said, "We can end it by bringing him down. You can find him—"

"There's no evidence. That's also a constant, or have you forgotten that? He leaves nothing. No fingerprints, no trace he doesn't want us to find to mock our inferiority to the great master."

Crawford nearly scoffed at him as he said, "He's left a lot behind, Will, or else you wouldn't know him. You do—"

"I may know what he's telling me, but I don't know him. No one truly knows him. His real personality, the monster he is underneath, is only put on display along with his victims. He knows how to blend in. How to hide. He's too clever—"

Crawford looked ready to hit him as he said, "You honestly think Hobbs was a fluke? You didn't get lucky. There's no such thing. A clerical error that everyone else missed, you saw as the missing piece. The reason why is because you saw the killer. It clicked in your head when it didn't click in anyone else's. You're smarter, Will, you're smarter than anyone I've ever known, and that's how you found Hobbs. That's how you're going to find this sick son-of-a-bitch. If you can't believe what I'm telling you, go talk to Dr. Lecter, you seem to value his opinion over mine at times."

He watched as Crawford walked away, heading over to the car they arrived in as it grew darker as the sun set behind the trees. "Where're you going?"

"Baltimore PD set up a taskforce at one of their local precincts," Crawford called out over his shoulder. "You can catch a ride back, can't you?"

There were plenty of police around and the FBI crime scene analysts. He wanted more time with the scene, to do his own investigation of the scene, before he left. Crawford got all he came there for, which was his thoughts on the case and their killer.

He turned his attention back to the body, the scene, and left the profiler behind as he switched gears to crime scene investigator. He had a scene to process.

As he took a step, the ground under him broke open and he dropped down through it. Free falling into the dark, he didn't scream, didn't even feel the fear of hitting bottom. It was like he was floating over air.

Floating into a dream….

Back into the dark cell where he stared at his shadow demon. He took a step closer to the demon, and then another. He walked right up to it until it was so close that he could finally see its face. He was looking into a mirror. Who he saw reflected back, mask over his face and in a straitjacket, was Will Graham.

He felt himself smirk behind the mask, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. We're just alike. Inside his restricted body he felt his own desire mixed with empathy.

This was what I wanted to do to you. No freedom. No pleasure. No life. And completely aware. Restricted inside your body, unable to move, to speak, with only your demon staring back at you.

More questions filled his restless mind: How does one make the most of freedom when you can't be free physically? Where was pleasure derived from? Dreaming. Planning. Everything in his head, what he would do once these shackles were off. What did he want most in the world?

Tell me your design. Show me who you are. Let me see your dream.

Behind him, in the mirror, appeared an image of a woman. Auburn hair, soft round face, beautiful eyes. The face of Clarice Starling flickered and in the flickering he saw her: Sara. As Starling bleeped out like a fading, failing, light, Sara's image remained strong.

He had to have her.

"Grissom? Grissom?!" Heather's startled and worried voice cut through the darkness in his head along with the ringing of a cell phone.

Blinking back, he saw himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror. In it, his reflection and behind him the Dragon Slayer. Above him he saw the soft orange light at the exact moment he felt the fear stab like a knife into his heart. Her name, her face, floated around his mind.

Sara.

He reassured Heather as he stepped out of the bathroom, "It's all right." He knew what it felt like to be blind.

And that could be Heather's future. Eyelids did not grow back; it was like losing a limb. Exposed eyes that dry out could cause exposure keratopathy, which was blinding. She needed oculoplastic surgery, reconstruction of the eyelids using skin grafts, and hoped that it worked. It didn't always take.

Grabbing the ringing cell phone out of his jacket pocket, he told her, "I'm awake."

But had he been awake the whole time? He had no idea. All he knew was that it'd felt so real. He hadn't left the hospital room, but he had gotten up off the sofa and walked into the bathroom to look at his reflection. His dreams were bleeding into his reality once again, and it was unsettling to not know the difference.

The dreadful fear that had settled into his chest was confirmed by who was calling. It was Catherine. He already knew the reason for the phone call. He'd known since he entered the Hayashi kitchen and heard that damn piano in his head. He's always known why Hannibal Lecter had come to Las Vegas, and it had nothing to do with Kevin Collins. That was just a bonus.

Flipping the cell phone open, he answered it by saying, "He took Sara…didn't he?"

TBC…

PS: Detective Nowlins was in the episode "All For Our Country'' and was portrayed by Jeffrey Dean Morgan. I had to bring him back. Love JDM.