“We know,” Catherine said, walking up the steps with Greg following behind.

“He was really strange that night he left.” The old lady pulled the cigarette from her mouth and squashed it into a pop can.

Catherine stopped and said, “How do you mean?”

“He looked like the Terminator. You know, from Terminator 2? The liquid guy. Normally he walks around like he’s pissed off, or tired, or lately like death, but he looked like a man on a mission.” She picked up the cat and held him as he tried to get away, while another cat came walking by and trotted over to Greg who backed away. “And he was carrying a black duffle bag and not much else. I don’t know where he was going, but it didn’t look like it was going to be some vacation. Figured him for a guy who goes to brothels or something.”

Greg and Catherine looked at each other, eyes wide. “What time did he leave that night?”

“Oh about midnight. I was out having my last smoke when he came charging out of his house. He had some chick there before that, but she came and went looking really pissed off, just like that young thing that came and was gone from his house within an hour. That guy don’t have much luck with women. They’re in and out of his house like a cuckoo clock. I’d say he was a male hooker, but I know he works for some crime lab…or so he says. He’s kind of a kook anyways. I don’t even think he knows where he works half the time.”

Catherine and Greg exchanged humorous looks, as normally people think of Nick Stokes as the sainted cowboy, so this image of a Nick Stokes was different. Most women were in awe of Nick, except for Sara and Catherine; but not this old lady. She seemed to have a mind of her own and had surmised the grumpy Texan in her own category - a moody, brooding, ego-maniac - and it was her job to knock him off his high horse. Catherine liked this old lady already, having done her fair share of knocking men off their high horses since she was 16.

She rambled on, “No wonder that little orange tabby of mine went off to live with him. One’s as crazy as the other, especially after the cat attacked some lunatic lurking around his house.”

Catherine walked over to her and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Some weird guy with long hair with bald spot in the middle of his head, hanging around watching what’s his name…oh...Mick.”

“Nick,” Catherine corrected.

“Yeah, well, Nick’s cat done gone crazy one day and flew at the guy, ripping his hands to shreds. Ain’t seen the guy here since.”

“Was there any blood?” Greg asked.

“I don’t think so. Told you that cat is crazy, but he likes Mike.”

“Nick,” Catherine said.

“Oh yeah...Nick. Then I saw him a long time ago trying to burn something in the barrel out back…and he looked like he had a shower…about friggin’ time…and his face was red and blistered like he bathed in acid or something and he looked like he was in shock or something, or shock and awe more likely. Like he’d been completely devastated by an event and was rendered defenseless. I don’t know what happened to that guy, but he’d done gone crazy if you ask me. Time to get the men in white coats to drag Nick Stokes off to the funny farm. And he can take his damn cat with him. That cat was normal until he went to live with the kook over there, and now one’s as crazy as the other.”

Greg and Catherine glanced at each other quizzically before Catherine asked, “What was it that he was burning?”

“Well it was clothes, but then he tries to tell me that it was pictures of an old girlfriend. Wouldn’t tell me which one…probably couldn’t remember since there’s so many of them that walk in and out of there.”

Greg asked, “Do you remember which clothes they were, Mrs…?”

“Matthews. Oh yeah, I have a great memory. Oh it was a blue denim shirt and black jeans…think I saw his grey boxers. Tacky, tacky!! Bad enough he’s always changing his hairstyle, but his clothes, now there’s a man who could use ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.’”

Catherine had turned her attention to Greg. “What was Nick wearing that day you were locked in the prison?”

“That sounds close.”

“Mrs. Matthews,” Catherine asked, “did you see anything on the clothes?”

“Oh, he had them crumpled up, but when he dumped them in there I thought I saw blood. I tell you he’s up to no good, that one. That guy plays all sweet with those puppy dog eyes of his and his big old goofy grin, but that Nick guy is a strange one. Really weird. Cat goes around stealing everyone’s things…even stole a vibrator once. Nick just threw it in the trash. Hope he washed his hands. Pervert!”

Catherine held her hand up. “Mrs. Matthews, thank you, you’ve been a great help.”

“No problem. Just tell Mack to smarten up when you see him. I’m watching him, ‘cause I know that Stookes guy is up to no good, I tell ya. And his cat done gone and stole my cigarettes once and got one of my girls pregnant. I told Nick to get the damn thing neutered, but he’s walking around like some emo rock star. One of these days he’s gonna wear a black cape with a hood and carry a staff, like’s he got some black cloud over that big head of his. You just tell him I’m watching his every move.”

Greg was stifling a laugh at the ‘emo rock star’ comment as Catherine jabbed him in the ribs to shut him up and thanked Mrs. Matthews for the info by saying, “Believe it or not, Mrs. Matthews, you’ve been a huge help to us, and I’m glad someone’s watching Nick.”

