Title: Lost Souls
Chapter: 1 – Pound of Flesh and a Pint of Blood
Author: ctrl_issue
Fandom(s): CSI:NY/Mermaid Saga/PotC
Rating: T for Teen (for cursing, for violence, and for now)
Pairings: Flack/Sheldon, Sparrow/Norrington, Messer/"Montana"
Disclaimer: If you know it, I don't own it. And chances are, even if you DON'T know it, I don't own it.
Summary: Sometimes there are Lost Souls that wander this world, and no amount of science will ever be able to explain the how or the why.
Author's Notes: Done for NaNoWriMo 2008, so don't expect quality here folks. It's just that the premise of this amuses me. Greatly. Why, yes, I DO do it for the LULZ! (and I am totally including this header as part of my word count. Don't like? Tough.) I should also note that NONE of these are "my" fandoms. I've never written in any of them before. Hell, I've barely read anything for CSI:NY. As such, you should be prepared for some OOCness going on here.
Word Count So Far: 10.136

Lost Souls

Night in the city was as normal as any self-respecting native could hope for. Tourists were congregating at the usual attractions, leaving the rest of the metropolis to do its casual, familiar business, as it preferred. Lights brightening the landscape so brightly that hardly any stars were visible. Cars moved down the streets, cabbies weaving and cutting through the traffic like otters through ocean currents: beautiful but vicious. People walked the sidewalks at various paces and in random packs, risking their lives every time they darted across the asphalt street. Even the weather seemed to speak of averages, as it was neither too hot nor too cold, with only moderate wind and humidity.

Within the city's illusion, though, there was random insanity occurring everywhere.

Down a darkened alley in down town financial district, a lithe figured dressed in all black ran as if her life depended on it. Dark eyes were dilated more from adrenaline than from the shadows, and her heartbeat pounded in her throat. To the casual observer, she appeared to be running away from someone. Or something.

But as she approached the back of one of the buildings along the alley block, she pulled out a white key card. Slamming against the closed door, one hand gripped the handle while the other used the keycard to open the door. Once inside, she resumed her breakneck speed, barreling down the hallway.

Inside the building, marble floors that were used to the fast clip of dress shoes were pelted by the rapid succession of soft-soled shoes. The air was crisp, oxidized and utterly controlled. Lights were intermitted, as there was supposedly no one within the structure. The halls were a maze of white walls and blue doors.

The illusion of normalcy was most potent when used to hide how chaotic the world really was.

She knew where she was going, though. She had the map of the place memorized. Every turn, every flight of stairs, every secret passage and code. She knew the how and the where.

And she believed in the why. She believed in the why of it with every heart-pounding breath she took, with every screaming muscle in her body.

They had taught her well. Molded her.

Sculpted her body and her mind and her spirit.

Unfortunately, they had neglected one important thing.

Time.

They hadn't given her enough time.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"And that's it?" Detective Donnie Flack looked down at the body with a frown. 'Who has marble on the sixteenth floor? Am I the only one that thinks it's a bit… pretentious?'

"Yes, sir," the uniformed cop replied tiredly. "As soon as we found the body, we called it in, got the witness to a different room with a watch on him, and called for back-up. The witness is the secretary for one of the bigwigs here, and she's pretty shaken up about this. She's already made three pots of coffee for every one, and keeps cleaning the same dishes over and over."

"They weren't evidence, were they?" Flack asked, jerking his head up to look at the beat cop. He would hate to have the guy's badge for allowing someone to tamper with evidence, but he wasn't going to let the murderer of some kid get away.

"No, I believe they were her lunch dishes," the officer said with a shake of his head. "As soon as she got to the cafeteria, she began to fiddle with it, but apparently, she wasn't hungry. She just tossed her food in the garbage and started cleaning."

"Mmm," Flack nodded. "Right, sounds like a neat freak. I'll talk with her in a second. I want to be here for when the coroner and CSI get here. Let him know what you've told me and then we'll get down to some real business."

"Me and my partner will wait with her," the other cop said as he accepted the dismissal. He was young and expected to be run over by some of the detectives, but Flack had worked with him before. They had an understanding. Sort of.

Looking down the pristinely white hallway, towards the elevators, Flack was mildly surprised to see the doors open to reveal a new coroner and Dr. Sheldon Hawkes emerge together. One eyebrow quirked up at the site of Sheldon, specifically.

'Looks like someone was on a date,' Flack thought to himself with just a touch of self-admitted jealousy. As far as he was concerned, the knee-jerk reaction was normal for him. He did not dwell on the emotion, though. Instead, he pushed it to the side so that he could try to be as analytical as possible when giving the doctor a once over.

The smaller framed male wore a pair of dark dress slacks and a pale shirt that was partially opened to reveal some of his clavicle. 'I wonder what it would be like… Never mind, not going to go there. Not after the last time I did anything like that. And the only reason I did that then was because it was college and that's the time for experimenting and making stupid mistakes.' A dark blazer kept the ensemble looking mildly dress-attire, but then Flack was honest with himself in acknowledging that he had never seen Sheldon looking anything less than beautiful, even when he was dumpster diving.

"Hey Doc," Flack greeted as Sheldon approached. "What're you doing here? Weren't you off or something?"

"Or something," Sheldon grinned. "Mac called me on my cell, asking me to come in. Him and the rest of the team are being briefed on a big case back at the office."

"Oh?" Flack asked as he tilted his head, doing his best to not be obvious. 'He smells good, too. Wonder what kind of cologne that is.'

"Human trafficking."

"I see," Flack nodded absently. "So, what, you got the short stick?"

"What have we got?" Sheldon asked with a rueful grin. He placed his case on the ground well away from the body. He took out his gloves first, and as he put them on, he eyed the girl. She was dressed in all black, from her sneakers up to her black jeans and black hoodie. She wore a black knit cap. Some of her sable hair had escaped the confines of the cap, and were laying haphazardly about youthful face.

