"Dark Days" Chapter 7 and 8
Sep. 16th, 2005 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Chapter 7
The scene was chaos compared to the previous forty-eight hours. There were
several cop cars parked outside, blue and red lights bounced around wildly.
Neighbors gawked in huddled groups, CB radios chirped and buzzed all around,
and even the scent dogs were out.
It was madness personified as the two SUVs pulled up to the scene. All four criminalists
gathered around as Jim Brass filled them in on the details.
"Marisa put Jason to bed around 8:30 p.m. Both parents stayed up to around
11 p.m., each turned in for the night. Both parents checked in on their son.
Marisa got up around 2 a.m. to get some water. She was feelingparanoid, so she opened the door to Jason's room and found him missing. They called the police right away," the captain explained, slipping his notebook back into his pocket.
Nick stared at the house, his eyes scanning the exterior. His fellow
coworkers could feel the tension radiate off of the man. He'd been deadly
silent on the ride over, and the other CSIs waited for his instructions.
When none came, Warrick cleared his throat to get his attention. Sara shot
the lanky man a warning look. It was obvious that the lead CSI was acting
somewhat erratically.
Jim didn't hide his concern, as Nick just stared ahead in a daze
without any indication that he heard his summary at all. Nick's gaze
methodically took in the scene, oblivious to the insanity around him. His
eyes meticulously soaked in every detail of the house. He observed the
entrance, the lawn in front, even the carefully-kept bushes. After several
agonizing seconds, his eyes rested on his team.
"Sara, I want you to canvass the front area. Make sure you go over that
security pad with a fine-tooth comb. Warrick, you have the backyard," Nick's
throaty voice said, drifting in and out of a low cadence.
He swallowed, the stiffness of his movements warning signs of the raging
emotions that were being so closely guarded. "Greg, you're inside with me."
The Texan picked up his kit, and left the others behind. Greg opened his
mouth to say something to his colleagues, but words seemed to fail him.
Silently he grabbed his stuff and once again had to hurry to follow the lead
CSI.
Sara looked over at her partner for the night, her anxiety clearly obvious.
"He's letting himself get pulled into this too deeply," she warned.
Warrick didn't acknowledge her comment. He didn't want to vocalize the dread
that had been building up over the last hour, because if he did, then he
acknowledged that his partner might need to be pulled off this case.
However, a little part of him held out hope that Nick would work through
whatever was eating at him. So far the CSI had been holding things together
in a very professional manner, despite some of the weird vibes Warrick had
picked up lately. He wouldn't be the one to drop a dime on his friend,
something that could have ramifications that could haunt Nick's career.
Warrick didn't say a word to the female criminalist. His silence caused her
face to flush in resentment as she stalked past him. It was obvious that
she was worried about their coworker as well as trying to remain objective
about the potential ramifications of his handling of the case. Warrick shook
his head angrily at his cowardness. He was making an internal wager… one
with insurmountable consequences- ignoring his gut and following a little
voice that wanted to have his friend's back. He decided to wait things out.
He headed for the backyard, his eyes drifting up towards the window of
Jason Todd's bedroom.
Warrick saw the camera flash in the darkened room above. The CSI prayed that he
had made the right decision.
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Jason Todd's bedroom was in stark contrast to his older brother's. Star Wars
posters and action figures were all over the place. A mobile of the solar
system hung from the ceiling. It caught the moonlight at an odd angle
casting strange shadows along the walls. Nick glanced at the collection of
fantasy novels, dinosaur books, and one of those weird 3-D puzzles that was
nearly finished.
There was no sign of a struggle. The child's covers were pulled away and the
CSI bagged a tiny flashlight that he found hidden under the pillow. The
boy's prized Gameboy was also tucked next to it. The CSI felt a slight
breeze and his brown eyes focused on the open window. Nick took a few photos
of the opened entrance. He fished a flashlight out of his vest pocket and examined the window.
The criminalist pulled out his powders and began dusting for prints on the
inside and outside handles. The point of entry had been discovered and Nick
poked his head out and noticed how easily it was to gain access inside.
Jason's room was near the garage. A person could easily scale onto the roof
and then make their way over to the window. It was an easy climb to reach
the second level that way. Nick peered down at his partner; Warrick looked
up at him from his position.
"I've got some fresh shoe prints down here," he yelled.
Nick gave him a thumbs-up, and imagined himself climbing out the window,
scooting along a few feet till he reached the roof of the garage, and then
descending to the ground. The alarm system for the house had to be turned off or compromised. Or whoever took the child knew the code.
Nick examined the room some more. He had a similar solar system mobile set
up in his room as a kid. He had taken such great care and pride at measuring
where each planet hung. Math always came easy to him; he took a ruler and
calculated the correct positions between the celestial bodies and the sun.
It took him nearly a whole day to set up. But he did it by himself, while
his parents worked.
He'd lay in bed for hours, reading and staring upwards as the very solar
system he studied. A boy's bedroom was the entrance way to imagination,
escapism to other worlds. A small hideaway from homework, chores, and
annoying siblings. Nick would seek out the solitude of his room when the
cackles of his sisters grew too much in his home. He would study his mock
universe, and marvel at the magnificence it represented.
Till the day that the sight of it made him sick to his stomach. He had torn
the mobile down and ripped the strings and wires that held it in place. His
parents never understood his sudden aversion at the sight of that damn
monstrosity. For weeks he didn't speak of it. Thinking he was just going
through a phase, his mom bought him a chemistry set. For weeks and months
afterwards, Nick has spent countless hours applying himself to the science
of structure and logic.
The strings that held the planets in this room shifted from the draft. Earth
hovered in the air, and Nick was drawn to the ease in which it floated above
the bed. The paper planet made a flapping sound as it twisted around and
around. The motion of the ornament slowly hypnotized the criminalist, his
legs grew heavy and he nearly collapsed backwards. Nick took a few haphazard steps.
The back of his knees collided with the mattress, and he sat
heavily on the child's bed, transfixed by the fluttering sound.
Nick scowled at the play set above him. The bedroom was a cold lifeless
shell. The energy and spark that it once protected was gone. The sanctity of
what this room represented was now violated and shattered.
Nick felt drawn explicably towards those inner planets. Venus, Earth, and
Mars coasted above him, mocking him as they hung freely. Nick felt his pulse
accelerate, his chest tightened as his body felt trapped by a weight that he
couldn't escape from. His frozen limbs would not move; his voice was
silenced by his constricting throat. He couldn't take his eyes off that damn
mobile. He was forced to watch them slowly twirl on their strings, while his
head buzzed loudly.
'I know I'll never love this way again,
hold on, hold on, hold on.'
His finger tips clawed at the sheets as he squeezed his eyes closed from a
sense of revulsion. His lower lip quivered as he struggled to breathe. Just
as he felt the loss of control, his eyes flew open at the sound of a
question.
