Title: New Messiah

By: fawkes21

Pairing: gen

Rating: Pg-13

Author's Note: This is a lot different from the last story I wrote. I am using this story as an opportunity to play around with language a little more. It's going to be darker and I hope that no one is offended by the content. All I ask is that you trust me enough to keep reading this.

Summary: A devastating crime leaves the CSI's emotionally drained - - and leaves one vulnerable.

 

***

Prologue

Through the glass doors marked "Intensive Care Unit", there is a world unlike any other. Here, the lights burn all night long. It is a world where no one ever sleeps. The pain and suffering that inhabit this unit are unbearable. Not only for the patients, but for their families, the doctors and the nurses as well. The ache of humanity hangs in the air, smothering all those who venture through the glass door. The doors swing forth like the gates of hell. However, it is not quite hell; rather it is somewhat of a purgatory. Bodies become trapped here and are forced to bear the burden of suffering. Some will walk out of here. Others will not.

In this particular ICU, the sounds, sights and smells seem more acute to those who leave civilization behind and make the leap into this terrifying environment. The fluorescent overhead lights hum incessantly, like and eerie orchestra that plays non-stop. It serves as a constant reminder that this is not a dream; this is a stark reality. Everywhere you look there is the very worst of human suffering. There is a boy, no more than eight years old, who clings to life thanks to a respirator that breathes for him. He was struck by a car while crossing the street. The whiteness of his face is almost hypnotic – one is entranced by it, wondering if there is any blood still circulating through his veins. There is a young woman who nearly burned to death when her backyard barbeque exploded. From ten feet away the acrid smell of incinerated flesh permeates the air. Her burns are severe – though to someone who is so desensitized by the images on the movie screens it looks like a spectacular makeup job. But this is real life, not some movie set.

The ICU smells like no other part of the hospital. It is a mix of disinfectant and antibiotics, but there is something more than that. It smells like death. It carries with it the odour of hopelessness – like those who go in may never come out. The smell is overwhelming at first but the more time that one spends here, the less you notice it. The smell simply becomes a normal part of this hyper-sanitized world, like the beeps from the heart monitors, or the unconscious moans from the occupants of the many beds.

The doctors are not gods. They are mere mortals who have been blessed with the gift of healing. But they are not infallible. Sometimes they fail, despite their best efforts. The life of an ICU doctor is the most difficult. They roam the aisles of the ill and try to offer something to ease the pain here, or maybe a reassuring smile there. They are the blessed protectors in this fragile world, but even the protectors need to be protected sometimes. Running away is not an option. Instead, they do their best to lighten the situations. The doctor's joke amongst themselves, not because they find all of this funny, but rather because they don't find it funny at all. ICU doctors are like the people who laugh at funerals. They have to find humour in the darkest situations or they will go insane with grief for these victims.

There is a crushing sense of solitude within these walls. No matter how many people are around, no matter how similar their situation is to yours, you feel alone. It makes the ICU feel almost like a ghost town at times. The rare silences are deafening. It is in these moments that you find yourself alone with your thoughts. The isolation of the mind is perhaps the most terrifying thing in the world, especially when the mind is consumed by fears and doubts. It is in these moments that one has a revelation about the predictability of death. To someone removed from the situation, death is impending when the breathing gets harder and the heart beats slower. Inside the ICU however, the secret of death is in their eyes. The eyes are a reflection of their pain, their fear, their helplessness and their desperation. The first sign of impending death is when the light goes out of their eyes. When the eyes become dull and desolate you know that the fight is almost over. Soon, the shadow of death will wash over them. For some it will be a relief, for they will finally be released from their prison of suffering. For others the last moments of life will be filled with terror. The fear will seize them because we always fear what we don't know – and death is something intangible, the emptiest concept to the human mind.

It is in this ICU that the dead come back to life. Medication, respirators and defibrillators are all a part of life down here. It is in this ICU that people praise God when a loved one is saved, and curse Him when someone dies.

It is here that Nick Stokes has a tenuous grasp on life.

***

3 days earlier…

The crime lab was its usual hubbub of activity on the Tuesday morning where our story starts. Warrick and Sara were working a hit and run case, Catherine and Nick were investigating a gang related shooting and Grissom was giving Ecklie hell for over working Greg in the lab. There was certainly nothing out of the ordinary, save for Grissom's sudden transformation into Greg's biggest supporter. There was nothing that suggested to any of them that they were being prepared for a test. They were all about to be pushed to the very limits of their emotional capacity. They were going to travel down a road that no one should ever have to go down. And it was likely that one of them wasn't going to make it back alive.

The wheel of fate was set into motion by a phone call.

"Grissom? It's Brass. Listen, I need you and your guys out here ASAP. We just found human remains about 50 miles east of Vegas. This is bad Gil. Really bad…" Brass trailed off ass his eyes burned the image before him into the very core of his being.

"Jim?" Grissom's voice pulled his mind back to the moment. "What is it? How many victims? Give me something that I can tell the team."

"Two victims, just the bones. Birds must have picked them clean; there's not a piece of flesh anywhere. It's horrible. It looks…well it looks ritualistic"

Grissom and the team wordlessly made their way to the spot that Brass had called them to. They were on the outskirts of nowhere; at the crossroads of desolation and abandonment. From the highway it was impossible to tell that there was anything amiss. The scene had been discovered by sheer chance. A trucker had pulled over and climbed out in order to consult his map. The wind had taken the map and carried it across the dusty nothingness before laying it to rest on what was now their crime scene. Strange circumstances, but that is all life really is anyways. A set of interlinked circumstances that work in conjunction with one another in order to make a story. The crime scene should have stayed hidden, but nature has a funny way of revealing to us what would have otherwise remained unknown. Nature shares her secrets only when she needs to, but when she does reveal them they are worth making note of.

This wind, which had been the catalyst for this eerie discovery, was silent now. It held its breath as the band of investigators made their way towards the newly christened burial ground. As they walked past, the crowd of people parted. It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. Except here it was not Moses leading the Israelites out of danger, but rather Grissom leading his investigators into it.

When they reached the victims not one of them was prepared for the acute sense of horror that would resonate through every fibre of their bodies. Bones were arranged on the ground, remarkably intact. Whatever body parts were present (there were still many parts unaccounted for, most notably the entire torso of the victim on the right) were placed very carefully. The arms were outstretched towards the heavens, making a crude crucifixion. More disturbing were the skulls which where turned away from their bodies. On the ground, written in such a way that they encircled the bodies were the words: I AM THE NEW MESSIAH. The words were scrawled in what looked horribly like….

"Blood" whispered Nick breaking the interminably long silence. Grissom looked at him sharply as though Nick had just sworn in church. Nick recoiled from the glare as though he had been slapped. It is uncharacteristic for Grissom to be so short tempered, but this crime scene feels different somehow. It carries with it the sense that even breathing on it will disrupt the souls that have been purged from the bodies. It is increasingly difficult to dissociate the emotional from the analytical. Even for Grissom. He walked around the crime scene, forcing himself to look at it with the trained eye of a scientist. As he looks at the skeletal remains, he finally sees the crime scene for the first time as a CSI. What he sees makes him sicker by the second. He looked away, but could not erase the images or the facts. He looked up at the team and in a sombre, morose voice that didn't suit him, said:

"These are the bodies of children"

***

Children.

The life blood of the world, the innocence in a society of corruption, the future of humanity. Children are the unbiased, the non-judgmental, and the honest. Unlike adults, children don't try to complicate matters. Children treat every day like it's a dream come true.

The dream was over for these children. As the CSI's started examining the scene, each was reflecting on the horror of this crime. They were overwhelmed by emotions, ranging from heartache (Catherine) to rage (Warrick). It affected them differently, yet very much the same. They all felt a sense of outrage that these innocent lives had been torn from their bodies. They felt disturbed that someone would place the bodies in such a ritualistic manner. They felt sorrow for the loss of youth.