"One young Asian Jane Doe who looks to be all of fifteen. Caught dead after she broke into here, Black Pearl Enterprises. She has a skeleton keycard on her persons, and we're going to check and see who all has a copy of one of them. From what I understand, they hard to copy, so at least that's some good news." Flack said as he flipped through his notebook. With a jerk of his head, he indicated a weapon the young victim still held onto. "Another piece of news is that we found her holding onto an old sword, a Katana. I guess it's true what they say, you live by the sword, you die by the sword. And I may not be an expert on these things, but just lookin' at the thing, I bet this thing is the genuine article, and probably worth a fortune. Mac would know. He's used one of these before. She's got a death grip on it like you wouldn't believe, too."

"Probably just rigor. Seems to be a lot of blood, but I can't tell where it's coming from. There don't seem to be any visible holes in her clothes," Sheldon said as he began photographing the body. He took care to get a few good pictures of her hand clutching the sword. "With the blood loss and holding the sword, I'd say she was stabbed or in some kind of fight, but…"

"But?" Flack asked.

"But if loss of blood were the C.O.D., there would be a larger pool around her. We'll have to take her back to the lab to get a proper cause." Clicking off a few more dozen photographs, each from a different angle, the doctor was also obviously trying to see more of what might have caused the girl to expire. When he was done, he nodded over to the coroner who promptly set about finding the time of death. As the other medic did so, Sheldon started looking about the room for some of the more obvious clues. "Hmmm…"

"What?"

"If our victim was in a sword fight…" Sheldon asked, looking over at the taller male. "Where's all the blood spatter? Where are the bloody footprints?"

Flack frowned as he looked around the area again. "You thinking this isn't our primary scene?"

"Hey, guys?" The coroner called out, cutting into their conversation.

"Yeah?" Flack asked, turning to look at the kneeling figure.

"According to temperature and rigor, time of death was about 2 A.M."

"That's about four hours ago," Sheldon murmured to himself. He frowned as he turned to Flack. "What time did her keycard open the last door? Where was she trying to go?"

"I'm thinking the last door she opened, she didn't need a keycard for," Flack shook his head. "As for where she was going… only her maker would know."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mac sat down with his notebook and a cup of coffee at one of the many tables set in the briefing room with the rest of his team. Lindsay, Danny, and Stella were gathered around him, set off to the side of the rest of the police officers. In front of them, three FBI agents were sorting papers, putting them into order. 'Looks like this is going to be a big event.'

"Hawkes?" Stella asked quietly.

"Should be at the crime scene by now," Mac acknowledged. He hated calling the doctor in when he had made such a rare request for time off, but there were no helping matters. 'The call of duty is one that no one with any character can refuse, and if that's one thing this team has in spades, its character.'

"What about the Shelley Richie case?"

"He's waiting for a few things to process, and he said that the results wouldn't be done until sometime tonight." Mac sighed. "As much as human trafficking is a higher priority, especially as it can sometimes fall under the jurisdiction of Homeland Security and threats to national safety, our case loads aren't going to up and disappear just because the feds showed up."

"Yo, Mac," Danny whispered somewhat playfully, leaning forward to look at him. "Isn't that the same FBI guy from the Box Car Murders?"

Mac looked over to the man in question. With his receding hairline and large nose, the man was definitely old enough.

"I thought that guy quit the FBI a few years ago," Lindsay whispered curiously.

"That's what I'm sayin'. What's he doing here?"

"Children," Stella warned with a quirk to her lips. "They're about to start story-time. If you're patient, I'm sure we'll find out."

"Yes, Mah," Danny snickered as he leaned back in his chair.

Oddly enough, the agents started the meeting by passing out the papers. As if on cue, the police officers began leafing through the material, which Mac had expected. That automatic reaction was the key reason most handouts weren't given until AFTER the pertinent information was said.

Mac set his papers in front of him and decided to watch the agents rather than the papers. 'They're nervous. Scared. Been a while since I've seen these guys so on edge. Must be something REALLY big. And important. I wonder who's watching over their shoulder on this case.' Mac shook his head at the thought and took a sip of his coffee.

"Okay, let's get started," the first agent and only female said. "I'm Agent Sarah Monroe, with me are Agents Cheyenne Arrowsmith, and Agent Brandon Charles…"

"Hey, Montana, you any relation to-"

"Danny!" Linsay hissed. "Shhh!"

Mac cracked open his notebook and began taking notes. The location of their initial raid was going to be a warehouse on the docks, which already had some of his team, Danny, groaning softly. The target was a group of illegal immigrants shipped over from Asia, specifically China. The teams were going to try and rescue as many people as they could, but the agents wanted to pay special attention to the young females. Especially the infants. From what their department had been able to discern, there was a very low profile ring that only wanted young girl children. Mac could only hazard a disgusted guess as to what they wanted to do with the infants, and none of them involved adoption.

"I hate to be the one to ask this," one of the police officers said as he raised his hand, interrupting the agents. "But how young are we talking about, and how low profile are they?"

"Young, as in only a few day old is to be preferred," Agent Charles replied, his voice rough with nerves. "And as for how low profile, to put it bluntly, we haven't even been able to figure out who their go between is, much less how many people are a part of it. There are just rumors, urban legends, myths. The mothers say that someone comes to them in the middle of the night, offers them food and in exchange takes their children. And no matter how hungry they are, they give the children away, but they never eat the food."

"Why not?"

"It's poison."

"So… I get that they're not supposed to be here to begin with, but why don't they just all rise up and fight them off?"

"Because these people are utterly terrified," Agent Arrowsmith answered. "I've seen the end result of their resistance, and from what we can tell… no one survives. No one."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Now, Mrs. Hall, what can you tell me about-."

"I swear I'm going to find a new job after this."

