Of Nightmares and Pinkie-Swears, a CSI: Nick-Centric Fic

Hello: This takes place post 6.05, Gum Drops. I hope you enjoy and will continue if people like it.
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Nick Stokes returned home 48 hours after being pulled out of the Plexiglas box that Walter Gordon had put him in. His parents stayed with him for a few days; once he was reasonably assured that his Pancho was going to be okay, Bill Stokes returned home, but his wife stayed. Nick’s friends and co-workers, especially Warrick, came by his town home bringing food, movies, games, and stories, as well as gossip and case files, to entertain him. He was grateful for this, because he did not want to be alone. But soon enough, he took and passed the department-required psychological evaluation, and his mother went home to Texas, and he went back to work.

In relatively short order he was able to convince everyone, even Grissom and Warrick, that he was okay. And he really was – although he was easily rattled when he first went back into the field, his optimism, his positive outlook on life had not changed. Day by day his conscious thoughts of Walter Gordon’s sinister voice, of the crawling and biting ants, of the cold steel of his gun pressed into his throat by his own hand, of dirt in his nostrils, and the claustrophobia that made sense only occasionally faded. Within six months his therapist told him that he should come back only if he felt he needed to. He had a good head on his shoulders, he’d made great strides, he’d worked through the worst of the trauma.

But this was only during waking hours. Nightmares had set in the first time he’d dared to close his eyes in the hospital, and not a day went by when he didn’t experience one. He discussed them with the therapist, before she released him, and had tried different ways of coping with them that ranged from sleeping pills, which made him feel groggy the next day, to writing down what he remembered so she could analyze them. She reassured him that these were a normal symptom of PTSD and that he needed to explore the nightmares to get past what was causing them. In the end, however, Nick gave up. He allowed the nightmares to come, allowed the haunting images to disturb his sleep, allowed them to wake him with a start or a yell in a cold sweat. Certainly, he was tired of the horror, but he was even more tired of fighting it.

That was not to say that he had found no relief at all. He did find some things that helped – mostly femmy things he’d never admit to anyone with a Y chromosome. The Sounds of the Rainforest CD had been given to him by Sara, new fabric softener on new, softer sheets by his mother. Pillows sprayed with frou-frou aromatherapy spray was Catherine’s suggestion and leaving a light on was his own ingenious thought. The combination of these, his therapy, and time was having its effect, and the nightmares gradually became less intense and less frequent, although they flared occasionally, usually when he was handed a tough case.

Regardless, sleep eluded him. A good night in the beginning was two hours. It improved to four, but no more, and eventually Nick simply adjusted. It was his nature.

In Pioche, investigating the McBrides, he knew no sleep would come.

Forced to split a two-bed motel room with two other men, he volunteered himself for the sofa. If he ultimately wasn’t going to sleep, it would be unfair of him to take the more comfortable bed from Greg or Warrick, both of whom had been sawing logs for three hours before Nick’s eyes drooped for the first time.

Muffled pounding and his own name woke him woke him little more than an hour later and even when he opened his eyes to the darkness he could see the source of it in his mind – Cassie’s little fists pounding on Plexiglas. He struggled to catch his breath and sat up.

“Nicky.”

He wasn’t surprised to hear the deep voice of his newly-married colleague.

He paused to control his tone before replying, “Yeah, Warrick.”

“You okay?”

He waited a moment again. He needed control. “Yeah . . . I’m fine.”

“You and me both know that’s bullshit.” He rose to find Nick a drink of water in the darkness. Greg was still asleep.

Nick received the water gratefully and drank it quickly. Warrick sat on the corner of his bed, facing Nick. “You’re still havin’ nightmares.”

Nick nodded, but wouldn’t meet Warrick’s eyes. There wasn’t any point arguing with Warrick; the man was too intuitive and observant – useful traits in a criminalist. “Yeah. This case ain’t helpin’ any.”

“You want me to find you somethin’ a little stronger?” asked Warrick, pointing to Nick’s glass.

He chuckled. “Nah. It never helps. Just makes me feel like hell in the morning.”

“You want the bed?”

Nick wanted to make a joke about sharing a bed with Warrick, but didn’t have the heart just then. “No,” he said instead. “Don’t worry about me, man. It’s
just this case. . . . It’s getting better.” This was not a lie.

“You still in therapy?” Nick nodded silently in the darkness. “That’s good, Nicky.”

“I’m okay, Warrick. Really. You should get some sleep.”

“Are you?”

“I’m gonna try, if you shut up.”

