Up and down the horses moved. They followed the same never-ending circle, a path they had been trapped on unknowingly for years. The destination did not matter, it was the journey that brought the joy. Naked light bulbs offered a twinkling glow to their path, there for beauty rather than guidance. The music called out a nostalgic jingle, fairytale styled tunes to take the riders back to their childhood.
Up and down the horses ferried their riders round. Each rider hoped the journey would never end as they feared what waited for them round the bend in the circle. The merry music kept the sounds of violence at bay, the rising crescendo of a piano led chorus dominating over the noise of a blade slicing through flesh.
Crimson splattered out in a variety of directions, spurting to the surface swiftly and staining some of the bulbs. As riders started to see the shift from gold to carmine in the lights, they realised their journey had come to an end.
The music retained its charm even until to the end, ignorant to how it clashed with the setting. Only when the whoosh of the blade came at them did the riders finally stop hearing the tune. Pain replaced their senses and flooded their mind with an agonised scream to drown out everything else.
Four seated riders met their end to a foe they didn't even know. A figure concealed in black and hidden behind a ghoulish mask. A monster.
"I think I'm going to seriously consider pitching for a day shift," the dry tones of CSI Deputy Supervisor Catherine Willows rang out across the busy fairground site.
Instead of carnival lights, the well-known and often feared flashing of the police's red and blue car lights signalled their colleagues to the scene. They had had to cut through the chain of a padlock on the gates to the site to gain vehicular access, which gave them an indication that their culprit had entered and exited on foot and most likely scaled the fence, or they had had the good graces to lock up behind them. It begged the question; how did the killer get their victims here on foot?
"Come on now," CSI Nick Stokes' happy tones answered, "you wouldn't get this kind of action on days."
"Exactly my point Nicky." Catherine gave a shake of her head as she stepped up to the scene.
The night supervisor Gil Grissom already stood there, raised up on a carousel and illuminated by a contrasting show of gold, red stained lights. Mercifully, their own lights had been set up, wired to the generators and turned on to give them better visibility with their vibrant white glow.
"You know there could be an argument for that," Gil commented as he swabbed a stained light bulb. "Eighty one percent of mental health professionals have a strong belief that full moons can be linked to psychotic behavioural patterns."
With Gil's words several eyes turned upwards to the mostly clear Nevada skies. They had to seek past the light pollution that Las Vegas made a tourist attraction of to spy the plump white moon shining above them.
"For fuck sake," Detective Tony Travis gave the first profanity of the evening. "I ask to get taken off the alien shit and now they're giving me werewolves." He shook his head crossly and turned his gaze to Grissom and the detective on the carousel. "This is because I'm partnered with you Cavaliere," he complained, "you like the weird stuff."
Detective Chris Cavaliere, engrossed in taking photographs of one of four bodies, paused to gaze down at Tony coolly. "Or it's because we're on this shift and got the call, same as any job," he said bluntly.
"I don't think werewolves take people's heads Travis," Nick observed grimly.
"Yes, but do you know they don't?" Tony placed his hands on his hips as he regarded Nick questioningly and offered him a mocking smile.
They heard the low rumble of an engine as another member of the team arrived. A slightly rundown, silver Toyota pulled up and parked near the marked cars. There were a couple of low bangs as the driver got out and collected his kit from the trunk.
"Oh wow," CSI Greg Sanders marvelled as he hastened from the Toyota up to the scene, "that's..." His words trailed off as he got closer and took in the grisly display.
Visible to the people on the ground were two headless corpses, spread out, each seated on and bound to a carousel horse with handcuffs that had their hands secured about the horse's necks.
"Morbid," Catherine concluded Greg's sentence. "There are four in total, I say we start by taking one each."
"Four?" Greg echoed.
The young CSI turned pale as he eyed the morbid setting and wondered if he had ever seen so much blood in one area before. It had soaked down their clothes from the ruined stumps of their necks, splashed the lights and stained the horses and wooden base of the ride.
"Yep." Nick stepped over to Greg and gave him a reassuring clap on the back.
"So, where do you think the heads are?" Chris quipped curiously as he glanced over to Gil.
"It's a big area," Gil said, "but I don't see any blood trails from here at present."
Following the conversation prompted Greg to ask in horror, "wait, are the heads missing?"
Chris looked down at the young CSI and gave him a grim smile. Once, he would have had no time for the recent field convert but after they had been paired up to hunt down a schoolgirl serial killer and had been the pair to apprehend said killer, Chris had a newfound fondness for Greg. Of course, the detective would never admit to it even when his fellow detectives commented on it and made teasing remarks about Greg now being invited along to bar outings.
"Not necessarily missing," Chris said calmly, all too aware of how easily spooked Greg could be when it came to the weird and wild, "just not here at present."
"That's the same thing," Tony grumbled.
"Right, quit stalling," Catherine ordered, "let's get up there."
While the CSIs each took a victim to study and document, Chris and Tony hovered over two each, adding to their notes as they were careful to look but not touch. Officers patrolled the area warily, keeping close to the carousel though Gil's remark about the heads had them fearing an order soon to spread out and start looking for heads.
"Who made the call?" Greg queried as he swabbed under a headless woman's nails.
Greg determined to keep the conversation going, fearful of a silence wandering in to add to the already intense environment.
"Some very unfortunate hobo," Tony mused. "Came running out of the place like a man possessed and grabbed the first patrolman he saw. Officer Riker said the man reeked of alcohol and was all for citing him, but the hobo was adamant, so Riker came and looked."
Tony gave an inappropriate dark laugh and shook his head. "Poor Riker lost his dinner over there." He pointed to the right to a damp looking patch of ground that the officers pacing about were careful to keep clear of.
"Any chance our hobo was involved?" Greg asked.
Tony shook his head as he aimed a torch at the headless stump of the woman.
"No, guy's shock seemed genuine, he'd no blood on him and he was a little too liquored up to have done this. Riker's got his details anyway." His tone turned sardonic as he continued. "I can't imagine it will be hard to trace a Mister I forget what name I was born with, but they call me Beer Bully Bill, with no phone or known address."
"Beer Bully?" Nick repeated jovially as he leaned back to glance through the horses at Tony.
Tony shrugged. "His words."
Chris let out a low snort. "I know him, it's Beer Belly Bill, for obvious reasons, he probably just tells himself and others it's bully and no, he didn't do this."
"Are you so sure?" Gil looked over to the detective curiously. "People aren't always as they appear."
"Yeah, Officer Brooks proved that in spades," Chris said darkly.
The currently incarcerated Officer Brooks had been convicted just six months ago for being the serial killer known as the Schoolgirl Strangler, foiled only because his obsession with his one survivor Paige de Lisle had led to him getting caught. It had been a lengthy trial, sensationalised by the media, leading to the requirement of an out of state jury to ensure impartiality. It had taken years for him to be caught and the loss of faith in law enforcement considering his profession had been colossal. Even now people still asked - how could no one know? The accusations of a cover-up stung.
"Not just him," Gil said calmly as he dusted a horse for prints, "but yes."
"Beer Belly Bill has two broken fingers on his right hand and his left hand has a sprain. He's probably gambling with the wrong sort of people but he ain't lifting weapons and slicing heads," Tony said blithely.
"And you guys offered him a trip to the clinic for those injuries, right?" Nick queried sardonically. "Or a safe house with the promise of social aid to kick his gambling habit."
Nick's camera flashed a few times as he took several photographs.
"Sure," Tony sneered, "and a nice blanket and a cup of hot cocoa and I'm gonna personally go round and read him a story and tuck him into bed with a teddy bear."
"It doesn't hurt to help," Nick protested angrily.
"Sure it does, hurts the budget."
Tony glanced Nick's way once more, flashing a tight smile when he saw the CSI glowering back at him.
"Look Stokes, you can try and help this guy but he's an addict, he'll take the warm bed for one night maybe but then, against all sound advice, he's back to the bad gambling dens that'll give him cheap beer and promise him credit and no matter how many bones they break he's back there again and again because he needs that beer and he wants that feeling of hope that he might actually get lucky."
"It's still one night less on the streets," Nick insisted, "and you can't know for sure that he wouldn't take the help."
"This blood pattern is odd," Greg interrupted.
"How so?" Gil asked in a voice that suggested he already knew the answer.
Greg turned about, looking at the various spatters and stains, and frowned. "I think this thing was moving when it happened, just the way the blood has sprayed, and it's definitely mixed, I think." Greg tacked on the latter in contradiction to his 'definitely' as having his superior present made him a little less sure of his convictions. Having only moved to the field a handful of months ago and having a few bumps on the road to the field, left Greg a little nervous still in his new role. Even having helped apprehend a serial killer hadn't boosted his confidence much as he put that conviction down to luck and the tenacity of Detectives Cavaliere and Vartann.
"I agree," Gil said, which was as close to praise as he usually gave.
"Now that's just sick," Catherine commented in a dry manner as she shook her head. "Do we have any idea who they are? I haven't found any I.D on this lady, no purse, no wallet, nothing."
"Me either," Greg said.
"Not this one," Nick mused. "So, they were robbed then killed?"
"Perhaps," Gil ventured, "our perpetrator doesn't want their victims being identified."
Greg looked past a golden coloured horse to Chris. "Hey Chris, didn't you once tell me about working a case with a headless body on a horse in Circus Circus?"
"Yeah," Chris answered, "technically unsolved but it had mob hit written all over it."
"How so?" Gil looked over to the detective with interest.
"Victim was a Sammy Harvey," Chris explained, "small time crook, in debt to Vinnie DiNome. People who don't pay DiNome in good time tend to end up dead. Body wasn't killed in Circus Circus, just dumped there on the carousel."
"Ah that's right," Greg commented enthusiastically, "it was Dasher DiNome!"
Chris shook his head and frowned. "You and your mob obsessions," he chided, "nicknames just glorify them. DiNome is a crook not a rock star."
Greg frowned as well causing fresh wrinkles to appear in his smooth brow. "I know he's a crook, but he can still be interesting," he said defensively. "He once had a party with a walk-in aviary, apparently it wasn't so great though when the birds got scared and pooped on people. I also heard he dated some famous t.v. actress and when she dumped him, he threw her out in nothing but a pearl necklace."
Chris pulled a face of revulsion of this whilst Tony and Nick both gave low chuckles.
Greg looked puzzled as he missed the double entendre.
"I hope she sold those pearls," Catherine murmured, "or washed after."
"Do we mark DiNome as a suspect then?" Nick queried curiously. "Is this a M.O. of his?"
"It was one time," Chris murmured, "but sure, we'll have a talk with him."
"Can I come too?" Greg blurted out before he could help it.
Chris arched his dark eyebrows at the excitable CSI and sighed. "Only if you promise not to say anything positive to him."
"That's mean but okay," Greg said in a slightly sullen tone.
Greg turned back to the body he examined, reaching with a pair of tweezers to lift a stray hair resting in blood on a shirt collar.
"Sure, he probably had a man beheaded but I'm the mean one," Chris sneered.
With the mood a little lighter despite the circumstances, they resumed their work. Hours drifted by as they worked thoroughly to record every piece of evidence they could. Markers were placed down, and numerous photographs taken.
The M.E. David Phillips arrived and requested backup and a second ambulance for transportation.
"Four bodies in one case," he said, "I know we've had more but it's still a lot for one scene. I've already one hit and run, and two robbery gone wrong victims heading back to the morgue."
He moved to examine one beheaded male, checking liver temperature and noting down the condition of the body and how much rigor mortis had set in.
"Cause of death is probable beheading," he said sombrely.
"And we wondered there," Chris said sardonically.
"It's not confirmed," David chided as he glared over at the detective. "Maybe they were poisoned and then beheaded. Although," he admitted as his tone became a little sheepish, "the blood wouldn't have flowed so freely from someone already deceased."
"Which I noticed," Chris said moodily, "being a detective and all. The wounds are pre not post-mortem."
Greg watched with intrigue, noticing how Tony kept silent, his head bowed and his hands stiff by his side as he kept shooting odd looks over to David.
Nick noticed too and smiled. "Don't worry Tony, I don't think Super Dave's got his big tweezers tonight."
Nick laughed as Tony glowered his way.
"Alright," Catherine interrupted loudly, "let's not quarrel, let's just document our findings and theories and proceed to get these poor people out of here and to the morgue. We need to identify them ASAP; six families out there don't know their loved ones are dead."
Nick looked up to the victim he had been studying. They were a male and they seemed young, age was hard to gage but he thought somewhere between twenties and thirties. Their hands had only a few callouses and that seemed to be from work not age.
"No one could deserve this," Nick said quietly.
As it turned half past one in the morning, Chris stepped up to his apartment door with a weary relief. Hours of studying decapitated bodies and futile head hunting had worn him to an almost numb stupor. His empathy had been used up for the evening and he just wanted sleep. Tomorrow, when the memories washed over him of this latest grim case, he might want a beer and a cold shower but right now his only thought was for bed.
He stuck his key into the door and unlocked it hastily, heading in and closing it behind him quietly. It took him a moment to realise that his solitude had ended.
Chris just stared. For a moment it seemed the only thing he could do. His dark brown eyes looked past the small living room area he stood in to the kitchenette that bordered with it. He blinked once as if hoping to vanish the image that way. When the gesture failed, he knew he had to speak.
"Tell me you're not naked."
Lou Vartann, who stood behind the counter bordering the kitchenette off from the living room, looked back sheepishly and gave a horribly uncomfortable smile that seemed to freeze on his face.
Chris could see him from the waist up as the counter hid the rest. Lou's fair, toned torso offended his eyes, exposed in all its glory to boast its taut muscles and show off the budding six pack and a few scars that only added to the appeal.
"Seriously, tell me you're not naked," Chris made it an order.
Lou winced slightly. "I really wish I could."
Chris looked away, staring instead at the coffee table with a golden pyramid paperweight resting in the centre of it. "That's new," he murmured suspiciously.
"I'm going to leave now," Lou said awkwardly.
"You make it real hard to pretend you're not here," Chris complained.
"Bacon, what's happening with the coffee?" a young woman's voice called from down the corridor leading out of the kitchen.
She charged into the room impatiently and let out a soft 'ooh' as she spied Chris. She glanced from him to Lou and giggled. She was Paige de Lisle, Chris' flatmate and Lou's something, Chris still wasn't sure what they called their relationship, and he didn't want to know.
"Oh dear, better grab a dish towel," she said teasingly, "although it's not really big enough, is it?"
Chris made a sound of revulsion at the comment.
Lou felt a sudden heat rush up his neck as he searched the kitchenette desperately for something, anything that might help him.
"Why are you making coffee so late?" Chris grumbled.
"Well since you ask -" Paige began.
"Stop," Chris tried to interrupt as he realised his error in asking but he spoke too late.
"We needed the caffeine pick up for round three."
Chris looked over to them with the stare of an angry parent. He pointed to them with one finger and snarled, "boundaries, we need some God damn boundaries."
Paige smiled back at him gently. "You're my favourite roomie you know."
"I'm your first roomie," Chris reminded her hotly, "and now I know why."
"It was your idea," Paige said with a slightly wounded look.
The young woman raised her arms and folded them, causing her breasts to push up slightly, drawing attention to the fact that she wore some suggestive, purple, silk lingerie.
Chris' frown deepened, creating deep grooves at the corners of his mouth. "You were looking sore and sad in a hospital bed and I was an idiot. Right now, you're looking half-naked and cold, put on a nightgown or a hoodie or a trench coat, layers, layers!"
Paige smiled and let her arms slacken by her sides again. "I'll grab something now." She turned her beaming smile onto Lou. "I'll get you something as well, hurry up and make that coffee in the meantime."
She turned to retreat down the corridor prompting a mane of blonde hair to swing out behind her.
"Just a sec," Chris called after her.
She glanced over her shoulder to him with a pair of curious, pale blue eyes. Her eyes had always been an oddity for their shade but as of almost three months ago they had an odd distortion to them that had people looking at her twice to try and figure out what it could be. Minute pink scars stained her eyelids where tiny hooks had once been pierced in them. She had tried to conceal them with eyeshadow, but the scars were sensitive, and it wasn't worth the ache.
Chris pointed to the pyramid paperweight, causing the sleeve of his brown plaid jacket to bunch up. "Did you steal that?" he demanded.
"Procured," she said happily.
"From where?"
"Tut's Tomb."
"So stolen."
"Long-term loan?" she ventured with a shrug.
Chris sighed and looked to Lou with annoyance. "You're a detective too, say something."
"I'm in homicide not theft," Lou offered unhelpfully.
Chris shook his head angrily at the man as he lowered his hand. "You are one step closer to me telling Brass that you are dating this criminal."
Lou tried to keep his face calm although a glimmer of fear sparked in his blue eyes. "It's not illegal, she's not a case anymore."
"I know," Chris said calmly, "but you were already getting daddy jokes, think that'll improve when I tell everyone you're dating the twenty-three-year-old?"
"You are crabby," Paige chided him. "Don't be mean roomie."
"You get clothes," Chris snapped at her.
Paige giggled again before she hastened from the room, heading up the corridor to her bedroom.
Chris sighed and waved his right hand in a down motion to Lou. "Relax, I'm not telling anyone, I'm the one that lives with her. God, if I hear one more divorce joke." He shook his head wearily. "Dating a twenty-something might be a cliché but move in with one when you're divorcing and it's much worse."
Lou gave his fellow detective a sympathetic smile. "You do like living with her though, don't you?"
"Asides from wandering in to find her boyfriend naked in my kitchen, sure," Chris answered sarcastically.
Lou started making up a fresh pot of coffee whilst Chris stood awkwardly by the door, too tired to risk sitting on the sofa. He had fallen asleep there before unintentionally and it had not been pleasant.
Paige reappeared wearing an oversized white shirt and carrying a pair of navy boxers.
"You couldn't have brought me the shirt? Lou quipped as he took the boxers off her.
She hugged it close with both hands and shook her head. "No, the more clothes I give you the longer it'll take to undress you, and we don't want that."
"Ahem," Chris remarked loudly. He folded his arms and looked to Paige disapprovingly. "It's time for bed or, if you persist in comments about sex with Lou, then it's time for me to have an aneurysm. You have work tomorrow, surely you need sleep."
Paige gave him a sympathetic gaze. "You do look tired," she observed, "was it a tough case?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah."
"We'll be quiet," she reassured cheerfully with another smile. "You go to bed. Do you want anything? I've got some Twinkies in the cupboard."
Chris raised a hand up to his brow, clutching it momentarily before he shook his head. "No, thanks," he said grudgingly. "I'm going to sleep. Lou, I'm going to try and pretend you weren't here. Paige, you're returning that pyramid tomorrow."
Chris walked past them hastily for the ajar door to the corridor.
"God damn it," he grumbled as he glanced at Lou, "do you live at the gym Lou? How the hell do you find the time?"
"I just do a few sit-ups at home," Lou said in a slightly mystified tone that suggested he was unaware of his enviable physique.
Chris shook his head again. "You can't be here when my kids are," he grumbled as he headed for the corridor, "they'll tell their mother and then she'll stop being suspicious about my young dancer flatmate because she'll know she's got a boyfriend."
Paige reached out to grasp Chris sideways in an unwanted hug. "Don't worry Roomie you can keep using me as your beard."
He winced in her grasp and tried to push her off. "What? No. That's not what that means!"
Chris freed himself from her and almost raced up the corridor.
"We really need to get him a girlfriend," Paige said.
Lou shook his head as he held up a fresh cup of coffee to Paige. "Maybe we should just go to bed," he suggested.
Paige took the cup from him and shook her head. "Now that's no fun." She turned up to him with a bright smile. "Come on, you're on call tomorrow so we've gotta make the most of tonight."
It had just turned two when Chris gave up on trying to smother his ears with his pillow. He stared over at the green glow of his digital clock as he debated telling his flatmate and her partner to keep it down. When he heard the moans of, "yeah Lou, lick me there" he decided promptly that he would rather just endure the noise than risk seeing anything.
The middle-aged detective closed his eyes and frowned as he pictured a carousel spinning round with headless bodies for passengers. He hated that this case had followed him home, he had been in the job for so long it had become rare that they did. Something had just caught him about this one, but he didn't yet know what.