Title : Control
Author : Melanie
Summary : Story number seven in the series. A serial killer with a ‘jones’ for Sara and brutal murders that have everyone on edge.
Pairing: Sara/Catherine
Disclaimer : I’m just borrowing. All characters and everything else CSI belongs to Zuiker, Bruckheimer and CBS.
Rating : Hard, hard R for gore, violence, and disturbing images.
Feedback : Always welcome. Fivebyfive13@prodigy.net
Archive : Ask me and it’s yours :)
Author’s Note : I wanted to get inside Sara’s head for this one and try something a little different so I switched it over to first person for this installment. It’ll all be shifted back to normal for the next one. Which brings me to the next announcement…I’ll be moving in about three weeks so there might be lack of updates until I’m settled into my new place. However, the gears in my head are constantly turning so nothing is set in stone. The feedback keeps pouring in and I’m loving each and every bit of it. You guys rule!

“My life’s a prison now that I’ve seen you
Time holds me in, distance the key
And next to you is the only place
Where I’m truly me
Scratching the surface only creates scars
Hope you don’t dig that far…”
 
 
 

I think the thing that scares me the most is losing control.   When everything
is organized and stacked up neatly around me, I feel somehow secure.  Because if
everything I’m holding fits into a specific place and I can get my fingers
around it, I know I won’t ever let it drop.  But the more I juggle, the more I
have to lose.   And the more I have to lose, the more it scares me.

The second I walked into that crime scene I felt the world starting to spin
backwards.  I had to look away because if I didn’t I would have embarrassed
myself by throwing up all over the place.  My insides were tight, the adrenaline
coursing through my veins causing everything to constrict like a million balled
fists filling the surface beneath my skin.  

I swore to uphold the law.   To read evidence like a map until it brought me to
the bad guy so I could lock him up and throw away the key.   No matter how many
times I had to erase the path, to retrace my steps, I knew that eventually one
way or the other I’d arrive at where I was supposed to be.  It was science.  
The science never lied.  People did.  But never science.   This time was
different.  We were about to start on a new map, but I was terrified of where it
was going to take us.  Because the second I turned my head back to the mess in
the room I was about to be forced into, there was only one thought that kept
repeating in my head.   Nothing human could have done this.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nick said through clenched teeth, his shoulder bumping
mine softly as he stepped past me into the doorway.

He looked at the body, what we could see if it through the blood, and then
turned his head to the left slowly.   I was pretty sure his eyes were closed and
he was probably attempting to breathe again.  What happened next sent me back a
few steps, flinching on the way.   Nick’s left foot stepped out, his upper body
turning with it.   His right foot connected with the bottom of the doorjamb so
hard it sent tiny splinters of wood off in every direction.   He stopped and
leaned an arm on the wooden frame, letting his forehead fall on top of it. 
Through the loud screaming of the sirens, I could hear Grissom’s flat footsteps
coming towards us quickly.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, once he reached us.

Nick turned to him and said not a word, his eyes wet with anger.  Then he stood
up straight and took a step backwards to turn his body sideways, allowing
Grissom an unobstructed view into the small room that was pungent with the smell
of something indescribable.   Grissom stood completely still, but he didn’t move
his eyes away.   He was shaken, I could tell, but he’d never let us know.   He’d
never admit it.

“I was afraid of this,” he said, turning understanding and sympathetic eyes to
Nick as he stepped into the room.

“What?” I asked, the realization slowly creeping over me like an unwelcome
guest.  “This isn’t the first one,” I stated after I’d added everything up in my
head and almost wished I hadn’t.

I followed Nick into the room that couldn’t have been more than ninety square
feet.  We were in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in a part of Vegas that the
rest of civilization had obviously forgotten about.  The closest building was a
gas station thirty miles up the road.   The room we were in was off of the main
storage area, probably an office or a small break room in another life.   Now it
was covered in blood.  Floor.  Walls .   Ceiling even.  The spatter was heavy in
most places.  It looked like someone had taken buckets of red paint and thrown
the contents around in a frenzy.  It was amazing that the human body contained
so much blood.   It was more amazing that the killer left the room without
leaving a single footprint.

By the way Grissom was walking around the room with his flashlight out and not
giving a second thought to where he stepped, I was sure the blood was already
dried.  I swallowed hard and tried not to inhale the foul metallic odor of death
as I took small steps towards the bloody mess in the middle of the floor.   The
closer I got the more my gag reflex was itching to kick in.   One more step and
I had the sudden urge to call Catherine just to hear her voice.  Just to make
sure she was still in one piece.

Body parts.  That’s what I was looking at.  There was a pile of body parts lying
in the middle of the room, covered in blood and strewn tissue and bone.  It just
looked wrong, contorted.  Arms and legs out of place, far from their partners,
just not where they should have been.   The head was closest to me, hair that
looked black but that could have been the mass amounts of blood covering it.   A
good sized torso was most obvious and when I crouched down to look closer I saw
the distinct silver glow of a nipple ring hiding underneath the red.  Two legs
cut above the thigh in what looked to be a jagged and rough angle.    Arms lying
strewn next to the torso.   And that final piece that let us know we were
dealing with a male victim. The fact that I had to take pictures of this was
starting to make me nauseous.

I pushed off of my knees slowly until I was standing.   Somehow the air up here
was more pure.   It still grated against my nostrils, but not so much.   As I
walked over to where Grissom was standing and glanced at Nick, who was scraping
blood samples off the walls, I noticed how quiet it was in the room.  No one was
speaking.   Maybe because there just weren’t any words that could change what we
were dealing with.

Grissom was standing in the corner of the small room.   He waved me over to take
some pictures.   I hoped there wasn’t another body over there.   There wasn’t. 
I pulled out the big camera and made sure the flash was charged before taking a
few pictures of a pile of clothing.  There were jeans, a t-shirt, socks,
underwear, a hat, and sneakers…all folded neatly in a pile and not touched by a
single drop of blood.   Inside the sneakers was a watch, a gold chain with a
yin-yang pendant, a wallet, and a wad of cash folded in half.

“Well, we can rule out robbery,” I said, breaking the silence. 

“Drug dealer?” Grissom offered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Does it really matter?” Nick asked from behind his scraping tool.  “This sick
bastard doesn’t give a shit who they are as long as he has enough time to
torture them and cut them into little pieces.”

“I’ll check his ID,” I said, leaving Grissom and Nick to keep looking at each
other, as I reached out a gloved hand and picked up the wallet.

I flipped it open slowly, feeling Grissom’s eyes fall back on me – waiting for
me to give our body a name.   When I saw the picture on the Las Vegas driver’s
license my body froze.  I didn’t even need to shift my eyes to the right.  
Instead I closed them and remembered a night not a week ago.   Our victim
couldn’t have been more than twenty-two years old.   He was about five-foot six
and lean.   His jet black hair was cut in one of those shaggy skater dos and it
fell in his eyes sometimes when I gave him my money.   I felt the bile climbing
up my throat and had to fight to keep it down.

“Sara?” Grissom said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, opening my eyes that were tearing around the edges.  “His
name is Philly Yu,” I stated, without looking at the ID again.   “He delivered
my Chinese food at least once a week.”

I closed the wallet quickly and dropped it into Grissom’s hands.  But not before
catching a glimpse of a family photo.  It was of Philly Yu, his parents, his
little old grandmother, and a girl I knew to be his seven year old sister.  I
turned away from Grissom and walked back over to the body.   I stared at the
poor kid’s head, lying near one of his feet, eyes staring back at me like
daggers.  I couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through, but I felt like maybe
he was trying to tell me.

I saw Brass stick his head in the room for about one tenth of a second before he
stepped out and to the side.   I could hear the back of his jacket sliding
against the outside wall uncomfortably.  Grissom was bagging the clothes.  Nick
was packing up his blood samples.  And I was stuck taking photographs of the
body.  However I was able to see the remains of some duct tape hiding underneath
the flesh and blood.  I made sure to bag it.

“So, we’re dealing with a serial?” Brass called from the hallway.

“What do you think, Jim?” Grissom called back.

“I think I’m going to puke,” was his reply.

“Go right ahead,” Grissom instructed.   “There’s nothing to contaminate out
there.   This guy is amazingly clean.  Not even a bloody footprint.”

“How is that even possible?” Nick asked, packing up his case.

“I have no idea, Nicky,” Grissom replied, shaking his head and glancing at the
body with evident pain and anger in his eyes.   “But we’ll figure it out.  We
always do.”

“Even when it’s too late,” Nick said, his anger not directed at Grissom but
there in his voice nonetheless.

“What happened to the door?” Brass asked as we filed past him and into the
hallway.

“Nick,” I stated simply, still feeling like my head was going to explode.

“Send me the bill,” Nick threw over his shoulder at Brass and winked.

********************

The lab was just like we’d left it before we’d stepped into the seventh layer of
Hell.  The lights were bright as ever and there was the usual milling around of
lab rats and forensic specialists.  I could hear the faint mumbling of
conversation around me, but it was like that Charlie Brown teacher.  Something
inside of me was still reeling.

Nick had taken the clothes and other trace evidence ahead of us.  He was going
to drop the scrapings off with Greg and meet Warrick and Catherine with the
clothes to comb them for fibers.  Grissom and I were following the body.  I
silently hoped that Doc Robbins had stitched it back into one piece, but my
rational side kept telling me that just wasn’t going to be the case.

Grissom held the door open for me when we got to the morgue.  He was still being
too quiet.   We all were.  It was the kind of case that rattled us to the core. 
Because we had the strange feeling that whatever evidence we could collect
wouldn’t tell us a damn thing.  Or if it did, it wouldn’t matter because we were
just going to have to wait until our perp did it again.  Instead of chasing the
evidence, we were stuck chasing crime scenes.

Philly Yu’s body was laid out on the cold metal slab and seemed to be in order. 
Robbins hadn’t reattached anything, but they had washed the body and he’d placed
all the parts on the table where they belonged.   It was much easier to stomach
this way, but still a little disturbing.   Robbins was slapping on a new pair of
gloves by the time we reached the table.

“Can’t say I liked seeing this again,” he said gravely as we approached.

“Lay it out for us, Doc,” Grissom implored.   I kept my eyes fixed on Robbins. 
I didn’t really feel the urge to look at the body again.

“At the time of his death, your vic was suffering from hypoglycemia, insulin
shock,” he started.  “But I haven’t found puncture marks anywhere else on the
body.   So no indication of regular insulin injections.”

“So he probably wasn’t diabetic,” I surmised.

“Probably not,” Robbins agreed.   “But there was a good amount of insulin in the
tox screen.   If we’re dealing with a less severe case of insulin shock, it can
cause sweating, shaking, overall disorientation and nausea.   In the most severe
case, we’re dealing with coma and irreversible brain damage.  This guy had just
enough in him to incapacitate him, give him the shakes and cold sweats.

“We’ve got deep gashes on both wrists, vertical cuts through the vein,” he
continued, picking up a hand to show us.   “But see the small cuts around the
wound, like something sharp was jabbed and taken away,” he said, pointing to
small sliced areas around the longer cut.  “It indicates self infliction.”

“Because he started, but was too scared to go through with it,” Grissom nodded.

“Or someone was forcing him to do it and he was so scared he was shaking,” I
offered, shrugging.

“Cuts on the ankles too,” Robbins indicated, pointing to the feet at the other
end of the table.   “Deep and almost all the way around.   I pulled some sticky
fibers from the wrists, ankles, and the mouth area.  I sent them up to trace.”

“I found duct tape near the body,” I explained.   “Probably used it to cover his
mouth and bind his wrists and ankles.”