"Excuse me?" Flack asked as he looked the young woman over. With her heels on, she stood up to his chin, with bleach-blond hair pulled back into a curly ponytail. She appeared to be in her early thirties if she was a day, but he knew that appearances could be incredibly deceiving, especially when it came to women.

"I said, I swear I'm going to find a new job after this." She reiterated as she fidgeted with her hands. "My mother told me this place held too many ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"She warned me, she did, but this was such a good job… full benefits, all kinds of holidays off, great pay. But, I guess its true what they say. If its too good to be true…" She continued to ramble.

"Uhm, ma'am," the detective cleared his throat.

"She told me that I had to be careful, especially if He showed up."

"He…?"

"He's the devil. Or a demon. Or that he had made a deal with the devil or something." She shook her head. "I didn't believe her, but… ever since He showed up, things have gotten really weird around her."

"Weird?" Flack said, unable to come up with more than one word questions as she broke down in front of him. He had learned a long time ago that if someone wanted to talk, it was best to let them. It would take some time, and a helluva lot of patience to get her talking in the direction he wanted her to go, but he was a trained professional.

"What do you know about the history of Black Pearl Enterprises, sir?" She asked.

"It's a multi-million dollar business that deals primarily with research and development of medicines from plants, animals, and whatnot. It also has a history of dealing with antiquities," Flack said matter-of-factly. 'Thank God Doc knew some of what this place deals with, and was willing to share that before he started going over the room.'

"Okay… so, weirdness, right? You want to know about the weirdness." She sighed as she looked around some more. "Well, the story goes… this company started out as a pirate ship, way, way back in the 1700's or something. I can't remember the specifics right now, my mind is so.. yeah, but anyway, the Black Pearl was a pirate ship and the captain, Captain Jack Sparrow, got cursed. There are lots of legends about how it went down, but that doesn't matter. What matters is… he got cursed and started haunting his ship. Which, back in the day, being cursed and on a ship at sea, that was not the place to be. So, Captain Sparrow found other captains for his ship, but they were just figure heads. He was still there, deciding where to go and what to do and whatever."

"And how does this dead Captain pertain to-"

She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her to quiet him. Leaning forward, she whispered fiercely, "He's still here, captaining his ship."

'Okay, she's either gone over the deep end,' Flack thought to himself. 'Or she really believes that there's some kind of ghost captain walking around. Shit. I hate ghosts. They give me the creeps.' "Uhm, ma'am, how do you know?"

"I've seen him." She said as she nodded firmly, her big brown eyes locked firmly on him.

"Oh?" Flack asked. "What does this ghost look like?"

"He's short, well, I'd say about 5'6"-ish. He has big brown eyes, and dark tan skin, like he's not quite white but not any discernable other race, you know. And he's got long black hair that he keeps tied back. I've seen him have it in a loose ponytail and I've seen him wear it done up with the chopsticks to keep the bun in place."

"You've seen him multiple times? And he looks different each time?"

"His clothes and hairstyle change, but He never changes. Never ages. Never see a blemish on him."

"… I see." Flack murmured as he watched her beginning to wring her hands again.

She blinked a few times before the corner of her mouth twisted up in an un-amused smiled. "You think I'm crazy, don't you."

"I didn't say that."

"It's okay," she said as she laughed softly, though there was no humor to her voice. "If I were you, I'd think I was crazy, too. And between the two of us, I DO think I'm crazy. Which is why I need to get a new job. This isn't worth it."

"How long have you been working here?" Flack asked instead of commenting, though he knew the answer. He'd already gotten her record pulled.

"I've been here since I turned 18. My mother got me the job, since she used to work in the research and development department, acquisitions."

"So you know a lot of the people in this company, yes?"

"I know just about everyone. I might not know their name, but I know their faces and what department they're with."

"Have you ever seen the victim here before, either as someone's daughter or…"

"No. Never seen her before," she said, her lower lip quivering as her anxiety got the better of her once again. "But from what I understand, it isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"Oh? What happened then?" Flack asked as he continued to scribble his notes.

"Someone broke in to one of our office and died on our CEO's floor."

"When did this happen?"

"The last time He was here." She whispered, tears beginning to fall down her face.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sheldon eyed the cop behind him, mindful that as a CSI he had to have back up of some sort when interviewing potential suspects. Even if that backup tended to be another CSI as often as not.

He knew the cop, as they had worked on several cases, and new the man to be the embodiment of procedures when on the clock. Off the clock? Sheldon had no idea. 'Could be he's exactly the same, which means he's probably either a career cop, or from a long line of cops, much like Donnie. But then, Donnie isn't your typical detective. Believes in ghosts for one thing, and is ruled more by his passions than his common sense.' He had nothing but respect for Flack, even if their personalities did clash sometimes.

Still in the clothes he had been wearing to his breakfast date, Sheldon took a deep sigh and felt no regrets that the date had ended earlier than anticipated. 'Talk about saved by the bell. I have never been happier to be pulled to a murder scene than I was this morning. If that date had gone any worse, I would have been the one committing seppuku.'

Sheldon turned to the security guard who was in the process of sending out a massive text alert to the employees, warning them that the office was now a crime scene and that it would take a few hours before they would be allowed in the building.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ian Woon?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Doctor Sheldon Hawkes. I'd like to talk to you about the keycard."

"Okay," the aged man said. He was an older Asian man with a scar down one side of his face, as if he had gotten into a nasty bar fight that involved a broken bottle and hot tempers when he was much, much younger. "Now, you know I did not make the keycards."

"We know," Sheldon nodded. "But you would know who has access to the few skeleton keycards, right?"

"Oh, sure. I know everyone who has worked here for the past fourty-seven years."

"That's a mighty long time to be working."

"Maybe, but I like working." Mr. Woon said with a shrug. "Especially here."

"Really?"

"It is really hard to get in here, Doctor. Most of the kids that come through here… they are really bright. And everyone here is good people. Do you know how rare that is? To find a place where there are only good people?" Mr. Woon said with a slight laugh. "They are very respectful for your services, and always make sure that your requests are taken seriously. I come here to get away from the rest of the world, which is not near as respectful or considerate."

"I see," Sheldon murmured. "Can you tell me a bit about Mrs. Hall?"

"Nice girl, very high strung," the old security guard smirked. "She is a nice girl, though. She has got a memory like you would not believe. Remembers a face that she has seen only once before for YEARS. Me? It takes me a while to learn faces. Names take me even longer. But most of the people who come through here usually stay for a while, if not forever, so that helps. She even remembers dates and anniversaries. I tell you, I wish I had that talent. It would have saved me so much grief when my wife was around."

"Never could remember your anniversary?" Sheldon asked with a grin, wanting the old man to talk some more.

"Pshh." Mr. Woon said with a wave of his hand. "I ALWAYS remembered the day we got married, I had worked so hard for it. My Bettie, she always say, 'No.'. Until one day… But, her birthday on the other hand…"

"When did she pass?"

"About twenty years ago," He said sadly. "I tell you what, this company… best company there ever was. They gave me a month off, paid, as well as arranging food to be delivered to my house every week for that month. The lady in charge of human resources at the time… she and I had not been the best of friends, but somehow she knew what kind of food I liked and arranged for that to be delivered. At the time, that was unheard of, but… from what I have learned of this company, it is pretty standard. Like I said, these are good people here."

"Sounds like a real dream job."

"It is. It very much is, which is why, when you get hired here… you tend to stay." Mr. Woon sighed as he shook his head. "As for the keycards, there are five of them. The security desk has one, which is right here. The janitorial service has one; because they clean floor by floor and have go move in one big group. The head HR person has one, which Miss Vivian carries with her at all times. And the CEO has two."

"The CEO has two of them?"

"Yes, sir. Two."

"Why does he need two when everyone else has to share one?"

"That's just the way it's always been," Mr. Woon said with a shrug. "And I am of the school that if it is not broken, do not fix it."

"It's a very common school," Sheldon remarked.

"That it is."

"Do you know what door she was trying to open?"

"Not a clue, but I can get the guys in charge of our alarm package to send you the records for her card. Even if it was a skeleton key, there should be a specific code to it that would differentiate it between the others."

"That would be VERY helpful," Sheldon nodded. Tilting his head to the side, he asked, "Can you tell me… what do you think our victim might have been after?"

"Eh, probably our resident ghost."

"Excuse me?"

"Our ghost." Mr. Woon reiterated with a mischievous grin. "Do not you know? The Black Pearl is haunted by our very own ghost."

"No, I didn't know that, but… you say that with a bit of glee."

"He is a good ghost," Mr. Woon answered with a nod. "Captain Jack takes care of his people. A lesson he has learned over time."

"Captain Jack?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, the original captain of the old pirate ship The Black Pearl. Just as he haunted the old ship, he is said to haunt the business today."

"Have you ever seen this ghost?"

"I have seen someone who looks remarkably like what Captain Jack is supposed to look like roaming the halls. But every time I get close to him, he is gone. Disappeared. And he seems to know all the blind spots for the cameras, too."

"So… do you think that this ghost is a real ghost… or something else?"

"I do not care if he was a pirate. I think that this ghost is a benefactor, a wise ancestor to this company, and as long as he's around, this will be a good company filled with good people."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mac checked his walkie-talkie, listening, as the raiding party got ready to go in. He and the rest of his team, including some of the lower ranking CSI members were gathered n the farthest of the trucks with all of their gear. Half of them would go in as soon as the scene was secure; the other half would be setting up a processing station so that they could check over each of the illegals as they were brought out.

Fingerprints would be taken, as well as vitals and other information. Even DNA would be taken, and added to several databases, including Interpol's for the Missing and Exploited.

With the back door to their vehicle open, the scent of the docks came through the cab as strong as ever. Sea air mixed with decaying wood, fish, oil, and a few other familiar scents were all inhaled deeply. Mac frowned at the smell, overpowered as it was by the sea. "Do you smell that?"

"Smells like the docks to me," Danny quipped.

"I just smell old, dead fish," Lindsay said with a crinkled nose.

"Fishing boats aren't too far from here," Danny commented as he burrowed deeper into her jacket. "Best place to get fresh fish, too."

"Oh yeah? Spoken from experience?"

"A little," he grinned. "But what do you smell, Mac?"

"I'm not sure. But it seems familiar."

Stella shushed them all as she leaned out the door to peer around. Frowning, she looked over at the radio. While there was some chatter, there didn't seem to be much of it. "It's a little quiet."

Mac's frown deepened as he got out of the car. The SWAT and other raiding teams had already entered the building and should have been loud calls to move in different direction. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle with anxiety. As the others began to pile out of the car behind him, he turned to them, and started "This…"

"We found something!" came the excited call on the radio.

All eyes turned to the radio, waiting expectantly.

"What is that?" another voice asked.

"Bravo team, wait for back-up before going forward."

"I think it's a girl."

"Miss? Miss?"

"Oh my god… OH MY GOD!"

"What happened to her face?"

"Fuck that, what the hell is happening to her arms?"

"Shit!"

There came a low roar from somewhere in the distance, and even over the muffled sound of the radio, Mac and his team were left cringing from the sound.

"FUCK! What the hell? Fire! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

Mac turned to look at the warehouse where they had seen the teams go in as the sounds of rapid gunshots were heard, carried to him by the sea are. There was another loud scream from whatever it was they found, which seemed somehow amplified this time.

"Fucking hell! There are more of them!"

Chaos reigned over the transponder as sounds of gunfire and pain echoed across the airwaves. Mac found himself holding his breath

"AAAAHHHHH! MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! ONE OF THEM GOT CHARLIE!"

"What are these things?!"

"PULL BACK, PULL BACK, PULL BACK!"

