| Second Chances- by kyrdwyn |
| Rated: R Spoilers: None Synopsis: The crew calls in a language specialist from UNLV for some help. She may know more about this case than anyone knows, however. |
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| CSI, Gil Grissom and company, and places and etc are all property of Anthony Zuiker, Alliance Atlantis, CBS, and other companies. They did not condone this fic, and I am not getting paid for it. I write because I want to. All other characters not appearing on CSI in any way, shape, or form that appear in this story are my property. If you have any comments - good or bad, feel free to e-mail me at: toxicrev@yahoo.com |
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| Kyra Douglas stood in the reception area of the Las Vegas Criminalistics Lab, looking around with curiosity. The UNLV linguistics professor had been called at home by her department head with a special request – the Las Vegas police needed someone with extensive knowledge of ancient languages to assist in their investigation into a homicide. He had something about there being writing on a body. Kyra had reluctantly agreed. She hadn’t been inside a crime lab for at least seven years, something her department head didn’t know about. Very few people knew about it. “Professor Douglas?” The redheaded professor turned around to see a petite brunette standing behind her. “I’m Sara Sidel, crime scene investigator. I’m sorry for having you come down here this late.” “It’s not a problem, I don’t sleep much anyway.” Sara smiled, “I have the same problem. Why don’t I tell you something about the case on the way back to the morgue?” Kyra nodded and clipped on the visitor’s badge that Sara handed her. “The body is a male Caucasian, early thirties. The coroner’s still trying to determine cause of death but he noticed the markings on the body. It’s writing but he couldn’t figure out the language. He called over to UNLV to see if we could have someone figure it out.” “And here I am at 4 AM.” Kyra said with a slight smile. She could smell the coroner’s office before they reached the door. It was not something that one forgot easily. Sara gestured Kyra through the doors into the morgue. There were two men in blue surgical gowns standing around a sheet-draped table, discussing something. Kyra was struck by the appearance of the younger man. Even in the shapeless gown he looked better than most men Kyra had seen since coming to Las Vegas three years ago, and she taught a lot of the UNLV athletes in her Basic English courses. His hair was an attractive salt-and-pepper, and his blue eyes were staring intently at the autopsy table. The other gentleman in the room turned to look at her, and Kyra smiled at him. He had the look of the other coroners she had met over the years – something in their eyes reflected the myriad shells of human spirits that passed under their hands. “Grissom, this is Professor Kyra Douglas, the language professor from UNLV.” Sara’s introduction made the younger gentleman look up and Kyra took in a quick breath at having those blue eyes study her. She quickly smiled and gave him the same study back, determined not to be unnerved. “Hi. I’m Gil Grissom, night shift supervisor. Thanks for coming.” He offered her his hand. Kyra reached across the body to shake it. “This is Dr. David Robbins, coroner.” He indicated the other gentleman, and Kyra shook his hand. Grissom watched the professor as she greeted Dr. Robbins. He liked the way she had not flinched when he studied her, as a lot of people did. Her bright green eyes had regarded him coolly, like he was a recalcitrant student trying to explain why he did not have his assignment. The thought amused him. Her voice broke into his reverie. “So, I hear that you have a language puzzle on a corpse?” “Yes, someone decided to use this poor man as a chalk board.” Kyra lifted an eyebrow at the analogy. Grissom gestured to the table before him, and Dr. Robbins folded the sheet back to reveal the corpse. It was a dark haired man, with a lot of blood from the neck down. She looked down and noticed the markings carved into the man’s chest. Sara had been right. It was writing. The words were not consistent with a single language, though. Curious, Kyra moved closer to the body for a better look. Her focus on the body caused her to miss the look exchanged between the other three in the room. A look of surprise that she was actually getting closer to the body, not backing away like they had clearly expected. Grissom was regarding the professor intently again. This woman was not what he expected. Somehow, whenever the crime lab had to call in a specialist who didn’t work in the forensic field, being in the morgue and looking at the body always grossed them out. One outside expert had insisted on doing everything from photographs and drawings, refusing to even come down to the crime lab. Grissom could have sworn that Professor Douglas had done this sort of thing before. As she circled the body, studying the carvings, Grissom kept watching her. He hadn’t seen much of her when she was on the other side of the table, but as she got closer he could see that she was about a head shorter than he was, and obviously kept herself in shape. Despite being called down to a crime lab at 4 AM, she didn’t look like it. She was dressed professionally, in a navy pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a chignon. As she got closer, he could smell her perfume, another oddity - rather than something flowery, like most women he knew, hers smelled like apples. “Well, you have two different languages on this body. Latin and Gaelic.” “Gaelic? As in Irish?” Sara asked. “Well, it looks a little older than modern Gaelic but essentially the same.” Kyra studied the writing a little more, then looked up at Grissom, “If you give me a few hours, I can translate this for you.” Grissom was surprised at the offer. “Do you think it might be helpful?” Kyra looked questioningly at Grissom, “Isn’t that your department, figuring out what clues are helpful and what are merely distractions?” “You sound like you’ve done this before.” He was amused by her description of his job. “I read a lot.” Kyra was not telling him about her past. Grissom smiled. “When can you have the translation done?” * * * The knock on his office door annoyed Grissom. He was trying to determine when the corpse with the writing on it had died from the linear regression of the insects and didn’t want to be disturbed. “What?” he called. “Is this a bad time?” Grissom looked up at the unfamiliar alto voice and blinked as he noticed Professor Douglas standing hesitantly in the doorway. He glanced at the clock – 7 PM. “Uh, no. No, come on in.” He set down the chart he had been using and stood up to greet her. “I was, just, uh, busy.” “I can come back another time.” She said, still standing in the doorway. “No!” She looked surprised at his vehement denial. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Long day.” Way to go, Gil, he thought. You’re acting like a teenager with a crush. But he didn’t want her to go. He wanted to talk with her again. She smiled sympathetically. “I have the translation.” She crossed the room and handed him a small stack of papers, looking around the office. Her eyes took in the jars of scientific oddities, looking amused at some of them. “Anything interesting?” Grissom asked, watching her. “It’s total nonsense as far as I can tell. It’s not a complete sentence, just a bunch of words strung together.” Grissom slipped on his glasses and read through the translation, noticing that Kyra was wandering around his office, inspecting his collection. She was right, the words made no sense as a sentence. “Probably something only the writer would understand.” "You'd have to translate the translation from English to killer, and I'm not sure I can help with that." Grissom looked down at the papers again. This case was getting more bizarre by the minute. He felt Kyra’s eyes on him and looked up. She was studying him the same way she had the two-headed scorpion. “Something wrong?” “You look like you haven’t slept in a while.” Kyra could have kicked herself for saying that. She hadn’t meant to, she didn’t know him well enough to be commenting on his sleeping habits. Grissom looked taken aback by her blunt comment, then shrugged. “I’ve been working the case all day. Sleep and food were low priorities.” He gestured toward the charts and bugs and coffee cups scattered around the desk. “Well, then, how about dinner? We can talk about the case if you have to justify the need for food to your bosses." Grissom thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Dinner," he said, "would be great." * * * Grissom sat across from Kyra at the restaurant, drinking coffee and smiling. They'd talked for two hours over dinner, about the case and then themselves. He enjoyed listening to her stories of teaching Latin to pre-meds and English to athletes. He told her stories about the seminars he'd conducted and the cases he'd worked. They discussed the news, the Vegas weather, anything that had come to their minds. He was having a good time, and he thought she was too. It had been a while since he'd had anything resembling a date with an intelligent woman, and the last one ended when she walked out after he got called to a case. As if his thoughts had conjured up some sadistic demon, his pager went off. He sighed and checked it. Kyra took a sip of her coffee and waited. "Another body, more writing. I have to go." He signaled the waiter for their check. "Do you want me to come back to your lab? In case something needs to be translated?" Grissom struck anew by her demeanor. She wasn't angry that the case took priority, she hadn't walked out in a huff. She seemed to view the interruption as a normal occurrence, even offering to help. "Why don't I give you a call after I've checked it out?" "Okay." She pulled out a business card and wrote her home number on the back. She handed it to him. "You go on," she said as his pager went off again, "I'll cover this one. Next time dinner's on you." She smiled. He nodded agreement, shook her hand, and hurried off to the scene. Kyra paid and drove home. She'd been in the door long enough to put her purse on the hall table when the phone rang. Grissom needed her help. * * * The instant Kyra saw the writing on the corpse she knew she was in trouble. She didn’t need to consult any books to translate this particular phrase – she’d seen it before, on other corpses. She saw it in her nightmares, when she actually slept. However, she couldn’t tell that to Grissom or Sara. She couldn’t open that door – she was afraid she might not be able to shut it again. So she lied, said that she needed time to translate. They accepted that. Kyra drove home from the lab as if the proverbial hounds of hell were tailing her, screaming out the killer’s message. “I’m coming for you, Princess.” * * * When Kyra hadn’t stopped by with the translation by the time the shift was over, Grissom was concerned. Something was wrong – he could feel it. She had lied at the autopsy; he had seen the flash of fear in her eyes when she got her first glimpse at the writing. Other subtle signs of agitation appeared, as if she couldn’t wait to get out of there. He sat in his Tahoe outside her house. He’d gotten her address from the UNLV department secretary when he had gone by her office and been told that Kyra had called her classes off today. He couldn’t tell if she was home or not. He wasn’t even sure why he was so worried, except there was something about her that attracted him, which was something that hadn’t happened to him in a while. She was intelligent, pretty, didn’t seem too freaked out by the world he worked in, and even seemed to accept his devotion to his job. He wanted to get to know her better. He was just about to get out of the car when his cell phone rang. “Grissom.” “Hey, it’s Brass. Listen, I ran our corpses through VICAP. This isn’t an isolated incident. This guy was active 8 years ago in Nashville, killing guys and carving writing into them - mostly rambling nonsense. They were close to catching him, when the guy took one of their CSIs as a hostage. Held her for a week before they found her.” “Jesus.” “Yeah, she was pretty messed up when they found her. He apparently killed one of his victims in front of her and used her for carving practice. According to the detective down there, he became obsessed with the girl. His next three victims had messages aimed at her directly, all about how he was in love with her and he was coming for her. I’ve seen the pictures – one of their victims has the same writing as tonight’s.” “So why is he in Las Vegas after 8 years of hibernation?” “Probably because he found his ‘princess’ again.” “Do we know who she is?” Brass paused. “Yeah. Kyra Douglas, professor at UNLV. Our expert translator. Ten to one she recognized the case and didn't tell us.” “Shit. I knew she was scared of something tonight.” “Yeah. Listen, want me to send a unit out to her house to make sure she’s okay?” “No, I’m on my way there – I want to talk to her, see what I can learn about this guy. I'll see if I can get her to leave. I'll call you to let you know.” “Right.” Grissom hung up, staring across the street at Kyra’s house. He remembered her reaction to the writing, her haste to get out of the lab, skillfully hidden underneath a professional exterior. She was the target of an obsessed serial killer who hadn’t been able to find her in 8 years. And he had brought her back into his sights. |
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