"Hey, Nick. You all right?'
Greg Sanders's concerned voice pulled him away from the abyss. He pushed his
hands down on the bed so hard that his arms trembled.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Well, I've been trying to get your attention for a few—"
Nick's fingers curled into fists, turning his knuckles white, the fabric of
the sheets entwined between his fingers. "I said I was fine," he hissed.
He heard hurried footsteps leave the doorway. And Nick dropped his
forehead to his knees and breathed in deeply, hoping his heart would slow
the fuck down. After the longest ten seconds ever, Nick forced himself to a standing
position. He didn't look up at the ceiling anymore. His gaze dropped back to
the green Gameboy that was left abandoned. The CSI stormed out of the room
before it suffocated him.
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The four CSIs stood in a circle in the cramped hallway inside the police
station. Sara's canvass of the outside area around the front of the house
had yielded few clues. The alarm key code was covered in fingerprints from
the family. Either the suspect wore gloves when he disengaged the alarm, or
a member of the family had turned it off.
The latter theory had the group of criminalists sharply divided concerning
the probability of such an act, considering there was no real motive or
evidence that indicated that one of the parents was capable of murdering one
son and then possibly the second one.
Warrick's shoe prints were the closest thing they had to a real clue. It was
the same size 11 Adidas shoe, and the next step in the case involved collecting
shoe prints from the rest of the family. Whether or not it would was to rule
them out was a hotly contested debate.
"The shoe prints are the first real break," Warrick argued. "We lay all our
cards on the table about their first son's abuse and we finally get
something going in this case."
Warrick flashed his green eyes towards his partner. Nick had been reluctant
to go in that direction during the interview but he was feeling the pressure
from all sides right now. His mind kept drifting back to Jason Todd and all
thoughts about what might have happened to him. Sara had suggested that she
handle the interview, but for once Nick had used his powers of shift
supervisor to veto her opinion, leaving her exasperated and angry.
"Enough," Nick silenced the bickering. "Sara, you come with me into the
interview. Warrick get everything ready for the comparison prints." The CSI
turned to the rookie who had been strangely reserved the past few hours.
"Greg, go see if those police reports from the other cities has finally
arrived and get to work going through them. The answers are there, I can
feel it."
The youngest criminalist dredged down the hall, his lack of vigor gone
unnoticed by anyone.
With assignments effectively handed out. Nick glanced at the disapproving
stare of his partner, and ignored it. He turned his back to him as he and
Sara entered the interrogation room.
It was hot in the room. Nick wanted to adjust his collar, but he had all
ready undone the first three buttons of his shirt. The CSI didn't fidget,
but his skin tingled and he felt completely on edge. Marisa and Matt Todd
refused to be interviewed separately and their lawyer, an older gentlemen,
sat with them. Jim Brass remained in the corner as both CSIs sat across
from the table.
The story had remained the same, with nothing changed from Jim Brass' report.
Marisa Todd's face was waxen, but it was difficult to tell if it was from
rage or absolute devastation. Her eyes were downcast, but she hung on to
every word of the criminalist. Her husband, shifted in his chair constantly,
and continued to wring his hands through his sparse hair. His foot tapped
impatiently, and he glared at Nick with contempt. The answer to every
question was clipped, and huffed in between every word.
"We only found prints belonging to the family on the window handle and the
alarm code," Sara explained.
Matt Todd's complexion took on several hues of red. He leaned forward, his
lawyer's hand on his shoulder trying to calm him. "You people heard of
gloves, right?'
Sara would not be baited. "Would Jason just open the window for anyone?"
Marisa's hands began to shake, "No," she whispered. She wiped at her eyes.
"I don't know why he would ever open it for anybody."
"How many people have the alarm code to your home?" Sara continued her line
of questioning.
Matt began to rock back and forth in his chair. "Just the two of us and the
boys. No one else has it." The man looked down at his hands as if studying
them. "Or at least I thought," he mumbled under his breath.
"You didn't hear any strange noises outside?" Sara continued, trying to get
anything out of these distraught people.
"No. Marisa took a sleeping pill before bed. She's hasn't been able to get
any rest. And I didn't hear any disturbance... nothing," the husband
responded, his eyes scanning the room.
Sara glanced at her coworker. Nick remained strangely silent despite the
argument concerning who would conduct the interview. She had taken the lead
so far, and it was unnerving at the way he continued to stare at both
parents. His brown eyes were cold and distant. The criminalist
decided that it would be the best interest for the case to go ahead and
begin the toughest set of questions thus far. She licked her lips somewhat
nervously, more from the erratic behavior of the man beside her than of the
emotional reaction she expected from the couple in front.
She had a feeling that she was about to step onto a minefield, but didn't
know whose reaction she feared the most.
"I don't have an easy way to say this, Mr. and Mrs. Todd. However, there is
physical evidence that your son, Johnny, had been sexually abused."
Sara waited for it. Marisa's complexion became even more chalky white if
that were possible; her sharp intake of breath was countered by the complete
stillness of her husband's body. The color drained from his face, his
momentary state of shock was very real.
Nick remained mute, his body wrought with tension. The family's lawyer tried
to soothe both parents. H glanced at both criminalists, not very keen over
where this interview was heading.
Sara allowed a moment of grief before she lost them to another emotional
breakdown. "We think whoever killed your son had repeatedly assaulted him
over time. This person obviously gained the trust of both of your children,
with intimate knowledge of your home."
Marisa Todd began to lose control, her soft cries increased in volume. Her
husband was too stunned to comfort her, his lower jaw hung loose as it took
time for him to form a response.
"W-what?" he stuttered.
Nick startled Sara with his movements; he opened up a file folder next to
him and meticulously slid several photocopies of a newspaper article towards
the gaping man in front of him.
Matt Todd's eyes grew incredible large at the sight of the papers. He paled
at first, his eyes shifted from the object on the table then towards Nick's
granite expression. The veins around his face stood out, and his hand
crumpled the papers in silence.
"What size shoe do you wear, Mr. Todd?" Nick's scratchy voice broke the
heated stare down between the two men.
Matt Todd leaned forward as his nails scratched the table. "I would never
harm my son."
"What about the two boys in Tuscan?" Nick asked, his voice tight and deadly.
Jim Brass shifted uneasily in the corner. Sara felt like she was in the
middle of a tennis match as he watched both men battle to keep themselves
from going at each other.
"Any allegations from my client's past have no relevance in their recent
tragedies," the family lawyer began.
Nick stood up slowly; he kept his hands firmly on the table as he loomed
over at his suspect. "We're going to need your shoe prints for analysis to
rule you out, sir."
