A/N: As with a lot of the things that I write, this story has personal meaning to me. Timmy, one of the main characters, has obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), and his mind is constantly repeating some of the things that he hears. Although I have had OCD for my entire life, I have recently begun to face it (okay, it isn’t all that bad, but still, the constant internal dialogue can be tiring!). This story by no means depicts what everyone with OCD goes through on a daily basis, but some of Timmy’s behaviors are a pretty accurate reflection of how my own mind tends to work. I’ll add in other OCD behaviors as I go along, but… yeah! Also, this story is completely dedicated to my best friend, Ann. She’ll know why (actually, she won’t, but ehn!)! I hope that you all enjoy it!
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: One, two, three, four.
Summary: A ten-year old boy with obsessive-compulsive disorder returns home after school one day, only to walk into a crime being committed. Will Sara be able to reach him, in order to figure out what happened?
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One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, ten-year old Timmy repeated over and over to himself, as he rode the school bus home from school Friday afternoon. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three four.
“Timmy, are you gonna come over and play with me later?” Benny, his best friend, asked him with a smile. “My mom made chocolate chip cookies this morning, so we can have some for snack, if you want to!” he excitedly added. “Ooh, and you can even sleep over! It’s pizza night, you know!” he eagerly reminded his friend.
One, two, three, four. “Sure, sounds like fun!” Timmy flashed him a big, toothy grin. “I love cookies.” One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to! “Is your Playstation working yet?”
“Yeah, my dad got it hooked up last night. I can’t wait to try it out!” the eleven-year old boy nodded his reply. “It’s only a Playstation II, but—” he trailed off.
“But that’s okay, because it’s better than my old Playstation I,” Timmy shrugged. One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to! he thought to himself.
“Uh-huh,” Benny agreed, as their bus neared their street. “My mom got me Final Fantasy VIX for my birthday, too, so it’ll be kinda cool.”
“Yeah,” Timmy cheerfully nodded, standing up, and slinging his book bag over his shoulder. One, two, three, four. “But there will be cookies?” he asked as an afterthought. One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to!
“Yup!” Benny laughed, stepping out of the seat, and quickly moving toward the front door of the bus.
“But there will be cookies?” Timmy anxiously repeated his question, his obsessive-compulsive disorder forcing his mouth to voice a question that he already knew the answer to. One, two, three, four. Stop! he wanted to scream at himself. Yup, yup, yup, yup!
“Uh-huh!” Benny grinned, stepping off of the bus, and sprinting toward his home. “See you soon!”
“Yeah, see you soon, then!” Timmy yelled back, heading off toward his own home. Unlocking the front door, he immediately threw his bag aside, walking into the kitchen. “Mom? I’m home!” he softly called out. “Mom? Where are you?” One, two, three, four. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? But there will be cookies? he swallowed.
“What do you mean?” a male voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, coming from somewhere further inside of the house. “What do you mean, you don’t have it?”
“I mean I don’t have it!” Jessica Stein, Timmy’s mother, worriedly replied. “I would give it to you if I did, but I don’t!”
Timmy froze in place, before slowly backing up in fear. Don’t have what? What don’t you have? Don’t have what? His brain repeated over and over again. One, two, three, four, but there will be cookies?
“I told you what would happen if you didn’t give it to me, didn’t I?” the man roughly asked her.
“But please, I don’t have it!” Jessica nervously told him. “Please, I just need some more time to find it… that’s all that I’m asking for; just a little bit more time.”
Please, just a little bit more time, Timmy nervously licked his lips. One, two, three, four. I don’t have it… I just need more time, but there will be cookies?
“Cedric won’t be pleased with you, you know,” the man mumbled, slightly laughing. “But it’s too late for all of that now; the time has come.”
The time has come, the time has come, Cedric won’t be pleased with you, but there will be cookies? “Mom,” Timmy whispered, backing up even further, and quietly moving toward the front hallway. Gently pulling open the closet door, Timmy stepped inside, shoving his way into the back, and hiding behind several of his father’s old jackets.
“I can get it for you!” Jessica desperately told the man. “Honestly, I can get it for you! I just need a couple of more days. Please, you don’t have to do this!”
“Too late,” the man grumbled. “And if your husband can’t produce what we want, your little boy will be next.”