Mrs. Matthews replied with a quizzical look before scooping up the three legged cat and walking back into the house.

xxXXxx

Stale air greeted them as they entered their colleague’s house and turned on the lights. Dust covered the black leather couches, turning them almost grey, and even Nick’s flat screen TV was shimmering with dust. Catherine looked around and saw Nick’s desktop over in the corner and went over to it while Greg searched around the house. Just then Catherine’s cell rang.

“Willows.”

“Catherine, it’s Mandy.”

“Mandy, what’s up?” Catherine lowered her voice to a whisper.

“I don’t know if this means anything, but the last time I was there Nick was worried that when I cleaned his house I might have gone into his closet. I don’t know. I just thought he was being paranoid.”

“Did he say which one?”

“No.”

“Thanks, Mandy. That might help us more then you think.” Catherine called to Greg who was in the bathroom, “Greg, can you start going through Nick’s closets?”

“Yeah, sure,” the younger man answered and decided to start in Nick’s bedroom.

Catherine turned on the computer and searched around for a password. She looked under the keyboard and found a sticky note and read it. “Oh Nicky, you’re so predictable.” She typed ‘George’ into the computer and was greeted by the Windows Vista logo, then started to check his e-mail. Outlook Express played the familiar ring as one e-mail popped up. It was from Sara Sidle. Catherine clicked on it.

Greg walked into the bedroom and opened Nick’s closet. Everything was so neat and precise except for a garbage bag on a shelf. He pulled it out and looked inside. Shock and awe was a good way to describe his reaction as he numbly walked back out into the living room.

Catherine had just settled into a chair to go through Nick’s computer, and she turned upon hearing Greg’s footsteps. The look on his face was enough for her to stop what she was doing, jump out of the chair, and take the bag from his shaking hands. She walked over to a table in the eat-in kitchen and dumped the contents, spreading them out and asking Greg to bring her kit over to her.

Carefully, she spread out the denim shirt and then the jeans which smelled of iron. Then with a firm resolve she unfolded the grey boxers, mentally separating the victim (her friend) from the evidence and held fast as it became clear that her hunch had been right all along, as much as a part of her wanted it not to be. Dried blood, lots and lots on the seat of the boxers, and she hypothesized that if she sprayed luminal on the seat of the black jeans, blood would be on them as well.

Greg brought her kit over and set it on the table. Catherine steeled herself. She had no choice in the matter. A crime had taken place. There was a victim, and she had evidence linking victim to attacker.

“I think we found the key evidence, Greg,” Catherine crowed and looked at the younger man who had walked over to the bookshelf, arms folded, sniffling, the light from the window reflecting on the ‘Forensics’ lettering on his black vest.

Leaving Greg to his own devices to resolve this for himself, Catherine went back to the e-mail that Sara Sidle had sent to Nick.

Dear Nick:

Nick, I read your e-mail and I’m so, so sorry this has happened to you. You have my word that I will say nothing to Grissom about this, although I wish you would say something. I wish you had done something right away instead of just going home and pretending nothing happened, because something did happen, Nick. But I assume you got rid of the evidence as soon as you got in the house. These guys need to pay for what they did to you.

Statistics show that men are less likely to report this stuff, even less then the rate for women, for obvious reasons… fear of not being believed, embarrassment. However, Nick, I wish you had said something. I know Grissom would never mock you and Catherine would be in your corner fighting for justice. There are laws to protect your identity; I used to help victims all the time. It’s called a ‘Request for Pseudonyms’. Please reconsider. Whatever evidence you have, turn it over to Catherine. Personally, she’d be the best person for this. I know as a man this is probably the most horrific thing you’ve had to endure, but it does not change the person you are. I’m sure that Cat will do her best. If there’s any evidence left, then give it to her and she’ll fight for justice.

Please don’t let these two jerks get away with it, and don’t take the law into your own hands, Nick. I wasn’t sure what you meant when said you only had so many cheeks to turn, but don’t do this yourself. You’ll only risk yourself, your career, and everything. Just find the courage in your soul to come forward. Please do it for me.

Sara

Having collected his wits, Greg sat down and read Sara’s e-mail as well and asked, “What does she mean by taking things into your own hands?”

Catherine shook her head. “Well, there’s only one person who could find that out.” She placed a call to Grissom and let him know about Sara’s e-mail.

“Forward it to me and I’ll read it over and then give her a call,” he instructed.

xxXXxx

Dr. Zayid read the latest test results with a frown…a frown that made Nick uneasy. The young doctor pulled out a form from his desk and started writing on it. “Nick, this is a referral to Dr. Ramoro. If you have time, he’s willing to see you today,” Dr. Zayid said. “I’ve sent your file over.”

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The doctor looked at him, hopeful, yet worried. “Well, the good news is your last HIV test came back negative. However, your enzymes are up. My concern is that your liver is deteriorating.”