But a crime scene is not the place to allow your emotions to guide your actions. They had a job to do, and set about doing it. Grissom and Sara began examining the bones more closely, Catherine was photographing the scene and Warrick and Nick explored the surrounding area.

"You find anything?" Warrick called to Nick after searching for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes.

"Yeah, dirt" came the reply.

"Very funny" muttered Warrick as he continued to examine the ground. There was nothing. Any physical evidence had either blown away with the changing winds or was buried beneath layers of dirt. It was like trying to find a needle in the proverbial haystack, except this haystack stretched across miles of desert.

As Warrick and Nick tried to make sense out of the dirt, Catherine continued to photograph the victims. With each snap of the lens she felt more like a voyeur. This crime scene felt intensely private and photographing it seemed wrong somehow. It was like taking pictures in Church – you're not supposed to. You should just be observing what is in front of you. But crimes scenes are not cathedrals and the only crucifix here was the very unholy one that the remains of the victims formed. Catherine continued to photograph the evidence, all the while thinking about Lindsey. She said a silent prayer of thanks that her daughter was safely in school right now. How unbearable it must be she thought, for the parents of these children. They were trapped in every parent's nightmare of not knowing where their children were. Somewhere, there had to be parents praying for the safe return of their children. And with the discovery of the crime scene, all those hopes were dashed.

"I've got nothing!" Sara leaned back and grasped her head in frustration. "I can't find anything that will give us an idea of what happened. We've got no marks on the bones, no skin samples, not even the presence of any insects! What are we going to do?"

Grissom looked at her. It wasn't unusual for Sara to feel passionately about a case but right now she seemed hopeless. She looked like she was ready to throw down her gloves, walk away and never look back. Grissom tried to find words that would give her back the hope that she had lost when she walked into the crimes scene.

"Sara, just because we can't find anything doesn't mean that there is nothing to be found. We may not be able to see thing with the naked eye, but we're scientists – we have magnifying eyes that can see for us."

She smiled weakly at him. "Bring this stuff back to the lab?"

He smiled back, glad to see that a bit of the fire had returned to her eyes. "As soon as Catherine is photographing we can gather up our evidence."

Catherine overheard and responded. "I'm done. And I think Warrick and Nick are too. Anything we need to know is on those bodies. It sure isn't here."

The team watched as the bones were carefully gathered. They had already gotten samples of the blood. The only thing that remained was for them to leave. Yet none of them moved. They were frozen in place, unable to tear themselves away. They felt an odd compulsion to stay, to pay last respects to the innocent. The ground they now stood on was tainted. Not by the blood which would fade with time, but by something much more than that. The ground was tainted with evil, which spread across everything that the sun touched. The evil could not be erased. The evil could not be contained.

The evil could not be stopped.

***

The mood back at headquarters was very grim indeed. News of the grisly discovery had spread like wildfire and everyone was experiencing some type of reaction. Some stood around in groups speaking in hushed tones normally reserved for Church. They speculated about who would do such a thing to children and wondered what it all meant. Others held pictures of their own children in their hands, feeling guilty because they were feeling relieved that it wasn't their child. Still others tried to pretend that nothing had changed. They went through the motions of their job knowing all the while that their dreams would be haunted that night.

Conrad Ecklie didn't fall into any of those groups. He talked to no one about it because he hated gossip. He had no children of his own and therefore no picture to clasp close to his heart. He didn't ignore it, because he was a forensic scientist and he made his living out of exploring what others would push aside. No, Ecklie had not done any of these things. But he did do something.

He cried.

He would have died if anyone had seen him, if anyone knew. He had taken one look at those photos, at the tiny bodies left all alone in the middle of nowhere, and something inside of him snapped. The tough exterior and the abrasive personality had evaporated in that instant. A sense of grief had washed over him and he felt tears burn his eyes. He had muttered something about needing to make a phone call before escaping to the bathroom. There he sheltered himself within the confines of the cubicle and let the tears come.

Once finished, he emerged, washed his face and prayed that no one from the night shift would know. He couldn't stand it if they knew. They would realize that he was a fraud; that behind the mask of stone was a real, live person who had emotions. They could never know the truth. Being able to strike even a bit of fear into their hearts was all that he had. They could never know that he had cried.

Ecklie had cried. Greg saw it. He strongly suspected that he was the only one who had caught a glimpse of the real Ecklie; the one that Ecklie himself would deny existed. Greg decided to keep this newfound information to himself. So the photos affected Ecklie. So what? If it doesn't affect you then you are not human. Greg's personal response to the discovery was one of revulsion. He wanted nothing to do with the bones, with the blood, with any of it. Yet he had no choice. He nodded dully when Grissom asked him to run blood tests on the sample taken from the scene, as well as check the bones for skin or tissue. He could barely bring himself to touch the bones, let alone look at them up close through a microscope. He was nauseated by the mere thought of running tests. It all seemed so wrong. He couldn't explain it, but it felt like nothing good was going to come from this investigation. They weren't going to like anything they found, especially if it told them the identities of their young victims. To name a victim made it more real. There could be no more pretending that this was just some horrible nightmare from which you would awake in a cold sweat. A name is an identity. An identity is a person. A person is a life. In this case, it would be nothing more then a life that had been snuffed out.

The beeping of the machine pulled Greg out of his thoughts and back into the lab. He looked at the printout and then at Grissom's expectant face. He shook his head.

"Sorry boss. There isn't a trace of skin, or tissue, or….." he trailed off as a light bulb went off inside his head.

"What is it Greg?"

"I've just thought of something. Maybe the reason we can't find anything on the bones….maybe it's because they were boiled before they were placed at the scene. I mean, that's how we get rid of any skin and tissue." Greg swallowed. It wasn't an impossible theory. It was disturbing, but certainly not impossible. Grissom pondered this for a moment, then looked down at the file in his hands. He sighed.

"I think you're right Greg. The coroner estimates that they've been dead a couple of months, but it's hard to pinpoint without the presence of tissue or insects. But it is possible that whoever killed them let the bodies decompose, then boiled the bones."

"That's sick!" Greg spat out. He was about to talk more about how sick it was when a second light bulb came on next to the first.

"Did you say 'they've been dead'? Are you telling me that they died together?"

Grissom nodded. He couldn't speak. He didn't need to. The magnitude of this information hung in the air, as thick and heavy as cigar smoke. The children had died together. Whoever did this had taken them both. Greg couldn't help but think that at least they didn't have to die alone.

"Dental records came back" Nick's voice broke the thunderous silence.

"Who were they?" The words escaped Greg's mouth as barely more than a whisper. The question was filled with sadness and dread. They would finally know who these children were. Their identities would be returned to them. There could be no more hiding behind the blissful ignorance.

Nick's face paled as his eyes read the names for the first time. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Damn, why had his vocal cords chosen this moment to stop working? He tried again, and with a shaky voice began to read.

"Their names are Cory and Dale…" His voice failed him for a second time. His eyes met Grissom's and he found the fortitude to read once more.

"Their names are Cory and Dale Hubert. They were brothers."

***

Pandarus Point – Pop. 102

The sun seems to permanently hang low on the horizon here. Out here, the glow of the sun does not bring comfort. Here, it is cold and unfriendly. It seems out of place somehow, almost like it is mocking those who live here. It is almost better at night. At least under the cover of darkness the barren loneliness of the surroundings is not so stark. At night it is easier to imagine that this is a town like any other. At night, the demons sleep.

But it is daylight now. The sun illuminates the dust that billows across the naked desert landscape. This dust is thick and choking. It burrows itself in your hair, your eyes and your mouth. This grainy dust is metaphorical for the secrets this place holds. The secrets, like the dust, are oppressive to all that are touched by it. Secrets trapped themselves inside of you and you can never rid yourself of it.

