Fic: A Lethal Obsession (CSI)
Mar. 25th, 2005 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m31andyTITLE: A Lethal Obsession
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
SUMMARY: One girls obsession with Grissom and its tragic conclusion.
SPOILERS: Pilot, Anonymous and Identity Crisis, but not much.
RATING: PG-13. Nothing explicit, but potentially disturbing material. A bit like the show really.
EMAIL: m31andy@hotmail.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Um, first fan-fic up here. First CSI fan-fic. Oh, and I’m British so can you let me know if I drop a major (or minor) clanger and I’ll correct forthwith.
DISCLAIMER: CSI is owned by CBS and the good folks at Alliance-Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
*~*~*
A Lethal Obsession
It’s not cold out here as I sit and wait for the lights in the apartment above to go out, but I’m shivering. I’m shivering with the anticipation of what I’m about to do, and what will happen next. It’s been one year, six months and three days since I first met him and, finally, he is about to meet me. It’s been eighteen months since I first laid eyes on him and my life changed forever. It’s been eighteen months of reading and research to get to know him as fully as a human being can know another. It’s been eighteen months of the purest heaven and the deepest hell as each of my plans to get near him, and into his life, have been dashed one by one.
One year, six months, three days and, oh, about six hours since I saw him walk into biology class and I decided then and there not to blow off with Lizzie and Fi. I’m pretty sure I saw Mrs. Winchester’s eyebrows rise when I demurely walked into class and sat down at the back. I can’t really remember what he talked about as I was too busy staring into those big blue eyes and listening to that amazing deep voice. But I’m sure it was about bugs. Oh, and forensics. Can you get bugs and forensics in the same science class?
You know, I’d never thought about it before, but when he started talking about careers in crime-solving, I realized that was what I wanted to do. That it was my true calling in life.
That was my first plan to be way laid. Mrs. Winchester told me my GPA wouldn’t be high enough to carry on studying science. I tried really hard. I started picking up any forensic magazines I could find and searching the web for information. I couldn’t really get the hang of all those long scientific words. I swear there’s a conspiracy going on with scientific dictionaries. You actually need a dictionary to understand them! But, whenever I found an article by him or one mentioning his name, I cut it out and kept it in a box under my bed.
My pride of the collection is one from New Scientist. I almost understood some of it, but the best bit is that there are color pictures, a couple of ones of bugs and one of him. He looks so serious in that picture, as if he is lecturing me – “You must try harder!” He’s wearing a soft, blue checked shirt, which matches his eyes, and his expression makes me melt every time I see it. I used to keep it under my pillow and now I keep it in my pocket in easy reach for reassurance.
Lizzie and Fi laughed when I told them. Lizzie said that he was old enough to be my father. Fi shook her head and said that with all that gray hair he was old enough to be by grandfather. But I knew that when he met me our ages wouldn’t matter. We’re meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet. Or Phoebe and Leo. I tried so hard, but Lizzie and Fi stopped talking to me and when Mrs. Winchester said that I ought to put my energies into something that more suited me, like typing, I quit school. Mom and Dad were so mad and grounded me for, like forever, so I packed up. I skipped town and came down to the brilliant lights of Las Vegas to be nearer to him.
At first I thought I could get a job at the lab as a lab tech, get near to him and get him to notice me. But you need to go to University for that! I mean, how hard can it be? So no, I wasn’t qualified. That was another plan gone. So I thought I could be a clerk, but I hadn’t graduated High School. I know how to type. I IM all the time, or at least I used to. Why do I need my diploma for that? Then I thought I would be a cleaner or something, but the contractors weren’t hiring. That was a bad few weeks. I’d get so psyched at every new idea only to have them crashing down as I tried to put them into action. I finally got a job as a waitress by lying about my age. It wasn’t a big lie; I just added a couple of years so they’d take me on. That job only lasted a couple of months. He got me fired.
I don’t blame him. Honest, I don’t. It was just that I wasn’t expecting him and his team to walk into the diner that morning. He looked so gorgeous and built that I dropped the tray I was carrying. I mean, how can you work when the love of your life is sitting in a booth not ten feet from you? My manager was not best pleased and I was out of there that day. The lack of money was a drag, but it gave me a lot more time to follow him and watch him work.
I dossed in a couple of places, sleeping during the day so I could turn up at scenes and watch him work all night. I turned a few tricks to get some cash and indulged in a little lifting when money was really tight. I got to know him and his team really well. It was good, but I finally came to realize that the only way I was going to get him to realize who I am was to be part of a crime scene myself. He’s so dedicated to his work and I respect him for that, but if I can just make him notice me then I’m sure he’ll love me too.