“What about the dismemberment?” Grissom asked.   “Anything you can tell us?”

“Yes,” Robbins nodded.   “It was all done post mortem except for the cut on the
left thigh.   The incision in that area is also different from the rest and it
looks like whoever was cutting stopped a few times before getting all the way
through.”

“Bastard cut the poor kid’s leg off before he was even dead,” I said quietly and
took a deep breath.   I felt the rage building inside of me. “What’d he die
from?   Technically?”

“Technically, he bled out,” Doc Robbins concluded.   “His body probably went
into severe shock and the leg was the final cut.  After that he probably lost
consciousness and died soon after.”

“And then our killer cut the rest of him up,” Grissom stated.   “Any idea what
he used?”

“It looks to be two different cutting tools,” Robbins said, covering the body
with a sheet and walking around the table.   “The cut on the thigh is jagged. 
The cuts on the rest of the body are almost smooth.   The bones look like they
were cut in one motion, no dragging.   But I’d definitely be looking at a
chainsaw for the thigh wound.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Grissom said as we started to leave.

“Anytime,” he called after us and turned up his music, the eerie sounds of Pink
Floyd wafting through the large room and into the hallway.  It fit perfectly.

********************

I found Catherine in the bathroom drying her hands on a rough brown paper towel.
She was like a breath of fresh air.  She wasn’t in that room so she was somehow
untouched, unaffected by it.   She flashed me a crooked smile before turning to
deposit the crumpled paper towel in the trash can.  I quickly scanned the room
for movement, sound, or any other signs that we weren’t alone.  The humming of
the fluorescent light above the mirror was the only sound in the room.   That
and the pounding of my heart against the inside of my chest.

I took long steps in her direction and got to her just as she turned back around
to face me.  There was momentary surprise in her eyes.  I guess I’d been so
quiet she hadn’t heard me move at all.   I held her eyes for a split second,
watching the concern wash over them in waves.  Apparently I wasn’t looking so
hot.

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I feared that if I opened my
mouth nothing coherent would come out.   My hands hadn’t stopped shaking since I
opened the bathroom door.   I reached up slowly, tucking soft blonde strands
behind both of her ears with unsure fingertips.  I saw her swallow hard, the air
between us quickly becoming thick with undisclosed emotion.  She was searching
my eyes for some reassurance that I was okay…that everything was going to be
fine.   I couldn’t give that to her.  So I closed my eyes instead.

I leaned forward, feeling her shift closer to me.   I held her face gently
between hands that were still shaking ever so slightly and kissed her slowly,
feeling her lips slide against mine so softly I wasn’t sure if they were really
there at all.   It was so innocent; in the back of my head I was thinking this
couldn’t possibly be Catherine and me at all.  But somehow it was. 

When I slid a hand down to the side of her neck, I could feel her pulse banging
against my fingers like a jackhammer.   She started to pull back, but I captured
her bottom lip between my own for a second longer letting it linger as her head
tilted back out of my reach.  I kept my eyes shut tight and slid my arms around
her waist, pulling her against me tightly.   I felt a hand immediately slide
over my shoulder and up under my hair to settle firmly against the cold skin at
the base of my neck.   I sank further into her, burying my face in the crook of
her neck and feeling my breathing become more even with every time I inhaled the
sweet scent of her skin.

“Hey,” she said quietly, turning her head to kiss me just below the earlobe. 
“It’s okay,” she whispered, close to my ear.  But it wasn’t okay.  It wasn’t
even in the same time zone as okay.

I heard the door open and close behind us, but Catherine made no move to let go
of me.  She didn’t even tense in the slightest.  I could feel her fingers moving
slowly against the hair at the nape of my neck, the leather band of her watch
catching on my skin and dragging.   I heard no stall doors opening, no sinks
turn on.   Nothing.  So I figured whoever had just tried to come in had turned
around and left after seeing us.   Then I remembered where we were and reality
came slamming back into me like a Mack truck.  Being with Catherine made
everything else fall away.  I could feel everything inside of me changing again,
shifting back to normal.   It was suddenly just another case and I wanted it to
stay that way.   I really needed to work on my detachment skills.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling back and running a hand through my hair nervously.  “I
guess I really lost it there for a second, huh?” I joked, loving the way
Catherine’s eyes softened when she smiled.

“Don’t ever apologize for kissing me like that,” she answered, taking my free
hand in her own.  “It was pretty bad, huh?  Pictures aren’t back yet.”

“It was awful, Catherine,” I confirmed, shaking my head.   Images flashing
again.  “There was so much blood.  It was just…disturbing.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” she suggested.   I could have knocked her
over with the shock in my eyes.

“It’s not like we were best friends, Catherine,” I shook her off.   “He
delivered my take out.   Besides, I’m talking to you aren’t I?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said firmly.   “You have problems
detaching from the calmer cases.   I can only imagine what this is doing to you
inside,” she added with a softer tone, placing a hand on my arm.

“I’m not a kid, Catherine,” I protested.   “It’s a case like any other case.  
Once we catch the bad guy and stop him from killing again, everything will be
fine.  In the meantime, I don’t plan on losing any sleep.  And if I need to chew
someone’s ear off, I have your number on speed dial,” I said and added a small
smile for emphasis that this conversation needed to be over.

“Fine,” she breathed and shook her head, knowing that she wasn’t going to get
any further with me and giving up…for the moment anyway.   But I knew Catherine
and I hadn’t heard the last from her on this particular topic.  “We’re about to
take another pass at the clothes.  You up for it?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve looking at the body again, I’m up for anything.”

********************

Two days later, we still had jack shit to work with.   Grissom’s interview with
Philly Yu’s family confirmed what we already knew.  He wasn’t a diabetic.   And
he made his last delivery at nine o’clock.  By nine thirty he was on his way to
his car to meet some friends in the city.  Somewhere between his parents’
restaurant and where his car was parked around the corner, he’d been abducted –
probably at gunpoint.  Robbins’ sticky fibers came back positive for the
component makeup of duct tape.  The duct tape itself was no help at all.  It was
so contaminated by sweat and blood that the only thing we could isolate was a
DNA sample that came back as a perfect match to our victim.   Warrick and Nick
were still testing out chainsaws to see if they could find a match to either one
used by our killer.   The clock was ticking down.  We knew that if we didn’t get
a lead on this guy soon, we’d be dealing with a third body.  I’d seen enough of
that mess already.  I wasn’t eager to see it again.

Our shift had ended about three hours ago.   Catherine was asleep in my bed. 
She barely made it there before passing out cold.   We had just ended a
thirty-six hour shift, but somehow I wasn’t tired.  I was channel surfing like a
pro, no more than twelve seconds on each station.   Truth be told, I wasn’t even
paying attention to what was passing on the screen.  I saw it, but it wasn’t
registering.  I still couldn’t get my hands to stop shaking.  I was still fully
dressed, too.  I hadn’t even taken my gun off.  The only thing discarded was the
leather jacket thrown on the kitchen counter.

I heard shuffling outside my door at about three-thirty.   It was still dark
out.  I figured Mrs. Dillon across the hall had just taken her poodle out for a
walk.   Poor little guy had a habit of insomnia too.   The shuffling continued
for about a minute and it was so loud against the quiet of the nighttime that I
got up to see what was going on.   There was a shadow underneath the bottom of
the door; my boots hit the hardwood floor in a distinct tapping sound.   Whoever
was outside my door must have been startled because in a matter of seconds there
was a soft knock and the loud, hurried rush of footsteps bleeding away from the
doorway.

At the sound of the knock, I could hear Catherine stirring in the bedroom. 
Moments later, she padded out into the hallway with bare feet wearing one of my
t-shirts.   Something felt very, very wrong.  I knew she felt it too because it
was like her feet were rooted to where she was standing.  I held a hand up,
telling her to stay where she was, and almost ran to the door unlocking my
holster and shifting the Glock to my hands on the way.

I looked through the peephole and couldn’t see anything but the door to Mrs.
Dillon’s apartment.  The hallway seemed to be empty.  I unhooked the chain link
and slid the dead bolt back quickly.   Leaning my back to the wall nearest the
doorknob, I held the gun firmly in my right hand and let my left fall gently on
the handle.   I turned back to Catherine, who had retrieved her own gun and
found a pair of pants somewhere too.  She was moving towards me, but I wanted
her out the line of the door when I opened it so I nodded my head in the
direction of the kitchen.   She took the hint quickly and made it to safety in a
matter of seconds.

I took a deep breath and pulled open the door as fast as I could, hearing it
bang against the far wall.   I instinctively stuck my right arm into the
hallway, pointing my gun at whatever was out there waiting for me.   I was
almost disappointed when I realized I was alone.   There was no one out there
with me.   After I took the first step down the hallway towards the elevator
just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, I heard Catherine coming across the
floor to follow me.  I moved faster, checking the elevator, the adjacent
hallway, every crevice.   I didn’t want any surprises and I certainly didn’t
want Catherine to have any either.  After I determined I was completely alone
except for the humming of the hall lights, I holstered my weapon and moved back
to my apartment door.   Catherine was crouching down near the open door, a small
brown envelope sitting against the wall in front of her.

“It’s all clear out here,” I assured her quietly.  “What is that?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s got your name on it,” she said, turning her eyes to me.

“Is it ticking?” I asked, trying to keep things light, but knowing deep down
this couldn’t have been anything remotely resembling good.

“Very funny,” she gave me a small smile.   “You’ve got gloves inside, right?”

“Come on, Catherine,” I answered, coming to stand next to her still kneeling
form.  “It could be a note from the landlord.  Maybe a package from my brother
that ended up in someone else’s box.”

“What?  And they waited until the middle of the night to drop it off?” she
countered.   “Plus, the only thing labeling it is your name.   Not your address.
No return address.  Nothing.   I don’t think we should touch it.”

“Move,” I instructed, stepping over and making her shift away from the envelope.
I whipped a handkerchief out of my pocket and kneeled down.   Catherine looked
at me sideways.

“My grandmother used to carry tissues up her sleeves,” I explained, picking the
envelope up by the very corner with the white fabric of the handkerchief careful
to keep my prints from touching the paper.   “I always preferred something that
I could use more than once.”

I stood, helping Catherine to her feet with my free hand.   I let her back in
the apartment first, making sure to peek into the hallway one last time before I
closed the door.   By the time I dropped the envelope on the counter, Catherine
was already coming back from the bathroom holding out a pair of latex gloves for
me.  She was already wearing a pair of her own.  I couldn’t help but smile at
her.  And the grin I got in return reminded me why.

“Would you mind standing back,” I suggested after I snapped on my gloves and
flipped the envelope on its face.   “If this thing explodes, I’d rather it only
take one pair of hands with it.  And yours are much too valuable,” I added with
a wink.

“Will you just open the fucking thing before the suspense kills me,” she shot
back at me, still smiling.

As much as I wanted to see what was in that envelope, I was also scared to death
at what I might find.   One guy I worked with back in San Francisco had an
entire hand sent to him in the mail once.   This envelope wasn’t big enough for
a hand, thank God.   It was run of the mill manila with the standard metal wing
closer thingy at the top and by my estimation it was probably five by seven
inches big.  On the front was my name written in black marker and that was all. 
There was nothing else on the outside at all.

My heartbeat started to grow faster as I unfastened the clasp and tilted the
envelope towards that end to let whatever was inside spill out.  A micro
cassette fell into my hand like a boulder.  It was standard, Sony I think, and
had no writing on the case or the cassette itself.   Catherine grabbed the
envelope and looked inside of it.   It was empty.  There was nothing else.