Matt Todd rose from his chair. He placed his foot on the table and
systematically unlaced his shoe. He pulled off the loafer and gazed at it
for a moment, before flinging against the wall, missing Nick's head by only
a few inches.
The CSI didn't flinch but Jim Brass rushed over before things could get even
worse. Matt Todd started to unbutton his shirt, as he continued to stare Nick down.
He slipped the garment off and threw it on the table as well.
"You want to test the rest of my clothes, Mr. Stokes," he seethed. The
architect never took his eyes off the criminalist. "Whatever monster you
still think I am, you're dead wrong."
Sara felt like some weird spectator at a boxing match. She stood up next to
her coworker, her hand gently touched his back. Her fingertips brushed over
his sweat-soaked shirt. She looked around the room for any sign of sanity
from anyone else. Sara looked at the other CSI whose expression reflected
something totally different than expected. Nick look surprised- no, he
looked astonished.
The frazzled CSI's eyes darted at each person in the room and back to the
father. He stared at the man's arms. A tattoo of a shield with the words
"Victory of Death" covered his right forearm.
"How long have you had that tattoo, Mr. Todd?"
The husband stared insidiously at the other man. "I got it when I was
twenty." The outraged father glanced at the ink that adored his flesh.
"Why?"
Nick glanced over at Sara then back to the mother, his voice was slightly
shaky.
"Mrs. Todd, did Johnny have a favorite toy?"
The hysterical woman gathered enough of her wits to stammer an answer. "H-he
loved this little stuffed donkey. He never went anywhere without it."
Nick stumbled backwards, shaking his head. "Two days," he mumbled under his
breath.
Sara started towards him. "What about two days?" she asked, trying to find
some rhyme or reason in his words.
Nick looked at the female CSI in what had to be described as horror. He
moved till his back hit the wall, his head bouncing back from the impact.
Nick's confused expression haunted Sara. She didn't know what to say or how
to react.
Nick stood there paralyzed. He spoke so softly that Sara didn't catch his
words as he abandoned her to the frenzy that had been created in his wake.
Nick exited the room without an explanation. He cursed and pushed passed
people in the busy hallway. Voices buzzed past him as he headed towards the
exit.
Greg Sanders caught up to him as he ducked and weaved, the younger
criminalist keeping up with his insane pace. Nick was in the parking lot
before he realized where his feet were taking him.
He was nearing his truck, his half hazard breathing was under more control,
and reality seemed to zap back into focus. It was only then that he realized
he had company. The youngest CSI stared at him in some sort of mix of awe
and trepidation. Nick blinked several times, not knowing how he even reached
his SUV.
"We need to get back to the boy's room," he explained.
Greg was too caught in the craziness to rebuke the erratic behavior of the
man in front him. He managed to stutter a small "Okay."
Before better common sense could take hold, both criminalist headed back to the
scene.
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Nick stood before the entrance of the home, cutting away the crime seal tape
that sealed the house from others. Greg bounced on the balls of his feet
nervously.
"Dude, what are we doing here?" he asked, looking around. "Shouldn't we wait
for an officer?"
Nick was acting before mulling over any action. "His Gameboy is still
here," he stated as if this rationalization would clarify all of the answers
for the younger man.
Greg's brow furrowed, still completely baffled. "Huh?"
The ex-lab tech followed Nick into the house, almost bumping into him,
when he halted in the middle of the room. Nick's cell phone had been buzzing
wildly and he stopped momentary to shut it off.
Greg's was starting to ring, and unlike his coworker, he waited to answer
it.
Nick gave the rookie one final order. "I know that's Sara or Warrick. Tell
them to start digging into any information on Coach Brent Nero."
Greg looked up at Nick to tell him to wait up, but the other criminalist was
all ready going up the stairs. The Texan was reacting, following on pure
instinct, without stopping to ask himself any reasonable questions. His
heart had been pounding during the interrogation, perhaps from the intensity
of the interview, or even more problematic, from his own twisted guilt and
anxiety.
Jason Todd wasn't the newest DB, not a body missing its personality. No, he
had meet and gotten to know the boy. The innocent smile and awkward emotions
still fresh in the CSI's mind. And that child had slipped right through his
fingers.
Nick pushed open the door to the bedroom that he had evacuated only a few
hours earlier. He went straight towards the bed, and peered down towards the
sheets, scanning for the elusive Gameboy. His hands instinctively dug
through his jeans pockets for a pair of gloves, all the while his eyes
searched for the toy.
He started to slide on the latex items, when he heard the creak of a floor
board. His fingers brushed the butt of his gun when he felt an arm snake
around his chest and the sharp metal of a large blade against his throat. A
voice whispered in his ear as he felt the knife cut into his flesh, a small
rivet of blood spilled down and stained the front of his shirt.
"You move so much as a muscle, and you'll be dead before you can utter a
word."
Chapter 8
Nick froze, his fingers rested on the handle of his service weapon, an arm around him held him flush against the unseen assailant. He held his breath, anything to keep the knife from cutting him any deeper.
"I want you to drop your gun to the floor, very carefully," a voice whispered in his ear.
Nick kept his movements to a minimum. The guy had a steady hand, but he wasn't very careful about how the blade dug into his skin. Nick pulled his gun out of his holster, and dropped it to the floor. He knew the suspect could slice his throat open in seconds, so trying shoot him from his prone position wasn't going to work.
Now that he was disarmed, the suspect forced him forward. Nick heard the guy kick the gun backwards, towards the entrance of the room. The suspect moved Nick closer to the wall with the window and spun him around till the criminalist was facing him.
Once Nick was turned about, a hand shoved him till his back hit the wall with a thud. The knife was back against his throat, the sharp end of the blade dug into the soft fleshy side under his chin. Nick's eyes grew large when he saw Brent Nero's steely expression. The coach kept Nick pinned to the interior of the room. Blood slowly dripped down his chest from more than one cut. Coach Nero was very calm for a man who was threatening the life of a crime scene investigator. His eyes weredeadly serious, his breathing even.
"Any one else in the house?"
"No," Nick lied. The criminalist tried to keep from sweating. Half of him wanted Greg to come in and call for help, the other part prayed the younger man stayed away so that he would remain out of danger.
Nero twisted the blade, the point stung his skin, and fresh little droplets of blood trickled down.
"You came here alone?" he scoffed.
"Yeah," Nick tried not to gulp with the knife bearing down on him.
Nero's eyes narrowed. He brought his face closer to the CSI, his left thumb dug into Nick's shoulder. "Why are you here?" he leaned closer, his eyes almost twinkled in curiosity. "I mean, how did you know?'
Nick tried to keep his teeth from clattering when he spoke. "The donkey was Johnny's favorite toy. I know that Jason doesn't like to go anywhere without his Gameboy. He wouldn't be very cooperative without it."
Nero slid the knife closer to Nick's Adam's apple. "Very perceptive. So, you rushed over here. Not very smart."
"I can be impulsive sometimes."
The Coach chuckled, and then grew silent. "You seemed pretty worked up over this case. I mean…you were upset up at my interview. I didn't expect that kind of emotion from a crime scene guy."
Nick stiffened. "You murdered an innocent child, you bastard."
The knife never wavered, as Brent Nero stood and observed his hostage's anger. The suspect didn't react and Nick continued to speak.
"Is Jason alive?" Nick tried to keep his voice even.
"Yes." Nero smiled. He seemed to enjoy watching his prey try to remain calm.
"Just let him go. You still have a chance to---"
Nero pressed the blade upwards causing Nick to grimace and end short his tirade. "He's mine. He needs to be tested just like all the others."
Nick felt his heart quicken at the implications. Nero was a sociopath and the thought that he could be responsible for the death of so many children, made him violently nauseous. He had to choose his words carefully.
"Tested?" Nick tried not to squirm.
Nero kept the knife in place but moved his left hand till his fingers were wrapped around the back of Nick's neck, his thumb pressed along the CSI's jaw line.
"All of them." He shook his head, disappointed. "They all failed." The coach's eyes drifted towards the interior of the room. "Then I finally understood what I had to do."
The suspect looked back at Nick. "I had to take his children. Take the offspring from the man who started it all. Who made me do this."
"Matt Todd," Nick stated.
Brent Nero's eyes flashed with anger. "It's all his fault," he growled.
"Your tattoo."
Nero licked his lips. "It was all I saw every time he…" He gnashed his teeth together. "It was only right that it became part of my arm. A reminder of what I needed to do."
"All those kids!" Nick growled. The criminalist saw the way the man looked at him, as if it was time to be done with this conversation. He had to get a grip, keep him talking.
"Please don't test Jason," Nick swiftly amended, his voice softer.
Nero shook his head almost sympathetically. "It has to be done. They all need to be judged."
"No, they don't." Nick didn't care if he was begging. It was his fault that Jason was being subjected to this monster.
The coach tilted his head. "You don't understand." He adjusted his fingers, sliding his left hand to the back of Nick's shoulder. Positioning him for the kill.
The CSI knew that any moment he was going to die. The bastard was setting him up for the easiest way to strike. He couldn't let Jason down. "I do understand," he beseeched. His voice sounded so pathetically weak to his own ears.
The evil smile was back. "No you don't. You couldn't possibly."
Nick tentatively raised his hand in a non-threatening way. Nero watched with curiosity as Nick gently placed it on the man's shoulder. The CSI felt his insides churn, he HATED touching this vile person. "I... I do," he swallowed.
Nero squinted. He chewed on his lower lip. "No… no, you can't."
"I wished to God, that I didn't know. That I could just make it all go away. Push away all those memories… or had fought back somehow, " his voice grew lower, thicker.
Brent Nero stared at him. His expression changed… drifted.
Nick felt like he was gaining something. Controlling the game. However he heard footsteps approach and the look of acceptance from the other man disappeared.
"Hey, Nick. We really need to wait for---" Greg Sanders's voice trailed off as he entered the room. The rookie criminalist gawked in shock at the presence of the other man.
Things happened too quickly for Nick to comprehend. Brent Nero pulled him away from the wall. He stood behind him using the CSI as a shield with the large knife still pressed against his throat.
Greg Sanders spotted the other CSI's gun on the floor and picked it up. He aimed it unsteadily in the direction of the assailant. Nero held Nick securely against him, his hold nearly crushing the CSI. Nick willed himself to remain calm, he didn't know how this was going to turnout, but he knew the ex-lab tech was completely inexperienced with firearms.
"Drop the gun, son, or your buddy here is going to have a fancy new necktie," Coach Nero threatened, his voice steady and cold.
Greg Sanders held onto the Glock with both hands, his breathing coming in and out harshly. He stared at both men, his gaze drifting over to the other CSI for any hint of instructions. The rookie was already upset over the cuts and the small amount of blood that dripped down his friend's shirt.
The suspect was completely unfazed by the other man's presence, and he even gave the younger man a wicked grin. His dark eyes almost lit up in glee with excitement. It was obvious who was in control of this situation. Brent Nero could feel the uncertainty beam out in waves from the rookie.
"Let him go," Greg ordered. His voice was in more control than he felt.
Nero chuckled.
Nick tried to deflect the attention away from the ex-lab tech. "You still have a chance. Just drop the knife."
Nero squeezed him harder, inflicting a grunt from his hostage. "Shut up." The assailant than glared at the other CSI. "Are you going to shoot me?"
Greg held out the gun, he kept his trembling to a minimum. "Drop your weapon."
"Do you even know how to fire one, young man? What if you miss?" The suspect laughed louder. "What if you hit your buddy here?"
Greg tightened his hold on the gun, he was faltering. Sweat poured down his face, and he started to shuffle his feet slightly. Feeling the anxiety from the inexperienced criminalist in front of him, the suspect forced Nick to move along with him closer towards the window. His confidence in the situation was plainly obvious. "What if I kill him and then gut you for fun?" he threatened, his eyes dancing with joy.
Greg trained his weapon as the man moved. He was speechless; Greg gave Nick a pleading look. One full of regret and much more. He couldn't handle this. He was trying so hard to keep it together.
"There's another way," Nick offered. He was flailing, trying to do anything to keep alive and Greg safe.
Nero crept them both closer towards the window. He stared at Greg, soaking in all the edgy and unsure movements. The assailant continued to grin while he spoke. "I don't think you'll shoot at all."
Greg bit his lip, he fingered the trigger, knowing that something was going to happen.
Brent Nero eyed the young man. "But just in case, I'll need a small diversion."
Greg squinted.
Brent Nero's movements were quick and precise. He lowered the knife away from Nick's throat and then swiftly cut across the CSI's middle. His blade made quick work, the slice long and unexpected.
Nick flinched when he felt the weapon move away from his jugular, but felt the heat of the steel as it tore across his belly. Nick's hands went to protect his abdomen. He was too late, the burning sensation, and the pain filled in the gaps of unawareness.
Greg's hands shook as he witnessed the assault. It was over so quickly that his brain barely registered what transpired. He watched as Brent Nero created his distraction and slipped out the window. Greg pulled the trigger.
A shot rang out but he wildly missed and the man was gone. Nick stood there for a few seconds. He looked down at his wounded body slightly confused. He looked back up at Greg, his face filled with relief that the other man was unharmed. Then his complexion paled, and he crumpled to the ground.
Greg was paralyzed from fear, but after Nick slumped to the floor, he managed to get his body to follow some basic commands and he rushed to his friend.
"Oh God, Nick, I'm so sorry," he stuttered as he tried to get his overloaded brain to work enough to help.
The scene was chaos compared to the previous forty-eight hours. There were
several cop cars parked outside, blue and red lights bounced around wildly.
Neighbors gawked in huddled groups, CB radios chirped and buzzed all around,
and even the scent dogs were out.
It was madness personified as the two SUVs pulled up to the scene. All four criminalists
gathered around as Jim Brass filled them in on the details.
"Marisa put Jason to bed around 8:30 p.m. Both parents stayed up to around
11 p.m., each turned in for the night. Both parents checked in on their son.
Marisa got up around 2 a.m. to get some water. She was feelingparanoid, so she opened the door to Jason's room and found him missing. They called the police right away," the captain explained, slipping his notebook back into his pocket.
Nick stared at the house, his eyes scanning the exterior. His fellow
coworkers could feel the tension radiate off of the man. He'd been deadly
silent on the ride over, and the other CSIs waited for his instructions.
When none came, Warrick cleared his throat to get his attention. Sara shot
the lanky man a warning look. It was obvious that the lead CSI was acting
somewhat erratically.
Jim didn't hide his concern, as Nick just stared ahead in a daze
without any indication that he heard his summary at all. Nick's gaze
methodically took in the scene, oblivious to the insanity around him. His
eyes meticulously soaked in every detail of the house. He observed the
entrance, the lawn in front, even the carefully-kept bushes. After several
agonizing seconds, his eyes rested on his team.
"Sara, I want you to canvass the front area. Make sure you go over that
security pad with a fine-tooth comb. Warrick, you have the backyard," Nick's
throaty voice said, drifting in and out of a low cadence.
He swallowed, the stiffness of his movements warning signs of the raging
emotions that were being so closely guarded. "Greg, you're inside with me."
The Texan picked up his kit, and left the others behind. Greg opened his
mouth to say something to his colleagues, but words seemed to fail him.
Silently he grabbed his stuff and once again had to hurry to follow the lead
CSI.
Sara looked over at her partner for the night, her anxiety clearly obvious.
"He's letting himself get pulled into this too deeply," she warned.
Warrick didn't acknowledge her comment. He didn't want to vocalize the dread
that had been building up over the last hour, because if he did, then he
acknowledged that his partner might need to be pulled off this case.
However, a little part of him held out hope that Nick would work through
whatever was eating at him. So far the CSI had been holding things together
in a very professional manner, despite some of the weird vibes Warrick had
picked up lately. He wouldn't be the one to drop a dime on his friend,
something that could have ramifications that could haunt Nick's career.
Warrick didn't say a word to the female criminalist. His silence caused her
face to flush in resentment as she stalked past him. It was obvious that
she was worried about their coworker as well as trying to remain objective
about the potential ramifications of his handling of the case. Warrick shook
his head angrily at his cowardness. He was making an internal wager… one
with insurmountable consequences- ignoring his gut and following a little
voice that wanted to have his friend's back. He decided to wait things out.
He headed for the backyard, his eyes drifting up towards the window of
Jason Todd's bedroom.
Warrick saw the camera flash in the darkened room above. The CSI prayed that he
had made the right decision.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jason Todd's bedroom was in stark contrast to his older brother's. Star Wars
posters and action figures were all over the place. A mobile of the solar
system hung from the ceiling. It caught the moonlight at an odd angle
casting strange shadows along the walls. Nick glanced at the collection of
fantasy novels, dinosaur books, and one of those weird 3-D puzzles that was
nearly finished.
There was no sign of a struggle. The child's covers were pulled away and the
CSI bagged a tiny flashlight that he found hidden under the pillow. The
boy's prized Gameboy was also tucked next to it. The CSI felt a slight
breeze and his brown eyes focused on the open window. Nick took a few photos
of the opened entrance. He fished a flashlight out of his vest pocket and examined the window.
The criminalist pulled out his powders and began dusting for prints on the
inside and outside handles. The point of entry had been discovered and Nick
poked his head out and noticed how easily it was to gain access inside.
Jason's room was near the garage. A person could easily scale onto the roof
and then make their way over to the window. It was an easy climb to reach
the second level that way. Nick peered down at his partner; Warrick looked
up at him from his position.
"I've got some fresh shoe prints down here," he yelled.
Nick gave him a thumbs-up, and imagined himself climbing out the window,
scooting along a few feet till he reached the roof of the garage, and then
descending to the ground. The alarm system for the house had to be turned off or compromised. Or whoever took the child knew the code.
Nick examined the room some more. He had a similar solar system mobile set
up in his room as a kid. He had taken such great care and pride at measuring
where each planet hung. Math always came easy to him; he took a ruler and
calculated the correct positions between the celestial bodies and the sun.
It took him nearly a whole day to set up. But he did it by himself, while
his parents worked.
He'd lay in bed for hours, reading and staring upwards as the very solar
system he studied. A boy's bedroom was the entrance way to imagination,
escapism to other worlds. A small hideaway from homework, chores, and
annoying siblings. Nick would seek out the solitude of his room when the
cackles of his sisters grew too much in his home. He would study his mock
universe, and marvel at the magnificence it represented.
Till the day that the sight of it made him sick to his stomach. He had torn
the mobile down and ripped the strings and wires that held it in place. His
parents never understood his sudden aversion at the sight of that damn
monstrosity. For weeks he didn't speak of it. Thinking he was just going
through a phase, his mom bought him a chemistry set. For weeks and months
afterwards, Nick has spent countless hours applying himself to the science
of structure and logic.
The strings that held the planets in this room shifted from the draft. Earth
hovered in the air, and Nick was drawn to the ease in which it floated above
the bed. The paper planet made a flapping sound as it twisted around and
around. The motion of the ornament slowly hypnotized the criminalist, his
legs grew heavy and he nearly collapsed backwards. Nick took a few haphazard steps.
The back of his knees collided with the mattress, and he sat
heavily on the child's bed, transfixed by the fluttering sound.
Nick scowled at the play set above him. The bedroom was a cold lifeless
shell. The energy and spark that it once protected was gone. The sanctity of
what this room represented was now violated and shattered.
Nick felt drawn explicably towards those inner planets. Venus, Earth, and
Mars coasted above him, mocking him as they hung freely. Nick felt his pulse
accelerate, his chest tightened as his body felt trapped by a weight that he
couldn't escape from. His frozen limbs would not move; his voice was
silenced by his constricting throat. He couldn't take his eyes off that damn
mobile. He was forced to watch them slowly twirl on their strings, while his
head buzzed loudly.
'I know I'll never love this way again,
hold on, hold on, hold on.'
His finger tips clawed at the sheets as he squeezed his eyes closed from a
sense of revulsion. His lower lip quivered as he struggled to breathe. Just
as he felt the loss of control, his eyes flew open at the sound of a
question.