"Can't, sir! They're blocking the escape!"

"This is Alpha Team, Bravo team, what is your position?"

"C'mon, guys," Mac called out, pulling his own gun. He grabbed one of the spare walkie-talkies and turned it to the proper channel. He clipped it onto his bulletproof vest and noticed that the others were all following in his footsteps. All the years he had served in the services came rushing back to him, and he found himself running towards the warehouse doors. "Sounds like they need our help with extraction."

"Bravo team!"

"HELP Ugh-!"

"BRAVO TEAM, RESPOND. THIS IS ALPHA TEAM! DO YOU COPY?"

Mac reached the outside wall of the building, the rest of his team behind him. Most of their back-up were still waiting behind for them, mindful of procedure and their original orders. Mac was fine with that, too. 'Fewer people involved, means the fewer reports to fill out. Besides, if this all goes south, then someone is going to need to be around to say what happened.' He waited to hear more from the radio, praying that he and his people wouldn't have to go in.

"Can I ask what all four of us hope to accomplish when an entire SWAT team got wiped out?" Lindsay asked breathlessly.

"We're here to prevent that from happening again," Mac said sternly.

"Alpha Leader?"

"Yes?"

"We have company…"

And then to all of their horror, the familiar sound of whatever's cry was heard followed quickly by screams of terror and pain, and then gunshots. Only this time the sound was so much closer. So much more real.

"Let's move people!" Mac called out as he entered the building. As soon as he was through the doorway, that hauntingly familiar scent assaulted his nose. Only this time, instead of being overpowered by the salty sea air, it was overridden by the smell of blood, gun smoke, and death.

"Dear God, what is going on in here?" Stella whispered as she followed right behind him.

"Something tells me God has nothing to do with this," Danny said somberly in response.

Last to enter was Lindsay, whispering a prayer. "Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death…"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Flack waited in the main lobby for the CEO to arrive. As he called back to the precinct for someone to pull the records for the last body found on the premises, he noticed Sheldon coming towards him. Ending the call, he nodded to the smaller male, "What's up, doc?"

"If you knew the number of times I'd heard that line…." Sheldon said with a shake of his head.

"And yet, it never stops being funny." Flack grinned.

The older male snorted. "So, I just finished talking with the security guard. Seems the CEO has two skeleton keycards, and there are only three others."

"Yeah, and from what I understand, this isn't the first body to be found on-site. The last time something like this happened, the body was found in the CEO's office."

"So I take it we're waiting for him to show up?"

"Yep," Flack nodded. He leaned back against the wall and made sure to give the good doctor a once over. "So, in the mean time, wanna tell me about the date that you were on?"

Sheldon rolled his eyes. "I've been on better."

"What'sa matter?" Flack pushed. He didn't question why he was being so openly curious, just attributed it to his own natural need to know things. It was one of the quirks of his personality that made him such a good detective. "She didn't know the difference between DNA and RNA?"

"I could live with that," Sheldon chuckled. "No, my date, for lack of a better description, was a complete and utter chore to get through."

"Wow," Flack grinned. "Not in your league or what?"

"I'd rather watch paint dry than go through that again."

"Ouch," the blue-eyed detective laughed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say something like that."

"Yeah, well, I've found that there's an art to dating. Part of it is listening, and the other part is having something to say that is worth listening to. I'm good at the listening. But my date?" Sheldon shook his head.

Flack tilted his head to the side as he looked at the smaller male. "So what was she like? Description wise, so I know to stay clear of her."

"Trust me, you won't have to worry about that," Sheldon said as he looked away.

"Why not?" Flack asked. 'I wonder what type of girl our good doctor thinks I date. I mean, I know some of the ones he's given his card to, and some of the ones he's mentioned, and all of them seem to be either knock-outs or really classy. Those are typically the ones I go for, too, so… why doesn't he want to pass along a referral. Or at least a warning?'

"Because you only date classy ladies, and my date? Wasn't a lady." Sheldon narrowed his eyes as he jerked his head towards the door. "That the CEO?"

Flack looked towards the glass doors at the entrance to the lobby. The man in question was an older white man with a head full of silver white hair. The suit he wore was obviously tailored for his athletic frame. 'He's gotta be pushing seventy, and yet, he's as fit as any thirty something I've ever seen.' The man's blue eyes were almost the same shade of bright blue as Flack's, but even from across the room Flack could tell there was something in them that seemed to be… well, haunted. "I think so. One way to make sure, though."

Sheldon nodded before the two of them went to intercept the aged gentleman.

"Mr. Woon, you sent out a distress call?" The man said. His voice was cultured and articulate, though there was a slight southern accent to it.

"Yes, sir." Mr. Woon said as he nodded. "And I hope you do not mind, but I called the rest of the office to tell them not to come in today."

"Not at all, you did the right thing," the man said. "Not much work is going to get done with yellow tape around the place. Learned that the last time."

"Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Roman Thompson, the CEO of this place?" Flack asked as he flashed his badge.

"I am indeed."

"I'm Detective Flack, and this is CSI Dr. Sheldon Hawkes. We're here about the body."

"Of course," Mr. Thompson intoned. He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Woon and nodded his head. "I'll see you later, Mr. Woon."

"Not a problem sir. Sorry to have to call you in on your off day."

"It's alright." Mr. Thompson smiled.

He then led the two investigators away from the lobby and into one of the downstairs conference rooms.

He sat down with the window to his back, allowing Flack and Sheldon to sit closest to the door. "So, tell me gentlemen, how can I be of assistance?"

"First off, can we see your keycards?" Flack asked.

"I have one with me," Mr. Thompson nodded as he removed it from his inner pocket. "The other is up in my office, in my desk."

"If you don't mind, we would like to see it before we leave," Sheldon said cordially.

"Of course."

"We'd also like to know the your whereabouts for last night and this morning," Flack said, beginning the interrogation in earnest.

"I was at home, entertaining."