Some people would call this a shanty town. A more accurate description would be ghost town. There are people who live here, yes, but they are not really alive. They walk through life without seeing that there is so much more for them. They have that lost, empty look that suggests that while their body may be sustaining life, their souls have long since departed. The people do not lament their fate; but they do not try to change it either. They simply accept this life. If you ever came to visit, the first thing you would want to do is leave. There is something about this place. Something sinister, something not of this world. The dead roam the streets of this town. Yet there is something far worse than the deadened look of the inhabitants. The pervading sense of evil is common place here. The town folk have felt it for years. It has been waiting in the dark and sharpening its teeth. When it burst forth several months ago, everyone knew. They couldn't see it, and they didn't know exactly what the evil was capable of. But they knew it was there. And they knew that their lives could never be the same again.

It is in this town that Rachel Hubert sits alone in her house.

CSI Headquarters

"Have you had any luck trying to contact any family members?" Catherine asked. Her heart felt like it might break in two for the family of these children. To lose one child was devastating; to lose both was unbearable.

"That's the strange thing" said Sara as she thumbed through the file. "We got the number–which by the way, is out of service- from the dentist, but he said that he had no idea that the children were ever missing. And he just saw the mother three weeks ago".

Warrick shrugged. "That's not really strange Sara. I mean maybe she just couldn't talk about it. It must have been incredibly difficult on her to have both sons missing. She probably just decided not to say anything".

"Well, see that's what I thought" Sara explained "But when we went through Missing Persons we found no record that she ever reported the disappearance."

Nick stared at her. "That makes no sense. As soon as your kids go missing, you would be on the phone with the authorities."

Catherine chimed in. "Any parent would be begging them to do anything they could to find their kids. I mean, if Lindsey ever…" She couldn't bring herself to continue down that train of thought, but the team knew exactly what she meant. Parents would not sit idly by while their children went unaccounted for, especially for a couple of months. What was going on here?

Warrick had a sudden thought. "What if the reason she didn't report it was that someone was threatening her? Maybe someone was holding them for ransom, and told her that if she called the cops they would kill her kids."

Sara shook her head. "I don't think so. This woman lives in a town of, like, a hundred people. It consists of some dirt and a couple of cows. It is a really poor town. This woman had no money, and I don't think that kidnappers would go through a place like that when looking for victims."

Warrick was undeterred. "Maybe it wasn't ransom. Maybe it was a jealous ex-boyfriend. We all know what people are capable of when they've been scorned. Maybe he decided to teach her a lesson, and warned her not to call the cops."

"That's a lot of 'maybe's' " said Catherine skeptically.

"Right now those maybe's are all we've got" Grissom spoke for the first time. "I think that's a plausible explanation, and certainly one worth investigating further. If Warrick is right, and it was some ex-boyfriend, then I am betting he took the kids from their own backyard. Which means that there has to be some physical evidence. Warrick, Nick and I will head out to –where did you say she lived?"

"I didn't, but it's called Pandarus Point" Sara replied.

"Thank you. We'll head out to Pandarus Point and see if we can get any information from the mother, and hopefully find some evidence. Sara, Catherine, I want you to stay here and try and figure out what the words 'I AM THE NEW MESSIAH' mean. That part still doesn't make sense to me. Everyone got that?"

The team nodded and separated. As the guys were leaving, Nick turned and called back to Catherine and Sara in an attempt to lighten the mood, just for a moment. "Work hard ladies! Try not to be too jealous about us enjoying a little sunlight while you're cooped up in here." Sara just glared at him. Neither woman responded. If either of them had been blessed with the ability to see into the future, they would have never let him walk out that door without telling him how much they both cared about him.

Pandarus Point

The drive up took up the better part of an hour. Brass and a uniformed officer lead the way, with Warrick, Nick and Grissom following in the Tahoe. They barely spoke to one another, each thinking about the unenviable assignment that they had drawn. They had to tell a mother that her children were dead. Nick could only hope that they would be able to gather enough information to track down the children's killer. They pulled up to a small house set back on the dusty land. The nearest house was barely more than a pinprick in the distance. There was an eerie feeling of solitude out here. Even the neighbors were far removed from one another. There was a rickety picket fence running around the far perimeter of the property. It was a pathetic attempt at creating a backyard. It was more like a prison. The back of the house housed a large chicken coop that looked like it might collapse if someone sneezed on it. Some cheap plastic children's toys littered the ground, intermingled with rusty tools. There were several shovels, a saw blade and an assortment of other unidentifiable items that looked like they were homemade. All in all, it was not a happy looking home. The front of the house was dilapidated and it gave off an aura of incredible sadness, as if its owner knew what was coming. Before they had even reached the front door, it swung open. A young woman with dark blond hair met them on the porch. She was wearing a filmy floral print dress and scuffed tennis shoes. Around her neck was a small gold crucifix, hanging from a silver chain.

"I saw you from the window" she said by way of explanation for her sudden appearance in the doorway. "Are you here about my sons?"

Brass took charge. As kindly, as gently as possible, he told her what they found. She flinched and turned away, but she did not cry. She had suspected the truth when she saw them approaching she said. The heart doesn't lie. In an empty, dull voice she invited them in. Feeling like intruders on this woman's intense personal grief, they entered.

"Mrs. Hubert, we need to ask some questions in order to find out what happened to your boys" Grissom spoke in a gentle voice, as if she herself was a child. "Do you know who did this?"

She shook her head sadly. "I was downstairs one day, trying to fix a pipe. My boys were outside playing. I was down there maybe ten or fifteen minutes. When I came back up, I couldn't find the boys anywhere. I was going to drive to the police station – my phone hasn't worked for some time now – when I found a note on the table. It said that if I wanted to see my boys again, I would tell no one that they were missing." She looked very small, sitting there in the middle of her kitchen. Nick knew that while it was devastating to know what had happened, there must be some measure of comfort knowing the truth. At least now she didn't need to lay awake every night wondering where her children were.

Brass spoke "Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you or your children? Any ex-boyfriends?"

She looked horrified by the thought. "Oh my God, I had never even thought of that! You mean it might be someone I know? Why would someone do that to me? To my boys?" She rubbed the small crucifix that hung around her neck as she talked.

Grissom decided to be very honest with her. "The chances that it was someone you know are very strong. It would probably be someone who the boys wouldn't have been afraid of, otherwise they would have likely caused a commotion. It was someone who knew their way around the property, and leaving the note suggests that this is a highly personal crime. What I want to know is, may we investigate the property outside? There is a strong possibility that there will be some sort of physical evidence. We don't have a warrant, but we can…"

"Not necessary." She dismissed the notion of a warrant with a wave of her hand. "Please, if there is any chance we can find out who did this, I want to help"

It was decided that Brass would go with Grissom and Warrick while they looked around the property, the officer would go radio the local authorities and have them come in (as it was their jurisdiction) and Nick would wait with Rachel. He was the most sympathetic and she needed someone whom she felt comfortable with.

Warrick and Grissom searched very carefully. They both felt compelled to stay until they found something. There had to be some shred of evidence as to the killer's identity, and this was the best place to find it. It took almost half an hour before they found anything. It was Warrick who made the discovery.

"Griss? I think I have something"

Grissom hurried over. On the ground behind the chicken coop the dirt was slightly disturbed. As if someone had buried something.

"Murder weapon?" suggested Grissom. Without waiting for a reply, he began to carefully dig away at the dirt. The chickens clucked irritably at the sudden disruption of their rest. It didn't take long to find something. The hole was shallow. They didn't find a murder weapon. But they found something else.

The rest of the skeletal remains lay in the grave. The bones that had been missing from the scene were here. Whoever had killed these boys had buried some of the remains here. Grissom scanned the yard. His heart stopped.

Nick stood at the window trying to think of something to say. He didn't have to. Rachel Hubert spoke.

"Do you think they're happier?" The question caught him off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"Cory and Dale. Do you think they're happier now that their dead?"

Nick thought carefully as he tried to answer. "I think their pain is over. I think they would have been happier if they had gotten the chance to live their lives. But I think they are in a better place." He looked back out the window.

"I think you're wrong!" The sudden sharpness of her tone surprised him. She saw the look on his face and softened.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I just think I disagree with you. You see, I think that it is living here that is what is what makes people unhappy. This world is cold and unfriendly. Sometimes I am the only one that sees that. Everyone else buys into all the lies that we are fed about the joys of life." Nick stared at her.