Warrick chuckled and patted Nick’s shoulder. “Okay.” He rose to climb back into bed. “You need anything, you let me know.”

“Will do.” Nick laid back down on the couch, actually feeling better for the few words he’d just exchanged with his friend. Greg snored loudly.

“That boy sounds like a diesel truck,” observed Warrick as he settled in.

Nick laughed and closed his eyes, but no more sleep came.

When he arrived home following this case, the picture that Cassie had drawn for him was placed on his bedside table, right over a photo of all of his nieces and nephews. After showering, he went to the lab to wrap up the report while Cassie’s narrative was still fresh in his mind. It took a while to get through it, and when he did he was pretty low. This was supposed to be the end of it for him, but he feared that once he got home and laid down, he’d see Cassie’s slashed throat, her parents’ drowned bodies, her little fists banging on Plexiglas again.

He’d found her, and she was alive, but she was scarred in more ways than one and she was an orphan. After he had said goodbye to Cassie in her hospital room, he spoke with Sheriff Brackett before catching up with his colleagues for the drive back to Las Vegas.

“What’s gonna happen to Cassie now?” he had asked, hopeful.

The sheriff spoke sadly. “The wife and I’ll take her in,” he replied. “She’s got no other family – grandparents are all gone and Jude and Nina were only children.” As Nick nodded in understanding, grateful that someone she knew would care for her, Brackett shook his head. “How do you folks deal with this
every day and still want to get up in the morning?”

Nick smiled sadly. “One day at a time, Sheriff,” he replied, and then headed to the Tahoe.

At home, in his bedroom, he picked up Cassie’s drawing again. He smiled at the lake and the house and her printing: “Thanks for finding me!”

He swallowed and blinked back tears. “One day at a time, honey,” he told her quietly. “That’s how it’s done.” He placed the drawing back on the table gently, and then laid down and closed his eyes. For the first time since being buried alive, he slept for six solid hours.

 

Amen!

BTW I could use a beta on this, so if anyone's interested you can email me directly at iluvdanimal at yahoo dot com.

Thanks

 

I like it. The story's interesting, and it's nice to see a story about how it affected Nick, given that the show never really displayed it. Cant wait for more!

 

I loved it! As others have said, the show didn't really give Nick much room to show how being buried alive had affected him. Nick's a strong guy, and I'm glad he's gettin' through it okay-ish, though.
I also really liked how the story dealt with the episode 'Gum Drops'. This case would definitely have rattled Nick's cage a bit, and just after being buried alive, it probably would not have helped his sleeping pattern much.
Again, excellent story.

 

Good story.

If only they could have put something like this on a CSI episode.

 

wow love it! I agree with the previous posters.

 

I don't read on here much but I just thought I'd give this a go and I really liked it so far! I found your Nick and Warrick very believable, and let's face it, Greg sleeping through the whole thing is just very Greg indeed. It's good to see these emotions getting explored. Hope there's more Nat x

 

Hi folks: Thanks so much for the great replies Here's an update! I actually have a little more to post, but it was too much for one go.
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“Officer Stokes?”

Looking over the file in his hands, Nick was too distracted to look up. “I’m not an officer . . . .” He should have known someone he knew was trying to get his attention, because he was standing in the courthouse waiting for a trial to begin and he was wearing a suit, which unlike the vest he wore at crime scenes, did not have his name on it.

“Sorry . . . Mr. Stokes?”

“Yes?” There was a hint of impatience in his voice and he still had not looked up.

“Um . . . do you remember me?”

He raised up his head. From his perspective at almost six feet, he saw no one. Confused, he turned around, and then saw a little hand waving from just below his chest. He looked down and a smile broke out over his face. “Cassie McBride, of course I remember you!” he exclaimed, reaching out for a hug.

Gratefully, Cassie embraced him. She squeezed a lot tighter that he expected, but like him she was there for Luke Daniels’ trial, and was probably very frightened.

When he pulled away and stood up, she asked, “Are you going to testify?”

“Yeah,” he replied, wondering if she was supposed to testify too. “How’d you get here?”

“Sheriff Brackett brought me along,” she replied, gesturing to him. “We’re going to try to be here for the whole trial.”

Nick looked up to see Sheriff Dennis Brackett standing just behind Cassie. He greeted the sheriff, solemnly shaking hands.

“Stokes,” said Brackett, “how goes it?”

“I’m well. You?”

“We’re plugging along,” he replied cryptically, and Nick noted the somberness in his voice.

“That’s good to hear. Listen, Judge Kaisershot doesn’t like to start late, so maybe y’all should take your seats. I’ll see you in there.”