"Entertaining who?"

"My daughter, her fiancé, my grandchildren, and his father. We were up last night playing monopoly until about one in the morning."

"Monopoly? People still play that?"

"I'm teaching my grandchildren valuable skills." Mr. Thompson said with a wry grin.

"I see," Flack said as he scribbled some notes.

"Can you tell me… who was responsible for the last dead body in your building?" Sheldon asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"As far as I'm aware, that case was never solved." Mr. Thompson said.

Flack paid watched as the old man began to fidget with his wedding ring, twisting it about his finger. 'A tell-tale sign if there ever was one. Wonder what he's hiding.' "Do you know of anyone interested in hurting you, Mr. Thompson?"

"Hurting me?" the old man chuckled and shook his head. He splayed his hands out wide, as if indicating the office. "I run a clean ship here, detective. One of the best in the business, too. As far as I'm aware, my employees are happy, and the closest I've ever come to making a true enemy was when I was back in school. No one likes anyone who throws off the grading curve."

"I bet," Flack smirked with good humor.

"Mr. Thompson, could you tell me… what do you know about the rumors that this place is haunted?"

"Haunted?" The old man laughed nervously. Flack watched as Mr. Thompson once again began to fidget with his wedding ring.

"We have people who say they've seen a ghost of one Captain Jack?"

"Old wives tale," Mr. Thompson said with a shake of his head. But he didn't once let go of his wedding ring. "This company was based on a pirate ship, I will give you that much, but there's no such things as ghosts."

"There have been sightings."

"Sightings of a man who supposedly looks like Captain Sparrow was supposed to look like," Mr. Thompson clarified. "But I stand firm in my belief that there are no such things as ghosts."

After a few more questions, the two investigators asked to be shown the second keycard. Mr. Thompson led them both up to his office, and paused for only a moment as he opened his door.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Thompson?"

"Oh, no problem. I'm just wondering if I let my daughter know where I was going to be this morning," he said with a blush. "I told her that I would take the week off while her and the grandkids were here, but…"

With that, he opened the door and showed them in.

While the old man was getting the key, Flack took a look around. Behind the old wooden desk made to look like a captain's desk, there was an oil painting of an ageless man with dark brown eyes and black hair. Set into the frame, in big letters, read 'Captain Jack Sparrow'. "Is that the original Captain Jack?"

"What?" Mr. Thompson asked, his voice a little higher pitched than what it had been. Turning in the direction Flack indicated, the man visibly relaxed. With a slight chuckle, he nodded. "Yes. Yes, that's Captain Sparrow. An oddity of a man if there ever was one, and Fortune's own favorite fool."

With a shake of his head, Mr. Thompson went back to his desk. The keycard was in the first drawer he opened. "Here we are! Just as I said it would be."

"Do you mind if we take this?" Sheldon asked, reaching for the small bit of plastic. "Just to run some tests on it?"

Mr. Thompson hesitated. "I'm… not sure that would be a good idea."

"Why not? You give it to your mistress?"

"Hardly, detective," the older man replied drolly. "I'll tell you what. You can have it for the rest of the week. But I want it back come Monday."

Flack and Sheldon shared a look between them, before the doctor shrugged. "I'll deliver it to the front desk on Monday morning myself, how's that?"

"Your word?"

"I give you my word," Sheldon agreed with a slight frown, as if insulted by the man's doubt.

Mr. Thompson handed over the keycard with a nod.

After that, the two investigators left the office.

"I'm going to go back to the crime scene, give it one more go over. The body has already been taken to the morgue, and Sid should be starting the autopsy soon," Sheldon said. "The place was too clean, and I need to know that I didn't miss anything. Otherwise, it's going to bother me."

"Alright," Flack agreed, though there was a tight ball of nervousness leaving Sheldon to go over the scene alone. It wasn't the first time that the doctor had been in charge of his very own crime scene, and Flack had to console himself with that knowledge. 'I just don't like this place. It gives me the creeps.' "I'll go back to the station, see what I can find out about the last time something like this happened. I'll also start a background check on everyone here, including our resident ghost. You going to be okay here by yourself?"

"Yeah, this place is secure."

"Okay, meet you back at the station."

"I'll swing by Sid's before then, so that we can compare notes."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Where is everybody?" Danny asked, his voice shaky with concern and fear. "Lots of blood… but no bodies."

"Watch your step, everyone." The floors were littered with newspapers and shell casings. Wood boxes were shattered and smashed, leaving broken debris everywhere as well. But everything, all the litter, the walls, even the floor, dripped with freshly splattered blood. 'Lots of blood… That is an understatement.' Mac thought to himself as he looked around.

And yet… there wasn't a body to be found.

"They weren't that deep into this hole when the shots rang out," Danny continued to mutter. "We shoulda seen… somethin' by now."

"Keep your cool, Danny," Mac said quietly.

"Look at the floor…" Lindsay said quietly as she knelt down.

Mac immediately went to guard her back, "What do you see?"

"Look, Mac," she said, her flashlight centered on a single footprint. Glancing down at the circle of light, he had to do a double take. As if mirroring his own thoughts, the younger female sad, "I've seen a lot of footprints in my time, but I've never seen any kind of creature that could leave a track like this before."

"If we had the time, I'd say to take some pictures for evidence, but saving the others is our main priority."

"Hey, guys, over here!" Danny called out from further down the hallway. The other three made their way as cautiously fast as they could, mindful that the shadows held something that couldn't be quite human. Danny had his flashlight pointed down at the ground, "Seems something nasty happened here."

"Is that…" Stella began, her voice quiet with dread. "Agent Arrowsmith's ID?"

"And I'd lay fifty to one odds, that that is Agent Arrowsmith's blood covering it." Danny nodded.

"But where is Agent Arrowsmith?" Lindsay asked. Suddenly, she flashed her light down the hallway, her gun pointed with its beam. "Did you hear that?"

The four of them looked up, and two more lights joined hers scanning the darkness in front of them. Stella, Mac noted, pointed hers behind to cover them.

"What did you hear?" Mac asked.

"Sounded like… a splash."

"We're on the docks. Water should be right under us."

"No, I mean, like, a splash that was real close."

"Come on, let's go forward," Mac said, inching along the walls after making sure that nothing was hidden against or behind them. "Let's see if Lindsay is right."

The four of them continued to move down the darkened hallway until a strong breeze blew towards them. His flashlight's beam swept the area in front of him, while Danny kept his on the ground. Lindsay was mindful to catalog their surroundings.

"That's a mighty strong draft for a closed in area like this," Stella commented, her back to them as she continued to watch their six.

"Drag marks on the ground, smearing the blood and footprints," Lindsay noted.

"That explains the lack of bodies," Danny muttered. "They've been moved."

"Possibly dumped," Mac agreed. He jerked his head towards the direction of the draft. "If that is what I think it is, we're going to have to call the divers in."

The four continued their slow progress, but with each step, Mac felt his body growing tighter and tighter with nerves and fear. 'I haven't felt like this since I was in a combat situation. Funny how you never forget how much you hate being a target.' He could feel eyes upon him and his people, but he wasn't sure where they were coming from.

"There!" Danny called out, his flashlight focusing on a dark circle in the flooring.

Moving as a group, the four of them made their way to the opening.

"Call it in, Danny," Mac sighed. He kept his gun out as he scanned the surrounding area, mindful that they were still being watched.

"More drag marks from the other side," Lindsay said as she knelt down again to examine the opening.

"I doubt this is the only drop site," Stella said quietly, her light and her gun still focused on the way they had come.

"It can't be, not to get rid of all of them in the time it took us to get in here and find this one hole," Mac agreed. "Three federal agents, twenty-four SWAT team members, and a bunch of armored cops. This should have gone down a lot smoother than this did."

"Brass is not going to like this," Stella commented.

"I don't like this," Mac replied shortly. "This doesn't make any sense."

"What are you thinking, Mac?"

"I'm thinking that if this wasn't big before, it is now."

"I'd say that it's a bit more than big," Lindsay said as she stood back up. "Whoever was pulling the FBI's strings before is going to be even more adamant now."

"You caught on to that, too, huh?" Mac grinned.

"Oh, that the agents were nervous, like this was either their first assignment or something heavy was on them from way on high?" Stella chuckled without humor. "I think we all got that impression."

"Okay, the others are on their way, including a lot more heavily armed officers," Danny said as he clipped his walkie-talkie back onto his vest. "They're also going to bring in some dogs, Mac."

"Good luck finding anything in this carnage," Mac said with a shake of his head. "Okay, people let's move out. There doesn't seem to be anyone left here to help, and I'd prefer we all get out of this alive."

"I second that motion," Danny agreed.

For Mac, the way out seemed even more frightening for them, even though they still had no idea what they were dealing with. However, once they were out into the open sunlight, he found that he could breathe easier.

As could his team.

Blinking against the harshness of the morning sun, Mac wiped the sweat from his forehead. Looking over at the rest of his team, he could see similar reactions in them. Adrenaline had their eyes dilated, which helped when they were in the darkness of the warehouse. They were all covered in sweat, and their boots had thick lining of blood on their soles.

"This scene is going to take forever to process," Stella said as she looked back towards the entryway.

"I'm not so sure we're going to be allowed in on that, either," Danny said as he nodded towards the caravan of dark vehicles headed their way.

"Federal case like this, I was surprised we were invited to their party in the first place," Mac said humorlessly.

"So, what do we do now?" Lindsay asked, her voice sounding younger than normal.

"The same thing we always do," Mac said. "Our jobs."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"What have you got for me, Sid?" Sheldon asked as he approached the older male. Even though it was now late in the afternoon, he was still in the same clothes that he had worn to the crime scene, not having had time to go home and change.

The Morgue was surprisingly empty, though the other coroners were keeping busy. Whenever they had the time, they spent it doing a deeper than usual cleaning of the place. After every autopsy, all the tools had to be sterilized to prevent cross contamination. The floors, lights, and other areas needed to be cleaned. Every nook had to be gone over with bleach-water and solution. 'They must love it right now. Slow days mean people are living, and life is good. Relatively speaking.'

Sheldon easily remembered when the morgue was located in a different part of the building, one with a lot more bricks and less tech. Truth to tell, he preferred the technology, as it made things easier on all of them.

"Your Jane Doe is a bit of a mystery," Sid said, by way of greeting.

"Oh?" the doctor asked, his interest already piqued.

"Where would you like to start? The mystery or the cause of death?"

"Let's start with the mystery," Sheldon replied, his head tilting to the side.

"Okay. The wounds, those sword slices and cuts? Those were old wounds that reopened," Sid said as he indicated one of the deeper cuts along the girl's arm. "And by old, I mean more than a year old."

"What? The scar tissue should have-"

"Should have, but didn't," Sid said shaking his head. He pulled out a sheet of notes and handed them to the other medic. "If she had gotten here any later than she had, I wouldn't have had ANY idea what was going on, but as it stands… it seems that every scar this girl had ever gotten just up and decided to dissolve with no warning."

"How is that possible?" Sheldon asked as he read over the notes.

"I sent a sample of her blood up to tox, as well as what little was in her stomach. So far, they've only given me a little light on the subject."

"And that is?"

"Cause of death," Sid answered with a flourish. "Your Jane Doe is approximately sixteen years old, Asian descent. She has perfect teeth, not even a cavity. This girl was in top condition. Judging by the size of her heart and her overall muscle condition, she was an athlete. I can't tell you what sport, but whatever it was tended to be based more on endurance than over all strength. Overall, she was perfect. However, somewhere along the way… she got into some strange kind poison."

"Poison?"

