Downfall - PROLOGUE
(Warning: Graphic details of violence and Strong Language )
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death.
Please state your Name and Number for the tape……
……Tell me, how does it feel – knowing your about to die?
PD broke down the door, and pushed their way into the house where the evidence collected had led them, where three of the LV PD Crime Scene Investigators were been held. Fifteen hours they'd been gone, and in that, fifteen hours of hell had been created. She entered with the first group of officers and was forced into her worst nightmare.
Making her way through the darkness of the derelict house she held her hands tight around her gun – her heart pounding and fear expanding in her chest with not knowing what she was going to find. In the last fifteen hours she'd been imagining the worst.
"Medics… we need medics god damn it!" She screamed her anger laced deeply with the panic and pain. She ran from the doorway, sliding to her knees, now she was knelt on the floor – next to the body. Her hand instantly moving to the pulse point on the neck – she was relived to find a faint trace. "MEDICS" She screamed again as she ran her hand over the blood clotted hair. She lifted her and held the beaten frame against her chest. Not caring that she was knelt in a puddle of gasoline mixed with sticky blood. "Shit… hold on. PLEASE!" She begged holding her hand against the gapping wound trying to preserve the deep crimson life that she could feel seeping away.
"Cath…" She was pulled violently from her memories by Warrick, who took a seat next to the blond CSI, softly placing his hand on her arm. He was struggling to control his own emotions – but knew that right now the blond needed comfort. He offered out his other hand that held a coffee – black and very strong. "…you need to drink something. I got you a coffee." She just shook her head, not taking her eyes from the floor still in her own world. Warrick understood – he put the coffee on the floor before settling back into the plastic seat that lined the corridor where they were waiting. He moved his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. She gave in, letting her head rest on his chest yet still, shock, not letting her cry or even speak.
Her jeans were still stuck uncomfortably to her legs and her shirt to her body - gasoline mixed with blood covered her, along with the Vegas rain, that before PD had stormed the building she was unaware she stood in. She was unable to take in even breaths as she struggled to hold on to what little sanity she had left within her. Her mind was bombarded with the memory of earlier that night and just what she had walked into – the most crippling thing, however for Catherine Willows, was her knowing that right now there was nothing that she could do.