“All right,” replied Brackett. “We’ll see you around, Stokes.”

“Bye, Mr. Stokes,” whispered Cassie, waving. Nick waved back and turned, nodding to the bailiff who was just starting to order people into the courtroom for the proceeding.
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When she was elected, Elizabeth Halles became one of the youngest district attorneys on record in Clark County, Nevada. She was forty-two years old. A superior intellect had facilitated the early completion of the legal education that family tragedy had driven her to pursue. She worked as a deputy district attorney for eight years before becoming an assistant, and then, when scandal brought down one of the district court judges in the county, the DA ran for and won his seat. He then assisted Elizabeth in her campaign to be elected to the position he had vacated.

Strictly speaking, there was no reason she shouldn’t have taken on the McBride murder case when it was extradited from Lincoln County. Her experience with that kind of violence was well in the past and she knew she could do the job she had been elected to do without issue. However, she was less certain of the affect the case would have on her, especially if Cassie took the stand. To be safe – and it was always best to be so with certain cases – she handed it over to the assistant DA in charge of criminal prosecution, and though she stayed hands-off, she made herself available and attended the proceedings.

She had worked with Nick Stokes many times. In fact, she was fairly sure she’d had some kind of interaction with every CSI in the department, and Stokes hadn’t ever been much different from any of the others. All law enforcement officers were coached to deliver their testimony without emotion, only offering facts or explaining theories or processes with cold logic.

But the day he testified for the county against Luke Daniels, Stokes was different. While he delivered his testimony there was an edge to his voice and he wore an angry, arrogant smirk while answering some of the attorney’s questions. At one point, when Stokes raised his voice and called Luke Daniels a little bastard, the presiding judge had no choice but to rebuke him.

“Mr. Stokes, control yourself.”

It was all he said, all he needed to say, and even though Stokes glared back at him, he settled down considerably. Elizabeth was amused when Stokes was tempted to express himself on subsequent occasions to find him glaring back at the judge before catching himself, and speaking with more professionalism.

The day Luke Daniels’ sentence was delivered, Stokes was in the courtroom again. It wasn’t unusual for CSIs, detectives, or other officers to be present when a verdict was given, especially if the case was high-profile or had struck a particular chord. Most often Elizabeth saw this with cases involving children. But she was surprised to find Stokes sitting to Cassie McBride’s left, with the Lincoln county sheriff on her right.

Elizabeth had never seen Luke’s mother without a tear-stained face, and had simply never seen his father. Luke himself, during the trial, was silent, but when he stood to hear his sentence he began to shake, his eyes to water, his chin to quiver. The boy was petrified. His mother did not help his composure when she shrieked a repetition of Judge Kaisershot’s ruling from behind her son, and then began abusing the judge for issuing it. Luke’s legs failed him, he became physically ill, and his mother was removed from the courtroom.

Once she was gone, and order restored, all the judge said to the eerily quiet courtroom was, “Good luck, Mr. Daniels.” He sobbed in reply, tissues pressed to his mouth. “The defendant will be remanded to the custody of the State of Nevada immediately. We’re adjourned.”

The sheriff, Stokes, and Cassie were lost in the ensuing sea of people and flashing cameras. Elizabeth, who was friendly with the bailiff, managed to get to him to wrangle his help in getting in contact with the little girl.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson

 

Here's the rest of the section.
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Some thirty minutes following the proceeding, the bailiff, Victor Morganstern, rapped gently on Sheriff Brackett’s shoulder. He was talking to Stokes, who Morganstern recognized from his many appearances in court.

“The DA wants to see Miss McBride.” It was not a request.

Brackett, caught off-guard by the bailiff’s tone, became defensive. “What for?”

“She just wants to talk,” replied Morganstern evenly.

Nick, knowing that the bailiff wasn’t a talkative sort of creature, stepped in to help out. “I’m sure she just wants to say hello, Sheriff,” he said soothingly. “Cassie, you wanna meet the district attorney?”

She looked vaguely interested. “Okay.”

Nick held out his hand to Cassie and turned to Brackett. “Why don’t I take her down – you give your wife a call and check up on her.”

“All right,” he replied. “Cassie, you gonna be OK with Mr. Stokes?”

Cassie nodded and took Nick’s hand. Morganstern nodded his thanks and directed the CSI to the cafeteria on the lower level of the building before he moved to clear the courtroom.

“So how’ve you been, Cassie?” asked Nick as they headed down the hall, with more cheer than he felt.

“I’m okay,” she replied, her voice somber. “What’s a district attorney?”