Not ten feet away from where Grissom and Warrick stood was giant stone fire pit. They hadn't seen it because it was blocked from view by the chicken coop. A top the grill was a large cast iron pot.

"Maybe the reason we can't find anything on the bones….maybe it's because they were boiled before they were placed at the scene."

Greg's voice was ringing in his ears.

Oh dear God.

Nick listened as Rachel continued to talk. He was almost mesmerized by the words that escaped her lips. She was a grieving mother he reminded himself. She doesn't realize what she is saying.

"This world is what's evil! People don't want to believe it, but it's true. It's the dreamers that you need to worry about. The dreamers are the ones that are going to be corrupted by this world. This world will take their beautiful dreams and destroy them. It can't be allowed to happen! My boys were dreamers. So are you, I can tell. The world wants to take the dreamers and eliminate them. So I took it upon myself to deprive the world of what it thinks it is allowed to take. I will purge the world of the one thing it really wants: the dreamers. I am the new messiah!"

Before the words had a chance to sink in, Nick was aware of a flash of pain as she drove the knife into his flesh

***

When I first saw your brown eyes

I swear that I'd seen your face before

But I can't say where or when

Were you heaven sent?

Or just hell bent

On taking me in

Nick stared at Rachel for a moment his dark brown eyes locked on her cold blue ones. He was unable to comprehend what had just happened. His mind was racing in so many directions at once that he couldn't formulate a single coherent thought. He thought about the confession she had just made. He thought about how he needed to tell Grissom and Warrick. He thought about how terrible it was that mother would do that. He thought that there must be a reason for her actions. He thought about how he needed to do something, anything. The one thing he didn't think about was that she had just stabbed him.

It took him a minute to even realize what she had done. He only began to understand when he looked down at his hands. How odd, he thought to himself. They were covered in blood. Then he saw the dark red stain spreading across the front of his shirt. The blood on his shirt. - it was his blood. His mind finally registered that he was wounded. She had taken a knife a plunged it into his stomach. His thoughts continued to race around in his head as the cracked linoleum floor rushed up to meet him.

He didn't feel anything as his body slammed in to the floor. His head hit the floor with a sickening thud, dazing him even further. His limbs were of no use in breaking his fall. His body felt like it was paralyzed. He commanded it to move but nothing happened. Whether the message never got to his brain, or whether his brain ignored it, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was unable to move. It was terrifying really, because his mind was aware of what was happening but he could do nothing more than think. His body, once an ally, had become his enemy. Through his blurred vision he saw the blood begin to pool on the floor beneath him. He felt the stickiness of his hands as he tried desperately to stem the flow of blood. He could hear the voice in his head screaming at him, telling him that he had to move. He needed to warn Grissom and Warrick. He needed to go down fighting. It couldn't end like this. He couldn't just lay here and bleed to death in this woman's kitchen. The little voice of logic continued to scream at him until it was drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears. He couldn't hear the voice any more. His attention was now being drawn towards the pain that was radiating from the wound. He had been blissfully unaware of the pain until now, but it suddenly attacked him with more force then he could have ever imagined. He swore that he could feel his internal organs writhing in agony from this sudden disruption of their physiology.

Agony.

He hadn't fully understood the true scope of that word before. It had always been just a piece of language, a way of describing pain. He had never attached any sensation to it prior to this. He had felt pain before, maybe even excruciating pain. But agony? Never experienced it.

Until now.

His body felt like it was being mauled as the pain swept over it in waves. The pain was not merely localized to one area. Rather, it traveled across his body and spread its agonizing wrath wherever it went. He could not escape the pain. He could not stop it. He would have cried out but he couldn't find the strength. The pain was even attacking his lungs. Every time he tried to make a sound, the pain would assault him with a new wave of agony, rendering him unable to do anything except think about how much it hurt.

Since his mind seemed to be the only thing unaffected by the pain, Nick tried to focus on his thoughts. He was still able to think and his brain was the only part of his body that seemed to have retained its ability to function. He forced his mind to come back into the tiny kitchen, and forced it to focus on the woman who had done this to him. As he lay there bleeding on the floor, Rachel smiled mirthlessly at him. She began to wash the knife off in the sink and said conversationally:

"Just take your time. I have no better place to be. I've learned from past experience that you can't put a timeline on bleeding the dreams and the life force out of a person. Although I do wish that I had picked a better place to do this – you are making a mess of my floor".

Nick watched in horror as she put the knife back in the drawer and poured herself a cup of coffee. She sat calmly at the table, watching his suffering with a look of mild interest on her face. Though her face held little expression, her eyes were alive. They were flashing with determination and self righteousness. She had the look of someone who truly believed that they were doing the best thing under the circumstances. There was no doubt in Nick's mind that she really thought she was the "New Messiah" and that it was her mission to cleanse the world of those who had hopes and dreams for the future. Yet despite the life in her eyes, she was lacking that certain spark. The spark of humanity. There was no compassion and no remorse. She was evil incarnate.

Is this what it was like for her children, Nick wondered to himself. Feeling this agonizing pain as they lay there watching this woman – no, this monster – carry on as if nothing had happened. She sat calmly, as if she were waiting for nothing more than the dishes to dry.

Nick was suddenly wracked with a new wave of pain. It tore through him with unrelenting force. Tears of pain sprang to his eyes, blinding him. He forced himself to hold them back. He couldn't let it end like this. He had to fight. His mind suddenly drifted to Warrick and Grissom. They were unaware of the situation. They didn't know that Nick was rapidly losing his fight against unconsciousness. Nick realized that if they didn't know anything was wrong, then they weren't going to get to him in time. He was going to bleed to death on this floor, all alone. He would never be able to thank them for all they had done for him. He wouldn't be able to see their faces one last time.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, the tears slipped silently down his cheeks.

Are you the new messiah?

Churning my blood into fire

Warrick and Grissom stared at the pot that sat atop the old fireplace. They too found their brains unable to work properly for a moment. The discovery sent chills through both of them. They had got it all wrong. There was no vengeful ex-boyfriend. The killer had been staring them in the face the whole time. They had never even thought of the mother as a suspect, an oversight that was going to cost them dearly. She had killed her own children. As they realized this, their faces grew pale in horror. Without a word, they both turned and looked at one another with the same thought running through their minds.

Nick.

They had left him alone with a murdered. They turned and made a desperate sprint towards the house. Brass saw them and without a single question grabbed his walkie talkie and called to the officer who was out front in the cruiser. Grissom and Warrick had drawn their weapons as they came bursting through the door. The scene in front of them was stunning.

Nick was lying unconscious as the blood pooled around his motionless body. Rachel Hubert sat at the table drinking her coffee as if nothing was amiss.

"Oh Jesus!"

Warrick's desperate cry echoed off the walls of the tiny room as he dropped to his knees next to Nick. He didn't hear Grissom yell to Brass to call an ambulance. He didn't see Grissom aim his weapon at Rachel and warn her not to move. He didn't feel Brass touch is shoulder in a feeble attempt at reassurance. All he could focus on was Nick. His friend was badly wounded. Warrick saw the quickly drying tear stains on Nick's pale face and thought that he might burst into tears himself. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it into the wound in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood. He pulled his friend off the floor slightly so that Nick's upper body rested in Warrick's lap. The floor beneath them was so dirty that the blood looked black. It had pooled on the floor forming a dirty puddle where the life was slowly seeping out of him. Warrick didn't even notice that the blood had seeped through his jeans and was staining his hands. All he could think was that this wasn't how it was supposed to go down. Nick wasn't supposed to get hurt. He had stayed inside because he was the understanding one, the optimistic one. He had stayed in the house in order to help Rachel find hope. Evil had found him instead. He was an innocent sacrifice in a war that was raging inside the mind of this madwoman. Warrick was terrified that Nick was going to die here on this dirty floor, and there was not a damn thing any one of them could do to save him. Warrick didn't know what else there was to do, so he did the only thing that he could.

He prayed.