Which reminds me of what I have to do next. I’ve planned all this so carefully. I’ve gone over the details so many times now. I’ve lived this night over and over in my dreams. This is what my life is. This is my destiny.
A figure leaves the apartment building in front of me and I manage to sneak in before the door closes. The entrance hall is brightly lit, but empty as I make my way to the stairs. I’ve done this several times now as a trial run and there is only a small chance that I’ll encounter anyone in the halls. I reach the apartment door and check around. The place is still deserted. I open the door, softly, with the duplicate key I had copied from the one I borrowed a couple of weeks ago and step in to the apartment.
This has been the most difficult part of the entire plan. Choosing the scene. It couldn’t be at my place. I don’t have one any more and the places I’ve been in don’t really have the right equipment. Hotels are difficult to get in and even when I do, the client generally throws me out straight afterwards. This had to be perfect. Then I had a brainwave. This had to be personal and what would be more personal than one of his team? I immediately thought of his place, but I couldn’t do that to him and, besides, the bugs on the walls had seriously freaked me out. One of the women would be perfect. The blonde one had a kid so having the time to set the scene would be difficult. The brunette, though, worked long hours and had recently split up with that ass of a boyfriend. Her place would be perfect. Plus there’s something between him and the brunette. I can’t put my finger on it, but she makes me feel as if I want to rip out her liver.
I look around her apartment. It’s small and doesn’t feel really lived in. I make my way to the bathroom first of all, and turn on the light. It’s perfect. Just what I was hoping for. I leave my stuff on the floor and go looking for the rest that I need. My stomach growls loudly. I sigh, I must be as quiet as possible. I check out the refrigerator. It’s full of half empty take away boxes, but there is some beer. I’ve started to like beer now that one bottle doesn’t make me pass out and I don’t often get to drink it as I don’t have ID. I grab one, take off the cap as I move through to the bedroom.
I find her spare gun pretty much where I expect to find it, close at hand on the shelf under the bedside cabinet. I half-expected her to sleep with it under the pillow, but I suspect that it wouldn’t be very comfortable. There’s a couple of rounds in it, which is plenty enough for what I have in mind.
I catch sight of myself in her bedroom mirror and realise that I’m not really in a condition to finally confront the man I love. My blonde hair is matted and my clothes are crusted with dirt. I strip and throw my clothes in the trash. I rummage through her wardrobe and find a shirt and pants that I can wear. As much as I would like to do this naked, I don’t think it’s very seemly. I go back through to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water is not very hot, but it’s lovely. It’s weeks since I had a decent shower. I do it properly, with lots of soap and shampoo and I dry myself off with a big, fluffy towel.
I get dressed as I finish the beer. I consider getting another one, but I’m feeling pretty light-headed and it wouldn’t do for me to get too drunk to do this. I dry out the tub with the now damp towel and throw it in the laundry basket. In a moment’s giddiness I check for make-up and scent. There is some in the cabinet, hardly used, and I make myself up. Not too much, not like when I’m working, but more like when I have a date. A very special date.
Finally I am finished. My hair’s still damp, but it’s time. For the last time, I check to make sure I have everything. It has to be personal, but it also has to be ambiguous. With any luck this scene will have him thinking about me for weeks until he solves it. I read about the ‘bath suicide’ murders in the papers and I know that he got very involved in that. That’s why, in the end, I chose them for the basis of this scene. The sleeping bag that I got from the Mission is rolled into the bottom of the tub. It looks very cozy. I check the tape recorder I lifted from the hardware store a few weeks ago. It’s still working. I load the gun I got from the brunette’s bedside table. I’m not really good at that. Dad took me to shoot air rifles a couple of times and Chris, at the last place, showed me how to shoot a handgun. I’m not very good, but I’m good enough to do this.
One last check and it’s definitely time. I consider opening the bathroom window, but I decide against it. I want her to find this and someone breaking into here would definitely ruin the scene I’ve set. I climb into the tub and lie down. It’s comfortable and I could sleep here. I smile a little. I will sleep here. I pick up the recorder and take a deep breath:
“My name is Amy Hollands. I reside at Apartment 14b, Pine Court and I'm 16 years of age. I'm going to kill myself. I'd like to say "I love you" to my Mom and my Dad. I love you too…”
My voice cracks at that bit, and I can’t say his name. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll get the message. I’m proud of the next bit though, it’s clever. It’ll have him guessing for weeks whether it’s murder or really suicide. I pick up the gun. If I can’t touch him alive, then he can touch me dead. I hold the gun as far away from me as possible, pointing at my chest. I scream “NO!”, screw up my eyes tight and pull the trigger.
fin
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
SUMMARY: One girls obsession with Grissom and its tragic conclusion.