Nick correctly assumed that this change of topic meant that she didn’t want to chat. “The DA is in charge of the attorneys who prosecute criminal cases. Elizabeth is a very smart woman. She’s probably the youngest DA in Clark County and she works very hard to put away bad guys.” They headed down the stairs, around a few turns, and then walked into the cafeteria.

Nick approached the table at which Elizabeth was sitting, reading over a case file and sipping coffee. She gave a cursory glance upward at Nick. “Hello, Mr. Stokes,” she said tiredly. “What can I do for you?” When Cassie peered out at her from behind Nick, she brightened. “Oh! Hello!” Taking off her glasses, she stood and stuck her hand out for Cassie to shake. “I’m Elizabeth Halles, the District Attorney. It’s nice to meet you, Cassie.”

Cassie shook her hand and smiled shyly. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Elizabeth gestured to the other chairs at the table. “Have a seat. Thanks for coming to meet me.” She offered to get the two of them something to drink, but both declined, so she closed her folder and set her glasses on top of it, then took her coffee cup in hand, sipping. “So, Cassie,” she began in a more serious tone, “I wanted to talk to you because I was wondering-”

Cassie made a face and rolled her eyes. “How I’m doing?”

Both Nick and Elizabeth were taken aback by her sharp tone, and exchanged a surprised and worried look.

“No,” said Elizabeth, looking back at the little girl. “I was wondering whether you understood the proceedings.”

“Oh.” Cassie looked down at the table, chastised by Elizabeth’s kindness. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Elizabeth reassured her. “Did you have any questions?”

“Well . . .” Cassie looked away a moment. “Why did Luke get so much jail time? He’s not going to live for 120 years.”

“Two reasons. First, he needed an appropriate sentence for each crime. He did something really bad; it stacks up. Also . . . it’s partly to make sure he doesn’t get out. We asked for the death penalty-”

Nick held up a hand to interrupt Elizabeth. “Hey – hang on a minute! That’s a little too much information, don’t you think?”

Elizabeth turned to face him, a calm and matter-of-fact expression on her face to counter Nick’s look of concern and alarm. “No. Cassie’s been through a lot and she deserves to have things explained to her so that she understands. It’s disrespectful to talk down to victims, Stokes. You know that.”

“She’s eleven, Elizabeth.”

“But I’m not stupid!” snapped Cassie, her face red. “I get it, okay? I understand he could’ve gotten the death penalty and since he killed my family I wish he would have.”

Nick looked back at her, surprised at her outburst. She was obviously very angry; he should have known. “I’m sorry, Cassie,” he said quietly.

She put her head down, trying to hide her sudden tears. Nick exchanged another concerned look with Elizabeth and handed Cassie a napkin from the dispenser on the table. He placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

She accepted the napkin and wiped her tears, her frustration evident. She looked up at Nick and thanked him, and then straightened up in her chair. Nick rubbed her back, patting affectionately.

“Should I continue?” asked Elizabeth, looking at Cassie.

“Yes, please,” she said in a small voice. But before Elizabeth could do so, Cassie broke down again. “I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stokes . . . I’m just so tired of being treated like I’m too stupid to understand what happened to me. I was right there! I saw everything!”

Elizabeth moved one chair closer to Cassie, leaning over to embrace her. “It’s all right, Cassie,” she said soothingly. “I understand your frustration.”

The look on Cassie’s face said rather plainly that she didn’t believe that statement for a second. “How could you possibly?”

“Because people did it to me,” she replied. “When my mom and dad died, no one ever really talked to me about it. No one ever said what really happened around me. They used little words and talked in little voices they thought were soothing, and then gave me ice cream while they talked amongst themselves, saying what a pity it was and how they felt sorry for me.”

Cassie examined Elizabeth’s face for honesty before whispering, “What happened to your parents?”

The attorney could only answer matter-of-factly. “They were murdered.”

“How old were you?”

“I was very young.” Elizabeth had Cassie’s attention. “Younger than you.”

“Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. “No. It was just me.”

Cassie, placated by this admission, asked, “Will you keep explaining some stuff to me?”

Elizabeth sat back in her newly-acquired seat. “Sure. I was saying that we asked for the death penalty for Luke because he pulled the trigger and he held the knife. When a judge decides what someone’s sentence will be, for any kind of crime, they have to do research to find out how others have been sentenced for similar crimes in the past. It’s called precedence. There isn’t precedence for capital punishment for someone as young as Luke in a case like this, and we knew that, but we were looking for a heavy sentence.”

“Have there been other cases like this?” asked Cassie dubiously.

