Good evening (/morning/afternoon) lovely people :) I am still in the process of editing and re-posting Family Portrait, but I feel like I need a new project to be working on as well. Having reviewed some of my planned stories, this one stood out, so this is the one we're going with :)

It contains some supernatural themes, so you've been warned. It will be based in part on The Woman in Black and also on Nightmare on Elm Street. Beyond that, you'll just have to read it to find out what it's about!

Much of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from Season 4 episode No More Bets.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the films/books the plot is based on and I am not making any pennies from this story.

Enjoy! :)

California – Late September 1979

Hidden beneath a mask of wispy grey smoke, the bright orange flames licked fervently at a dusky autumnal sky. The wooden shack crackled, ancient beams splintering and singeing before their very eyes.

But even the roar of the fire was not enough to disguise his desperate screams. As the walls started to collapse inward, sealing him inside his blazing tomb, the gathered men watched on in haunted silence.

They would never speak of this again. Once the noise ceased and the building was nothing more than a handful of dying embers, they would go back to their respective lives and try to forget the atrocities that had happened in these evil woods.

There would be no police reports. No murder investigation.

Nobody would remember him. They had made sure of that.

Las Vegas – Spring, 2004

"I'm curious, what bothers you more? The fact that you couldn't pin a murder on me; or that Catherine cashed my cheque."

Grissom's hands stilled and he rose slowly to meet Sam's level gaze.

"There were no strings on that money." The mogul continued, rolling his shoulders back in a mildly threatening gesture.

Grissom took off his orange goggles, revealing the cold stare lurking behind them.

"Just because you can't see something," he cocked a distrustful eyebrow, "doesn't mean it's not there."

"Hello?" Catherine bellowed, tossing her keys into the wooden bowl by her front door and waiting for a response to her greeting.

Eventually, heavy footfalls on the stairs signalled her daughter's presence and Lindsey stumbled into her view.

"Mom?" The eleven-year-old frowned. "What are you doing home?"

"Oh, I had a few hours of vacation time to use up." She lied. "I thought, since it's not a school night, we could sit up and watch a movie together?"

Lindsey, already in her pyjamas and slippers, didn't even pretend to consider the friendly offer.

"No thanks, I'm busy."

Before Catherine could enquire what was keeping her child entertained at this late hour, the girl had vanished back upstairs without another word.

"Fine." Cath sighed, sloping into the lounge. Her mother was already asleep, sprawled ungracefully on the couch with a book propped open over her chest.

Draping a blanket across Lily's body, Catherine mulled over her options.

She wasn't allowed back to work tonight, thanks to Sam's ever-growing hold over this infernal city. Lindsey was clearly not interested in spending time with her. Nancy would be working tonight.

So, that left her with one other person to call on.

She hadn't really wanted to see him tonight; but she wasn't going to sit all alone while her mother slept through 60 Minutes either.

Grabbing her cell phone, she dialled the familiar number and waited for that effortlessly smooth voice to pick up.

"Hey, it's me." She tried not to let her bad mood permeate into her voice. He would figure that out for himself soon enough. "So, I got some time off work tonight. You want to go out ... somewhere?"

Stifling a yawn with one hand, Warrick tossed the folder onto the bench in front of his boss.

"So, Archie and I reviewed the CCTV footage from The Rampart. The kid left the holding room at approximately 3am – just as Sam said – and is seen on a camera outside the Casino a little after 3:20."

"It doesn't mean Sam didn't kill him." Grissom pointed out calmly, nudging the folder away without bothering to check the results for himself. Warrick frowned, surprised by this blatant show of prejudice from the normally unbiased scientist.

"Yeah, but I don't see why he would." The dark-skinned CSI countered, dropping onto a stool. "I mean, he already got his money back – why go after the kid and murder him, and then dump him in the neon graveyard under his own sign?"

"Maybe he wanted to send a message?" It was a flimsy argument, especially by his standards, but it was all he had to cling on to right now.

"What kind of message? Don't get me wrong, I don't like Sam; but I don't think he's stupid enough to leave us a breadcrumb trail back to his own casino."

Patience beginning to wane at his subordinate's incessant reasoning, Gil pushed himself away from the bench.

"Just stay on Sam, for me?" He almost begged, shuffling hurriedly out of the room and ignoring the newly arrived detective lurking in the doorway.

Warrick threw his hands out in bewilderment.

"Man, he's really gunning for Sam tonight."

"You ever have a case get away from you that you just can't forget about?" Brass asked rhetorically, sauntering into the lab. "Gil has a lot of unresolved issues when it comes to Sam Braun."

"Well, be that as it may, I think he might be wrong this time."

Jim's lips spread into a thin smirk and he patted the CSI on the shoulder.

"I'll let you be the one to tell him that."

The despondent sighing from the corner was hard to ignore, rivalling even Sara Sidle's powers of concentration. Shaking off her own deep thoughts and glancing across the locker room, she found herself staring at Nick's slumped shoulders.

"Everything okay?"