***

If ever there was God

Please, let Him shut my heart

I'm no good no more

All my prayers fall short

I'm not strong enough, I'm not strong enough

Prayer is all too often the final plea of the non-believers. They do not pray until it suits them. Prayer is not a miracle, nor can it alter the course of fate. It won't alleviate physical suffering and it can't bring the dead back to life. It is often used as a bargaining tool when there is no other alternative. People try to make deals with God – they will do something for Him, if He will do something for them. They don't understand that you can't use prayer as a means of bartering for your soul. You can't make trade-offs in the game of your life. If something is going to happen, it is going to occur because it is destiny, not because you made an empty promise to be a better person. You cannot make deals with God when you deem it necessary. You cannot turn to Him only when you want Him to help you. The non-believer turns to prayer because they have nowhere else to turn. Prayer is their last chance, and if prayer fails, then God has failed. They will go back to their non-believing ways, convinced that there is no greater force out there working for them. This is what prayer is to a non-believer.

To the believer, prayer is an instrument of power. Not the power to change the situation, but rather the power to find peace within said situation. Prayer is a way for the soul to find comfort, even when the body is wracked with turmoil. Believers know that prayer is not a one-time-only sort of thing. They recognize that prayer is not a miracle cure to end the ailments of humanity. It is however a connection, a conduit if you will, to a higher authority. Prayer is not about miracles; it is about understanding. Prayer is not about altering the course of fate; it is about accepting that fate with courage and grace. Prayer is not about alleviating physical suffering; it is about alleviating the suffering of the soul. Prayer is not about bringing the dead back to life; it is about breathing life back into those who are left behind. This is what prayer is to a believer.

Warrick Brown is a believer.

He had discovered the power of prayer after the death of his grandmother and he had learned to use it well. As he sat on the kitchen floor with Nick in his arms however, he encountered the contradiction of prayer that even the believers must face. He found himself making the prayers of the non-believer. It is not so unusual for the believers to feel their faith in prayer waver, just as it is not so unusual for the non-believers to find themselves turning to prayer. When faced with a situation as perilous as this, one can't help but make a plea that things will be alright. Warrick prayed that Nick could hold on to what little life was left in him. He prayed that Nick could hold on until help arrived. He prayed that Nick would know that he was loved by all that knew him. Above all, Warrick prayed that Nick would live. But Warrick knew that prayer couldn't save Nick if Nick wasn't willing to save himself. The tears on Nick's cheeks told Warrick that his friend had given up the fight. Nick believed that all hope was lost. Warrick had to get through to Nick, to make him understand that there was still a reason to live, that there was still hope.

"Nick? Buddy, if you can hear me, you have to wake up. Let us know that you're still here Nick. C'mon man, I know you. You're a fighter and you can't quit know. This is a tough fight, but you're strong. You can win. You can hold on a bit longer, I know you can. You have to fight now Nick." Warrick carried on with dogged determination, despite the lack of response. He had to get through to Nick. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, Nick could still hear him, he knew it.

"Don't let the evil win. Please Nick, let me know that you're still here" Warrick searched Nick's face for any sign of life. Nothing. He was giving up, Warrick knew it. Warrick felt tears well up in his eyes at the realization. He held the lifeless body in his arms and grabbed hold of Nick's cold, limp hand. He tried one more time.

"Nicky, please come back to us. We need you. We need to hear your voice again. We need to see that smile again. We need that optimism of yours. You're the one who gives the rest of us hope when we think that there's none left. You can't leave us, not like this." As he spoke, the tears he'd been holding back began to flow freely down his face. They were losing Nick. Warrick had never felt so helpless. He continued to speak, in final, desperate attempt to reach his friend.

"Nicky, give me a sign. Squeeze my hand, move, do anything. Please! You can't do this to us. We need you here. You have to be okay Nick; you just have to…"

Grissom watched the scene from his post near the table. He was still training his gun on Rachel, waiting for Brass to retrieve the handcuffs from the car. He could do nothing to help Nick. He could only stand and listen to Warrick's pleas to his friend. The pair of them broke Grissom's heart. Nick looked very young all of a sudden and Warrick seemed to have aged ten years since arriving on the scene. As Nick's face grew more pale, Grissom knew that he was moving ever closer to death. Despite the oppressive heat of the tiny kitchen, Grissom shivered. It looked like evil was going to win after all…

Nick was aware of a muted sort of noise rolling around in his brain. He wasn't sure where he was anymore. He was looking down a long stretch of nothingness. On one side, there was only darkness. On the other was light. A soft, white light that seemed so very inviting. It was almost within his reach, and he wondered if he was supposed to move into it. Or maybe the light was supposed to come to him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to proceed; he had never been in a situation like this before. The light was getting brighter. Well, he had a pretty good idea about what that meant. He could tell that his body was giving up the fight. The light would bring him salvation from the pain and suffering. He wouldn't need to face the evils on the world anymore. Yes, the light seemed like the way to go. He was just about ready to let go of everything and move towards the light when something made him pause. Through the fog in his brain he could make out something that he thought was a voice. He stopped moving towards the light and struggled to listen more closely.

It was a voice. Warrick's voice. And it sounded like….well it sounded like he was crying. How odd, Nick thought. That doesn't make any sense. Warrick didn't cry. Warrick was one of the strongest people he knew. So what was it that was causing his friend to get so upset? Nick strained his ears, trying to make out the words.

"You have to be okay Nick, you just have to…" the voice broke off as Warrick broke down. Nick realized that his friend was upset because Nick was giving up the fight. Nick's quitting the fight for his life was what was causing Warrick so much pain. That's why Warrick was crying. He was begging Nick to keep fighting. He wanted him to resist the urge to give into the light.

Nick was torn. The fight was so hard, and the light was so inviting. He knew that whatever lay on the other side would be peaceful and safe. The darkness on the other hand held only uncertainty. Stepping back into the darkness would be stepping back into the unknown, something that Nick wasn't so sure he wanted to do. The darkness was so cold and unfriendly. The darkness held people like Rachel, people with no regard for the sanctity of life. But if he went into the light, then Rachel would fulfill her own demented prophecy. There would be one less dreamer in the world. One less person to face the struggles. Nick knew that despite the struggles of life, there were some very good things in it too. You have to face those struggles head-on because the rewards you will reap will be well worth the pain. Nick wasn't sure what to do. He had been simultaneously blessed and cursed by being presented with the light. Few people ever got to choose which path they would take. Nick didn't know if he could face the darkness anymore; not when he had seen the light. But on the other side of the darkness were the people he cared about, and the people who cared about him in return. People like Warrick who wanted him to live. Nick made a choice. With one last look back at the light, he turned and moved back into the darkness.

Warrick was sobbing quietly as he held his friend's body in his arms. How could it end like this? Nick was one of the good guys; he wasn't supposed to die as part of some sick, pseudo-sacrificial ritual. Warrick was just thinking about how he was going to have to tell the rest of the team when he felt it. A faint squeeze of his hand. His tears slowed as he looked down at Nick's face. The young man's eyelids fluttered slightly.

"That's it Nicky, open your eyes. I'm here Nick. Come on, look at me buddy." He had been given a faint glimmer of hope and he said a silent thank you as Nick's brown eyes opened.

"Warrick?" The words were barely audible and the very effort of speaking left Nick drained. He forced his eyes to focus on his friend's face. Silvery tears had left tracks running down Warrick's cheeks.

"Don't cry." The words were not much more than a whisper. He couldn't stand to see Warrick looking so sad. Warrick managed a small smile despite his pain. That was so like Nick, always concerned about everyone else. It took every ounce of inner strength that Warrick had to manage that smile, but it seemed important that he convey a sense of comfort to Nick.

"Shhh, Nicky, don't talk. Just stay with me, okay? You're going to be fine Nick. I'm here, Grissom's here, and everyone else is going to be looking forward to seeing you again. Help is on the way; it will be here soon."

Nick nodded absently and tightened his grip on his friend's hand. He had done it. He had beaten the evil. He would survive and be able to….