“Not in Lincoln County, which is probably why Judge Kaisershot ruled the way he did. The other difference between this case and the other cases we’ve seen is that Luke didn’t really mean to do what he did. He brought the gun to intimidate Jeremy, but things got out of control.”

“That’s usually what happens when guns are involved,” said Nick.

“Do you have a gun?” asked the little girl of him.

“Yes, I do, and so does Sheriff Brackett, but it’s for protection, Cassie. For ourselves and others. Besides, we’re trained to use them.”

She nodded. “How come there was only a trial for Luke?”

“There was a trial for the other two boys. It was held in Lincoln County and got a lot less attention because once they were arrested, they cooperated and they pled guilty. Mr. Daniels thought he could get less jail time by telling an elaborate story about how he knew what was going on, and went to the house to lean on your dad – for your sake, for his friend Jeremy’s sake. And then things got political there in Lincoln County, so the case was sent to Clark County – to me.”

“I was afraid everyone thought he was telling the truth. A lot of people think he was.”

“Well, the good news is that in the end, it only matters what the jury thinks, and in this case, they obviously saw through Luke’s lies. They were able to because of the work that Mr. Stokes and his team did recovering evidence from your house and from the boys. And also, because of your testimony.”

Cassie didn’t quite know what to say. Memories of that awful night kept coming back in little flashes, and she didn’t want to talk about them anymore. She didn’t want to have to keep repeating the story of what happened, didn’t want to tell another person that she was okay, she was fine, she just wanted to be left alone. This actually seemed to be okay with most people, since she now lived in a house where no one looked at her sideways unless she did something wrong. Her eyes watered out of sadness and fatigue, and she looked up at Nick, hoping to find a comforting smile. Faithfully, he bestowed it, even though she couldn’t return it.

Elizabeth continued. “Mr. Christianson, the attorney that you worked with from my office, said that you didn’t want to testify until he said that if you didn’t, it would be harder to put Luke in prison. I can only imagine how hard it must have been to get up there and talk about that night in front of so many people, so I want you to know that what you did was very brave. I work with a lot of victims who won’t testify because they’re too afraid, and most of them are adults.”

“Were you scared, Cassie?”

She leveled her eyes at Nick, who asked the question. “I was . . . but you were there. It helped a lot to see you.”

“You were brave,” he reiterated, pleased that he had helped her in some small way.

“But I was scared,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I wasn’t brave.”

“You are, Cassie,” said Nick. “Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. It means you do what’s right anyway.”

She was quiet a moment longer, swiping the tears off her cheeks. “Thanks, Mr. Stokes.”

He winked at her. “Call me Nick.”

Cassie gave in to a slight grin. “Okay.”

“Do you have any more questions, Cassie?” asked Elizabeth.

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied.

“Well, if you think of anything, I want you to call me.” She reached into her briefcase and extracted a pen and her business card. After writing on the back of it, she handed her the card. “No matter what, either here or at home. If I’m in court, I’ll call you back.”

Nick and Cassie said goodbye to Elizabeth, and then went back upstairs to wait for Sheriff Brackett. They found a bench to sit on, and when they had, Nick turned to Cassie. “I hope you don’t hesitate to call Elizabeth,” he said. “She seems like a meanie sometimes in court, but she’s very compassionate.”

Cassie nodded. “I liked her. She was nice.”

“She told you the truth,” said Nick. “I didn’t realize . . . I thought maybe people would have been. . . .”

She shook her head. “It’s the same every time I’m around people who know what happened. They look at me and then they turn and whisper. Even Sheriff Brackett does it with his wife.”

“So did I,” he said apologetically, “before we went to talk to the DA. I’m sorry, Cassie.”

“It’s okay. Most people just want to gossip. You wanted to know what’s going on because you care.”

He nodded in confirmation. “That’s true – I do care – but Elizabeth was right. I know better than to talk down to victims.”

“I don’t want to be called a victim anymore, Nick.”

He was struck by how sad she was, and recognized the exhaustion on her face. He remembered seeing that same exhaustion in the mirror and wondering whether he was sad because he was so tired or if he was so tired because he was sad.

“How are you sleepin’, sweetheart?”

She looked up at him, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”
“You look tired,” he said. “I’m just wondering if you’re sleeping okay.” When she looked into his eyes and had no idea what to say, he knew he had struck a chord. He continued. “If you can’t sleep well . . . if you maybe have nightmares sometimes . . . you could try leaving a light on. Maybe you can ask Sheriff Brackett for a night light.”

“I don’t live with Sheriff Brackett,” she whispered.