Without turning to face her, Nick waved the piece of paper that he had been repeatedly reading.

"This is about the key CSI position." He explained. "Grissom recommended me."

Sara felt her heart sink at the words, forgetting for a moment the sad tinge to Nick's voice. Clamping down on her disappointment, she swallowed hard and plastered what she hoped was a supportive smile on her face.

"Congratulations."

"It's not necessary." He exhaled, folding the letter up and slipping it back into the envelope. "Position was cut. Budget had room for the new promotion or a new qiagen, bio robot ez-1. Greg will be thrilled."

Sara nodded absently, barely hearing anything after the word 'cut'.

"Yeah."

Slamming his locker shut and turning briefly towards his colleague, Nick flashed an almost cocky smile.

"Oh well, it's just an honour to be nominated, right?"

His parting comment went unanswered. Alone in the dim room, Sara sank onto the bench and clawed a hand through her silky waves.

Did she feel that Nick deserved the recommendation? Sure.

Did that ease the sting of being passed over for it? Not even a little.

"So, you just got the night off? Just ... just like that?"

Cath whirled towards him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you complaining?"

"No." He corrected quickly. "You just seem a little pissed off about it. I like it."

Chris' almost-embarrassed confession drew a smile from the woman and she gripped his arm tighter.

"You like that?" She enquired, nodding to a piece of artwork hanging in a nearby window.

"Depends on what you're going to do with it." He scrunched up his nose. "Pretty expensive taste for a public servant."

"She can afford it."

Catherine and Chris turned in unison, startled by the voice. Cath's face fell with despair, immediately glancing around on the off-chance that somebody from work was watching.

"You going to introduce him?" Sam pressed when she didn't speak. Fortunately for Catherine, no introductions were necessary. Chris bounded forwards, thrusting his hand eagerly into Sam's palm.

"Mr Braun. Chris Bezich. It's a pleasure to meet you." He gushed. "Your hosts, they – they send a lot of your whales to my club, Acid Drop."

"That's great." Sam mumbled, his attention entirely fixed on his daughter's stony expression. Catherine nudged Chris lightly in the ribs, encouraging him to let go of her father.

"Uh, just give us a minute." She requested, tugging Sam out of earshot. "What do you want?"

"Mugs, I heard you had some time off because of me?" The genuine concern in his voice made her stomach turn and she folded her arms defensively.

"I could get fired for even having this conversation." She spat.

"Relax. Vegas is a small town. I'm always running into people I know."

"Just cut to the chase, Sam." Cath sighed impatiently.

"Some people in this town think I'm a murderer."

"Some people in this town know you're a murderer." She countered.

Sam lunged forwards and clamped a firm hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly; something which did not go unnoticed by Chris, who continued to lurk a few feet away.

"I did not kill those kids." He insisted. "I did not!"

"Kids?" Catherine interrupted. "How do you know there's more than one?"

Unfortunately she never got her answer, as Chris materialised at her side with a look of protective concern on his bemused face.

"I'm fine." She insisted through gritted teeth, whirling away from her boyfriend.

Without removing his hand, Sam cast a weary glance at the smaller man.

"You're not impressing her." He muttered. "Mugs, I'll be in touch."

They watched him slope back to his car, where a sharp-suited driver was already waiting with the door held open for him. The stretch limo was too long to perform an easy turn in the road and the chauffeur had to make several small manoeuvres before the vehicle – complete with abnormally wide tyres to support the excess weight – finally rolled effortlessly back to the glittering strip and the sanctity of Sam's fortress-like office.

"So, you and Sam Braun..." Chris pushed curiously.

"He slept with my mother."

She didn't know how he did it, but something about Sam made her feel like a sulky teenage girl. And it was even more annoying that he had been right about Chris; his show of masculine protectiveness didn't impress her.

There was only one man in the world who could get deeper under her skin than Sam Braun; and that man was currently attempting to dial a phone with his toes.

"What are you doing?" She dared to ask, peering over the desk at his shenanigans.

"I'm testing my podiatric dexterity." He explained in his typically casual manner. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, you know those tracks that we found at the neon graveyard?"

Grissom finally stopped monkeying with the phone and flicked his stern blue gaze up to meet hers.

"The ones from the case you're not working on?"

"Yeah, those." She agreed, unfazed. "Sam used to be a caddy man. He would drive a new one every year. These days, he's being driven."

"And you know this because..?"

Resisting the urge to point out that Sam was her father and she was perfectly entitled to keep up to date with his mode of transport; she sucked in a breath, before offering a calmer response.

"I saw him. He came to me."

"And you walked away, I hope." Gil raised an eyebrow, sinking into the leather seat behind his desk.

"I made him walk away from me. Right into a stretch limo with a big turning radius."

"That doesn't prove anything. Besides, any evidence that comes from you is tainted."

Catherine visibly flinched at the word. Sam was a bad person, but he wasn't a poison.

"Then have it come from you." She held Grissom's gaze, ensuring her message was well received. "Warrant shouldn't be hard to get, especially if the call comes from someone whose character is above reproach."