“Let’s give it a listen,” she suggested.   I could feel her getting tense too.  
It wasn’t everyday that a stranger taps on my door at 3am and leaves me micro
cassettes to listen to.   Especially when we’re smack dab in the middle of a
serial case.

Luckily, I had a micro cassette recorder shoved in a utility draw in the
kitchen.  Back in college I used it to dictate notes to myself when I was out
walking or running or doing anything where I didn’t have paper and a pen.  
Which was often because I used to eat at least three or four pens a week.  I
popped the little tape inside the cradle and pressed play.  I don’t think either
of us was ready for what came next.

“Oh God, no!” came screaming back at us from the small tape recorder.  I turned
the volume up louder even though we could hear everything just fine.   “Please,
no.  Don’t make me do this.  I can’t do this,” a male voice pleaded.  “I’ll do
whatever you want, but please don’t make me do this to myself.   Please, I don’t
want to die.  Please…”

Catherine and I had a pretty good idea of what we were listening to, but neither
of us said a word.   We glanced at each other briefly and I could see her
nostrils start to flair.  I returned my eyes to the countertop and gripped it so
tightly I felt my fingers turning white.   Then there was the distinct sound of
a gun hammer cocking and a victim again pleading with his attacker.

“Please, no!  Please,” he pleaded once again.  “Oh God,” he cried in a panicked
voice and started sobbing.   “I can’t.  I can’t.   I can’t,” he repeated over
and over again until we heard the yanking of a rip cord and the chugging hum of
a chainsaw kicking in.  

My eyes shot up to Catherine’s immediately as the screaming began.  I felt
vertigo wash over my body.  My head was spinning so fast it made me dizzy. 
Tears of rage were forming in Catherine’s eyes as she held my own.   My stomach
turned over on itself and I could feel my insides slowly climbing up my chest. 
Catherine hit the stop button with an iron finger as I ran to the bathroom as
fast as I could.  I actually made it to the toilet bowl before throwing up
everything I’d eaten for the past two days and quite possibly half of my organs.

I felt Catherine’s hands holding back my hair so I would get sick on it.  I
loved her so much at that moment, I could have cried.  But I was too busy
gripping porcelain like my life depended on it.   Some sick bastard had just
dropped important crime scene evidence outside my door to taunt me.  I still
couldn’t manage to wrap my mind around that fact.   And why me?  I got the
distinct feeling he was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t sure I wanted
to figure it out.

One of Catherine’s hands was slowly rubbing circles on my back as I tried to
stop laboring breaths from coming so quickly.   I could tell she was trying to
soothe me by telling me it was going to be okay over and over again.  But it
wasn’t going to be okay.  Not when I had just listened to a serial killer
forcing Philly Yu to cut off his own leg.  And not when a dangerous criminal had
invaded my world in order to drop the tape off on my doorstep.

********************

By five, we were back at CSI.   I was busy munching on two pieces of Nicorette
taken from my security stash.  Catherine had even stopped at the all night
drugstore on the way in and bought me a fresh pack.   At seventy bucks a pop, it
was no small gesture.   And she hadn’t let go of my hand since we left my
apartment.

She refilled my coffee cup for the third time while we sat in the break room
waiting for everyone else to come back with some sort of lead…or results on the
tape and envelope at least.   Grissom had everyone called in by the time we
arrived and insisted that they handle the testing.  I guess he left Catherine
behind to baby-sit me in case I decided to do something rash...like rearrange
the furniture or go down the hallway to use the bathroom.

Nick was up in the audio lab trying to isolate the chainsaw track in order to
compare it to known models and attempt a match.   Everyone had listened to the
tape once we brought it in.   Even me.  I forced myself to sit there and hear it
all again.  If anything I was the one who should’ve been listening to it over
and over again.  It was delivered directly to me, after all.  Still I didn’t
envy Nick or Archie for having to listen to live torturous murder a dozen times
in order to analyze the fucking thing.

Warrick came in and touched my shoulder briefly before sliding to the
refrigerator behind us.  Catherine exchanged a pained and sympathetic look with
him.   I hoped I didn’t look as bad as I felt.

“Grissom’s on his way,” Warrick stated, popping the top to his coke can and
breaking the silence Catherine and I had been sitting in for almost an hour.

“You guys get anything?” Catherine asked.

“No idea,” he answered.   “I was upstairs with Nick.  He’s hanging with Archie a
while longer until they can get a clean track on the chainsaw audio. Grissom
paged and said to meet him down here.”

As if on cue, Grissom walked into the room slowly, Greg following behind him
solemnly.  I met Greg’s eyes for a second and flashed him a half smile.   He
nodded at me in understanding and knocked a closed hand on his chest over his
heart.  I tightened my hold on Catherine’s hand at the gesture and had to grit
my teeth to keep from crying.

“How’re you holding up?” Grissom asked, walking towards me slowly.

“I’d be a whole lot better if everyone would stop asking me that and concentrate
on catching this psycho,” I answered, slightly annoyed.   I wanted everyone to
stop falling all over me and walking on egg shells.  As far as we knew, he could
have been dropping clues off at Nick’s apartment next.

“He was at your apartment, Sara,” Grissom said softly.   “It’s natural to be a
little shaken and scared…”

“You guys get anything off the envelope?” Catherine cut him off, tugging my hand
into her lap and shooting Grissom the death glare.

“Nada,” Greg answered for him.   “Envelope was completely clean.  So were the
cassette and case.  No prints, no fibers, no nothing.”

“Marker?” I asked.

“Black sharpie.  Probably fine point.  Sold in every supermarket, drugstore,
craft store and hundreds of corner convenience stores all over the country,”
Greg explained.  “Same thing with the envelope.  Standard manila five by seven
and generic brand.  No saliva from the sealer flap either.”

“No, there wouldn’t be,” I said nodding and snapping my gum.  “He’s too smart
for that.”

“How about the cassette?   Anything special?” Warrick asked, slugging on his
coke.

“Nope,” Greg answered, dropping all the paperwork onto the table.  “Sony
standard sixty-minute tape.  Usually sold in three packs at any store with an
electronics section for about five bucks.”

“Our guy probably wouldn’t want to be seen or recognized anywhere though.  So he
wouldn’t shop at any of the smaller stores,” Catherine said.   “Why don’t we
check the major chains in the area and see if they have any record of one person
purchasing all three items on the same transaction,” she suggested.

“Couldn’t hurt,” Warrick said, raising his eyebrows.   “I’ll grab O’Riley and a
handful of warrants and meet you guys back here later,” he said, touching my
shoulder again on the way out of the room.

“I know this might be a stupid question,” Greg said, once the door had flapped
shut again.  “But why Sara?”

“I don’t know, Greg,” Grissom answered, holding his hands in a palm up gesture
of frustration.

“Maybe he knows I’m working the case and somehow got my address,” I offered.  I
couldn’t think of anything else that I wanted to be true.   Because in all
likelihood there was a far better reason for it.   Maybe as long as I was in the
dark, I was safe.

“But he singled you out directly, Sara,” Grissom reminded me.  “Is there
anything we’re missing?”

“I don’t know, Grissom,” I answered, started to get a little pissed off.  “Maybe
he found out I knew the kid.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, looking thoughtful.   “Serial killers are
meticulous; they like to have complete control over their surroundings.  Every
step they make is planned out to the very last detail and everything they do
fits into their version of a puzzle.  You’ve got to fit in somewhere specific…”

“Fuck, what do you want me to say?!” I almost yelled , standing up so fast, I
sent the folding chair beneath me to a heap on the floor.  I stared him down for
an endless moment, all the while knowing it wasn’t him I was mad at.   “I don’t
know why or how I’m involved in this.   I don’t know why he chose me, Grissom.  
I wish to Hell he hadn’t.  I don’t know how I fit in and I really don’t want to
sit around here waiting to find out,” I said and took a step back, turning and
slamming a fist down on the cold countertop hard.  I saw Catherine and Greg
flinch out of the corner of my eye.

“The bastard was right there,” I said more calmly, anger and frustration
flooding every crevice of my being.   “He was ten feet away from me and I froze.
  I could have run out into that hallway and shot him…at least ran after him. 
But I didn’t.   Because I was fucking scared.  I was so scared it was
paralyzing.  All I could think about was that if I ran out into that hallway and
made one mistake, with Catherine not fifty feet away from me, we’d be cleaning
her up off a warehouse floor.

“He knows where I live, Grissom,” I said, turning my eyes to him.  I felt
Catherine reach out for me, but I put a hand up to hold her back.   “For some
reason, he wanted me involved.   So fine, I’m involved.  But if I weren’t such a
fucking coward, he’d be laid out on a slab in the morgue right now instead of
walking and talking and breathing.”

“You’re not the coward, Sara.   He is,” Grissom said firmly.  “This is not your
fault.  Nothing that happens next is your fault.  All we can do is try and
figure out who this guy is before he kills someone else.”

The loud ringing of a cell phone broke the tension in the room.  Grissom and
Catherine both reached for theirs at the same time.  They looked up and shook
their heads.  Everyone’s eyes flashed over to me as I reached down with my left
hand and pulled the noisemaker from my waistband.  I cleared my throat before
answering.

“Sidle.”

“There’s an abandoned warehouse in the desert about thirty miles east of the
strip.  It’s off an old access road near the highway.  You’d better hurry,
Sara,” a low male voice instructed me before I was listening to the resounding
tone of a dead line.

“Too late,” I said to Grissom, feeling the life drain from my body.  I hooked
the phone back in its cradle on my hip, slid my jacket on, and waited for
everyone to follow me out into the hallway.  We were about to see just how
specific this bastard could get.

********************

It took us almost an hour to find the place.   There was desert for at least
twenty miles in all directions.   This guy knew how to pick the places that gave
him the most privacy.   Catherine jammed on the breaks about two seconds before
we hit the side of the building.  She said she didn’t want me driving because I
was on edge.   I looked at her sideways and I could tell that she was starting
to break too.  I looked away quickly because I knew the pain in her eyes was my
fault.   Suddenly I couldn’t get out of the Tahoe fast enough.  

Grissom and Brass were already waiting for us near the entrance.  Three patrol
cars pulled up in a flash, sirens and lights wailing around us.   Brass waved
about six uniformed cops wearing vests and carrying rifles in before us.  There
was no door to kick in.  There was no door at all.  It had been ripped off its
hinges a long time ago.  I thought sending those guys in first was unnecessary
to say the least.   Our guy wasn’t still in there.  By the time he had called
me, he was probably already back in the city sipping on a cold beer and watching
Faces of Death for fun.  All six sets of feet were going to do at this point was
contaminate the crime scene.   But it didn’t really matter anyway.   He didn’t
leave anything behind that he didn’t want us to find.

“Oh Christ,” I heard one of the young officers yell.   A few seconds later,
three of them ran past us and fell down onto the dirt, throwing up near the
squad cars.   The remaining three officers stumbled out about a minute later all
looking shocked and green around the edges.

“It’s all clear,” one of them said to Brass as he passed by us.

“After you,” Brass instructed, holding an arm out and waiting for Grissom to
enter the warehouse first.

I let Catherine go in before me and hung back with Brass.   As much as I felt
that some of this was my fault, it didn’t make me any more eager to get to the
body.  I knew exactly what we were going to find and I’d seen it before, but I
wasn’t at all prepared for it when it finally appeared.

The warehouse was just that.   There was no office.  No break room.  It was one
big cold, cement area.   Daylight was streaking into the room through the part
of the walls that had crumbled in on themselves and were now riddled with holes
and missing large chunks. 