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, Timmy kept repeating to himself, his eyes wide with fear. Your little boy will be next, your little boy will be next.
“Please don’t hurt my son!” Jessica sobbed, her voice cracking. “Please, I can get it for you; I can get it for you, I promise! Just give me two more days… one more day, or even a couple of more hours.”
“No,” the man bellowed, cocking his gun. “No. You’ve had time, and now you have to pay up. Cedric will be disappointed in you, Mrs. Stein,” he added, as Jessica’s pleas and cries grew even louder. “Goodbye,” he callously laughed, as he pulled the trigger.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next, your little boy will be next, goodbye.
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“The victim is a white female, approximately thirty years of age, named Jessica Stein,” Sofia informed Sara and Grissom. “A neighborhood boy came over to find out why Mrs. Stein’s son, Timmy, hadn’t come over to play yet. He found the door ajar, looked inside, and saw blood on the floor. He ran back to his house, told his mother, who then called 911.”
“The house has been cleared, I presume?” Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow at Sofia.
The detective simply nodded, resting one of her hands on her hip.
“So where is Timmy now?” Sara inquired, removing her sunglasses, and setting them down on top of her head. “Is he with the paramedics?”
“Actually, we have yet to find him,” Sofia admitted. “Officers looked everywhere for him, but as of right now, he hasn’t turned up.”
“Well that’s strange,” Grissom commented, turning around to glance at the neighborhood. “And the friend is convinced that Timmy went home after school?”
“He said that they got off of the bus together, and made plans to play,” Sofia replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “So yes, he’s fairly certain that Timmy came home.”
Slipping on a pair of gloves, Grissom clutched his kit tightly in his right hand, slowly walking into the house. “Where was the body found?” he questioned the detective.
“In the home office,” Sofia immediately told him. “Officers found her prone body in front of the desk.”
“Any outward signs of sexual assault?” Sara finally spoke up, following her two colleagues through the house.
“Actually, no,” Sofia shook her head. “We obviously won’t know for sure until Doc Robbins does the autopsy, but her clothes appear to be in place, and unmoved. The room is a mess, as you’ll see, though,” she continued, leading the way into the office.
“I’ll say,” Sara sighed, as she got her first glimpse of the room. Littered with broken glass, strewn books and papers, and overturned shelves and drawers, the office looked as if it had been ransacked by a group of assailants.
“Someone was certainly after something,” Grissom calmly concluded.
“But what?” Sara asked, pursing her lips.
“That, Sara, would be the million dollar question.”
Before Sara had the opportunity to reply, however, Sofia turned toward the study’s door, narrowing her eyes. “Do you two hear something?” she softly inquired.
Grissom cocked his head to the side, listening for anything out of the ordinary. “You said that you cleared the place, right?”
“We did,” Sofia confirmed, pulling her gun out of her holster, and slowly moving toward the door. “But I hear something.”
“Running water. It’s running water,” Sara whispered, pulling out her own gun, and following closely behind Sofia.
“It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs,” Sofia pointed out, quietly walking into the hallway, and glancing up the stairs. With her gun held out in front of her, the detective cautiously climbed the stairs, her eyes never ceasing to look for any signs of possible danger.
Clutching her own gun tightly in her hands, Sara hesitantly followed Sofia up the stairs, a little bit curious as to why there would be running water in a house that had already been cleared by the police.
Grissom, trailing behind Sara, had a perplexed look on his face. “Where’s the bathroom?” he inquired of Sofia.
“Down the hallway,” Sofia whispered back.
“It’s definitely coming from in there,” Sara mouthed, slipping to one side of the bathroom door, with Grissom standing just beside her.
Stopping on the other side of the door, Sofia made eye contact with her colleagues, before reaching a tentative hand out to the doorknob, and flinging the door wide open. “Freeze, Las Vegas Police!” she yelled out, the moment that she saw a figure leaning against the sink.
Timmy, sobbing, and standing on a stool in front of the sink, was busy scrubbing his hands under the steaming hot water. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next, goodbye, there will be cookies?
“Son,” Sofia quietly cleared her throat, slowly pointing her gun down at the ground. “Son, we need you to stop. We’re with the police.”
“I can’t,” Timmy whispered back, adamantly shaking his head from side to side. “I’m dirty. I’m so dirty, I’m dirty, I’m dirty,” he quietly repeated over and over again to himself, as if he were the only person in the room. “I’m so dirty, dirty, dirty.” And he was. Timmy’s clothes were covered in blood. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Goodbye.
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TO BE CONTINUED
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: One, two, three, four.
Summary: A ten-year old boy with obsessive-compulsive disorder returns home after school one day, only to walk into a crime being committed. Will Sara be able to reach him, in order to figure out what happened?
---------------
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, ten-year old Timmy repeated over and over to himself, as he rode the school bus home from school Friday afternoon. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three four.
“Timmy, are you gonna come over and play with me later?” Benny, his best friend, asked him with a smile. “My mom made chocolate chip cookies this morning, so we can have some for snack, if you want to!” he excitedly added. “Ooh, and you can even sleep over! It’s pizza night, you know!” he eagerly reminded his friend.
One, two, three, four. “Sure, sounds like fun!” Timmy flashed him a big, toothy grin. “I love cookies.” One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to! “Is your Playstation working yet?”
“Yeah, my dad got it hooked up last night. I can’t wait to try it out!” the eleven-year old boy nodded his reply. “It’s only a Playstation II, but—” he trailed off.
“But that’s okay, because it’s better than my old Playstation I,” Timmy shrugged. One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to! he thought to himself.
“Uh-huh,” Benny agreed, as their bus neared their street. “My mom got me Final Fantasy VIX for my birthday, too, so it’ll be kinda cool.”
“Yeah,” Timmy cheerfully nodded, standing up, and slinging his book bag over his shoulder. One, two, three, four. “But there will be cookies?” he asked as an afterthought. One, two, three, four, we can have some for snack, if you want to!
“Yup!” Benny laughed, stepping out of the seat, and quickly moving toward the front door of the bus.
“But there will be cookies?” Timmy anxiously repeated his question, his obsessive-compulsive disorder forcing his mouth to voice a question that he already knew the answer to. One, two, three, four. Stop! he wanted to scream at himself. Yup, yup, yup, yup!
“Uh-huh!” Benny grinned, stepping off of the bus, and sprinting toward his home. “See you soon!”
“Yeah, see you soon, then!” Timmy yelled back, heading off toward his own home. Unlocking the front door, he immediately threw his bag aside, walking into the kitchen. “Mom? I’m home!” he softly called out. “Mom? Where are you?” One, two, three, four. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? But there will be cookies? he swallowed.
“What do you mean?” a male voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, coming from somewhere further inside of the house. “What do you mean, you don’t have it?”
“I mean I don’t have it!” Jessica Stein, Timmy’s mother, worriedly replied. “I would give it to you if I did, but I don’t!”
Timmy froze in place, before slowly backing up in fear. Don’t have what? What don’t you have? Don’t have what? His brain repeated over and over again. One, two, three, four, but there will be cookies?
“I told you what would happen if you didn’t give it to me, didn’t I?” the man roughly asked her.
“But please, I don’t have it!” Jessica nervously told him. “Please, I just need some more time to find it… that’s all that I’m asking for; just a little bit more time.”
Please, just a little bit more time, Timmy nervously licked his lips. One, two, three, four. I don’t have it… I just need more time, but there will be cookies?
“Cedric won’t be pleased with you, you know,” the man mumbled, slightly laughing. “But it’s too late for all of that now; the time has come.”
The time has come, the time has come, Cedric won’t be pleased with you, but there will be cookies? “Mom,” Timmy whispered, backing up even further, and quietly moving toward the front hallway. Gently pulling open the closet door, Timmy stepped inside, shoving his way into the back, and hiding behind several of his father’s old jackets.
“I can get it for you!” Jessica desperately told the man. “Honestly, I can get it for you! I just need a couple of more days. Please, you don’t have to do this!”
“Too late,” the man grumbled. “And if your husband can’t produce what we want, your little boy will be next.”
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, Timmy kept repeating to himself, his eyes wide with fear. Your little boy will be next, your little boy will be next.
“Please don’t hurt my son!” Jessica sobbed, her voice cracking. “Please, I can get it for you; I can get it for you, I promise! Just give me two more days… one more day, or even a couple of more hours.”