Suddenly, without warning, the light returned. It was coming to reclaim him. There was no alternative this time. He wasn't allowed to stay here anymore. Not by choice. His terrified eyes met Warrick's and he managed to articulate his final thoughts as the light began to engulf him.

"Sorry – tried to fight. Be strong for me….I love you all…tell them…please…" his voiced trailed off as he faded into the light. As his mind moved away from the darkness, he heard on final sound…..

"No! Please, God! No!"

And then there was nothing.

***

It had been three days since that horrible afternoon in Pandarus Point. Three days since they had uncovered the truth about the skeletal remains, three days since Rachel had stabbed Nick, and three days since he had last had touch with the world of the living. Now he lay in the ICU, surrounded by machines. He was hovering somewhere between life and death, in a place where no one could reach him. He was trapped in a chasm between survival and demise. His soul was still strong but his body grew weaker by the day. He was at the gates of Heaven, yet there was no one there to open them up to him. It was not his time, not yet. But Nick's time on Earth was growing shorter. Each blip on the heart monitor, each breath from the respirator brought him one step closer to crossing over the threshold from life to death. It is fascinating how the mind, an instrument with so much capacity for learning and knowledge, can be turned off so easily. Nick's mind was silent now. There were no thoughts about the past, the present or the future. His mind rested, waiting patiently to see if it would be called into service once again, or whether it would simply be dismissed as unnecessary once his soul silently evacuated its vessel. The mind, once so sharp, was a void of nothingness.

Gil Grissom could not understand this. He didn't understand how the mind could not be working. He was a man who had made his life out of using his mind to fit the pieces of seemingly unsolvable puzzles together. He couldn't understand how the mind could not process what was happening. He wondered why Nick's mind didn't just tell him to wake up, that it was time to pull himself out of the darkness that had engulfed him. What Grissom fails to understand was the distinction between the brain and the mind. The brain is capable of all spatial and logical thought. The mind is what is allowed to think in abstracts. The mind can go far beyond the realm of ordinary science or knowledge. The mind can travel to the ends of the imagination and back again. The mind can create and destroy concepts. The brain is what holds the intellect that one absorbs through books and education, but the mind is what makes us individuals. One's mind is their own personal tool for conceptualization. It allows people to explore their own personal dreams and desires. Where brains can possess the same information, minds are unique to each person. It is for this reason that the old saying "Great minds think alike" is not entirely true. Great brains think alike, but it is very rare that minds share the same capacity for imagination. It is this distinction that Grissom overlooked. He, like so many other academics, equates the term "brain" with "mind". He does not see how different the two really are. He doesn't understand that Nick's brain is still functioning, albeit barely. However, Nick's mind is in a sort of mental no-man's land, and there is no machine that can pull the mind out of the darkness in which it rests. The mind can only return to its owner if the owner is able to overcome the darkness on a physical level first. The mental and the physical are deeply enmeshed with one another, and the body must be stronger before the mind can pull itself out of the recesses of the soul. Grissom doesn't understand this. He probably never will.

Within the depths of the ICU, Nick does not lack any stream of visitors. There is always someone by his bedside, talking to him, holding his hand or just being with him. The team is afraid that if they leave for an instant that Nick would perceive that as an act of surrender. If they quit, he will undoubtedly quit too. They have been told that a person in a coma can hear what is said to them, so they make sure to give Nick every reassurance that he will be okay. No one is sure if he can actually hear them or not. The sound is certainly traveling the auditory channels that it must in order to scientifically be classified as a sound. The words lodge themselves in his mind, even if he doesn't realize it yet. He will remember some of these words if he awakes, but some will be lost to him. Because his mind is burrowed so deep into the darkness, some words simply cannot reach him. They get lost in the depths of his soul but even though he cannot hear them, they are a reassurance to everyone else nonetheless. Whenever the team talks to one another, they make sure to sound upbeat and positive about Nick's recovery. They never mention that the doctor's speculate that the attack may have done irreparable damage to his system. The team never mentions how there have been absolutely no responses to stimulus in the three days since Nick has arrived. And the team certainly never discusses the doctor's solemn explanation that Nick is, for all intents and purposes, dead to them. He is living on machines now. His body should just give up, but there is still just a bit of fight left in it. The team knows this. They all know how stubborn Nick can be. They know that he is a fighter. If he has held on this long, then perhaps he can pull through. They refuse to see that the deck is stacked against them. They cling stubbornly to the belief that Nick will be okay.

By now (Day 3) they are starting to truly understand how devastatingly lonesome it is within the ICU. Because of Nick's highly unstable condition, they are only allowed in to see him one at a time. That means for their ten minutes or so that they get with him, they are all alone in their thoughts. Without anyone around to tell them otherwise, they start to be consumed by their fears. It is only when they are alone that they are honest with themselves. In these moments of isolation they realize how futile the fight really is. Nick's coma came as an unexpected shock, on a day when they swore nothing could shock them anymore. When he slipped away into the darkness, they thought he was gone forever. Instead, he is forced to cling to life, aided only by machines and the prayers of his friends. It is a cruel sort of game that the evil is playing with them. The evil which Rachel imposed upon Nick has made it so that there can be no closure for those closest to him. The evil taunts them every time they step through those doors. The evil taunts them every time they look down at his bloodless face. The evil is ever-present and its wrath is unrelenting. They cannot rid themselves of the evil, and more than once they have told themselves that the evil will emerge the victor. They all wanted to believe that good would triumph in the end, but it seems now that evil is the stronger force. If it is strong enough to take down someone as good as Nick, then it must be immensely powerful. The presence of evil combined with the hopelessness of the ICU make a team that is struggling just to keep the faith. Trying to keep the faith is difficult but they have created a routine. They take turns staying with Nick and when it is not their turn they go to the hospital chapel. There they sit, sometimes together, sometimes apart, and they pray. They pray to God and they pray to Nick. They hope against hope that these prayers will get to at least one of their intended recipients. Their prayers sound very different from one another, but the message is always the same: Live.

Sara's Prayer

Um…okay, here it goes. God, if there even is a God, because I mean, I don't even know anymore...What I am trying to say is that, if there is anyone, anywhere that can hear this, please let Nick wake up. He is a good person and we all really miss him...I really miss him. I can't stand seeing him like this. He looks so small up there, with all those tubes and wires coming out all over the place. He can't stay like this, he really can't. I am begging you, please help him now. If anyone deserves a good miracle, it's Nick. He is a good guy...well, I guess you already knew that. He cares about the people around him, and we all care about him in return. You must know that by now. I mean, that's why I am here right now, kneeling down and praying. You must know that this isn't my style. I would much rather be using something tangible to try help him, but I can't do that. Science can't save him now. For whatever reason, his life has been placed into your hands, and I don't know if you get to decide whether or not he lives, or what happens. But if you do have that power, please let him live. Because the team just wouldn't be the same without him...I don't think we could survive without Nick. You don't have to do it for me, in fact, you probably shouldn't...I don't think it's a good idea to do it for someone else's selfish reasons...but if you can, do it for Nick. Because he will shine his light onto the world if he wakes up. That is the kind of person he is. The world needs him...we need him...I need him. So, God, or whoever, if you can, please help him out. He deserves it...I gotta go. It's almost my turn to visit him. Just please…think about what I said.

Sara rose from her pew and silently left the chapel. She wasn't entirely comfortable turning to prayer, not because she didn't believe, but because it felt like she wasn't doing enough to help Nick. She wasn't sure her prayers carried any real validity, seeing as she hadn't been to Church in a long time. She turned to science, not God when she needed answers. But now she felt like prayer was the only thing that she could do. So, difficult as it was for her to do, she dutifully went to the chapel and prayed everyday. If anyone was worth the effort, Nick was.