About fifty feet in, Grissom was standing still in the middle of the room,
Catherine stopped at his side.   I caught a glimpse of blood scattered to the
left of them.   It was a vibrant red…too bright almost.   It was fresh and
couldn’t have been dried yet or it would have been darker, almost brown. 
Catherine crouched down to take some pictures.  I admired her ability to be all
business…her ability not to waver.   The minute the stench of death hit my
nostrils, I was lightheaded and thought I was going to puke again.  Instead I
popped two more pieces of gum in my mouth and walked over to where they were
standing.  Brass didn’t follow me.

When I reached them, I realized what they were doing.   Grissom couldn’t figure
out where to step.   There was blood everywhere again.   But it hadn’t dried all
the way yet.   There were no footprints that we could see, but he was waiting
nonetheless.   I walked around him and in a full circle around the mess of body
lying there on the floor.  I was careful to sidestep any of the red stuff.  I
saw the clothes and jewelry piled about fifteen feet away from the body, but I
didn’t need to go over and look at it once I had seen the head of curly white
and gray hair at my feet.

I turned way and walked to a far part of the room, bending over at the waist and
bracing my hands on my thighs.   I tried to calm my breathing, but it was too
ragged.   I was hyperventilating.  The back of my eyes were pulsing and my
vision was starting to get blurry.   I couldn’t breathe.  I felt Catherine’s
hand on the back of my neck.  It was cool and it felt good.  I had my eyes shut
tight and pushed back to a standing position as soon as I could feel my
breathing slow down.  After a few more struggled breaths, I turned around to
face her.   She took my face in both of her hands for a second before they fell
away.

“I know,” she whispered as I leaned against the cold wall behind me and slid to
the floor.

I wrapped my arms tightly around my knees and buried my head as far as I could
away from the light.   I could feel hot tears falling down my cheeks like a
thunderstorm.   Catherine’s hands were soon on my shoulders and I could feel her
breathing coming fast only inches away from me.   My head shot up quickly and I
pushed her back and held my hands out, letting my eyes glide back over to where
Grissom was moving the body parts around with gloved hands.  Catherine looked at
me with understanding and hurt in her eyes before she backed over to the
clothing pile and began photographing it.   Brass still had his back to us.

“ID, Catherine?” Grissom called to her.

“Bastard didn’t even leave the area,” I said before she could speak.  Grissom
walked over to Catherine and they both looked at me.  “He probably waited up on
the fourth floor and watched us leave.   He knew exactly what we’d do.  Then he
came back downstairs,” I said, shaking my head and pounding my fists against my
legs so hard I could feel them bruising.   “That son of a bitch,” I yelled and
pushed to my feet again, stepping towards the body and not taking my eyes off
it.   I was committing every detail to memory.

“Margaret Dillon,” I said in an even voice, feeling the detachment seize me like
a vice grip.  I knew her, too.  Somehow nothing mattered anymore.  “Nice little
old lady across the hall from me.  Apartment 3B,” I said, confirming the ID in
Grissom’s hand.  “Widow.   No kids.  She used to bring me homemade biscotti once
a month,” I said and turned back to them.   “Same M.O.  We’re not going to find
anything here.”

We all heard the whining at the same time.   Catherine and Brass had their guns
out before I could even turn my head towards the noise.  It sounded like someone
was breathing, but it was a wet sound…wheezing.  I held my gun in the direction
of the noise.   There was a corner of the building that was still covered in
shade so dark it looked like it was still night in that part.   I stepped
towards it slowly, one foot in front of the other falling silently onto the
concrete beneath me.  Suddenly, a white blur came at me quickly and I had almost
pulled my trigger finger until I realized what I was looking at.   I reholstered
the gun, and put my hand up to ward off the three armed people behind me.

“It’s okay,” I said, waving my hand at them without turning around. “It’s just
Baxter,” I explained, still a little on edge.  

Mrs. Dillon’s little poodle was walking at me slowly.   It looked scared to
death, but didn’t seem to be hurt.   I crouched down and held a hand out towards
him gently.   He continued to whimper as he got closer.   He must have
remembered my smell because he rubbed his head against my hand and started
licking it.  I ran my fingers over the soft fur on his head and scratched him a
little.   When he turned his head to the left, I realized something was dangling
from his neck.  It was a picture of my brother’s family.  One of the twins was
crying.  The other looking off into the distance.  My brother’s wife was smiling
widely, her arm curled around his waist tightly.   I knew that picture well.  It
was once framed and sitting on an end table near my couch.

“He’s been in my apartment,” I declared, shutting my eyes and gritting my teeth
hard.

“What?” Catherine and Grissom said, almost at the same time.

I picked the little dog up in my arms and felt how much he was shaking.  He was
probably in shock.  I walked over to Catherine and she gave me her jacket
without even having to ask.   After I wrapped the little guy up tightly, I let
Catherine untie the string and remove the picture from his neck.   A hand
immediately made its way onto my shirtsleeve.   Grissom stood close to her as
she flipped it over and examined it.

“March 14, 1995,” Catherine read off the back of the picture.   It wasn’t in any
handwriting that any of us recognized.   I sure as hell didn’t write it there.  
Here was our one and only clue.  “Mean anything to you?” she asked me.

I just shook my head and handed the dog over to Grissom.   I walked past the
body, not even looking at it as I passed by.   I instructed Brass to call the
Seattle Police Department and get them to post a patrol car outside of my
brother’s house until I said it was okay for them to remove it.  I wasn’t
fucking around anymore.  This bastard obviously wanted me to headline this case
and I wasn’t going to sit on my hands anymore. 

I called my brother and told him not to leave the wife and kids on their own
until this whole thing was over.   I spared him the details, but told him enough
to make sure he’d do what I told him.  I made sure to tell him I loved him
before I hung up.  On the way out of the building, as we passed by the coroner’s
office on their way in, I asked Grissom a question I realized I needed to know
the answer to.

“What was the name of the first victim?” I asked.   He stopped, handing the
poodle to a uniformed cop and wouldn’t look at me.  Catherine was still talking
to Brass.

“Does it really matter, Sara?” he asked, looking off into the desert.

“Just tell me, Grissom.”   I needed to know who else was dead because of me.   I
was willing to bet both my kidneys that I knew them.

“Older woman named Adele Burbank,” he answered reluctantly.   I nodded and felt
the air around me thin out.   It’s not that it was shocking.  It’s just that
nothing they ever taught me in forensics class could have prepared me for what
was happening right now.

“She gave me piano lessons when I was in junior high.”

********************

I went upstairs while Grissom and Catherine met with Doc Robbins.  It was
pointless.   We knew everything he was going to tell us anyway.   So I called in
a favor with an old friend I used to work with back in San Francisco.   In less
than an hour I was staring at two new case files, sent to me via fax, and eerily
similar to the last two crime scenes I had the misfortune to walk into.  My head
was pounding as I read over the files and seemed to know every word a second
before I got there.

The door opened and I smelled Catherine coming closer to me.  It was getting
weird.   She was starting to be careful around me too.   She made it to my side
in seconds, but didn’t try to touch me this time.  I did feel the weight of her
hand on the back of my chair as she looked over my shoulder onto the table.

“Autopsy bring back anything?” I asked, without turning to look at her.  I was
drumming a pen on the table absentmindedly.

“Only one cutting tool this time,” Catherine answered.   “All of the cuts were
smooth and post mortem.”

“Thank God for small favors,” I said, exhaling.

“She probably died before he could force her to…you know,” she said with an
awkward shrug.

“Mrs. Dillon was seventy-eight years old,” I surmised.   “She probably couldn’t
wield a chainsaw on her best day.”

“True.  What are you working on?” she asked and leaned down further.   She was
so close I found it getting harder to breathe.

“Sit down,” I said and kicked out a chair for her.   She obliged me, flipping
through the first case file and passing over the pictures.

“A guy back in California owed me a favor.  There were two murders in San
Francisco about two years ago.  Never solved.   That one is from about two weeks
before I got transferred here,” I explained, motioning to the paperwork in her
hands.   “I had this pair of boots that I refused to throw away.   They were my
favorite,” I continued with half of a half smile.   Catherine leaned on the
table and cradled her head to look at me.   I could see the corners of her mouth
fighting to turn up.

“Alex Rodriguez owned a small shoe repair shop around the corner from my
apartment,” I continued, both our smiled reluctantly fading as I tapped the
folder her arm was resting on.   “After the third time, he stopped charging me. 
And his reward for such selfless kindness is to end up in a pile on the floor
of his back room.  Apparently he was the first victim.”

“Sara...”

“There’s more,” I interrupted her.   “I need to tell you the rest, okay?” I
asked, softening a bit.

“Okay,” she nodded and bore her eyes into mine.   I think she was trying to tell
me she wasn’t going to give up on me.  It’s too bad I already had.

“The next murder happened two days after I left.   It was the super of my old
apartment, Jason Stiles,” I explained, flipping the other folder open.  “He had
a wife and two kids.  Wife fell off the deep end and now the kids are in foster
care,” I said and shook my head.

“Listen, I know you want to blame yourself right now,” Catherine said, grabbing
my arm and forcing me to look at her.   “But none of this is your fault.”

“He’s been trying to get my attention for over two years, Catherine,” I stated
with tired eyes.  “Five people are dead and we have no fucking clue who we’re
dealing with here.”

“Well it’s got to have something to do with March of Ninety-five.  Any hits on
the date yet?” she asked.

“No.  I’ve been racking my brain, but it just isn’t hitting any chords,” I shook
my head.   “And I ran it through the database.   Nothing concrete in Vegas and
nothing in San Francisco except a couple drive-bys and a suicide.”

“Nick’s pretty sure he figured out brand and model of the chainsaw.  He’s
checking with distributors now,” she said and then paused for a brief moment.  
“You can’t stay at your apartment.”

“Why not?” I asked, offhandedly.   I started packing up the files.

“He’s been in your apartment, Sara,” Catherine pleaded with me.  “It’s not safe
there.”

“It’s not safe anywhere,” I corrected her.   “No matter where I go, he can find
me.   Nowhere is safe anymore.  Nobody around me is safe anymore.  Christ, the
bag boy at the grocery store isn’t safe if he’s helped me to my car even once,”
I added, my voice getting softer and lower as the reality of the situation kept
fighting to be recognized.

“You don’t let anybody help you to your car,” Catherine smiled at me.

“It’s not funny, Catherine,” I said flatly.

“I know,” she said and exhaled deeply.   “But it’s not true, either.”

“Really,” I said sarcastically.   “Where’s Lindsay?”  I asked in monotone.

“Sara…”

“Where is she?”

“I put her and my sister on a plane to my mother’s an hour ago,” she confirmed. 
“But…”

“You’re scared,” I interrupted her.   “Good.  You should be.”

“So should you,” she shot back at me, furrowing her brow.   “You’re stepping
right through this like nothing can touch you, but it can.  The real person in
danger here is you.  If for no other reason than you’re shutting down…you’ve
stopped being careful and that’s going to get you hurt.”

“Better me than someone else that has nothing to do with this,” I said and
lowered my eyes.

“Don’t fucking say that,” she yelled and grabbed my shoulders.  “You’re so
fucking selfish, you know that.   What about me?  What happens to me when you
get hurt, huh?  Think about someone other than yourself for five fucking
seconds.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, Catherine,” I shouted, standing and
taking steps backward.   “This guy obviously has some score to settle with me.  
So instead of targeting people that are innocent, I wish he’d just fucking come
and get me.   Why the fuck doesn’t he just stop fucking around and come after me
directly?!?”

