Indigo
By A. Rhea King
Chapter 1
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a remake of Indigo. Had to remove Grissom to re-write the script and I hate leaving a good short story just lying around!
Greg Sanders remembered her asking, "Would you want to know when you were going to die?"
A man and his friends are passing a psychic window front. They're laughing, carefree.
She asked, "How far would you go to prevent it?"
They turn back and go inside.
"Or would you just ignore it?" she questioned
The old, withered woman invites them back for their future reading one at a time.
He thought about it.
He began with,
"I heard or read a story about a man that learned when he was going to die.
They laugh over what they're told. They don't take it serious.
It was going to be soon.
The man goes last. The old woman is very serious, very stern about what she has to say.
His wife was going to do it.
The man doesn't laugh about what she tells him.
He could have killed her to prevent it from happening.
The man goes home. His wife is in the kitchen. His hand reaches out and pulls out a large knife. He walks up behind her.
But he wasn't a murderer.
The man hands over the knife so she can cut up the vegetable she has on the cutting board.
So instead he did everything he could to make her happy.
He suddenly grabs her, pulls it away, and kisses her. The next day he brings home flowers. The next day it's jewelry. He takes her to nice restaurants, buys her clothes and shoes. They take a bath together. The woman is happy and loves him very much.
So he woke on that fateful day. He suggested they go out to breakfast.
The man wakes and smiles. He finds the wife making breakfast and puts it all away. Motions outside. She smiles and nods. But they're both in their pajamas, they need to change.
He decided to pick up the paper from the driveway.
Dressed the man goes out to the driveway and picks up the newspaper. He goes to the end of the driveway, his back to the house, and starts reading the paper.
She went into the garage to pull the car out.
The wife comes out, opens the garage door, and gets in.
He waited at the end of the drive, reading his newspaper.
The woman starts pulling out. She's a careful driver. The man glances back, moves to the edge of the driveway to wait.
From nowhere, a bird smashed into the back window.
A black bird slams into the back window. Startled, the wife turns to look.
It startled the wife.
Her foot jams down on the gas. The car speeds backwards.
The man's wife hit him with their car.
The man turns. He doesn't have time to escape his fate as the car smashes into his body. The newspaper flies everywhere.
He didn't know when and couldn't prevent it."
Greg Sanders' consciousness slowly shifted from the memory of the story, to a liquid dripping on his face, running across his nose, and dripping off the side. Whatever it was, it had dried there. One of his arms was pinned under him, pressed into something firm and cool underneath him. He felt a hand lying limp on his side. It was hard to breath, the air around him was stuffy, and the salty-sweet smell of blood hung in the air. He felt pain through his entire body but couldn't tell which spot hurt worse.
Something lay on top of him, pinning him down. He turned his head and hair brushed across his face before his cheek came to rest against something fleshy and cool.
He opened his eyes. For a few seconds he wasn't sure he had opened his eyes. All he could see was black nothing. On his right a thin line of light no bigger than a sewing needle flashed. And was gone. Despite how small it was, the light made his headache flare. Greg closed his eyes. He couldn't remember anything. The very last thing he could remember, and even then it was fuzzy, was watching the evening news. It felt like that had happened years ago, even though his logic tried to convince him it was only hours or days at the most. But he didn't know how he got here, wherever here was.
"Hello?" Greg quietly called out to the people under, near, and on him.
They didn't answer. They were dead. He knew that without being able to see them. His instincts told him he was supposed to be dead too. Whatever happened to make his head and body hurt so badly should have killed him.
Greg tried to get to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept in from nowhere and settled behind his eyes. He closed them, waiting for it to pass. But it didn't, it got worse until he passed out from it.
#
Listening to the phone ring and ring did nothing for Catherine's frustration level. The voicemail came on, and cheerily Greg's voice told her, 'You've reached Greg's cell. Leave a message,' before it went to a beep and then nothing.
Catherine reached for her coffee sitting on the hood of her Tahoe. "Greg, where are you? I've been calling you for two hours; dispatch says you've been at 3123 Roper for almost four hours. I have five more calls I need you to work, so you'd better have one hell of an excuse for why it's taking you so long. Call me." Catherine hung up.
She glanced up as her hand brushed the cup a little too close and it flew off the hood. It hit edge of the hood, exploding the lid off and spilling hot coffee down her pant leg. In response to the spilling hot coffee she jumped back and grimaced. Her phone began ringing. She looked at the screen as Nick's picture appeared and then answered it.