Nick scowled a little. “When I left the hospital, he said he was going to take you in.”

“He did. Mrs. Brackett didn’t really want me there, though . . . she’s Luke’s aunt. And then when I went back to school things didn’t really go well. My old friends started to ignore me and other people teased me, and I got into fights a lot because of Mark’s cousins and Peter’s little sisters. And then Mrs. Brackett got sick so they called some social workers and they found me a foster home instead.”

“Oh.” Nick was surprised; Brackett had not mentioned this major change in Cassie’s life when he was talking to him about how she was doing. “Well . . . do you like it there? Are you making new friends?”

She shook her head. “Not really. There’s a lot of kids there but they come and go all the time. It’s always really loud there. Miss Emily, my foster mother, she’s always pretty busy. But she lets me walk to the library when the older kids go into town.”

“Where is the house? Maybe I can drive up on a day off to visit you.”

Cassie’s face turned red again, but she caught herself before she yelled at Nick. “You don’t have to say that. Lots of people said that so far, and so far only Sheriff Brackett’s done it, and he’s only done it because of the trial.”

“I’m sorry about that, Cassie, but please don’t assume I’ll do the same,” said Nick calmly. Then he reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet, extracting two of his own business cards. He pulled a pen out of his other pocket. “Write down your number for me here, and take this. I don’t get a lot of time off, but when I get a day I’ll call and we can catch a movie or something.”

She hesitantly reached out and accepted the items from Nick, writing down her number. Once the cards were exchanged and the pen in Nick’s pocket again, Cassie lifted her big blue eyes up to his. “Nick,” she said quietly, “if I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?”

Nick nodded solemnly. “I’ll always be honest with you.”

“Pinkie-swear?” She held out her right pinkie.

He smiled, touched. He had never been asked to pinkie-swear to anything and in fact, in moments of pre-adolescent silliness, his five older sisters would actually refuse to make a pinkie-swear with him for the sheer joy of annoying their little brother. Solemnly, he linked his pinkie with hers. “Yes, I pinkie-swear, Cassie.”

She pulled, and smiled a little; this time, it reached her eyes. “Okay. Here’s my question. In jail, where Mark and Peter are, do you have to get tattooed?”

Nick wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “No,” he replied. “That’s just a stereotype. And Mark and Peter, and soon enough, Luke, are not in jail. They’re in prison.”

“Do you get beat up in prison?” These words came out in a rush, and Nick suspected that this was her real question.

“Prison’s not a nice place to be,” he replied. “It happens, sometimes.” This was the truth she was looking for; had Nick been talking to anyone over five foot six, he would have added his own opinion that Luke wouldn’t make it a week before he sported a shiner. But these were not thoughts for the head of a pretty eleven-year-old who had best be getting on with her life, so he made an attempt to lighten the mood. “Now, if I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?”

She held out her pinkie. “I’ll always be honest with you, Nick,” she said as their fingers curled around each other. “Promise.”

He pulled. “All right. Here’s my question. D’you think this tie make me look fat?”

Cassie laughed at him as he played with his neckwear, and he managed to make the smile stick for a few minutes longer until Sheriff Brackett came to retrieve her, and bring her back to her foster home.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson

 

nice work Love it

 

Nice! I love Nick's question. Great job!

 

Sorry for the long delay An update!!
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Miss Audra Stokes, as her little brother still liked to call her, was Nick’s favorite sister. She was two years older than he was and two years younger than their big brother Billy, but she was, without a doubt, the resident sibling-in-charge. Audra was most like Nick, analytical with a good head on her shoulders and the same sense of fairness that they both inherited from their parents. She had often said that of any of the seven Stokes children, she and Nick should have been born twins – the main differences between them were gender and hair color (Audra was a redhead), and the fact that where Nick was drawn to science, Audra was drawn to numbers. They were so close that they still called each other by their childhood nicknames. When he was learning to talk, Nick had called his sister Dadra, and still did after forty years. Audra called her little brother an array of names, but most often her answer to Dadra was Ninny (what she called him at two), or Sicky Nicky (because he had been ill as child).

Audra, a CPA and mother of five, was the head of her own successful accounting firm in Houston. Her husband Sam was an artist and a stay-at-home dad of the finest caliber, but with five children Audra and Sam didn’t get as much time to spend together as they would have liked. To help compensate for this, Audra blocked time on her calendar to chat with Sam from nine o’clock to nine-thirty every morning. Sometimes they talked on the phone; sometimes, it was online. It all depended on where he was and what kind of mood they were in.

