Chapter 3

Driving to the crime scene wasn't a problem; it was the painful silence in the car that was. I insisted that I drive to the scene, so I would have an excuse to keep my focus on the road, and not talk to Grissom. Unfortunately, he insisted on sitting next to me. Nick sat in the back, leaning up occasionally to try to spark a conversation, most likely to "cheer Grissom up." Grissom gave Nick no more than one-worded answers to most of his questions, and I didn't talk at all.

I think he got the hint.

Brass approaches us once we enter the scene, kits ready by our side. He informs us that the murders took place indoors, and starts describing that the scene isn't pretty:

"Blood everywhere: floor, walls, furniture…I wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't any in the kitchen sink; didn't look like our murderer wanted to keep this crime a secret. Problem is, we can't start processing the scene without contaminating it."

"How so?" Grissom asks. I'd think it's obvious: Brass just said blood was everywhere. We'd probably step on the evidence, Grissom. As bitter as my thoughts are, I'm surprised to find my speculation is correct.

"Take a look for yourself…" Brass takes out his flashlight and scans the dark room. Blood spatter was everywhere… except the floor. It was as if a rainstorm blew through with red-dyed water. About a foot away from the doorway stood the husband, I assumed; not too far away did a woman lay, I'm guessing that's the wife, "The two look like they've been brutally stabbed, but there's no verification of that until David inspects them."

"I… suppose I'll start taking photos," as I always do. I don't mind much, I suppose. Beats the dirty work, and right now taking pictures is the most productive thing to do, "The challenge is to get them without being inside…"

I run back to the car with my kit, placing it back in the trunk and taking out my camera. I check the memory card, making sure it's clear, jesting to myself by singing a song by Sir Mixalot, "Oh, baby. I want to get with yah, and take your pict-" which is when I turn around to find Nick smiling at me, "uuh."

"Having fun, Greggo?"

"I haven't started taking pictures yet…" I begin to walk off towards the house, Nick walking by my side, "What're you going to do?"

"Reach for things after you've taken pictures. Can't step in the house, but I still have to collect what can possibly be evidence."

"Have fun with that!" I squat just behind the doorway, taking a picture on the appearance of the room. I can feel Nick's eyes burning holes in the back of my head. It was only an assumption, but I must be on a roll! I'm right again.

"Hey Greg, you all right? You've been acting different lately."

"Oh really?" I sighed. Maybe he is noticing something, "How different?"

"You've just been… well, not yourself."

"I am very much myself, Nick." I snap another picture as I snap at him, moving around the building to attempt taking photos through the windows. I didn't mean to snap at him, but I feel it's necessary for people to know I can't be "jumpy" all the time. The word fits the description on how people perceive me in the lab, anyway. Nick met me at the window.

"Yeah? Well… this must be a side I've never seen before."

"Must be." Snap.

"What happened to you?"

"I don't know," I look up at him briefly, right in the eyes. I can tell he's curious, "Why don't you ask Grissom?" And with that I left him speechless, returning back to my job of taking pictures of the scene.

By the time David finally came along, I had taken all the pictures I possibly could without walking inside and was helping Nick reach for a fiber swimming in the bloody puddle, just out of reach. I look over at David, who looks like he has never seen a dead body before – or maybe it's the pool of blood – and saw in the background Brass interviewing some bystanders; Grissom was swabbing the rest.

"Am I supposed to step inside?" David asks incredulously. I look up at him and shrug.

"We already photographed the scene as best as we could through the doorway and windows because we were waiting for you. What took you so long?"

"Sorry. My wife –"

"Ah. I see." Not sure why I cut him off. I think I'd rather not speak of relationships. Yeah… that must be it. Standing up, I bid farewell, "Have fun, Nick."

"Yeah, thanks Greg," he huffs as he bags yet another blood-soaked object, squinting through the darkness for more. I made my way over to Brass, seeing if I could be of service. I would have made it to him, too, if it wasn't for the amazingly obvious suspect I saw trying to hijack my car.

What's making him so obvious? He's wearing a blood-stained shirt. If only he had tried to hijack my car before I had taken all those pictures.

"Hey… hey YOU!" All right, my time to shine. I drive his attention away from picking at the car door's keyhole, and I'm shocked when I see his face. This guy, who can be charged for spilling so much blood so ruthlessly, cannot be more than seventeen years old.

Right then he makes a run for it. I chase after him; by the sound of Brass shouting not too soon after, I think I got more than the kid's attention. He takes a sharp turn a block and a half down, disappearing. I follow suit, only to face a knife swinging inches away from my face. Quickly, I pull out my gun and aim it at him.

"Put the weapon down!"

He didn't move from his slouched stance. I lick my lips and tense my grip on the gun. I feel a nervous sweat start to bead on my temple. This scene feels all too familiar.

"I said, 'Put the weapon down!'"

His breathing – perceptible from a mile away, I bet – is loud and hoarse. Either that or I can be mistaking it for my own. I can soon hear sirens approaching. Back-up is coming. No. No, I want to prove myself. I want to show this guy, everyone, myself, what I'm capable of handling.


Before I know it, he lunges at me. Memories impaired my comprehension of the situation. All I can see are his clenched teeth, his cold eyes, and the gleam of the knife coming closer, stronger. I jump backwards, dodging his knife, but not one of our own cars trying to screech to a halt.

Then, ringing in my head, I hear the voice of an angel…

"I came here for you, Greg."