“Gees,” Nick sighed in exasperation, “is there no end in sight to this?”

Dr. Zayid looked into Nick’s eyes with the light. “You look better. Have you been taking it easy?”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “Sleeping, eating, and relaxing.” His brain rhymed off, “And watching a dirty scumbag does wonders for the endorphins.”

“Shut up brain!!” Nick thought to himself.

“Good. Now get on the scale.”

Nick took off his shoes and stood on it as the doctor watched the numbers. “You’re down another five pounds.”

Nick growled in frustration as Dr. Zayid wrote in his chart. “I’ve been eating a lot better though,” he said. “My weight should be up.”

Dr. Zayid’s blue eyes faced him. “Well, Doctor Ramora said he could see you today, otherwise you’ll wait another month to get in. So I suggest you get over there. More than likely you’ll need to get a liver biopsy done.”

“Well, I’ve been through worse,” Nick said, taking the referral form and heading off to the specialist.

xxxXXxxx

Grissom studied McVeigh’s medical file with Doc Robbins. “He’s got Chronic Hepatitis B but is HIV Negative, while Smith is HIV Positive and has Hepatitis B.”

Doc Robbins shook his head. “Well, the attack was about six months ago? Mr. Smith could have been infected shortly after that. If his regular partner had left the prison a few days after attacking Nick and if he’s still not HIV Positive, then Nick should be fine. However, the virus could lay dormant for months.”

Doc took the news of Nick’s attack in stride, as nothing shocked the Coroner anymore. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t change his view of the CSI in any way. He would far rather have Nick alive, yet traumatized, than here on the slab where he and David would have to see the horrific-ness of his attack in an autopsy. And when the Texan CSI returned, he would simply act as if nothing happened, knowing that would be what Nick would want.

Grissom looked guilty when Robbins told him this, which didn’t shock the Coroner. Most men couldn’t deal with it in the least. But working with the dead often changed your perspective of life. Anything was better then the slab, and Nick was very lucky to be alive as far Robbins was concerned.

“What are Nick’s chances though?”

“It depends on many factors, Grissom. I’ll talk to my colleague over there today about it. Seems strange…if they were in some kind of relationship then the other should have it as well. Actually, Nick probably would have tested HIV Positive before getting Hepatitis B. HR might be able to access his medical records.”

“Well, I don’t know. Nick could be paying out of pocket for the tests to avoid suspicion.” Grissom sighed. “I’ll guess I’ll be the one to tell him Smith’s status. What do I say?”

Doc Robbins shrugged. “The truth.”

xxXXxx

Nick hobbled out of the theatre carrying the program under his arm. He wished the crowd would hurry up and was irritated as two teenage girls babbled on about the cute Australian from ‘American Idol’ who had the starring role as Galileo Figaro. Nick sucked his breath under his teeth as his ankle protested every slow step he made.

Eponine glanced at him. “You okay?”

Nick forced a smile at her and said, “Yeah. I’m tired and my ankle hurts.”

The dark-haired girl slid her arm through his and said, “C’mon, I’ll help you out.”

“I’m fine,” Nick said, grunting.

“So how did you hurt your ankle?” she asked as they headed out of the theatre to her car.

“I tripped while I was taking a walk.”

“Uh huh...near McVeigh’s trailer.” She stood in front of him and fixed him with a scolding stare.

Nick shoved his hands into the cargo pants he wore along with a blue dress shirt. “Yeah, how did you know that?”

She looked at him as she opened the passenger door for him. “Because he called me and complained about some dark-haired, British guy near his trailer and said I’d better tell him to watch out.”

Nick frowned and then forced a grin. “Oh.”

“Get in the car. We’ll talk about it.” She drove a grey Volkswagen Bug…her ex-husband’s before he left her for a younger woman. It was the only thing other than her daughter that she got out of the marriage.

“So, what were you doing at McVeigh’s trailer?” she asked as they pulled out of the parking lot

“Watching him.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sure he’s up to something.” Nick stared out the window, watching to see if any of his friends from the lab were here. Nope.

“And where’s your proof, Nick?”

“I don’t have any other than a gut instinct.”

“Well, that and a cup of coffee won’t get you far, speaking of which…do you want to stop by Ruby’s?”

“No, I’m tired. I think I’d like to go home,” Nick answered. He glanced over at Eponine who wore a fitted, blue, snug, dress emphasizing her voluptuous curves. She had straightened her hair and it was swept to one side. God she looked hot! “The seats were great! Third row centre from the stage,” he said. “It was a really great show. I’m not big on musicals.”

“My mom’s an…or was…an opera singer, and I used to sing on Broadway, so it’s kind of in my blood,” Eponine said as she pulled out of the parking lot and waited as the traffic slowly made its way out. “My mom was a singer, so Stephanie comes by it naturally. She had read Les Miserables and named me after a character in a book…a character I later played in our local theatre in town. I majored in Theatre Arts in university.”