Audra was the only one of the Stokes children that their mother called before she boarded a plan to Las Vegas after receiving a phone call from Nick’s supervisor, and the only one she trusted to tell the remainder of her children that Nick was okay before telling them the story about their brother being buried alive. Following the ordeal, Nick wanted to see only Audra because only Audra wouldn’t placate him, wouldn’t patronize him, wouldn’t smile sweetly and tell him it would all be okay. Only Audra knew of his nightmares.

When she returned home to Houston she blocked an additional half-hour on her calendar to make sure she talked to Nick every day. Now it had been almost a year and a half, and the time was no longer blocked on her calendar, but Nick knew he could still get a hold of Audra if he needed or wanted to. Most of the time they chatted online, since Audra’s just-got-out-of-bed chipper voice annoyed her brother, who at nine-thirty, was ready to fall over, even if he wouldn’t sleep.

About a week after Luke Daniels’ trial wrapped up, Nick went home to his townhouse, made himself some breakfast, and sat down at his computer to chat with Audra (who, when this tradition of theirs began, was kind enough to set him up with a chat program and screen name).

ninny415: miss audra

audra.stokes: Good morning, Sunshine!

ninny415: knock off the happy crap

audra.stokes: Ooh, extra crabby this morning.

ninny415: something’s buggin me

audra.stokes: Well, I’m here for you, Ninny. What is it?

ninny415: i don’t know

audra.stokes: Should you be talking to our lovely sister Lauren, the super-shrink?

ninny415: no more shrinks please
ninny415: i want to talk to you

audra.stokes: OK. Just say what’s on your mind.

ninny415: ive been working my ass off. on purpose.

audra.stokes: Particular case?

ninny415: no not really. just to be at work. i hate coming home.

audra.stokes: I think I know where this is going.

ninny415: dont say i need a girlfriend. i dont want someone i have to dress up for and impress.
ninny415: despite what billy thinks i do that every time i go to court

audra.stokes: Bitter much, Nick?

ninny415: you and i both know he’s the reason i don’t live in dallas anymore

audra.stokes: So he’s got his stupid public defender job and you’re happy in Vegas. What do you care anymore?

ninny415: because i’m bitter. he’s still dad’s favorite.
ninny415: with his stupid little league championship and attorney job.

audra.stokes: But Billy’s jealous of you because you’re Pancho the Crimefighter and he’s just Billy.

ninny415: hello? WILLIAM THE FOURTH!!!

audra.stokes: <--- Sighing.
audra.stokes: I see that I’m not going to make any headway on the Billy vs. Nicky battlefront this morning. Let’s get back on-topic. You were saying . . . no girlfriend. Are you sure about that?

ninny415: audra if i wanna get laid, i live in vegas for cryin out loud

audra.stokes: <--- Sighing. Again. I’m talking about companionship, Nicholas.

ninny415: let me level with you. im thinkin about calling someone i maybe shouldn’t.

audra.stokes: I’d guess either a shrink or a hooker, but we already discussed those options.

ninny415: a victim.

audra.stokes: Oh.
audra.stokes: I didn’t see that coming.
audra.stokes: Oooh, Nicky . . . explain, before I tell you what you already know.

ninny415: one of my cases i helped find a missing kid whose mom and dad were murdered. i guess ive taken a shine to her since then.

audra.stokes: Why are you thinking about calling her? How old is she?

ninny415: 11. i think she needs me.

audra.stokes: Oh, Ninny. What would Lauren say right now?

ninny415: i’m serious audra. she’s havin a hard time adjusting to her foster home and she needs someone.

audra.stokes: Why’s that person gotta be you?

ninny415: who else is it gonna be?

audra.stokes: What do you think you can do for her?

ninny415: i can be to her what you are to me.

audra.stokes: I am your Queen. You cannot be a queen; you keep shaving your head.

ninny415: ha ha ha
ninny415: seriously please.

audra.stokes: Seriously, Nick, it’s sweet that you want to help her.

ninny415: but?

audra.stokes: But would it be worth your job, if it comes down to it? What kind of risk are you taking?

ninny415: look audra, i know i help people in my job, but just once maybe it would be nice to help the living. i really identify with this kid. she could use someone who understands what its like to go through trauma.

audra.stokes: You could use a reminder that life’s not as bad as your job makes it look. But again Nicky – is it worth your job?

ninny415: I can always get another job.

audra.stokes: ?#&*$@!
audra.stokes: Excuse me. I fell off my chair.
audra.stokes: Nick, you’ve NEVER said that, or anything like it. Not EVER. You don’t even JOKE about that. I thought you loved your job.