"Hey, Nick."
"Have you heard from Greg? I've been calling him for the last forty minutes. I need help on my scene."
"What's wrong?"
"I've got to take a door and it's just me and the officer here. He can't touch it and I can't get this down by myself."
"Well, call Hodges or Wendy. They're cleared to work crime scenes. Or check with Sara or Ray. See if they can stop by."
"Sara picked up three more of Greg's, Ray is picking up anything new coming in, Hodges is helping David and Robbins with bodies. I gave Wendy my Tahoe so she can start collecting evidence and we don't have to stop moving. She should be getting to you any minute now."
"How are you getting to crime scenes?"
"I've designated a uni as my chauffer for the night."
She was impressed by his delegation, considering the night they were having. "Wow. I leave you in charge for an hour and you make me look bad."
He laughed.
"I'll sign off what I can to Wendy and come help you," Catherine continued. "And then you and I can go find out what the holdup is at Greg's scene. And why he isn't answering anyone."
Catherine saw Wendy pulling between two police cars and parking behind her Tahoe.
"Deal. See ya soon." Nick hung up.
Catherine walked toward her, watching her hop out.
"Evidence taxi has arrived. Where do you want me?"
Catherine smiled. Wendy's good mood was too contagious for her to keep cussing Greg out in her head.
#
Greg opened his eyes but his senses took longer to catch up. He smelled the blood again. This time it was dripping across his chest. He felt his hand in a pool of it and the sticky liquid clung to his skin. His memory of what happened the first time he regained consciousness returned and this time he moved slower, feeling his way around the enclosure. He felt at least four bodies, coats hanging from a bar, an umbrella, and a mound of cloth he couldn't identify. He ran his fingers across the wall as he slowly stood. It hurt to put weight on his legs and back, but desperation made him bear it with a grimace.
Overhead he felt a shelf and bar. He guessed he was in a closet or wardrobe. He found a gap and followed it with his fingers, realizing it was a door. He pushed on it but the door didn't budge.
"Hello?" Greg called.
He waited, hoping for an answer.
"Hello?" he called louder.
He heard something. Footsteps? He held his breath and listened. He heard something click outside the door and in the seconds that followed, his mind screamed 'GUN!'
Greg dropped back onto the bodies as bullets riddled the door. The pain from jarring his injuries made his head swim and momentarily paralyzed him, but he knew he had to protect himself from the flying bullets. He grabbed the nearest body and pulled it over him. Most of the bullets went into the back wall, but a few ricocheted. One whizzed past Greg's cheek, searing the skin as it passed. He closed his eyes, waiting. The gunfire stopped.
Greg held still, listening. The footsteps retreated. Greg let out his breath. He tried to push the body off him but found he had no strength left to do it. Suddenly the shooting started again. Greg gritted when he felt something burn into his side. The world spiraled out of control, releasing him suddenly into unconsciousness.
#
Nick and Catherine pulled up outside the house. It sat in a valley at the edge of Las Vegas, the last house on the road. A police car and Greg's Denali sat in front. There were no lights on inside, and no sign of Greg or the officer.
"This is all wrong," Nick said. "Why aren't there any lights? Why isn't the uni out front?"
Catherine grabbed her cell phone from a cup holder, dialed and put it on speaker.
"Dispatch," a woman answered on the other end.
"This is supervisor Willows. We're at 3123 Roper, and an officer and CSI Sander's vehicles are here, but we don't see any indication they are. Did CSI Sanders actually report he'd arrived on scene earlier tonight? Would have been around twenty-two hundred and thirty hours."
"Negative," she answered. "I'm show the dispatch went out at twenty-one hundred and thirty-six hours. You picked it up, assigned it to CSI Sanders, but he never reported that he'd arrived on scene. The last report on that location was you calling in to ask if his GPS showed he was at the scene. That was forty minutes ago."
"Can you tell when the first GPS contact was made at this location?"
"At twenty-one hundred and forty hours."
Catherine looked down at the dash clock. It was now a quarter to five.
Nick asked, "Dispatch, where does CSI Sanders or the officer's GPS show their location now?"
"One moment." There was a short pause. "I'm showing both are at 3123 Roper. I repeat, is there a problem CSI Willows?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Catherine answered the dispatcher. "What was your last report from the uniformed officer that arrived on location?"
There was a pause. "Last report was there was no need for medics."
"When was that?"
"Twenty-one hundred and thirty hours."
"Did that officer report he'd arrived at the location? Were there any problems?"
"What's the problem?" they heard another woman in the background ask.
"CSI Willows is asking about a scene, ma'am. CSI Willows, there was no report of problems. He reported he'd arrived at… He arrived at the location at twenty-one hundred and thirty-two hours. That's only two minutes. Assuming you're at that location, CSI Willows, would he have had enough time to verify there was no need for a medic?"
She looked at the large, two story house.
"Two stories, a basement, who knows what's out back…" Nick shook his head. "No. No way. Not even running."
"This call was a possible 10-27-1. Multiple shots reported. He was within minutes, medics were ten minutes out. Find the call," they heard the supervisor order. "I want to hear him report he's arrived and then cancel medics."
They heard a recording in the background. The officer called in to report he'd arrived. Within a minutes, a voice canceled the medics. The second voice was a young voice trying to sound deep, but nowhere near the officer's tenor voice.
All four on the conversation said at once, "That was not the officer."
"Backup. Now," the supervisor ordered.
"We're dispatching backup to your location," the dispatcher said. "Four units will be at your location in five minutes."
"Send medics too," Nick ordered.
"Dispatching two. First will arrive in ten minutes."
Catherine hung up, staring at her phone.
"Catherine,"
"We have to wait for backup."
"Catherine," Nick said, his tone telling her there was no way he was waiting for backup.
She put her phone on the dash, unfastened the strap on her hip holster and got out. Nick got out, doing the same. The two drew their weapons, moving toward the door. They stood on either side of the door; both noticing it wasn't closed all the way. Nick tapped the center with his fingers and pulled back as it silently swung open. They stared at the blood pooled on the floor. Nick looked up at her.
There was no way she was going to wait. If Greg had seen that, there was a chance he would have gone in despite knowing it was against protocol. She stepped inside, skirting the blood as best she could. Nick was right behind her.
"Greg?" Catherine called out.
To their left, through a large doorway, they heard a floorboard creak.
"Greg? Answer me if that's you." Catherine lifted her gun, flipped the safety, but wasn't going to cock it until she had to.
Another board creaked. Nick cocked his gun.
"If someone is in the house, answer us. Now."
Gunfire exploded from the dark and the two bolted into the nearest room, standing on either side of the door. The shooting stopped.
"Police are on their way!" Nick called out. "Put down your weapon and—"
The shooting started again and this time the bullets penetrated the wall. They dropped to the floor, pushing against the baseboards to avoid being shot. The shooting stopped. They waited until they heard the backdoor slam shut.
Both sprang to their feet and ran out of the room as four policemen and two policewomen burst through the front door. The CSI swung around to aim at the police, who aimed back at them, until both groups realized they were on the same side.
"We heard gunfire when we got here. Are you two okay?" an officer asked.
"Yeah. Someone went out the back," Catherine told them.
Two ran through the house hoping to catch whoever had escaped.
"So this was a crime scene?" one of the women asked.
"Still is," Catherine corrected her. "CSI Sanders and an officer are supposed to be here. We have to find them. Search down here, but don't touch anything. Nick, take the basement. I'll head upstairs. And be careful of evidence, guys."
The officers and Nick left. Catherine started up the stairs.
#
With his flashlight held over his pistol, Nick crept down the steps into the basement. His flashlight kept finding 'Emily' painted on the walls with what appeared to be blood. His mind didn't care about that right now; it was focused on his missing co-worker. The focused beam swung where he aimed it, revealing little parts of the basement. He was expecting someone to jump out around every corner and it made his heart thump in his throat. His flashlight came across a cupboard with a broom stuck in the handles to hold the doors closed. Nick slowly made his way across the room to the cupboard and with the flashlight hand reached out to knock the broom away. He stepped back, waiting to see if anything or anyone jumped out. When nothing happened, he reached out for the door handle.
#
On the first floor an officer came into the kitchen. Blood was splattered across the wall and ceiling, and had pooled at the bottom of the bullet riddled pantry door. On the walls and cupboards was the name 'Emily,' and across the refrigerator was a poem or phrase.
The officer reached out and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. She pulled again, and then noticed a slide lock had been slid across to lock the door. She reached up to push the lock back…
#
Catherine cautiously cleared the rooms on the top floor. She paused at the first two writings of 'Emily,' and then ignored them. She had to find Greg, evidence would come later.