SPOILERS: Pilot, Anonymous and Identity Crisis, but not much.
RATING: PG-13. Nothing explicit, but potentially disturbing material. A bit like the show really.
EMAIL: m31andy@hotmail.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Um, first fan-fic up here. First CSI fan-fic. Oh, and I’m British so can you let me know if I drop a major (or minor) clanger and I’ll correct forthwith.
DISCLAIMER: CSI is owned by CBS and the good folks at Alliance-Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
*~*~*
A Lethal Obsession
It’s not cold out here as I sit and wait for the lights in the apartment above to go out, but I’m shivering. I’m shivering with the anticipation of what I’m about to do, and what will happen next. It’s been one year, six months and three days since I first met him and, finally, he is about to meet me. It’s been eighteen months since I first laid eyes on him and my life changed forever. It’s been eighteen months of reading and research to get to know him as fully as a human being can know another. It’s been eighteen months of the purest heaven and the deepest hell as each of my plans to get near him, and into his life, have been dashed one by one.
One year, six months, three days and, oh, about six hours since I saw him walk into biology class and I decided then and there not to blow off with Lizzie and Fi. I’m pretty sure I saw Mrs. Winchester’s eyebrows rise when I demurely walked into class and sat down at the back. I can’t really remember what he talked about as I was too busy staring into those big blue eyes and listening to that amazing deep voice. But I’m sure it was about bugs. Oh, and forensics. Can you get bugs and forensics in the same science class?
You know, I’d never thought about it before, but when he started talking about careers in crime-solving, I realized that was what I wanted to do. That it was my true calling in life.
That was my first plan to be way laid. Mrs. Winchester told me my GPA wouldn’t be high enough to carry on studying science. I tried really hard. I started picking up any forensic magazines I could find and searching the web for information. I couldn’t really get the hang of all those long scientific words. I swear there’s a conspiracy going on with scientific dictionaries. You actually need a dictionary to understand them! But, whenever I found an article by him or one mentioning his name, I cut it out and kept it in a box under my bed.
My pride of the collection is one from New Scientist. I almost understood some of it, but the best bit is that there are color pictures, a couple of ones of bugs and one of him. He looks so serious in that picture, as if he is lecturing me – “You must try harder!” He’s wearing a soft, blue checked shirt, which matches his eyes, and his expression makes me melt every time I see it. I used to keep it under my pillow and now I keep it in my pocket in easy reach for reassurance.
Lizzie and Fi laughed when I told them. Lizzie said that he was old enough to be my father. Fi shook her head and said that with all that gray hair he was old enough to be by grandfather. But I knew that when he met me our ages wouldn’t matter. We’re meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet. Or Phoebe and Leo. I tried so hard, but Lizzie and Fi stopped talking to me and when Mrs. Winchester said that I ought to put my energies into something that more suited me, like typing, I quit school. Mom and Dad were so mad and grounded me for, like forever, so I packed up. I skipped town and came down to the brilliant lights of Las Vegas to be nearer to him.
At first I thought I could get a job at the lab as a lab tech, get near to him and get him to notice me. But you need to go to University for that! I mean, how hard can it be? So no, I wasn’t qualified. That was another plan gone. So I thought I could be a clerk, but I hadn’t graduated High School. I know how to type. I IM all the time, or at least I used to. Why do I need my diploma for that? Then I thought I would be a cleaner or something, but the contractors weren’t hiring. That was a bad few weeks. I’d get so psyched at every new idea only to have them crashing down as I tried to put them into action. I finally got a job as a waitress by lying about my age. It wasn’t a big lie; I just added a couple of years so they’d take me on. That job only lasted a couple of months. He got me fired.
I don’t blame him. Honest, I don’t. It was just that I wasn’t expecting him and his team to walk into the diner that morning. He looked so gorgeous and built that I dropped the tray I was carrying. I mean, how can you work when the love of your life is sitting in a booth not ten feet from you? My manager was not best pleased and I was out of there that day. The lack of money was a drag, but it gave me a lot more time to follow him and watch him work.
I dossed in a couple of places, sleeping during the day so I could turn up at scenes and watch him work all night. I turned a few tricks to get some cash and indulged in a little lifting when money was really tight. I got to know him and his team really well. It was good, but I finally came to realize that the only way I was going to get him to realize who I am was to be part of a crime scene myself. He’s so dedicated to his work and I respect him for that, but if I can just make him notice me then I’m sure he’ll love me too.