“No,” the man bellowed, cocking his gun. “No. You’ve had time, and now you have to pay up. Cedric will be disappointed in you, Mrs. Stein,” he added, as Jessica’s pleas and cries grew even louder. “Goodbye,” he callously laughed, as he pulled the trigger.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next, your little boy will be next, goodbye.
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“The victim is a white female, approximately thirty years of age, named Jessica Stein,” Sofia informed Sara and Grissom. “A neighborhood boy came over to find out why Mrs. Stein’s son, Timmy, hadn’t come over to play yet. He found the door ajar, looked inside, and saw blood on the floor. He ran back to his house, told his mother, who then called 911.”
“The house has been cleared, I presume?” Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow at Sofia.
The detective simply nodded, resting one of her hands on her hip.
“So where is Timmy now?” Sara inquired, removing her sunglasses, and setting them down on top of her head. “Is he with the paramedics?”
“Actually, we have yet to find him,” Sofia admitted. “Officers looked everywhere for him, but as of right now, he hasn’t turned up.”
“Well that’s strange,” Grissom commented, turning around to glance at the neighborhood. “And the friend is convinced that Timmy went home after school?”
“He said that they got off of the bus together, and made plans to play,” Sofia replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “So yes, he’s fairly certain that Timmy came home.”
Slipping on a pair of gloves, Grissom clutched his kit tightly in his right hand, slowly walking into the house. “Where was the body found?” he questioned the detective.
“In the home office,” Sofia immediately told him. “Officers found her prone body in front of the desk.”
“Any outward signs of sexual assault?” Sara finally spoke up, following her two colleagues through the house.
“Actually, no,” Sofia shook her head. “We obviously won’t know for sure until Doc Robbins does the autopsy, but her clothes appear to be in place, and unmoved. The room is a mess, as you’ll see, though,” she continued, leading the way into the office.
“I’ll say,” Sara sighed, as she got her first glimpse of the room. Littered with broken glass, strewn books and papers, and overturned shelves and drawers, the office looked as if it had been ransacked by a group of assailants.
“Someone was certainly after something,” Grissom calmly concluded.
“But what?” Sara asked, pursing her lips.
“That, Sara, would be the million dollar question.”
Before Sara had the opportunity to reply, however, Sofia turned toward the study’s door, narrowing her eyes. “Do you two hear something?” she softly inquired.
Grissom cocked his head to the side, listening for anything out of the ordinary. “You said that you cleared the place, right?”
“We did,” Sofia confirmed, pulling her gun out of her holster, and slowly moving toward the door. “But I hear something.”
“Running water. It’s running water,” Sara whispered, pulling out her own gun, and following closely behind Sofia.
“It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs,” Sofia pointed out, quietly walking into the hallway, and glancing up the stairs. With her gun held out in front of her, the detective cautiously climbed the stairs, her eyes never ceasing to look for any signs of possible danger.
Clutching her own gun tightly in her hands, Sara hesitantly followed Sofia up the stairs, a little bit curious as to why there would be running water in a house that had already been cleared by the police.
Grissom, trailing behind Sara, had a perplexed look on his face. “Where’s the bathroom?” he inquired of Sofia.
“Down the hallway,” Sofia whispered back.
“It’s definitely coming from in there,” Sara mouthed, slipping to one side of the bathroom door, with Grissom standing just beside her.
Stopping on the other side of the door, Sofia made eye contact with her colleagues, before reaching a tentative hand out to the doorknob, and flinging the door wide open. “Freeze, Las Vegas Police!” she yelled out, the moment that she saw a figure leaning against the sink.
Timmy, sobbing, and standing on a stool in front of the sink, was busy scrubbing his hands under the steaming hot water. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next, goodbye, there will be cookies?
“Son,” Sofia quietly cleared her throat, slowly pointing her gun down at the ground. “Son, we need you to stop. We’re with the police.”
“I can’t,” Timmy whispered back, adamantly shaking his head from side to side. “I’m dirty. I’m so dirty, I’m dirty, I’m dirty,” he quietly repeated over and over again to himself, as if he were the only person in the room. “I’m so dirty, dirty, dirty.” And he was. Timmy’s clothes were covered in blood. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Goodbye.
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TO BE CONTINUED