"Hey, Nick. You all right?'
Greg Sanders's concerned voice pulled him away from the abyss. He pushed his
hands down on the bed so hard that his arms trembled.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Well, I've been trying to get your attention for a few—"
Nick's fingers curled into fists, turning his knuckles white, the fabric of
the sheets entwined between his fingers. "I said I was fine," he hissed.
He heard hurried footsteps leave the doorway. And Nick dropped his
forehead to his knees and breathed in deeply, hoping his heart would slow
the fuck down. After the longest ten seconds ever, Nick forced himself to a standing
position. He didn't look up at the ceiling anymore. His gaze dropped back to
the green Gameboy that was left abandoned. The CSI stormed out of the room
before it suffocated him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The four CSIs stood in a circle in the cramped hallway inside the police
station. Sara's canvass of the outside area around the front of the house
had yielded few clues. The alarm key code was covered in fingerprints from
the family. Either the suspect wore gloves when he disengaged the alarm, or
a member of the family had turned it off.
The latter theory had the group of criminalists sharply divided concerning
the probability of such an act, considering there was no real motive or
evidence that indicated that one of the parents was capable of murdering one
son and then possibly the second one.
Warrick's shoe prints were the closest thing they had to a real clue. It was
the same size 11 Adidas shoe, and the next step in the case involved collecting
shoe prints from the rest of the family. Whether or not it would was to rule
them out was a hotly contested debate.
"The shoe prints are the first real break," Warrick argued. "We lay all our
cards on the table about their first son's abuse and we finally get
something going in this case."
Warrick flashed his green eyes towards his partner. Nick had been reluctant
to go in that direction during the interview but he was feeling the pressure
from all sides right now. His mind kept drifting back to Jason Todd and all
thoughts about what might have happened to him. Sara had suggested that she
handle the interview, but for once Nick had used his powers of shift
supervisor to veto her opinion, leaving her exasperated and angry.
"Enough," Nick silenced the bickering. "Sara, you come with me into the
interview. Warrick get everything ready for the comparison prints." The CSI
turned to the rookie who had been strangely reserved the past few hours.
"Greg, go see if those police reports from the other cities has finally
arrived and get to work going through them. The answers are there, I can
feel it."
The youngest criminalist dredged down the hall, his lack of vigor gone
unnoticed by anyone.
With assignments effectively handed out. Nick glanced at the disapproving
stare of his partner, and ignored it. He turned his back to him as he and
Sara entered the interrogation room.
It was hot in the room. Nick wanted to adjust his collar, but he had all
ready undone the first three buttons of his shirt. The CSI didn't fidget,
but his skin tingled and he felt completely on edge. Marisa and Matt Todd
refused to be interviewed separately and their lawyer, an older gentlemen,
sat with them. Jim Brass remained in the corner as both CSIs sat across
from the table.
The story had remained the same, with nothing changed from Jim Brass' report.
Marisa Todd's face was waxen, but it was difficult to tell if it was from
rage or absolute devastation. Her eyes were downcast, but she hung on to
every word of the criminalist. Her husband, shifted in his chair constantly,
and continued to wring his hands through his sparse hair. His foot tapped
impatiently, and he glared at Nick with contempt. The answer to every
question was clipped, and huffed in between every word.
"We only found prints belonging to the family on the window handle and the
alarm code," Sara explained.
Matt Todd's complexion took on several hues of red. He leaned forward, his
lawyer's hand on his shoulder trying to calm him. "You people heard of
gloves, right?'
Sara would not be baited. "Would Jason just open the window for anyone?"
Marisa's hands began to shake, "No," she whispered. She wiped at her eyes.
"I don't know why he would ever open it for anybody."
"How many people have the alarm code to your home?" Sara continued her line
of questioning.
Matt began to rock back and forth in his chair. "Just the two of us and the
boys. No one else has it." The man looked down at his hands as if studying
them. "Or at least I thought," he mumbled under his breath.
"You didn't hear any strange noises outside?" Sara continued, trying to get
anything out of these distraught people.
"No. Marisa took a sleeping pill before bed. She's hasn't been able to get
any rest. And I didn't hear any disturbance... nothing," the husband
responded, his eyes scanning the room.
Sara glanced at her coworker. Nick remained strangely silent despite the
argument concerning who would conduct the interview. She had taken the lead
so far, and it was unnerving at the way he continued to stare at both
parents. His brown eyes were cold and distant. The criminalist
decided that it would be the best interest for the case to go ahead and
begin the toughest set of questions thus far. She licked her lips somewhat
nervously, more from the erratic behavior of the man beside her than of the
emotional reaction she expected from the couple in front.
She had a feeling that she was about to step onto a minefield, but didn't
know whose reaction she feared the most.
"I don't have an easy way to say this, Mr. and Mrs. Todd. However, there is
physical evidence that your son, Johnny, had been sexually abused."
Sara waited for it. Marisa's complexion became even more chalky white if
that were possible; her sharp intake of breath was countered by the complete
stillness of her husband's body. The color drained from his face, his
momentary state of shock was very real.
Nick remained mute, his body wrought with tension. The family's lawyer tried
to soothe both parents. H glanced at both criminalists, not very keen over
where this interview was heading.
Sara allowed a moment of grief before she lost them to another emotional
breakdown. "We think whoever killed your son had repeatedly assaulted him
over time. This person obviously gained the trust of both of your children,
with intimate knowledge of your home."
Marisa Todd began to lose control, her soft cries increased in volume. Her
husband was too stunned to comfort her, his lower jaw hung loose as it took
time for him to form a response.
"W-what?" he stuttered.
Nick startled Sara with his movements; he opened up a file folder next to
him and meticulously slid several photocopies of a newspaper article towards
the gaping man in front of him.
Matt Todd's eyes grew incredible large at the sight of the papers. He paled
at first, his eyes shifted from the object on the table then towards Nick's
granite expression. The veins around his face stood out, and his hand
crumpled the papers in silence.
"What size shoe do you wear, Mr. Todd?" Nick's scratchy voice broke the
heated stare down between the two men.
Matt Todd leaned forward as his nails scratched the table. "I would never
harm my son."
"What about the two boys in Tuscan?" Nick asked, his voice tight and deadly.
Jim Brass shifted uneasily in the corner. Sara felt like she was in the
middle of a tennis match as he watched both men battle to keep themselves
from going at each other.
"Any allegations from my client's past have no relevance in their recent
tragedies," the family lawyer began.
Nick stood up slowly; he kept his hands firmly on the table as he loomed
over at his suspect. "We're going to need your shoe prints for analysis to
rule you out, sir."
Matt Todd rose from his chair. He placed his foot on the table and
systematically unlaced his shoe. He pulled off the loafer and gazed at it
for a moment, before flinging against the wall, missing Nick's head by only
a few inches.
The CSI didn't flinch but Jim Brass rushed over before things could get even
worse. Matt Todd started to unbutton his shirt, as he continued to stare Nick down.
He slipped the garment off and threw it on the table as well.
"You want to test the rest of my clothes, Mr. Stokes," he seethed. The
architect never took his eyes off the criminalist. "Whatever monster you
still think I am, you're dead wrong."
Sara felt like some weird spectator at a boxing match. She stood up next to
her coworker, her hand gently touched his back. Her fingertips brushed over
his sweat-soaked shirt. She looked around the room for any sign of sanity
from anyone else. Sara looked at the other CSI whose expression reflected
something totally different than expected. Nick look surprised- no, he
looked astonished.
The frazzled CSI's eyes darted at each person in the room and back to the
father. He stared at the man's arms. A tattoo of a shield with the words
"Victory of Death" covered his right forearm.
"How long have you had that tattoo, Mr. Todd?"
The husband stared insidiously at the other man. "I got it when I was
twenty." The outraged father glanced at the ink that adored his flesh.
"Why?"
Nick glanced over at Sara then back to the mother, his voice was slightly
shaky.
"Mrs. Todd, did Johnny have a favorite toy?"
The hysterical woman gathered enough of her wits to stammer an answer. "H-he
loved this little stuffed donkey. He never went anywhere without it."
Nick stumbled backwards, shaking his head. "Two days," he mumbled under his
breath.
Sara started towards him. "What about two days?" she asked, trying to find
some rhyme or reason in his words.
Nick looked at the female CSI in what had to be described as horror. He
moved till his back hit the wall, his head bouncing back from the impact.
Nick's confused expression haunted Sara. She didn't know what to say or how
to react.
Nick stood there paralyzed. He spoke so softly that Sara didn't catch his
words as he abandoned her to the frenzy that had been created in his wake.
Nick exited the room without an explanation. He cursed and pushed passed
people in the busy hallway. Voices buzzed past him as he headed towards the
exit.
Greg Sanders caught up to him as he ducked and weaved, the younger
criminalist keeping up with his insane pace. Nick was in the parking lot
before he realized where his feet were taking him.
He was nearing his truck, his half hazard breathing was under more control,
and reality seemed to zap back into focus. It was only then that he realized
he had company. The youngest CSI stared at him in some sort of mix of awe
and trepidation. Nick blinked several times, not knowing how he even reached
his SUV.
"We need to get back to the boy's room," he explained.
Greg was too caught in the craziness to rebuke the erratic behavior of the
man in front him. He managed to stutter a small "Okay."
Before better common sense could take hold, both criminalist headed back to the
scene.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick stood before the entrance of the home, cutting away the crime seal tape
that sealed the house from others. Greg bounced on the balls of his feet
nervously.
"Dude, what are we doing here?" he asked, looking around. "Shouldn't we wait
for an officer?"
Nick was acting before mulling over any action. "His Gameboy is still
here," he stated as if this rationalization would clarify all of the answers
for the younger man.
Greg's brow furrowed, still completely baffled. "Huh?"
The ex-lab tech followed Nick into the house, almost bumping into him,
when he halted in the middle of the room. Nick's cell phone had been buzzing
wildly and he stopped momentary to shut it off.
Greg's was starting to ring, and unlike his coworker, he waited to answer
it.
Nick gave the rookie one final order. "I know that's Sara or Warrick. Tell
them to start digging into any information on Coach Brent Nero."
Greg looked up at Nick to tell him to wait up, but the other criminalist was
all ready going up the stairs. The Texan was reacting, following on pure
instinct, without stopping to ask himself any reasonable questions. His
heart had been pounding during the interrogation, perhaps from the intensity
of the interview, or even more problematic, from his own twisted guilt and
anxiety.
Jason Todd wasn't the newest DB, not a body missing its personality. No, he
had meet and gotten to know the boy. The innocent smile and awkward emotions
still fresh in the CSI's mind. And that child had slipped right through his
fingers.
Nick pushed open the door to the bedroom that he had evacuated only a few
hours earlier. He went straight towards the bed, and peered down towards the
sheets, scanning for the elusive Gameboy. His hands instinctively dug
through his jeans pockets for a pair of gloves, all the while his eyes
searched for the toy.
He started to slide on the latex items, when he heard the creak of a floor
board. His fingers brushed the butt of his gun when he felt an arm snake
around his chest and the sharp metal of a large blade against his throat. A
voice whispered in his ear as he felt the knife cut into his flesh, a small
rivet of blood spilled down and stained the front of his shirt.
"You move so much as a muscle, and you'll be dead before you can utter a
word."
Chapter 8
Nick froze, his fingers rested on the handle of his service weapon, an arm around him held him flush against the unseen assailant. He held his breath, anything to keep the knife from cutting him any deeper.
"I want you to drop your gun to the floor, very carefully," a voice whispered in his ear.
Nick kept his movements to a minimum. The guy had a steady hand, but he wasn't very careful about how the blade dug into his skin. Nick pulled his gun out of his holster, and dropped it to the floor. He knew the suspect could slice his throat open in seconds, so trying shoot him from his prone position wasn't going to work.
Now that he was disarmed, the suspect forced him forward. Nick heard the guy kick the gun backwards, towards the entrance of the room. The suspect moved Nick closer to the wall with the window and spun him around till the criminalist was facing him.
Once Nick was turned about, a hand shoved him till his back hit the wall with a thud. The knife was back against his throat, the sharp end of the blade dug into the soft fleshy side under his chin. Nick's eyes grew large when he saw Brent Nero's steely expression. The coach kept Nick pinned to the interior of the room. Blood slowly dripped down his chest from more than one cut. Coach Nero was very calm for a man who was threatening the life of a crime scene investigator. His eyes weredeadly serious, his breathing even.
"Any one else in the house?"
"No," Nick lied. The criminalist tried to keep from sweating. Half of him wanted Greg to come in and call for help, the other part prayed the younger man stayed away so that he would remain out of danger.
Nero twisted the blade, the point stung his skin, and fresh little droplets of blood trickled down.
"You came here alone?" he scoffed.
"Yeah," Nick tried not to gulp with the knife bearing down on him.
Nero's eyes narrowed. He brought his face closer to the CSI, his left thumb dug into Nick's shoulder. "Why are you here?" he leaned closer, his eyes almost twinkled in curiosity. "I mean, how did you know?'
Nick tried to keep his teeth from clattering when he spoke. "The donkey was Johnny's favorite toy. I know that Jason doesn't like to go anywhere without his Gameboy. He wouldn't be very cooperative without it."
Nero slid the knife closer to Nick's Adam's apple. "Very perceptive. So, you rushed over here. Not very smart."
"I can be impulsive sometimes."
The Coach chuckled, and then grew silent. "You seemed pretty worked up over this case. I mean…you were upset up at my interview. I didn't expect that kind of emotion from a crime scene guy."
Nick stiffened. "You murdered an innocent child, you bastard."
The knife never wavered, as Brent Nero stood and observed his hostage's anger. The suspect didn't react and Nick continued to speak.
"Is Jason alive?" Nick tried to keep his voice even.
"Yes." Nero smiled. He seemed to enjoy watching his prey try to remain calm.
"Just let him go. You still have a chance to---"
Nero pressed the blade upwards causing Nick to grimace and end short his tirade. "He's mine. He needs to be tested just like all the others."
Nick felt his heart quicken at the implications. Nero was a sociopath and the thought that he could be responsible for the death of so many children, made him violently nauseous. He had to choose his words carefully.
"Tested?" Nick tried not to squirm.
Nero kept the knife in place but moved his left hand till his fingers were wrapped around the back of Nick's neck, his thumb pressed along the CSI's jaw line.
"All of them." He shook his head, disappointed. "They all failed." The coach's eyes drifted towards the interior of the room. "Then I finally understood what I had to do."
The suspect looked back at Nick. "I had to take his children. Take the offspring from the man who started it all. Who made me do this."
"Matt Todd," Nick stated.
Brent Nero's eyes flashed with anger. "It's all his fault," he growled.
"Your tattoo."
Nero licked his lips. "It was all I saw every time he…" He gnashed his teeth together. "It was only right that it became part of my arm. A reminder of what I needed to do."
"All those kids!" Nick growled. The criminalist saw the way the man looked at him, as if it was time to be done with this conversation. He had to get a grip, keep him talking.
"Please don't test Jason," Nick swiftly amended, his voice softer.
Nero shook his head almost sympathetically. "It has to be done. They all need to be judged."
"No, they don't." Nick didn't care if he was begging. It was his fault that Jason was being subjected to this monster.
The coach tilted his head. "You don't understand." He adjusted his fingers, sliding his left hand to the back of Nick's shoulder. Positioning him for the kill.
The CSI knew that any moment he was going to die. The bastard was setting him up for the easiest way to strike. He couldn't let Jason down. "I do understand," he beseeched. His voice sounded so pathetically weak to his own ears.
The evil smile was back. "No you don't. You couldn't possibly."
Nick tentatively raised his hand in a non-threatening way. Nero watched with curiosity as Nick gently placed it on the man's shoulder. The CSI felt his insides churn, he HATED touching this vile person. "I... I do," he swallowed.
Nero squinted. He chewed on his lower lip. "No… no, you can't."
"I wished to God, that I didn't know. That I could just make it all go away. Push away all those memories… or had fought back somehow, " his voice grew lower, thicker.
Brent Nero stared at him. His expression changed… drifted.
Nick felt like he was gaining something. Controlling the game. However he heard footsteps approach and the look of acceptance from the other man disappeared.
"Hey, Nick. We really need to wait for---" Greg Sanders's voice trailed off as he entered the room. The rookie criminalist gawked in shock at the presence of the other man.
Things happened too quickly for Nick to comprehend. Brent Nero pulled him away from the wall. He stood behind him using the CSI as a shield with the large knife still pressed against his throat.
Greg Sanders spotted the other CSI's gun on the floor and picked it up. He aimed it unsteadily in the direction of the assailant. Nero held Nick securely against him, his hold nearly crushing the CSI. Nick willed himself to remain calm, he didn't know how this was going to turnout, but he knew the ex-lab tech was completely inexperienced with firearms.
"Drop the gun, son, or your buddy here is going to have a fancy new necktie," Coach Nero threatened, his voice steady and cold.
Greg Sanders held onto the Glock with both hands, his breathing coming in and out harshly. He stared at both men, his gaze drifting over to the other CSI for any hint of instructions. The rookie was already upset over the cuts and the small amount of blood that dripped down his friend's shirt.
The suspect was completely unfazed by the other man's presence, and he even gave the younger man a wicked grin. His dark eyes almost lit up in glee with excitement. It was obvious who was in control of this situation. Brent Nero could feel the uncertainty beam out in waves from the rookie.
"Let him go," Greg ordered. His voice was in more control than he felt.
Nero chuckled.
Nick tried to deflect the attention away from the ex-lab tech. "You still have a chance. Just drop the knife."
Nero squeezed him harder, inflicting a grunt from his hostage. "Shut up." The assailant than glared at the other CSI. "Are you going to shoot me?"
Greg held out the gun, he kept his trembling to a minimum. "Drop your weapon."
"Do you even know how to fire one, young man? What if you miss?" The suspect laughed louder. "What if you hit your buddy here?"
Greg tightened his hold on the gun, he was faltering. Sweat poured down his face, and he started to shuffle his feet slightly. Feeling the anxiety from the inexperienced criminalist in front of him, the suspect forced Nick to move along with him closer towards the window. His confidence in the situation was plainly obvious. "What if I kill him and then gut you for fun?" he threatened, his eyes dancing with joy.
Greg trained his weapon as the man moved. He was speechless; Greg gave Nick a pleading look. One full of regret and much more. He couldn't handle this. He was trying so hard to keep it together.
"There's another way," Nick offered. He was flailing, trying to do anything to keep alive and Greg safe.
Nero crept them both closer towards the window. He stared at Greg, soaking in all the edgy and unsure movements. The assailant continued to grin while he spoke. "I don't think you'll shoot at all."
Greg bit his lip, he fingered the trigger, knowing that something was going to happen.
Brent Nero eyed the young man. "But just in case, I'll need a small diversion."
Greg squinted.
Brent Nero's movements were quick and precise. He lowered the knife away from Nick's throat and then swiftly cut across the CSI's middle. His blade made quick work, the slice long and unexpected.
Nick flinched when he felt the weapon move away from his jugular, but felt the heat of the steel as it tore across his belly. Nick's hands went to protect his abdomen. He was too late, the burning sensation, and the pain filled in the gaps of unawareness.
Greg's hands shook as he witnessed the assault. It was over so quickly that his brain barely registered what transpired. He watched as Brent Nero created his distraction and slipped out the window. Greg pulled the trigger.
A shot rang out but he wildly missed and the man was gone. Nick stood there for a few seconds. He looked down at his wounded body slightly confused. He looked back up at Greg, his face filled with relief that the other man was unharmed. Then his complexion paled, and he crumpled to the ground.
Greg was paralyzed from fear, but after Nick slumped to the floor, he managed to get his body to follow some basic commands and he rushed to his friend.
"Oh God, Nick, I'm so sorry," he stuttered as he tried to get his overloaded brain to work enough to help.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-16 11:43 pm (UTC)EEk!
Kristen