ninny415: i do, but maybe this is bigger than my job.

audra.stokes: Have you talked to the bearded guy about it?

ninny415: grissom shaved his beard
ninny415: and no i havent
ninny415: and im not going to either

audra.stokes: Why?

ninny415: because hell tell me not to do it.

audra.stokes: Oh, grow up, Nicholas!

ninny415: hey, its none of his business!

audra.stokes: <--- Sighing.
audra.stokes: Again.

audra.stokes: So clearly, you’ve already made up your mind.

ninny415: i guess so

audra.stokes: Give me some kind of comfort here Nick. Tell me you’re not being a complete melonhead about this.

ninny415: strictly speaking, since the case is closed and the trial is over, there shouldn’t be any concerns.

audra.stokes: So if that’s the case, why are we talking about this?

ninny415: i wanted to bounce it off someone.

audra.stokes: Well, you bounced. Feel better?

ninny415: not really
ninny415: once I get to talk to cassie ill probably feel better though.

audra.stokes: Well, sir – get some sleep, and give her a call.

ninny415: will do. how are the kids?

audra.stokes: The girls – sassy and beautiful, like their mama. The boys – respectful and handsome, like their daddy. Sam’s exhibiting in Dallas in a few weeks.

ninny415: great news. send me pics, ok?

audra.stokes: Will do – ttyl Nicky

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Nick slept peacefully for about three hours that morning, but woke in early afternoon in a cold sweat. It was becoming more and more common to not remember the nightmares. It had taken him a while to get used to this, but once he did he considered it an improvement. No memories of a night terror meant he wasn’t plagued by them during waking hours.

Once he woke, he never got any more rest, so he rose and showered and made himself something to eat. Eventually he found himself sitting on his couch, his cell phone in one hand and his business card in the other, turned over to reveal the ten digits Cassie had written on the back.

Slowly, he dialed them. A young voice answered. “Hello?”

Suddenly nervous, realizing he had no idea what he’d say to her, he stood. “Hi . . . can I talk to Cassie?”

“Who’s calling?”

“My name’s Nick.”

He heard rustling and muffled hollering in the background, and then, “Hello?”

“Hi – I was calling for Cassie.”

“I’m Cassie. Is this Nick?”

“Yeah, it’s Nick. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she replied, her voice raspy. “I got a cold.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Nick sat back down on the couch. “Do you want me to let you get some rest? I can call back.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m supposed to be doing my science homework and I don’t want to.”

“What kind of science homework?”

“Dumb science homework,” she replied like the eleven year old she was. It made him smile.

"You know, Cassie, you’re talkin’ to a scientist. Maybe I could help you.”

“You’re a detective – that’s not the same thing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a scientist. What I do is called forensic science.”

There was a pause while Cassie tried to control a coughing fit. “What kind of stuff is that?”

“Forensics is the use of science and technology to investigate a crime, and determine what happened, and sometimes, what didn’t happen.”

“What kind of science?” She sounded tired and doubtful.

“Well, for example, we can find fingerprints. That’s the most common thing we do.” He tried to think of something slightly less gruesome than the next thing that came to mind, which was blood spatter analysis, but was having a tough time coming up with anything. “Oh – and we do something called chromatography, which is how you can identify different inks.”

“The fingerprints sound okay, but chroma-whatever . . . sounds boring.” She coughed.

He supposed it would sound boring, particularly to an eleven year old who wasn’t feeling well. “What’s your assignment?” he asked.

“I hafta read some stuff about tectonic plates or something and then do a map.”

Nick had to pause in his reply so she could settle another coughing fit. Instead of saying what had been at the tip of his tongue, he sighed and said gently, “You know what, honey, I think you need to get some rest. You don’t sound so good.” Visions of his mother wrapping him in blankets and handing him mugs of chicken broth flashed through his mind and he swore he could smell the eucalyptus she used to put in his bath. He rubbed the spot on his chest where she’d rub Vicks and then pull one of his dad’s old undershirts over his head.

“I should finish this.”

He smiled. “You’re a good kid, Cassie. Finish it up, but then head to bed. Maybe you can get that Miss Emily to give you some warm milk or something.”

“I’ll probably just go to bed,” she said. “I hate bein’ sick.”

“I know the feeling well,” he replied affectionately. “If I can, I’ll call you tomorrow to check up on you, okay?”

“Okay. Hey, Nicky?”

His eyes crinkled. “Yeah, Cass.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“Sure thing, princess. Bye.”

“Bye.”
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(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson