Title : WHEN THE DEAD AWAKEN
Chapter One
*****
Wrapped in the grey morning, Las Vegas still slept. The sun was rising, a
spectacle of light and fire on the sky as brilliant as always, heralding the
awakening of the sleeping. Soon, it would be a new day and the night and its
dreams would be another memory.
Catherine dreamt, but the dream held only distant and faint images, unable to
truly hold her in its grasp. She slept, feeling warm and bright, almost too
bright.
She awoke with a start. The sun was streaming into her room, a bright onslaught
on her vision. She closed her eyes again and tried to turn to get away from it,
only to bump into something warm and large. In her bed.
It certainly wasn’t Lindsey, for Lindsey was sleeping over at a friend’s.
Couldn’t be a dog, for they had none.
“Hmmmpf,” the shape complained in a deep voice.
Memories flooded back to her – the same voice, husky with desire, whispering
indecent suggestions into her ear. Indecent suggestions she had followed up.
There had been a few she had made herself during the night, too.
Ah.
She opened her eyes to meet Warrick’s amused glance.
“Is this how you treat all the men you seduce shamelessly? Try to kick them out
of the bed in the morning?”
“I did not seduce you.”
“The bottles of wine say otherwise.”
“That was to celebrate we broke the case,” she protested. “Besides, you brought
one.”
He smiled. “So I did.”
His expression turned serious as he laced his fingers with hers, his dark eyes
searching her face. She had a feeling what he was looking for, but she was not
sure she could give it to him.
“Cath…”
She pushed a finger against his lips. “No. We’re not going to talk this to
death. We’re mature consenting adults, even under the influence of too much good
wine.”
He kissed the finger and she was momentarily distracted, feeling the heat from
his body mixing with the heat of the sun to warm her. She was comfortable and
relaxed and she could not remember the last time she had felt so alive in all
ways.
He pushed away her hand and leaned forwards to kiss her. His lips brushed
against hers with excruciating gentleness and a faint echo of the passion she
remembered from last night.
The phone rang, sounding shrill and angry. She tried to toss her pillow at it
without breaking the kiss, but missed.
Groaning, she broke away and managed to track down the sound. The number id told
her it was Grissom, which probably meant work. The perfect thing to ruin a good
morning.
“Gil,” she greeted, trying not to sound as grumpy as she felt. “Yeah… Yeah...
I’ll be there.”
“Work,” Warrick said with slight disdain and she nodded as she hung up.
“Work. Murdered girl, Grissom wants some help with people.”
“Lucky him to have you.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Let’s have some breakfast and help Grissom puzzle out the
living.”
That, it occurred to her as she regretfully detangled herself from the sheets,
was probably easier said than done.
*****
Night had turned to morning; the sun had arisen to blind the moon and stars once
more. The sleeping had awoken to leave dreams behind and live another day.
Sara sometimes wondered if she at all could tell the difference. She felt tired
even when sleeping, dreaming even when awake.
And somewhere deep down she wondered if that was why she had been drinking more,
almost as if she was willing herself to break down, but she pushed that thought
away. It was shameful enough that Grissom had learned she had been pulled over
and had looked upon her with pity. She did not desire pity from him. She never
had.
What she desired, she could never have. She wasn’t even sure quite what it had
been she desired. Love? Life? Just to have kissed him once so she could know if
it would have been right or not?
So she had thrown herself into work, trying to ignore the urge to drink, trying
to ignore how tired she felt, trying to ignore everything. And the days did
pass, somehow. But if it was life, she could not tell.
She looked down on the clothes of the dead girl and tried to push away all
feelings, tried to become Grissom. To feel nothing meant not to be hurt.
There was a lot of blood, dark and corrugated in the fabrics. The blouse was
silk, the skirt flower-pattered cotton. The parts untouched by blood still felt
soft to touch, even through her gloves. The shoes looked more fashionable than
comfortable.
The girl had in a way dressed up to die.
“Hey,” Nick said brightly, entering the room with light steps and looking his
usual cheerful self. “This the case Grissom got you working on, huh?”
“Haven’t you got your own case, Nicky?”
“Assault,” Nick replied, looking almost bored. “Nothing as interesting as
murder.”
“All cases are interesting,” Grissom’s voice came drifting into the room and
Nick made a grimace.
“That would be my cue to go work on it, I suppose,” he muttered almost ruefully.
Grissom gave him an overbearing smile as he slipped out, a smile that almost
lured a smile to her own lips. But she quickly lowered her gaze when Grissom
turned his attention to her.
“We have a name. Reported missing by the parents this morning – Tara MacNichols.
Aged nineteen, still living at home. Matches the description of our Jane Doe.
I’m heading over to talk to them. Catherine will join me there.”
“I’ll work on the clothes,” she replied coolly. Her mind was void, but somewhere
in the void she could almost feel herself screaming. Screaming at him, herself,
the dead, the alive, everything.
“Sara, are you… Are you okay?”
There was worry in his voice, but she refused to feel it, refused to let it mean
anything. She had let too much mean anything when it should not have.
“Yeah, sure.”
“You don’t…” he hesitated, seemed to search for words, “quite seem okay.”
“And you’d know, would you, Grissom?”
He closed his mouth and looked slightly hurt. She wanted to scream at him for
that.
“I better go,” he said after a moment and slipped out. She looked after him and
wondered why the pain was not enough to make her stop loving him.