"And the mystery deepens. I've never seen the like before. It has some components that aren't even registered as elements on the periodic table," Sid said with another shake of his head. "We put it through the system, and while it didn't give any concrete side effects, it did give a slight history of the substance. It seems to come from a rare fish caught off the coast of Japan. Due to the rarity of finding the fish, you can imagine how rare the poisoning is. However, there was a note saying that it was a preferred method of death among a group of people listed as the Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" Sheldon asked, surprised. "Odd name for a group of killers."

"Well, with every country having its own legends and myths, maybe their mermaids are a bit more frightening and kept to the original legends."

"Original legends?" Sheldon tilted his head to the other side as he waited for Sid to explain.

"Way, way back in the day, mermaids were beautiful creatures that were half human and half fish. But for all their beauty, they were deadly killers, dragging young seamen to watery graves," Sid said with an almost helpless shrug. "I don't know how beautiful any of them could be since from what I've heard many people thought manatees were mermaids. By the same token, I know that in Irish tradition, mermen are supposedly very ugly land-bound creatures. Serving on a boat with a bunch of men for months on end… I bet that really did get a lot of young men to be more open to other kinds of sexual partners. Or delusional. Then again, think of the differences between eastern and western dragons. One was considered the gateway to hell, the other was considered a representation of their King and a living god."

"Maybe they are called Mermaids because they are, or at least were, like a female Yakuza?"

"Judging by the way this young girl was dressed, and the weapon of choice for her, I'd say more like a group of female ninja." Sid said as he looked down at the girl again. "Ninja being a master-less assassin."

"You think she was a Mermaid? I mean, she died from their poison. Would they kill one of their own?"

"It's possible that she was one of them, and she died on a mission. Maybe she failed and didn't want the dishonor. It's been known to happen. If she wasn't one of them, then the Mermaids had it in for her."

Sheldon looked between the coroner and the body of the young dead girl. "With no hits for her prints, and no matches for missing persons… our Jane Doe seems to be full of mysteries."

"From what I've heard, it's a day full of them," Sid remarked as he turned off the light over her.

"What's up?"

"You'll be hearing about this soon enough, but it seems that the raid that was supposed to occur earlier today?" Sid shook his head.

"What happened?" Sheldon asked, naked concern in his voice.

"Seems whoever was in charge of the trafficking got the drop on our people."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"There are three FBI agents missing, as well as two teams of SWAT and just as many police officers."

"How did that happen?"

"No one knows," Sid shrugged. "But they're combing the water area under the warehouse where the raid was supposed to take place, trying to find the bodies."

"That why you guys are cleaning up in here?"

"There's going to be an over-abundance of work here shortly, so I want this place to be prepared," the coroner nodded.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I tell ya, Mac, something really creepy is going on at that place," Flack said. He was sitting in one of the chairs across from Mac's desk, leaning back. He had a worried look in his eyes and hs fingers were playing with one of the pens from Mac's desk.

"Creepy, huh?"

"Yeah, creepy." Flack nodded. "Talk of ghosts all ways gives me the creeps, ya know, but this…"

"You are suppositious by nature, Flack," Mac commented.

"Yeah, well, they all believe it, even when they say they don't. And that CEO guy? He definitely knows more than he's talking about. Especially about the ghost. He gets all weirded out whenever we talked about it."

Mac looked over to Sheldon who nodded his head. "I'll agree that Mr. Thompson does know more than he's letting on, but I'm not so sure he's clued in to our victim."

"Oh?"

"Nothing in his history indicates that he has had any problems with anyone. He's the embodiment of a good Samaritan and the perfect boss. I've pulled the human resource reviews for the company… Mac, if I didn't love what I do now? I would apply there. It really is a dream job, and the security guard wasn't kidding when he said that most people stayed for life. They really do. And they as a company even go so far as to help the widows within and around their company."

"Sounds too good to be true."

"That's what I thought, so I've pulled their financial records."

"Didn't you need a court order for that?"

"They gave it to me freely," Sheldon said with a shake of his head. "Like I said, a bit too good to be true. Their money is handled by independent agents, and they never invest in anything but gold."

"Pirate tradition."

"Apparently."

"What about the victim?"

"Here's the tox report," Sheldon said handing over the file.

Mac flipped it open to go over the findings. "Now, this is odd."

"While Black Pearl Enterprises deals a lot with all natural agents, they don't have listed any of this particular fish's meat, venom, or extract. It is one of very few things that they do not keep in their inventory."

"They gave you an inventory list as well?"

"Yep," Sheldon said with a helpless shrug.

"People that helpful always make me suspicious."

"That's because you're a cop, and a good cop at that," Sheldon retorted.

Mac grinned to himself as Flack's cheeks turned a slight shade of pink at the praise.

'Flack only blushes when he's either in the wrong or when he's interested and trying not to show it.' Mac thought to himself as he looked between his two guests. 'From the conversation going on, I'd say that the reaction had to be due to the second rather than the first. Which… that would be interesting. Especially if he's trying to deny it to himself. I wonder if Sheldon would give him a shot. As far as I'm aware, Stella and I are the only ones that know he's more open to such possibilities.'

"They've given me hard copies as well as soft copies of their inventory, so that we can cross reference if we like." Sheldon continued, unaware of Flack's reaction, and unmindful of Mac's amusement at the situation.

"We still have no clue as to who she is, either," Sheldon said sadly. "Neither her prints nor dental record are on file."

"And nothing on the sword either." Flack informed them.

There was a knock on Mac's door, causing all three to look up. A tall gentleman in a suit stood on the other side of the glass, his svelte form barely concealed by the impressive tailoring. He had brownish hair cut a little floppy over his eyes, and bright green eyes that stood out against his pale face. With all eyes on him, the stranger did not wait for an invitation. Instead, he opened the door and stepped through, opening up his badge holder as he moved.

"Hello, my name is James Norrington. I'm here from Interpol."