Which reminds me of what I have to do next. I’ve planned all this so carefully. I’ve gone over the details so many times now. I’ve lived this night over and over in my dreams. This is what my life is. This is my destiny.
A figure leaves the apartment building in front of me and I manage to sneak in before the door closes. The entrance hall is brightly lit, but empty as I make my way to the stairs. I’ve done this several times now as a trial run and there is only a small chance that I’ll encounter anyone in the halls. I reach the apartment door and check around. The place is still deserted. I open the door, softly, with the duplicate key I had copied from the one I borrowed a couple of weeks ago and step in to the apartment.
This has been the most difficult part of the entire plan. Choosing the scene. It couldn’t be at my place. I don’t have one any more and the places I’ve been in don’t really have the right equipment. Hotels are difficult to get in and even when I do, the client generally throws me out straight afterwards. This had to be perfect. Then I had a brainwave. This had to be personal and what would be more personal than one of his team? I immediately thought of his place, but I couldn’t do that to him and, besides, the bugs on the walls had seriously freaked me out. One of the women would be perfect. The blonde one had a kid so having the time to set the scene would be difficult. The brunette, though, worked long hours and had recently split up with that ass of a boyfriend. Her place would be perfect. Plus there’s something between him and the brunette. I can’t put my finger on it, but she makes me feel as if I want to rip out her liver.
I look around her apartment. It’s small and doesn’t feel really lived in. I make my way to the bathroom first of all, and turn on the light. It’s perfect. Just what I was hoping for. I leave my stuff on the floor and go looking for the rest that I need. My stomach growls loudly. I sigh, I must be as quiet as possible. I check out the refrigerator. It’s full of half empty take away boxes, but there is some beer. I’ve started to like beer now that one bottle doesn’t make me pass out and I don’t often get to drink it as I don’t have ID. I grab one, take off the cap as I move through to the bedroom.
I find her spare gun pretty much where I expect to find it, close at hand on the shelf under the bedside cabinet. I half-expected her to sleep with it under the pillow, but I suspect that it wouldn’t be very comfortable. There’s a couple of rounds in it, which is plenty enough for what I have in mind.
I catch sight of myself in her bedroom mirror and realise that I’m not really in a condition to finally confront the man I love. My blonde hair is matted and my clothes are crusted with dirt. I strip and throw my clothes in the trash. I rummage through her wardrobe and find a shirt and pants that I can wear. As much as I would like to do this naked, I don’t think it’s very seemly. I go back through to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water is not very hot, but it’s lovely. It’s weeks since I had a decent shower. I do it properly, with lots of soap and shampoo and I dry myself off with a big, fluffy towel.
I get dressed as I finish the beer. I consider getting another one, but I’m feeling pretty light-headed and it wouldn’t do for me to get too drunk to do this. I dry out the tub with the now damp towel and throw it in the laundry basket. In a moment’s giddiness I check for make-up and scent. There is some in the cabinet, hardly used, and I make myself up. Not too much, not like when I’m working, but more like when I have a date. A very special date.
Finally I am finished. My hair’s still damp, but it’s time. For the last time, I check to make sure I have everything. It has to be personal, but it also has to be ambiguous. With any luck this scene will have him thinking about me for weeks until he solves it. I read about the ‘bath suicide’ murders in the papers and I know that he got very involved in that. That’s why, in the end, I chose them for the basis of this scene. The sleeping bag that I got from the Mission is rolled into the bottom of the tub. It looks very cozy. I check the tape recorder I lifted from the hardware store a few weeks ago. It’s still working. I load the gun I got from the brunette’s bedside table. I’m not really good at that. Dad took me to shoot air rifles a couple of times and Chris, at the last place, showed me how to shoot a handgun. I’m not very good, but I’m good enough to do this.
One last check and it’s definitely time. I consider opening the bathroom window, but I decide against it. I want her to find this and someone breaking into here would definitely ruin the scene I’ve set. I climb into the tub and lie down. It’s comfortable and I could sleep here. I smile a little. I will sleep here. I pick up the recorder and take a deep breath:
“My name is Amy Hollands. I reside at Apartment 14b, Pine Court and I'm 16 years of age. I'm going to kill myself. I'd like to say "I love you" to my Mom and my Dad. I love you too…”
My voice cracks at that bit, and I can’t say his name. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll get the message. I’m proud of the next bit though, it’s clever. It’ll have him guessing for weeks whether it’s murder or really suicide. I pick up the gun. If I can’t touch him alive, then he can touch me dead. I hold the gun as far away from me as possible, pointing at my chest. I scream “NO!”, screw up my eyes tight and pull the trigger.
fin