“Oh!” Nick commented surprised. “So how come you...now…did you...”

Eponine smirked. “How did I wind up in a trailer park near Vegas? Well, I met my daughter’s father who didn’t approve of what I did, and so like the idiot I was I just caved and became a good cop’s wife. I mean, I sang for a while…even got to Broadway for a bit where I met my husband who was a New York cop. Then we moved to Nevada where he became the local sheriff in Reno…until he ran off with a younger woman...some newbie on the force.”

“So you have a lot of experience in the law enforcement world,” the Texan commented, staring at the lights on the highway.

“Yep, more then you think, Nick,” Eponine sighed. “I’m glad to put that world behind me. I never got on with the other cops’ wives, because I preferred books over partying with the cops and their wives. Not a great world, I tell you. They were all skinny and blonde and perfect, and I’m none of those things.”

Nick looked her over. “So that’s why we get along so well.”

“I knew you were in law enforcement as soon as I met you!” She laughed. “Gees, you had that clean cut look about you when you walked in the office, although you also looked very tired, and very sick.”

“I have been sick,” he told her. “I hate that clean cut look, but I grew up with a judge dad who expected that of me. Where are your parents?”

“Still in Maine. My mom teaches acting at the local university.”

“Do you miss being on stage?” He cast his eyes over and saw the familiar wistful look that all performers get when asked that question. Even Catherine Willows got that longing-to-be-in-the-spotlight-look, although Nick couldn’t figure that one out since her stage performance included taking her clothes off for perverted men; although he wouldn’t have minded checking out one of those performances had he been old enough.

Eponine was quiet and then answered his question. “Yeah, I do. I liked it. It’s addictive. I did all those melodramatic Andrew Lloyd Webber ones. I did my namesake in ‘Les Miz’. I did ‘Chicago’.”

“Ooh,” Nick answered, “you mean you were on stage dressing in those skimpy outfits like the movie with…Catherine Zeta Jones?” The Texan sighed as he said the name of that goddess from Wales whose accent drove him crazy. “Or Rene’s character?”

“Ohh...well, I did the Catherine Zeta Jones character, Velma. I got to sing about killing my philandering husband.” Eponine smiled evilly, her nose scrunched as she said that. “Actually, Nick, if you could sing and dance I could see you doing the sleazy lawyer in that show, Billy Flynn.”

Nick was taken aback by the compliment. Sleazy lawyer…hmm. “Ya think?”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got the look.”

“But no talent,” Nick reminded her. “Can’t get anywhere without that. My talent is...uh...”

“Spying on parolees in trailer parks, Nick?” Eponine asked pointedly and sarcastically.

“Oh, I can do more than that. I’m a science geek.”

“Oh, and your parents?”

“Judge and lawyer.”

“Awww...so you’re in the field by nature?”

“Yep. They would have liked me to be a lawyer or a judge, but I like what I do.” Nick shifted gears. “So what about this change of careers? Why therapy?”

“I’m following in my dad’s footsteps,” she announced matter-of-factly.

“Which is...being a sex therapist? And why don’t you live there if your mom works at the university? Free education? Free room and board?”

She laughed, “No, my dad’s a marriage counselor. They’re good people, but I don’t want to move home with them because I just feel like I let them down. They had all these expectations of Lee and I, and we just f**ked up royally.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick said to her. “You’re a great mom. You take good care of your brother. You’re studying for your Ph.D. You’re earning your own money. That’s a lot to be said.”

Eponine was quiet again and then said, “Thanks, Nick. That’s really, really nice of you to say that.”

“Hey, I see the drudges of society, Eponine. I see people who throw their kids away like garbage. I see families with money to burn, yet their kids are messed up. I did a case a few years ago where these boys, both from families with tons of money, went into a Laundromat and one of them locked the other in a dryer and took off. Kid died.”

“That’s awful,” she said. “I guess being loaded doesn’t always mean your kids will turn out well.”

“No, it’s about the time you spend with them,” Nick said, “and Stephanie is an amazing kid.”

“Her ADHD gets the best of her, but I deal with it. It’s hard for her because it makes her stand out like a sore thumb, so putting her into musical theatre was a way to get out the extra energy and work on the talent she has.”

“She was great the other day,” the Texan said. “She sang that song so well, people were crying.”

“I’m glad you came with us, Nick,” she said. “You’ve been hiding in that trailer so much, I’ve made it a mission to get you out of there and into the real world again. I don’t know what you’re hiding from, but it’s time to come out.”

“Of the closet?” he answered coyly.

“Yeah, if you want to come out of that too, you can. I’m all ears.” Eponine was giggling, keeping her eyes to the road.