Catherine's Prayer

God, please, please, please let Nicky be okay. I know I come in here everyday and ask you the same thing, but I keep hoping that maybe it will help. I know that it is selfish of me to be monopolizing your time with my prayers, especially when everyone else is in here doing the same thing, but I really want Nick to be okay. I need him to wake up. I need to tell him all the things I meant to say. I want to tell him that he is a wonderful friend. I want to tell him how much I appreciate his concern for Lindsey. I want to tell him that if I could be half the person that he is, then I would be pretty darn fantastic. I want to tell him how much I love him. I want to say these things, because I never told him before. I know that you have the power to save him. I also know that there is some great master plan, and I have no right to intrude upon it. But I need to tell him how I feel. He needs to be okay, not just for my sake, but for the sake of everyone that knows him. He needs to be okay because I need to know that good can triumph over evil. He can't die; not like this. So please God, let him live. You won't ever regret it. Amen

Catherine blessed herself and sat back in her seat. She didn't want to rush back upstairs. She hated the waiting room more than anything. It was like the anteroom of death. It was horrible. Just sitting and waiting. Waiting to go in and see Nick lying there comatose. Waiting to go in and feel nothing but grief. Waiting to go see him, not knowing if that time would be her last to see him still alive. The waiting room was awful. She would rather sit in the chapel. At least her thoughts her were less ominous than they were within the ICU. However, here her mind turned to all of her regrets. She regretted not telling Nick how much she cared about him when she had the chance. She had taken for granted that he would always be there. She had just assumed that he knew how special he was to her. But she knew better now. She knew that she couldn't take one single moment for granted. And if Nick got a second chance at life, she knew she would do everything right, so that there would be no more regrets.

Greg's Prayer

Oh man, I don't know where to start. I keep coming in here every day, bugging you, but I don't know what else to do. I guess what I am trying not say is that please let Nick live. I mean, don't get me wrong; I want everyone in that ICU to be okay, but right now I am praying for Nick in particular. Everyone up there has a good reason why they should live. I guess I should tell you why Nick should...not that I am trying to convince you to help him over someone else. You see, Nick is a really good person. Oh, sure everyone says that, but in his case it's true. Nick is like the one constant in the world. No matter how much everything changes, Nick will stay the same. He will be there for you when you need him, he will do anything he can to help you and he is just a really good friend. He….well he's been like a brother to me. I always wanted siblings, and I guess that Nick has sort of become one. I would never tell him this of course...it would just embarrass him. But he is always looking out for me, and he the most supportive, caring friend you could ask for. So, that is why I want him to live. If you can save him, please do because the world really is a better place with him in it. And please bless all the other people who are in the ICU as well. They need to be taken care of as well. Amen.

Greg remained kneeling for a while afterwards. He was lost in thought as he looked around the chapel. There were other people in there doing the same thing as he was. He wondered what their prayers would sound like if he could here them. One woman was crying silently as she prayed, the tears streaming down her face like rain. A couple sat with their hands tightly intertwined. They were leaning on each other, each looking like they would fall if the other moved. An old woman held a rosary in her hand, and her lips moved in silent prayer as she rubbed the well-worn beads with her gnarled old fingers. Everyone here had their own prayers. They all had somebody they wanted to be kept safe. Greg's heart went out to all of them. He knew exactly how they felt.

Sara arrived at the doors of the ICU, but before she could even get through a nurse told her that there was someone in with Nick right now, and that she would have to wait a few more minutes. The nurse told Sara that she would come get her when it was her turn. It must be Warrick or Grissom, she thought. They seemed to feel particularly guilty about what had happened, despite constant reassurances that they had no reason to be. Still, neither one of them left Nick's side for long periods of time. Between the two of them, Sara estimated that they had slept no more then twelve hours in the past three days. She really wished they would just take a break for a few hours. They needed to rest. She sighed inwardly and began thumbing through a magazine. She was looking at it, but she didn't see a single image from any of the pages, Her mind was elsewhere. She hadn't been sitting there more than five minutes when the nurse came back to get her. Nick's visitor was leaving, she said. Sara went through the doors and looked into the face of Nick's most recent guest. She froze in shock.

"Ecklie?" She knew she sounded stunned, she couldn't help it. What on earth was Ecklie doing here?

"You're wondering why I came." His voice was a sharp as it ever was. She nodded numbly, still shocked that the day shift supervisor would be here. He motioned for her to follow him back into the waiting room. She really wanted to go see Nick, but her curiosity got the better of her and she obliged.

He sighed and sank into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that are a mainstay of any hospital waiting room.

"Look, let's be honest: I don't like the people on the night shift much, and you guys don't like me. That hasn't changed. But I do have immense respect for the work you guys do, and I have a lot of respect for Stokes. Despite all of our differences, he is a decent guy. He got a raw deal and he shouldn't be lying in there like that. I feel really terrible for him and I decided to come by and bring him a little something that I hope will help speed up his recovery"

"What did you…?" Before Sara could finish her question, Ecklie spoke again.

"I just want all of you guys to know that everyone back at headquarters is praying for Nick. Everyone is wishing him a speedy recovery, myself included. He is one of the good ones. It should never have happened to him. It should never have happened to anybody. Stokes is a good person, and I hope he pulls through. He'll be in my prayers." With that, Ecklie excused himself and made a beeline towards the elevator. No doubt he wanted to escape before anyone else from the night shift had a chance to see him. Sara smiled to herself at Ecklie's concern and went in to see Nick. He was as still as ever. Sara immediately noticed what it was that Ecklie had brought. On the windowsill near Nick's bed, was a miniature Texas flag. The base was made of pewter and it was in the shape of the state of Texas. There was a tiny note taped to the underside of the base. Carefully picking it up, Sara read the note. Her eyes filled with tears as she read the words that had clearly come from the heart.

"Nick, I know how proud you are to be a Texan, so here you go. Texas should be proud to have you. You are one of the best people on God's green earth. Get well soon Cowboy". It was unsigned.

"Oh how cute!" one of the nurses glanced over Sara's shoulder at the gift. "Who gave that to him?"

Sara smiled and simply replied: "An angel".

Then she pulled up a chair and settled in for a quiet visit with her friend. Ecklie's gift had given her a new sense of hope. Nick was going to be okay after all, she was sure of it.

Catherine and Greg were still sitting in the chapel ten minutes later. They didn't speak, but Catherine had silently reached over and grabbed Greg's hand. They sat there, silently comforting each other. No words needed to be spoken; they each knew what the other was thinking. They probably would have sat there for hours had Sara not burst into the chapel. Her face was flushed; she had just come down from the ICU, her visit with Nick cut short.

"Sara, what?-" Catherine looked at the young woman in shock.

"It's Nick…. I was just with him and…his heart stopped. I think we lost him Catherine!"

***

The question is not whether we will die, but how we will live – Joan Borysenko

Hope is all that is left now. There is nothing more that anyone on the team can do for Nick. They can only stand by helplessly as they hope against hope that he will be alright. The doctors will try valiantly to restore life to his body but their efforts may be too little, too late. Their words echo around the small room, each more frightening then the last.

"Dammit, we're losing him!"

"He's crashing!"

"We need the defib unit here NOW!"

"Come on son! Hang in there."

The doctor's best efforts may not suffice. Medicine is not a miracle. Medicine can be a vital element in saving a life, but one must remember its limitations. Medicine can aid a life but it cannot create it. Medicine is something that has been developed by man. Life on the other hand is something that has been created by something so much bigger then us. Therefore, life can be sustained by medicine but it cannot be manufactured by it. The doctors have become the only soldiers in this devastating physiological war that the body is waging upon itself. The doctors will fight with every ounce of their knowledge and skill but like all soldiers, they are constantly toeing the line between success and failure. One small error can result in deadly consequences. The enemy that they are battling now knows no boundaries and they can do little more than put forth their best efforts. When the ICU is your battlefield and medicine your only weapon, you always run the risk of losing the precious fight. There are no rules of engagement here. All bets are off. There are no guarantees in this fight and no one ever knows whether or not the next blow the body strikes will be the last. The doctors are tireless warriors who have learned to arm themselves with something more than needles and machines. They have taken something that is invisible to the naked eye and forged it into perhaps the most powerful weapon in their arsenal.

HOPE.