“Because this is exactly what he wants,” Catherine said firmly, standing and
walking towards me.  “He wants you scared and frustrated.  And most of all he
wants you to blame yourself.   Because nothing he can do to hurt you physically
is half as damning as what you’re doing to yourself inside.  You’re letting him
win.”

“Hey, you two,” Grissom said softly, peeking his head in from the doorway and
interrupting us.  “Why don’t you get out of here for a couple hours?   We’ll
call as soon as Nicky gets back or when we get something else,” he said and then
he was gone.

“Come on,” Catherine said and gathered up my things.   “I’m taking you home.”

“No.  I think I should stick around anyway.”

“Sara,” she said softly, “you did this for me when Lindsay was missing.  Please
let me do it for you now,” she pleaded and somehow I could feel her heart
breaking.   Or maybe that was mine.

“Fine,” I gave up and ran a hand through my hair.   “But we’re going to my
apartment.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“The only way I’m letting him win is if I let him turn my world upside down,” I
explained.  “I’m not letting him push me out of my own home.”

********************

When we got back to my apartment, I went in first.   I just wanted to make sure
nothing else was missing or out of place.   So far the only thing gone was the
picture we had found earlier in the day.  I checked for anything out of the
oridinary…bombs, clues, packages, crazy psycho killers lurking in the shadows. 
The apartment was all clear.  On the way in we did notice the yellow police tape
stretched across Mrs. Dillon’s closed door.   I stood in front of that door for
a few minutes and said a silent prayer.

I drank a glass of water to wash down a handful of aspirin while Catherine
talked to her mother on the phone in the other room.   I was staring out the
window over the sink when I heard her footsteps crossing the linoleum towards
me.  Her arms went around my waist as she pressed herself flush up against my
back.  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to comfort me or herself, but it didn’t
matter much either way.   Nothing was going to make me feel better and I didn’t
have it in me to lie and tell her everything was going to work out okay.   She
was being so gentle, so patient…not pushing me at all for anything.   And I just
couldn’t take it at that moment.   I wanted her to yell at me, to tell me it was
my fault, to hate me.  But that was something she’d never do…because I knew she
didn’t really feel that way.

I turned around and kissed her hard, my tongue pushing past her lips almost
immediately.  She threaded her hands in my hair, trying to slow things
down…trying to hold me off some.  But my head was somewhere else.  I was being
too rough, carnal almost.  I could feel my fingernails digging into the bare
skin of her upper arms, but nothing was registering.   Until I felt her trying
to pull away, her hands pushing at my shoulders softly.  I held onto her for a
few more seconds before stepping back suddenly and breaking all contact.   I
turned away from her, one hand on my hip, the other pressed against my forehead
so hard I was seeing stars.

“I’m sorry.  I can’t do this,” I said in an uneven voice.

“It’s okay,” she replied, her hand settling on my lower back.  “We don’t have to
do anything.”

“No, it’s not that,” I said, stepping further away out of her reach.  “This
thing with you and me…I can’t do it anymore.  It’s not working.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said immediately, not wavering.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said in a small voice, looking up to the ceiling fan and
watching it spin out of control just like me.

“Yes it does matter,” she said firmly.   “And it’s not going to work.  I’m not
going to let you push me away.” 

My head was shaking back and forth even though I wasn’t fully conscious of it. 
In seconds I had turned around and had her pinned against the wall, my head
ducked and hanging to the side.   My breathing was rushed and uneven.

“You have to,” I said in a low voice, tears stinging my eyes and crushing my
airway.  She was shaking her head, her bottom lip quivering very slightly.  
“Yes,” I said, flashing my eyes up to hers.   I was losing it…and fast.

“The closer you are to me, the more dangerous it is,” I said, holding her eyes
and noticing the wetness on her cheeks was mirrored by my own.  “You have to get
as far away from me as you can.  I’d die if anything happened to you,” I said
slowly, breath hitching and sticking in my throat like glue.   “I’m so fucking
scared.”

I stepped in closer to her and I felt her lean forward, the warm skin of her
face pressing against the side of my own.   We were both crying now, our tears
slipping into one another and mingling.   I banged a hand against the wall
behind her head as I felt the inside of me crumbling…shattering into a million
tiny fragments.  She had her arms around me, holding me together, hands pressed
flat against my back and forcing me into her.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.   I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice
just above a whisper.   “I’m always going to be right here,” she promised and I
fell into her, my arms around her tightly as I was trying desperately to keep my
head above water.

I fell asleep on the couch with my head in Catherine’s lap and her hand slowly
threading in and out of my hair.   I was thankful that I didn’t dream or if I
did I couldn’t remember any of it.  I woke up in the same position with
Catherine on the phone.  I hadn’t even heard it ring.

“Uh huh…uh huh…yeah, we’ll meet you there,” she said and then hung up.  “Hey,”
she said softly, looking down at me through wide eyes.   I guess I’d been the
only one asleep.   “Come on.  We gotta go,” she said and helped me to a sitting
position.

“What’s up?” I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“Greg got a hit on a pediatrician on the south side of Vegas.  He’s been buying
insulin in large quantities for a couple years now and there’s no protocol for
it in his practice,” Catherine explained as we slipped on our jackets.  
“Grissom’s meeting Brass there now.”

“Let’s go,” I said and made a quick check in the hallway before leaving.

********************

It was early evening when we got to Dr. Arthur Stevenson’s office.  It was in an
upscale neighborhood just south of the strip.  It didn’t feel like we were in a
serial killer’s territory, but then again nothing would have surprised me at
this point.  Catherine drove once I realized I had left my keys in the apartment
and didn’t feel much like climbing three flights of stairs to get them.   I was
exhausted.  Probably because I hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the last
four or five days.

Brass and Grissom were outside the building talking.   I could hear bits and
pieces of their conversation.   Brass was raising his voice and obviously not a
happy camper.   I’d never seen him quite so irate.

“Listen, Sheriff Mobley’s up my ass to get this fucker solved,” he was saying. 
“We need to bring someone in for questioning soon.  Anyone.  But so far we don’t
have jack shit in the way of leads or suspects and the press is hounding us for
permission to run the story.  The only thing holding them back is the Mayor’s
threats to put them all on unemployment if they open their mouths.  In fact,
he’s threatening to give us all our walking papers.

“Not to mention, we’re dealing with cross jurisdictions now and the PD is
getting pressured to bring in the Feds,” he continued.   “There were two more
murders in California with the same M.O. two years ago and apparently our guy is
following one of your CSI’s and leaving her presents everywhere he goes.  
Mobley wants her off the case.  It’s getting to be too dangerous.”

“And it wasn’t dangerous two murders ago?” Grissom countered.   “You think I’m
happy that we keep chasing leads that bring us back to the same place we started
from?!  And she stays on the case,” he said, defiantly.   “It’s her fucking case
now and she needs to work it.   I can tell by the look in her eyes that she
needs it, Brass.   If I pull her out now, who knows what kind of damage it’s
going to do.”

“Fine,” the Captain said, shaking his head.   “But we’re bringing this guy in no
matter what.   Maybe that’ll shut everyone up.”

“Depends on what we find upstairs,” Grissom replied, finally seeing us and
walking towards the entrance.

“You’ve got no say in this, Gil,” Brass reminded him.   “It’s my call.”

“You can tell Mobley to kiss my ass,” Grissom said firmly.   “We’re not taking
anybody in unless we’ve got due cause.”

We all squished into the elevator and made it up the fourth floor in the matter
of minutes.  Brass flashed his badge at the receptionist and walked right on
into Stevenson’s office.  We followed close behind him.   There was no time for
niceties or politeness.   We were on a mission.

“I’m sorry,” Stevenson said in confusion as we filed into his office.  “Can I
help you?”

“Captain Jim Brass, Vegas Police,” he said and flashed his badge again. 
“They’re with the crime lab,” he motioned to us, “and we need to ask you some
questions.”

“Regarding what?” Stevenson asked.  

He was middle aged with glasses and close cropped brown hair.  There was a
picture of three kids on his desk.  Two boys and a girl.   They all looked
exactly like him.   I just wasn’t getting the creepy vibe from this guy and when
I met Catherine’s eyes I could tell she was feeling the same thing.   By the way
Grissom was looking around the office stoically; I would’ve guessed he knew we
were in the wrong place also.

“We ran across a stack of purchase orders for insulin with your name on them,”
Brass explained.  “You buy in bulk, Dr. Stevenson.”

“What business is that of yours?” he asked, defensively.

“We checked your records and none of your patients are diabetic,” Brass answered
quickly, leaning a bulky hand on his desk.

“Those records are privileged…”

“Not when we’re dealing with serial murders, it’s not,” Brass quickly
interjected.

“Murders?” Stevenson asked, confusion washing over his face.  “What do my
insulin orders have to do with your murders?”

“You tell us,” Grissom chanced, turning to face him.

“My wife is a diabetic,” he explained.   “It’s cheaper if I go through the
office and buy it in large quantities.   I realize it’s not all that ethical to
use my professional standing to save a few bucks, but we’ve got three kids.  
Extra cash is always useful.  And I assure you, I’m not breaking any laws.”

My eyes dropped and Catherine touched my arm.   We just struck out again.  A
quick background check and a call to his wife were going to confirm what he just
said and then we were back to square one again.   Grissom looked at me with
sympathetic eyes and took a step back towards the door.

“Do you own a chainsaw, Mr. Stevenson?” Brass asked, relentlessly.

“Jim, back off,” Grissom said almost too loud.   “This isn’t our guy and you
know it.”

“I won’t know anything until I take him downtown and get him to answer some real
questions,” Brass shot back at Grissom with fire in his eyes.  “Mr. Stevenson,
would you mind coming with me?  I can get a warrant, but it’s easier this way.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the doctor protested.   “I’m not going anywhere.”

Brass was about to pull his cuffs out when his phone rang.  He answered it
quickly and turned around to speak in hushed tones.  When he turned back around,
he apologized to Dr. Stevenson briefly before rushing us out into the hallway.

“That was O’Riley,” he explained.   “There was another murder.  Only this time a
homeless guy heard screaming and called the police.   He didn’t finish the job.”

********************

We got to the scene in less than fifteen minutes.   The warehouse was closer to
humanity; stuck in between two other buildings that our killer must not have
known were frequented by squatters.   Brass stopped to talk to the witness, but
all he could tell us was that he heard screaming and ran to the nearest
payphone.   He thought he saw a motorcycle, but all he kept repeating was ‘one
headlight’ over and over again.  We were lucky our killer hadn’t offed him too. 
Then we’d be even more in the dark.

We ran past uniformed cops and saw a couple emergency medical vehicles pulling
into the parking lot behind us.   The scene inside was much the same as the
others only our victim was only missing one leg, the other cut halfway through,
and there was a lot less blood.  She was blonde, about my age and pretty.  Her
clothes were thrown in a far corner in disarray.  Apparently he waited until
after the dismemberment to make everything neat.   I stopped in front of the
body and froze.   I almost wanted to smile, but it just wasn’t appropriate under
the circumstances.

“What?  What is it?” Catherine asked, coming to stand beside me and noticing my
body loosening.   Grissom was digging through the clothes to get an ID, but
looked back to me like I’d already have one for him.   This time I didn’t.

“I don’t know her,” I said, scanning the body in front of me again and drawing a
blank.

“Are you sure?” Catherine asked, and walked over to Grissom hoping to find a
wallet.

“I’m positive,” I assured them.   “I don’t know this woman at all.”

“ID says Brenda Calloway,” Grissom recited from the license.   “Reno.”

“I know a Brenda Calloway,” I said, nodding.   “But this isn’t her.”

“How can you be sure?” he asked.

“Brenda Calloway had her appendix removed when we were twelve,” I said, color
beginning to return to my face.   “This woman has no abdominal scars.   And I’d
remember Brenda anywhere anyway,” I affirmed.   “She was the first person I ever
kissed.”

“He fucked up,” I breathed and looked around.   “He fucked up big time,” I said
with a smile as I noticed a small piece of fabric caught on the door near one of
the hinges.

I jogged over to it, snapping on my gloves and pulled tweezers and a plastic bag
out of the kit at my feet.   Catherine was soon at my side.  She stuck her head
around the outside of the door and I saw the smile creep onto her face.  She
exhaled deeply and closed her eyes.  When she opened them, they were sparkling. 


“Bloody fingerprint,” she said simply.   “Pass me that case.”

“I know what this is,” I said, holding up the plastic bag as Grissom arrived
next to us.  It was thin blue material, with blood spatter on it.   There was a
white seam at the top edge.   I recognized the material because I’d used it on
more than one occasion.   We all had.

“Forensic scrubs,” Grissom stated, taking the bag out of my hand.

“Well that explains the lack of mess,” Catherine said after snagging our print. 
“We wear them once and chuck them in the incinerator,” she said.   “Easy and
neat.”

“So how’d he get a hold of them?” Grissom asked.

“I bet you can buy them from any wholesale distributor,” I offered.

“She’s right,” Catherine agreed.

“Still, we might be able to pull some DNA from it,” Grissom said, shrugging.  He
passed the sample to Catherine.

I thought I heard movement behind us.   When I strained my ears I could hear
gagging and choking.   Grissom and I turned around at the same second and saw
Brenda Calloway coughing up blood on the floor ten feet away from us.   She was
trying to move. Trying to breathe.   She was still alive. 

We ran to her as fast as we could, sliding to our knees on the floor next to
her.  I had her head in my hands while Grissom tried to hold her down.   Her
torso and arms were flailing recklessly.   Her eyes were panicked when they met
mine and I tore my jacket off and covered her with it.

“Why didn’t anyone check this woman for a pulse?!?” Grissom screamed with a turn
of his head.   “Get the paramedics in here now!” he commanded.   “You’re going
to be okay, Brenda,” he said down to the scared woman.   “Just calm down.  
You’re going to be just fine.”

Grissom and I stared at each other over the woman’s body and smiled.  She’d need
a lot of blood transfusions and some reconstructive surgery…not to mention, a
whole lot of therapy.  But she would live.   I was determined that she would
live.   And once she was stable we had our first survivor…and our first
eyewitness.  We also had our first real concrete evidence.  A fingerprint.  A
ripped piece of forensic scrub.  And one headlight.   He’d almost be running
scared now.   I liked that thought.  And I could tell Grissom did, too.


Five minutes later, Brenda Calloway was in an ambulance and on her way to Vegas
Memorial.  She was in severe shock, but she was stable.   Brass was following
her there just in case she could tell him anything.   Grissom had taken all the
evidence and was on his way back to the lab.  I asked Catherine to drop me off
at my apartment so I could change.  I had Brenda Calloway’s blood all over me.  
I didn’t mind it so much, but there was so much stuck to my clothes I looked
like I was an extra in a horror movie.   Grissom had a change of clothes at the
lab.

When we pulled up outside my building, the air in the car was somehow lighter. 
Catherine’s hands on the wheel weren’t white at the knuckles and the rumbling in
the pit of my stomach that had been present for the past five days had faded
some.  We were close to catching this guy and we knew it.  We had the most
damning evidence of all.  A fingerprint.  Prints were as good as DNA…they rarely
withhold the truth.

I leaned over and took Catherine in my arms.   She continued to fit there
perfectly, no matter what we were going through.  And she was so incredibly
supportive of my every move, I felt like I was unworthy of her most of the time.
She held onto me tightly and told me she loved me before kissing me soundly and
pushing me out of the car.  I stuck my head back in the window quickly.

“I need your keys,” I said with a smile that wouldn’t leave my face.  “Mine are
upstairs,” I reminded her.

“You’d forget your underwear if I didn’t remind you,” she teased and handed me
her set of keys from her pocket.

“I’m not wearing any,” I teased her and winked, accepting the keys and tapping
him palm on the window frame.   “Be careful,” I said, seriously.

“You too,” she replied.   “I’ll see you in no time,” she added and waved
slightly before pulling away.  I finally thought I could breathe again.

That feeling quickly escaped my body when I entered the hallway on my floor.  I
could see a large envelope nailed to my front door.  I quickly had my gun held
in my hand as I turned around and made sure nobody was lurking.  I walked slowly
to my door and made sure that the tape on Mrs. Dillon’s was still fully intact. 
It was.  I snagged the envelope, pulling it from the nail and ripping the
envelope on the way down.   With my free hand I popped the door open and hurried
inside.

I dropped everything on the kitchen counter and ripped my shirt off, throwing it
in a pile on the floor.   Then I stripped off my pants and found fresh clothes
in the laundry basket I had left on the side of the dishwasher the previous day.
  I didn’t want to get any blood on the evidence.

I grabbed the large envelope.   It had to be at least eight by eleven and a
little heavy.   I opened it quickly and a stack of photos slid out onto the
countertop.   They were surveillance photos of each of the victims.   He’d been
following them.  Towards the end the photos got more personal and my breathing
started to quicken.  There were pictures of Catherine and me obviously taken
from outside one of her windows.   We were intimately engaged.  He knew about us
and he knew where she lived.   The last three or four pictures were of Catherine
alone.   He’d been following her recently, too.   I felt my heart almost stop
and grabbed the phone immediately.   I dialed her cell phone number.

“Willows,” she said after a few rings.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Walking down the hall with Nicky,” she replied.   “He’s got exact make, model,
and sale date of our chainsaw.”

“Good.  Stay with him,” I instructed.  “Find Grissom and Warrick and don’t leave
their sides…not for anything.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just do it, Catherine,” I said quickly.   “Please.”

“Okay.  What’s going on, Sara?”

“I’ve got pictures,” I explained.   “He’s been here again.  And he’s been
following you.  So please just stay where you are.  I’m on my way now.”

I hung up directly after that and packed up all of my stuff.  With any luck we’d
get more prints off the pictures.  I doubted our guy was watching his shit
anymore.  I think he was just eager to get it finished.   I wanted to get to him
first.

********************

Catherine and Nick met up with Grissom in the hallway of CSI a few minutes
later.  Greg came jogging up behind them holding a file above his head.   He was
out of breath and visibly shaken.

“We got an ID on your print,” he managed through strangled breaths.

“Already?” Grissom asked.

“It was in the system and you don’t even want to know why,” he explained,
handing the folder over.   “He works here.”

“What?” Catherine and Nick said simultaneously.

“Bryan Jones,” Grissom read from the label on the file and then opened it.  “Oh
Jesus,” he breathed.

“What is it?” Catherine asked.

“Bryan Jones used to live in San Francisco,” Greg said, from memory.   “His
father died when he was seven.   On March 14, 1995 , his sister committed
suicide.  He was only seventeen at the time.”

“So what, Greg,” Catherine demanded.   “Get on with it.”

“Sara’s name is all over the reports on Jones’ sister,” Grissom explained,
flipping through a few pages.   “She was the CSI working that case.   It was a
suicide, open and shut.”

“I bet our boy Bryan doesn’t think so,” Greg interjected.   “Anyway, about six
months ago we hire Bryan up in trace as a tech.  Couple weeks before that, Alice
Jones, Bryan’s mother, commits suicide.  She left a note.   Said she couldn’t
take what had happened to his sister anymore.   Felt like she caused it.”

“How’d she do it?” Catherine asked.  

“She folded her clothes neatly on the end of the bed,” Grissom said, flipping
through crime scene photos.   “And then slit both her ankles and wrists in the
bathtub.   Bryan is the one who found her.”

“You forgot the best part,” Greg stated and turned to Catherine and Nick. 
“Alice Jones was a diabetic.”

“Jesus,” Nick said under his breath.   “If he’s picking out the people closest
to Sara now, you’re it Cath.”

“Gee thanks, Nicky.  I’m feeling better already,” Catherine answered
sarcastically.   “I take it the cops have been upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Greg nodded.  “They found a mess load of clippings and articles on
previous cases Sara’s worked.  He’s got files and files on her.  Plus they hit
his apartment about an hour ago.  They picked up the chainsaw and a table saw
still covered in blood.   Plus half a dozen vials of insulin.   Brass put an APB
out on him and his car about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Greg,” Grissom said and smacked him on the shoulder. “We need to find
out how he’s picking his locations.”

“Well, if he’s been following me like Sara said,” Catherine stated, feeling a
light click on in her head.   “Then he knows about my past with Paul Newsome.  
And what better place to find out about building rights than with the District
Engineer,” she said and pulled out her cell phone.   Newsome picked up on the
second ring.

“Paul, hey, it’s Catherine,” she said into the phone, three sets of eyes on her.
“I was wondering if anyone from the lab has been to see you in the past couple
months looking for records on any abandoned buildings.”

“Uh yeah,” came her answer.   “About a month and a half ago, one of your guys
came in here.   Said he was working on a case and needed some info.   He showed
me his ID.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Bryan something I think.  Jones maybe.  I’m not entirely sure,” he replied. 
“What’s going on?”

“I need you to fax me over all of the building plans he asked you for.  And I
need it yesterday,” she said quickly.

“Sure thing, Cath.   This doesn’t have anything to do with the Body Part
murders, does it?”

“The what?”

“I take it you haven’t seen this evenings papers yet,” he answered.  “Front
page.”

“Shit,” she said under her breath.   “Let’s just say you were face to face with
our murderer.”

“Oh God,” he breathed into the phone.   “I’m on your plans now,” he said and the
phone went dead.

“What?” Grissom asked when she hung up.

“Press just ran a front page story on the murders,” she answered. 

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Grissom sighed.   “Either our guy’s going to fade out
of existence or he’s going to go for the gold now.”

“I’d bet my money on the latter,” Nick said.

“Jones went to see Newsome about building plans.   He’s faxing them over as soon
as he finds them,” Catherine explained.   “Sara better get her ass in here
fast.”

********************

I could feel my heart riding up in my throat as I steered the car towards the
lab.  My foot was pressing down on the gas so hard I thought the pedal would
shoot right through the floor.  I determined I’d feel a whole lot better if
Catherine was standing right next to me.   I had convinced myself I could make
sure she was safe if I was close to her.  In reality, I was probably putting her
in more danger.  The light drizzle that had started when I left my apartment had
just turned into a full on downpour.  The wipers were scraping against the
windshield, making a slightly eerie sound.   And I was riding on back roads.  I
figured there’d be less traffic.

I was drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, my eyes shifting over to the
seat next to me where I had dropped the glossy 8x10s every now and then.  There
hadn’t been a car for at least ten miles and I could barely see five feet in
front of me there was so much water pouring down across the windshield.   I
heard a tiny pop and squinted my eyes, but still I didn’t notice anything. 
Until the car pulled to the right and I almost lost control of it, a distinct
thumping sound in sync with misguided rolling of rubber.  I leaned on the gas
and pulled over to the side of the road.  I remembered seeing that on tv once.  
Never hit the brakes when you’ve got a flat tire even though it’s instinct.  In
the rain I definitely would have spun out hard.

I rolled the window down, immediately being berated with the splashing of large
water droplets, and stuck my head out to address both tires.  I couldn’t make
out anything through the darkness and the typhoon that had started.   So I
reluctantly got out of the car and lifted my jacket collar up over my head.  The
left front tire was fine when I leaned a heavy booted foot against it.  
Unfortunately, the rear tire hadn’t been so lucky.   I leaned down to assess the
damage and felt slightly lightheaded.   There was a long wide gash staring back
at me.   And it was smooth.  The tire hadn’t been blown…someone had slashed it.

Getting up quickly and looking around, I noticed I was still all alone.  The
only sound was the beating of raindrops on the ground below my feet.   I knew
there was a spare in the trunk so I reached into the front seat and pulled the
lever.  I could barely hear the pop over the pounding of my heart.  When I got
to the trunk, I knew I was in trouble.   There was a big hunting knife sticking
out of the side of my spare tire.  I was stranded.   Basically in the middle of
nowhere.   In the pouring rain.

I didn’t want Catherine to leave the lab, but I desperately needed someone to
come pick me up before something really bad happened.  So I called the one
person I knew would bail me out without asking too many questions.   Greg picked
up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Greg, it’s me.”

“Good, you gotta get in here,” he said quickly.   “Heads are fucking spinning…”

“I know,” I cut him off.   “Listen, I have a fucking flat and I need you to come
and get me.   I’m on one of the back roads about ten minutes from the
interstate.   You know where I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah.   I know.  I’m on my way.”

“K, Hurry.  And be careful,” I said and then added quickly.   “Don’t let
Catherine leave the lab.”  

“Sara, wait…” I heard, but it was too late because the phone went dead in my
hand.  No more reception because of the storm.

I heard the distant buzz of a motor and a flash of light come up from around the
bend behind me.  Greg was fast, but not that fast.  I turned away from the light
and unclasped the hook on top of my gun.   I was hoping whoever it was either
wouldn’t see me or would pass without stopping, but it didn’t hurt to be safe.  
And before I knew it I heard the creaking of a car door opening.   When I turned
around, there was a shadow walking towards me.

To say I was scared would be an understatement.   If there had been a motorcycle
behind me I probably would have peed my pants.  But it was a car.  I could see
that.   I was slightly relieved at that fact.   I was even more relieved when
the shadow started gaining features and I thought I recognized them.

It was a young guy wearing one of those jackets that gas station attendants
wear.  He had small round glasses and a baseball hat pulled down tight over his
head to ward off the rain.  He was jogging towards me, rain splashing up from
under his feet.   When he was just a few steps away from me, I thought I could
remember his name.

“Hey, Sara,” he called as he approached.

“Bryan, right?” I answered, holding a hand above my eyes to shield away the
rain.   “You work in ballistics.”

“Trace,” he answered with a smile.   “But close enough.  You need some help?”

“Yeah, I got a flat.  Perfect timing,” I said as he crouched down to look at the
wheel in question.

“Looks pretty bad,” he said, standing.   He couldn’t have been more than
five-six and he smelled like gasoline and mints.  “You got a spare?”

“Yeah,” I replied, looking over his shoulder for Greg.   There was still no sign
of him.  “It’s been disabled,” I explained, shifting my eyes back to his and
beginning to feel uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said in a rather flat tone.   “I knew you’d rush right out to save
your precious Catherine so fast you wouldn’t even think to check the car.”   The
sparkle in his eyes was menacing.

I felt my blood turning to ice and that’s when I noticed it.  The light coming
from behind him wasn’t bright enough.  His car only had one working headlight. 
One headlight.  Fuck.

I was determining whether or not I should say fuck it and go for my gun, but I
could see him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.  And then I had a
.38 Special aimed at my head.

“I know what you’re thinking and don’t do it,” he instructed me.  “If you try
anything, anything at all, I’ll shoot you right here.  Then I’ll go find
Catherine and her little girl and make what I did to those people look like a
walk in the park.  There won’t be enough of them left to fill a Dixie cup.  You
understand?”

I nodded.

“Now, remove your jacket, take your gun out, drop the clip and pop the round out
of the chamber.   And do it slowly.”

I took off my jacket, one arm at a time as slow as I could.  The slower I went
the more likely it was that Greg would show up and maybe scare this fucker.   I
tossed it through the open window and onto the front seat.   Then I did the rest
that he had instructed me.   I lifted my gun out of the holster slowly, all the
while staring at the barrel pointed between my eyes, released the clip sending
it to the ground and kicking it towards the undercarriage of the car.   Then I
pulled back the semi-automatic hammer, expelling the round stuck in the chamber.

“Open the back door.  Put the gun, your cell phone, and your pager on the seat
and then close it again,” he instructed and I complied.

“Reach into the front seat, without opening the door, and remove your keys from
the ignition.  Drop them on the backseat.”

I leaned in the front seat and grabbed the keys out of the ignition.  I caught
the glimpse of something shiny sticking out of the pocket of my leather jacket. 
Catherine’s key ring.   I quickly grabbed the extra set of keys from the pocket
and held them flat against the palm of my hand.  I hoped he wouldn’t notice
them.  When I dropped my set of keys on the back seat, I quickly slid
Catherine’s into the left knee pocket of my cargo pants.  I was thankful that
I’d worn them.  And more thankful that he hadn’t noticed anything at all.

“Close the door and walk to the driver’s side,” he said, motioning to the car
behind him.

“Where are we going?” I asked, holding both hands out to the side as I walked
past him.

“Someplace where we’ll have all the time in the world,” he answered with a
smile.

********************

While I drove, Bryan held the revolver in his lap and pointed towards my
midsection.   I was instructed to have both hands on the wheel and it felt
strange.   I always drove with one hand.  I had one thought running through my
mind, that when he killed me all of it would finally end.  Regardless of whether
or not they caught him, I was almost positive he wouldn’t kill anybody else.  I
was the grand prize and he had me under his control now…or so he thought.

He was just sitting there staring at me, occasionally telling me where to turn. 
It was creepy and uncomfortable.  But then again, so was the fact that I was
being abducted by a serial killer who was known for cutting his victims up into
a half dozen pieces.   The car smelled like three day old socks and death.  
Still I wasn’t all that eager to get out of it.

“So, Bryan,” I said, itching to get him talking.   “Is that your real name?”

“Don’t talk unless I tell you to,” he commanded.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a little small talk,” I said, shifting my hands
on the wheel.  “I mean, I’ll be dead soon, right?  So why not humor me a little
while I’m still breathing?”   That made him smile a little.   It was probably
the thought of me dead.

“Yes, Bryan is my real name,” he said.  He looked and sounded just like a normal
guy.  They always do.

“And you realized you were a fucking psycho when?” I asked calmly, shrugging my
shoulder as I drove.   He laughed.  A hearty, throat scratching mental
institution worthy chuckle.

“Around the same time you killed my mother,” he answered, cocking the hammer of
the revolver and shoving it into my right side so hard I flinched.  He was
getting pissed.   Good.  Emotions make people sloppy.

“I think I’d remember if I killed someone, Bryan,” I stated, gritting my teeth
as he pushed the barrel forward further.

“You didn’t give a second though to my sister,” he said angrily.  “I don’t
expect you to remember either of them.  I don’t expect you to acknowledge the
pain you’ve caused my family.”

Okay, what the fuck was this crazy bastard rattling on about?  His mother and
sister and me somehow killing at least one of them.   At least we were getting
somewhere productive.   I was about to find out the answer to the sixty-four
thousand dollar question: why me?  But so far little of it was making sense. 
And by the way he was clenching and unclenching his free hand, I was pretty sure
he wasn’t going to say much else.  He was losing control and he knew it.  I had
to make a move soon or he might actually shoot me.   I started rolling down the
window with my left hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?!?” he yelled and raised the gun back to the side
of my head.

“I’m getting really nauseous,” I explained in a calm voice.  “I need air or I’m
going to puke.”

He stared at me, nostrils flaring.   But as I continued to roll the window down,
he didn’t say anything and he didn’t shoot me so I didn’t stop.

“That’s enough,” he said as it reached about halfway down.  It wasn’t as much
room as I wanted, but it would have to do.  He dropped the gun back down to my
side.

“So, you used to live in San Francisco , Bryan?   With your mother and sister?”
I asked.   He was starting to twitch every thirty seconds or so.   I was pushing
him.

“Shut up,” he said in a low voice.

“You didn’t really want to hurt those people, did you Bryan?” I said, almost
sympathetically.

“I didn’t hurt them,” he said matter-of-factly.   “You did.”

“Why’d you cut them up?”

“Easy,” he answered and I could see him biting at his lower lip so hard he was
drawing blood.  “I tore them apart just like you tore me apart.”

“What was your sister’s name?” I continued, unrelenting.

“Listen, just shut the fuck up okay?!?” he demanded.   “We’re almost there. 
You’ll understand soon enough,” he said and shut his eyes, bringing his hands up
to the sides of his head and moving violently, banging his right elbow against
the window.  He was thinking of his sister.  He was deteriorating.   I took that
as my opportunity.

I slammed on the breaks with both feet as hard as I possibly could.  The
slickness of the road only aided in helping the tires screech against the
pavement, making long skid marks.  Bryan was flung backwards against the door,
both arms out to brace himself and trying to regain balance.   I reached down
into my pocket and threw Catherine’s keys out the window and into the middle of
the street.  I was sure he didn’t see me do it.

When the car finally stopped, I had a hand reaching for the seatbelt.  But I was
too late.   Bryan had his gun leveled at my head again and a really pissed off
look on his face.   He moved forward so fast, he was almost blurry.

“That was really fucking stupid, Sara,” he said in a dangerous tone.  I saw the
butt of the gun coming at my face and then everything went black.

********************

Greg was flying down the road near the interstate at a dangerous speed.  The
rain banging on his windshield was more like a hail storm than anything else, it
was so dense.  Catherine was gripping the hand rest on the door next to her. 
After Greg had bumped into her on the way out of the lab, she had all but put a
gun to his head insisting she go with him.   He had learned long ago not to fuck
with Catherine when she was mad.

When the reached Sara’s car, they were confused to find none of the lights were
on.  And it didn’t look like anyone was sitting in it or anywhere around it.  
Catherine felt the bottom of her stomach drop out.   Before Greg could even stop
the car, she already had one leg out.

She approached the car with her gun drawn in both hands, instructing Greg to
stay a few yards behind her.   She circled the vehicle and felt her heart
beating too fast as she realized no one was there.  All of Sara’s things were
lying on the backseat.  She had no gun, no phone, no keys.   Nothing.   And when
her eyes fell on the pictures in the front seat, Catherine was sure she wasn’t
breathing anymore.  It was a trap.  She hadn’t been the target at all.

Greg had examined the tire and had a bad feeling.   It looked like it was
slashed with a very sharp knife.   He popped the trunk just as Catherine
wandered over to his side.   Greg swallowed hard when he saw the knife sitting
in the middle of the punctured spare and shut the trunk again as Catherine
cursed and turned away from him, raising a hand to her face in frustration.

“What do we do?” Greg asked in a frightened voice.

Catherine had no time to answer because her cell phone started ringing loudly. 
She grabbed it and slid her gun back into the holster at her hip.

“Yeah.”

“We got the building plans from Newsome,” Grissom said on the other end of the
line.  “We matched up four of the locations of the murders and there’s only one
set of plans left.  It’s not far from where you are now,” he explained.

“Give me an address, Grissom,” she demanded, hearing the line crackle in her
ear.  Reception was going fast.

“Just go straight up the drag you’re on now.   Then turn right at the
crossroads,” he instructed.   “You can’t miss it.  It’s an abandoned medical
warehouse.  I think there’s still an ambulance port built onto the side.   We’ll
meet you there.”

Catherine motioned to Greg and they scrambled back to the car.  About two miles
down the road after they had turned right, Catherine saw dark black skid marks
glowing through the rain.  She also thought she could see something shining
against Greg’s headlights in the middle of the road near the double yellow
lines.

“Stop the car,” she instructed, sitting forward with one hand on the door
handle.  Greg hit the breaks and skidded to a stop.

Catherine ran into the middle of the road and knelt down to retrieve the
keychain.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  They were on the right
track.  And Sara was leaving her clues.  She was still alive.

********************

When I woke up, I was sitting on a cement floor with my hands duct taped
together behind my back.   My head was throbbing and I could feel the stiffness
of blood caked up near my right eye.  Plus I couldn’t get it open all the way
because it was swelling.   Great.   I guess I hadn’t had the crap beaten out of
me enough in the last six months.  I managed to sit up before Bryan emerged from
a dark corner carrying something.  I hoped it wasn’t a chainsaw.

He placed a one liter bottle of Poland Springs and something that looked like a
prescription drug bottle down next me.   Then he held the gun to the back of my
head while he cut my hands free and proceeded to tape them back together in
front of me.   He moved backward, pulling over a folding chair and sitting down
a few feet in front of me.

“What?  No chainsaw?” I managed through the crackling of dryness in my throat.

“Nah,” he said shaking his head.   “You get to die like my sister did.   Rachel
Jones,” he finally explained.   “I don’t expect you to remember her.   I think
it was your second or third case…long time ago, right?” he said arrogantly.

“Actually, it was my fourth,” I said, surprising him.   I can never seem to
forget the names.   If Bryan had let me in on his last name a little earlier,
I’m sure things might have gone down a little differently.  “March 14, 1995,
right?” I commented, everything suddenly sliding into place.  “Your sister
committed suicide.”

“No she didn’t,” he yelled, standing and kicking the chair out from underneath
him.

“Yes, she did,” I demanded.   “She swallowed ninety sleeping pills.   I watched
the autopsy myself.”  This was even worse than I thought.  Five people were dead
because some poor girl killed herself and Bryan Jones was beyond crazy.  He was
on a revenge mission for something that was no one’s fault.

“Don’t pretend like you remember her,” he spat at me.   “If you had taken five
minutes to talk to me.   To talk to my mother.   Then you’d have realized that
Rachel could never do that to herself,” he continued, walking in a small circle
and waving his gun at me.   “But you were too busy, too self absorbed.   So you
just signed off on her without finding out what really happened.”

“I’m not pretending, Bryan ,” I explained, softening my eyes as much as I could.
  I did have sympathy for his loss, but I couldn’t get the images of the five
people laying in pieces on the floor.  “Your mother’s name was Alice.   She made
me tea with honey,” I remembered.   “We talked for almost an hour.”

“She’s dead,” he screamed at me and grabbed at the sides of his head.  “You
killed my mother when you said my sister’s death was a suicide.   And I found
her.  I found her,” he repeated.  “There was so much blood I couldn’t even
recognize her.”

“I’m sorry, Bryan ,” I said softly.

“No,” he yelled and pointed the gun at me.   “Shut up…”

“You don’t have to do this, Bryan ,” I pleaded.  “You can stop all the killing
right now.  Right here.  Your mother wouldn’t want this.  She loved you.   I
remember.”

“Fuck,” he said and turned to kick the chair hard.   It skittered across the
floor with a screech.   “You don’t know what it was like for me.   My family is
gone.  There’s no one left,” he rambled and started pacing.   “You have to die. 
It’s the only way.  You have to pay for what you’ve done.  You have to suffer.  
I promised them I’d make you suffer.”

“That’s what all this is for?” I asked.   “To make me suffer?   This isn’t even
about me,” I said, anger rising in my chest.   “Anyone could have been on call
the night your sister died and they all would have come back with the same
conclusion.   You want to share your pain with me by killing innocent people?!? 
Well, fuck you.  This isn’t about anybody but you, you selfish fuck.” 

Fuck this shit.  I was tired of being scared.  I was just tired.  I hadn’t slept
in days and my nerves were shot to all hell.  I didn’t care what else he said,
none of this was my fault.  And I was not going to give him the satisfaction of
shouldering half the blame.   By the way he was coming at me, I was sure he was
about to fall off the edge.  Good.   Because I was regaining my balance.   All
the balls were back in the air.   I was pulling the strings.

“You have the blood of six people on your hands,” he shot at me.  “You’re as
much to blame for them dying as I am.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, shaking my head.   “That was you, Bryan .  All you.   You
killed those people.   They have families too.  Sisters.  Mothers.  Children…”

“Take the fucking pills,” he demanded, raising the gun in front of my eyes and
stepping so close the saliva spraying from the corners of his mouth was falling
all around me.

“Brenda Calloway is alive,” I continued like I hadn’t heard him.  “Even if you
kill me, she’s going to ID you and they’re going to put you away for a long
time.   You’re fucked, Bryan .”

“Take the fucking pills now,” he screamed, pressing the barrel of the gun
tightly against my forehead.   I stared up into his eyes.  There was so much
pain there it was staggering.   Sweat was pouring down his face and his hand was
shaking.

“No,” I said, shaking my head.   “Go ahead and shoot me, you bastard. I’m not
playing your fucking game anymore.”

I closed my eyes, but kept my head raised high.   If I was going to die so be
it, but I sure as fuck wasn’t going out on his terms.  I’m not a religious
person, but at that moment I prayed.  I prayed that Catherine would be alright. 
That she’d know how much I loved her…how much she had changed my life.   I tried
to get my feet under me, but it was no use.   I didn’t have the leverage so I
took a deep breath and tried to remember her face…it was burned into my memory,
crystallized like permanent ink.  I focused on those blue eyes that were the key
to everything that had potential in me as I heard the hammer cocking just inches
away from my face.  Goodbye, Catherine.

The first shot startled me.   Mostly because I hadn’t felt anything.   Maybe
that’s what dying is like…the absence of pain.   The second shot made my eyes
fly open to see Bryan Jones falling to his knees.  The next two shots sent blood
spatter flying across my face and clothes and Bryan Jones falling into me with
terror in his eyes.  Blood spread across the front of his shirt like magic, four
bullet wounds staring back at me…almost smiling.  I felt a sharp pain in my left
arm.  One of the bullets had shot right through him and grazed my bicep.   It
almost felt good.

“Thank you,” Bryan mumbled through the blood pouring out of his mouth as he fell
to his side in front of me and stopped breathing.  I let go of a ragged breath.

I saw Catherine behind a smoking gun about thirty feet away.  I met her eyes and
tried to smile, but it hurt too much.  Greg came flying in the door behind her. 
So much for doing what I say, right?   I could have kissed him, but I had other
things on my mind.   Like cutting the tape off my wrists and never leaving
Catherine’s side ever again.  She must have read my mind because she lowered her
gun and walked quickly over to me.   She kicked the .38 out of Bryan Jones’
reach just in case.  

She pulled the Swiss Army keychain I had left for her out of her pocket and
flipped out the knife extension.   I knew one day it would come in handy.   She
smiled at me as she sawed through the tape and before I knew it I had my arms
around her.  She held me so tightly I thought I could feel my ribs cracking, but
I didn’t mind.   We stayed that way for a long time, only shifting to press our
lips together.  To wipe the tears from Catherine’s eyes.  I felt like I could
breathe again.  It was a good feeling.

I let her help me to my feet and threw an arm around her shoulders for support. 
I was feeling a little battered and bruised, but I was alive.   I turned my head
back for a moment to look at Bryan Jones lying lifeless on the floor and I was
almost disappointed.   When it was all over, Bryan Jones wasn’t a monster.   He
wasn’t the beast we’d all wanted him to be.   He was just a kid who couldn’t
deal with his pain.   More than anything, it was just sad.   A waste of life.

Catherine tugged at my side, bringing me back to reality.   I tightened my grip
on her and pulled her closer to me.   I kissed the top of her head and threaded
my fingers through hers where her hand was curled at my waist.  We really were a
perfect fit.  When I looked up, I saw four guys standing there looking at us.  
Three of them were smiling.  Nick had his arm around Greg, who was crying.  
Dysfunctional as we were, they were my family.   Without them, there’s no doubt
I’d have been dead by now.   I thanked them with my eyes and a nod of my
throbbing head.   Words weren’t necessary and at this stage would only fall
short.

Catherine held her gun out to Grissom on the way by and he quickly dropped it
into an evidence bag.   I had the sudden thought that our jobs would never
really be done.   As sure as I was that day would turn into night, I was sure
that there would never be a shortage of crime scenes.   We were bound to come
across a Bryan Jones once and again.   It didn’t make much sense, but not many
things in my life did.  

“Let’s go home,” Catherine said with a brilliant smile as she squeezed my
fingers.  “You look like shit.”  That about summed it all up.  It was over.  It
would linger in our minds for a long while, but for that split second of time,
it was finally over.

********************

Grissom was threatening to put me on leave, but backed off when I told him he
could go fuck himself sideways.   We met halfway and settled on my prompt
attendance with the department shrink at least once a week for two months, which
was actually a good idea since I was still having nightmares…some when I was
awake.   And it was a small price to pay in return for being able to stay in the
field.

With the evidence stacked high against Bryan Jones and the excellent analysis of
the last crime scene, Catherine was cleared of any wrongdoing and the Mayor
wanted to give her a medal for saving my ass.   She declined, saying it was a
group effort and leaving it at that.

After a couple days off spent recuperating from my most recent wounds, I was
back at the lab and on a mission.   I peeled around the corner of the hallway
like there were rockets strapped to my shoes and almost ran into the DNA lab.  
Greg was throwing M&Ms in the air and attempting to catch them in his mouth.  I
slammed two hands on his desk and glared at him.  He smiled back at me, popping
more chocolate into his mouth and chewing like a cow.

“You look all better,” he commented with a grin.   “Back into hottie territory
even.”

“Where are the pictures, Greg?” I asked, burning my eyes into his.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I just went down to evidence to steal them back, but it seems someone already
beat me to them,” I explained.

“Stealing evidence is a felony, you know,” he teased, dumping the rest of the
bag of candy in his mouth and tossing it into the trash.

“You might want to remember that next time, John Holmes,” I said, leaning in
close to him.   “That was clever, really.  And major wishful thinking on your
part, don’t you think?” I commented on the name he had used on the sign-in sheet
of the evidence log.

“How would you know?” he said, furrowing his brow in anger and confusion.

“It’s amazing what drunk people do when they black out,” I said, raising an
eyebrow.   “Plus, you talk in your sleep.  I’m sure you wouldn’t want a certain
someone to know how dirty your dreams can get,” I added with a smile.

Greg swallowed hard and tossed two pictures on the table between us.  I snagged
them quickly and folded them in half.  No one needed to see the particulars of
my bedroom practices.   And Catherine told me if I didn’t get them she’d never
sleep with me again.

“All of them, Greg,” I warned and he reluctantly tossed a couple more at me.

“You know how much I could have sold those for,” he said in disappointment.  “I
could have started my own website.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what you were going to do with them,” I laughed
and walked towards the door.   “I’ll tell Nick you said hi,” I added over my
shoulder with a wink.

I could almost swear Greg turned so white I could see through him.  My pager
went off.   It was Grissom.  I saw Warrick cross the hall in the distance. 
Catherine wandered up next to me and handed me a steaming cup of coffee.  
Everything was back to normal…well as normal as it got around here.   It was a
good feeling.

END.

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