She entered the first bedroom and was surrounded by the images of a girl caught between a child and teenager. Her trained eyes were drawn to a bloodstain on the floor and then the open closet door. A swatch of blonde hair lay between the door and bloodstain. She guessed someone had been pulled from the closet by his or her hair.
Slowly she moved to the next bedroom. A boy's room. There was blood spatter over everything and a large bloodstain near the door. Whoever had been killed here had been left for a while. There was no closet in this bedroom.
She moved on to the next bedroom: a teenager girl's room judging from the jewelry and makeup on the dresser. Catherine moved to the closet and pulled the door open. On the floor were a bloodstain and a pair of bloody handcuffs. She noticed two voids in the patch of blood. Had the killer sat on his teenage victim while he killed her? Judging from the castoff spatter, Catherine guessed the answer was yes.
She moved on to the last bedroom. There was a large bloodstain in the middle of the bed and one on the floor, also with voids. Dad had most likely been killed in bed but the killer took his time killing, and most likely raping, mom. Catherine moved to the door of the closet and pulled it open. The large walk in closet had been rifled through, but there was no blood. Had the killer been for something or was there a struggle there? She moved to the bathroom, using her flashlight to illuminate the dark room. There was no blood in here and nothing looked disturbed.
Catherine turned and went back into the hall. She walked into the last room in the hall, the family bathroom. There was a large pool of congealing blood in the center of the floor. Who had died here? She saw a Smartphone against the wall and walked to it. It looked like Greg's, but it wasn't powered on so she couldn't verify that.
She turned and paused when her flashlight found a phrase written in blood across the wide mirror: 'when you first see EMILY, you will fear her, when EMILY comes once more, you will breathe no more.' Who was Emily? Was she one of the women that lived here?
In the mirror, Catherine noticed a blood smear across the floor leading into the hall. She followed the smear into the hall, her light shining on the double doors of the closet at the end. The doors had been showered with bullets and the carpet in front of the doors was soaked with blood. A cut electrical cord had been wrapped around the doors to securely lock them. Catherine slowly approached the closet, reaching for the cord. She suddenly pulled her hand back and fished a glove from her pocket. With gloves on, she reached out again…
#
Nick threw open the door of the cupboard and jumped back when the corpse of a dog fell out onto the floor at his feet. Inside the cupboard was a dead cat.
"Who the hell shoots a cat?" Nick asked the basement.
#
The officer slipped the latch and swung the door open. She stared at a man and LVPD officer lying in blood. Moving around the edge of the pantry, trying to stay out of the blood, she checked for a pulse on both. When she found none, she stood up, leaning back against the shelves to collect herself.
She lifted her radio off her shoulder to her lips. "Dispatch, we need a coroner. Multiple deceased."
#
Catherine unwound the electrical cord and slowly pulled the doors open. She stared at the lifeless eyes staring back at her, and her heart nearly broke. A naked pre-teen lay on the top, her petite body ravaged by her attacker. The teenager and mother were in no better shape. Dumped in the opposite corner was the father with his seven-year-old son. The smell of blood was pungent – in the back of her mind, Catherine knew the entire rug was going to have to pull out of this house. There was no spot cleaning that could get rid of the smell in here.
Her eyes stopped on a wrist sandwiched between the two bottom bodies. With shaky hands she pulled a small Maglight from her vest pocket and shined it on the watch. It was leather and the watch face was metal. At first glance it appeared to be just a nice man's watch. But with the light, it revealed the Tasmanian Devil etched into it. The watch that was the pride and joy of—
"Greg!" Catherine dropped to her knees, pushing the bodies aside.
She didn't give a damn about evidence. She just had to get to Greg. He was at the bottom, his battered body pushed into a small space at the back of the closet. Every inch of his body was bruised, swollen, covered in blood. Broken sections in his skull had made the skin stretch in odd angles. She didn't need a medical degree to tell his arms were broken in many places and covered with dark purple bruises.
Catherine tore off her glove and reached for his other wrist.
"Please, please," Catherine whispered as she pressed her fingers into his skin. The skin was clammy but still had warmth. But relief didn't come until she felt a vein push against her fingers – even if the push was drawn out.
She turned and screamed down the hall, "GET ME THOSE MEDICS NOW!"