Sara, Catherine and Greg had raced back to the waiting room of the ICU as soon as Sara relayed the news to them. They were begging the nurses for some sort of information when Warrick and Grissom made their entrance. The two men walked into the waiting room only to be swept up in the chaos and confusion that was taking place. Despite their protests, the team was denied access to the ICU. All they could do was stand at the doors and stare blankly through the glass as the doctors struggled to save Nick. They were the only audience to a heart wrenching spectacle that was playing itself out before their grief stricken eyes. It was unfamiliar territory for them. They were all used to being the directors of the show, or at very least the actors in the drama that was their lives. Now they were relegated to audience members who could do nothing but watch. The events taking place were out of their hands. From their vantage point at the door they could see the doctors prepping needles filled with God knows what, then injecting those needles into Nick. They could see a doctor performing CPR, trying desperately to revive the young man. They could see doctors and nurses pulling out the crash cart, and then shouting to everyone to clear away from the patient. They could see Nick's body convulse as the electrical current charged through his body. They could see doctors shaking their heads. They could see the heart monitor – and the straight, flat line that ran across the screen. They could hear nothing but they all knew the sound that the monitor would be making: a high pitched whine that would not cease. It was a final testimony to what they already knew.

Nick had died.

Sara had fallen to the floor, her face white with shock. She felt the tears pouring down her cheeks. How could this have happened? How could he leave them after trying so hard to survive? She heard a guttural, animal scream emanating from somewhere. She wondered vaguely what it was. It wasn't until Grissom put his arms around her that she realized that the sound was coming from her.

Greg couldn't breathe. He felt like someone had put a too-tight rubber band around his chest, depriving him of oxygen. He tried in vain to pull air in, but found that there was nothing. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room when Nick had died. With the loss of Nick's life came the loss of life as they knew it. Something in the atmosphere changed, as it does when a loved one departs this mortal world. It is the end of the world. Not in the literal sense but certainly in the emotional sense. Something within each of them had died in that final heartbeat. Greg finally managed a ragged breath and immediately burst into tears.

Catherine had slammed into Warrick so hard that he thought he might collapse from the force. She was hysterical and he just held her as she sobbed. Her tears soaked his shirt but he made no move to pull away. He personally felt a crushing pain in his chest. It felt like his heart was being torn out while it was still beating. It was a horrible type of pain, unlike any he had ever experienced. He didn't realize it then but he was feeling the pain of a broken heart. It is odd how physical pain is passed on to the loved ones left behind. It is as if they must assume the suffering now that their loved one has moved on. The evil must be transposed onto something and once again it attacks those whose hearts are filled with grief and sadness.

Grissom had dropped down next to Sara in order to try and help her hold it together. She cried out in a way that sent chills up Grissom's spine. He had never heard another living creature make that kind of sound and it tore through him like a knife. It penetrated the depths of his soul. He knew that there was nothing he could do to ease her pain. All he could offer was empty comfort. It was something he needed very much in return. He turned as the door of the ICU, swung open. The doctor had started to step outside, with the intent of breaking news that he could see they already knew. He was coming to tell them that Nick was dead. The finality of those words would pierce their souls forever. The doctor had no sooner opened him mouth when…..

Beep.

His head had swung around so fast that it might have flown off had it not been so securely anchored to his neck. He listened again.

Beep.

The team stopped what they were doing and became a tableau of sudden hope. They all looked at the doctor with the same inquiry in their minds. They all heard it then, clear as a bell.

Beep.

And then….

"We've got a heart beat!" The doctor raced back into the ICU not believing his eyes or ears. But there it was. The blips on the monitor had returned in all their defensive glory. Somehow, against all the odds, Nick had pulled through. His heart had stopped for a minute and in that minute the world of his team had come crashing down. They had sunk into the depths of human grief and had experienced emotions far stronger than they knew how to handle. But Nick had found them. He had gone into the light, only to be plunged into darkness. But he had found his way out again. The light didn't want him anymore. He was allowed to leave the light and fumble his way through the gloomy emptiness. It had taken him awhile, three days to be exact, but he had done it. In that minute his mind had finally managed to firmly reattach itself to the body. With both pieces of the puzzle now securely in place, the body had decided that it wasn't ready to quit fighting yet. It had stubbornly refused to succumb to the evil. Now, by the grace of God, Nick was coming back. He was pushing his way through the fogginess that permeated his brain. He could hear voices. He commanded his eyes to open. They resisted at first, but finally, grudgingly gave in. He blinked a few times and tried hard to focus. There were so many people around him, but he didn't recognize any of them. There was a lot of white. That was his first impression: there were a lot of people in white surrounding his bed. Oh man, he thought. Don't tell me that I made a wrong turn somewhere and headed back to the angels. As his vision grew clearer, he realized that they were lab coats, not wings. Thank goodness he thought. It was the last calm thought he had before the doctors realized that he was awake. They began to bombard him with questions and tests. He didn't mind a bit. It reminded him that he was alive.

For the second time in five minutes the door swung open. The CSI's stood huddled together wondering what the news would be. They had heard the heart monitor, heard the triumphant cry of the doctors, but that was all. They had no idea whether the return to life had been fleeting, or whether Nick was here to stay. They didn't know if Nick's heart had resumed beating only to leave his body lingering in a coma. It was the uncertainty that was killing them. The doctor did not mince words.

"He's awake. I don't know how, but he is. By all reason and logic, he should be dead but he isn't. He is very much alive. He is going to be just fine."

Two Weeks Later

It had been a slow, painful couple of weeks for Nick. He had been released from the ICU two days after his awakening. He was still in the hospital but at least he had his own room. Not that he had had much privacy. Every time one person left, another one came in. But he wouldn't complain. He was just happy to be alive to enjoy the company of people he loved. He had told everyone exactly how much he cared for them, and no one ever left without loving words to carry with them in their absence. He knew now how fragile life is and he was determined to make the most of every minute. He had left this world, if only for a moment, but it was long enough to know that the time here was short. He was going to live the kind of life he should have been living, so that when the time came for him to return to the light, he would not have any unfinished business. He had given his testimony to Brass but found himself feeling unfilled with the outcome. Rachel had been declared mentally unfit to stand trial. She had pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity and had been sentenced to live out the rest of her days in a maximum security psychiatric institution. The team was just as unhappy with outcome as Nick was. They felt like they had failed the children somehow. They had not managed to secure any real form of justice. They had however managed to give the children a proper burial. The children's remains had been laid to rest on a tiny plot in the nearby cemetery. Their death may have been premature but it wasn't in vain. The evil had been stopped. The woman responsible could never again hurt anyone. For that Nick was grateful. He smiled with anticipation as he waited for his team to arrive. He was going home today. He was alive and loving every moment of it. He had done it. Good had triumphed in the end. The evil had been locked away with Rachel. The evil had been stopped.

Miles away, in a tiny room within the psychiatric institution, Rachel was writing furiously on a piece of paper. She spent most of her days doing so. When she wasn't in therapy, she was writing. She managed to hide this from her doctors. She had convinced the guards that she was writing letters to her dead children, but they were so personal that she couldn't show them to her therapist. She had to deal with some of the guilt herself, she said. So they allowed her to write. She laughed as she wrote the same words over and over again

I AM THE NEW MESSIAH.

They were all so foolish. Didn't they understand that she had the power? They could never wrench her beliefs away from her. She was already working hard to pass the message onto others. She would have her way in the end; she just knew it. The dreamers would be eliminated, if not by her hand, then by someone else's. The good ones were always the most naïve. They thought that by locking her up that they had stopped the evil. They thought that they could stop it, but they forget how widespread evil is. Oh, they had stopped her, but she was only one vessel for it. They forget that it takes many other forms. They can't possibly keep track of it all the time. It will wait in the dark, sharpening its teeth. It will spring forth and vent its unrelenting fury onto all those who try and stop it. The evil can't be locked away. It can't be buried. Good may have won the battle, but the war is still raging.

The evil will never rest.

Next story in series - Black Plague.

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