Rewound - A Greg Sanders Story

Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Author’s Notes: Really happy everyone is enjoying it so far. Here's the next part. It's kinda angsty, just to warn ya.

Chapter Four
...Try, Try, Again.

The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

Lyrics play and you find you know them by heart.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

You sit up wishing just this once you could suffer through a hangover, but like magic, whenever you wake, it’s like the last 24 hours didn’t happen. You’re playing some twisted video game where you can never beat the ultimate boss no matter how hard you try.

A hangover would be nice. Your heart won’t hurt as much if you spend all your time puking.

-------------------------------------------

The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

You had tried staying up. You had tried to keep your eyes open until your alarm went off. You thought that maybe if you didn’t fall asleep, then the universe would have no choice but to allow you to move on to the next day. Unfortunately, you knocked out.

-------------------------------------------
The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

Lyrics play and you find you know them by heart.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

You wait for the song to be over, hoping beyond hope Dan the Man won’t say, “Good afternoon, Las Vegas!” You hope that Bobby won’t mention an accident blocking up Scotty’s Junction.

“Good afternoon, Las Vegas! This is Dan the Man for KMRK Radio!”

You groan, but wait. As long as Bobby doesn’t mention the accident, you’re golden. You can go on living instead of waking up in a world where Catherine is not in love you. You can go on living and wake up in a world where Nick Stokes doesn’t intimidate you. You can go on living and wake up in a world where Sara doesn’t have to analyze the same dead stiff over and over again.

Maybe, just maybe, you can wake up in a world where David isn’t late to the scene, apologizing for his lateness.

Maybe. . .you can just wake up.

“Thanks Dan! A major accident just outside Scotty’s Junction, so if you can, avoid that mess at all costs!”

You breathe in deeply, doing whatever it takes to keep from exploding. You glare at your radio and mutter, “I hate you.”

-------------------------------------------
The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

The same song starts out softly, the lyrics having a more profound meaning in your life than they had ever had before.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

It’s somewhat ironic because you actually do feel dried tears on your cheeks. Did you cry in your sleep this time? Have you reduced yourself to a sniveling child? Was Catherine’s rejection that much of a heartbreaker? Well, yes. Yes it was.

It’s been about four days since the day you kissed her. Four days since she told you she just “couldn’t go there with you”. Since then, you’ve just gone through the motions. You show up at the crime scene as regular ol’ Greg. No fancy suit. No fancy hair style. No cufflinks, no gold watch, no alligator shoes, no nothing. You’re just you.

Each day, Catherine seems to have noticed you’re blue, but you can’t seem to tell her why. It’s not like she would believe you anyway. What would you say? So, yeah, Cath. I bought you this gift and kissed you, only to have you outright reject me. Oh, you don’t remember? Well, that’s because only I can remember it. Sorry.

You roll onto your back, listening to Dan the Man and Bobby discuss the accident on Scotty’s Junction. How long has this been going on? Twenty days? You don’t know anymore. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated this day. You rub your tired eyes and wonder for the umpteenth time, why is this happening to you? Why can’t you break the cycle? What do you have to do?

Your mind drifts back to Catherine and you groan aloud. She’s in your heart now and it’s only your fault you feel this way. If only you had listened to her the first time around.

“You’re a sweet kid, Greg. You just gotta learn to manage that heart of yours better. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about someone and then get hurt.”

“Sweet kid,” you mumble. “She thinks of me as just a kid. I’m just a kid.”

So, how should you start this day? With a shower? A cup of coffee?

How about a phone call?

-------------------------------------------

You tried her apartment phone and got no answer, which you found to be very strange. Sara is either at home or at work. There’s no in-between. Where could she be but in her bed resting up for the next shift?

Her cell phone, though, she answered promptly. She was surprised to hear from you and she sounded sleepy, like you had just woken her up. It was obvious she was in bed somewhere. After you had ended the call, an unpleasant thought came to you. She had to be at a boyfriend’s house. There was no other explanation. She wasn’t at her place asleep. She was at his house sleeping, whoever ‘his house’ happened to be.

You’re happy for her, you think. A bit jealous, but happy nonetheless. Sara needs someone. Whoever he is, you hope he’s treating her right.

So now you’re sitting outside waiting for Sara, the hot sun beating down on you. It’s almost three o’ clock, the park is still bustling with life. Kids are shouting, women are yelling at their rambunctious antics. Dogs are barking and birds flutter by without a care in the world. You don’t come outside often enough, you realize. You need to get out more.

“Greg?” Sara calls out to you. She’s walking up to you, the fountain in view behind her. The water spurts up and out, a beautiful backdrop for an equally beautiful woman. She takes a seat on the bench next to you and smiles, “Hey you.”

“Hey you,” you repeat back.

“You sounded a bit down on the phone,” she recalls, looking at you with concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

You go to answer, but no words come out. Instead, you stand up and motion for her to walk with you. She follows and you begin to meander around the park. You dodge footballs and kids, occasionally chuckling at their innocence and carefree nature. You stop suddenly, under the protective limbs of a tree and look at her. She looks different, you think. The dim lights at the lab just don’t do her justice. The sun tones her skin and she’s absolutely radiant.

You think you’ve always been a little bit in love with Sara Sidle, but right in this moment, you can really appreciate her quiet beauty. With Catherine, you were in awe of her outstanding, knock ‘em dead good looks. With those looks came a profound strength and wisdom that only comes with age. Sara, on the other hand, has a more youthful charge. She’s much more attractive than she gives herself credit for and you’ve always wanted to tell her that, but was never able to come up with the words.

“You’re scaring me, Greg,” she says quietly, pointing out subtly that you’ve been gawking at her boundlessly for the last several moments. It seems you still can’t find the words that would describe the essence that is Sara Sidle.

“Sorry,” you say, looking down and away. You shove your hands in your pockets. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Hey, you can tell me anything,” she says encouragingly.

“Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. You stand straight and say simply, “I’ve been repeating the last 24 hours over and over again, like on a loop.”

“What?” she says, clearly not amused. She thinks you’re joking.

“I’m repeating the last 24 hours over and over again.”

She chuckles. “Okay, when I said tell me anything, I didn’t think. . .”

You cut her off, continuing, “I’m slowly losing my mind, trying to make each try better than the last. I don’t know what to do anymore because no matter what I do, nothing changes. My rent payment is still late. Our current case yields the same results each night. Catherine thinks I’m a kid. . .”

“And that surprises you?” Sara jests, but she’s not laughing. You can see she’s getting mildly pissed that you dragged her out here on presumably false pretenses. You dragged her out here away from her new guy. Still, you’ve come this far. You have to try and convince her.

“Tomorrow, I will wake up and this will have never happened,” you say. “Today will start over.”

She steps back a little bit, then says disappointed, “C’mon, Greg. I’m not in the mood for games.”

Not in the mood?

Oh! That’s right! It was in those early repetitions you discovered that Sara was rather moody at the crime scene! How can you use that knowledge to convince her that you’re telling the truth? You run a hand through your hair and try to make your case. “Okay, if I’m not repeating today, how do I know that something is wrong with you?”

Now she squints her eyes at you and she mutters, “Excuse me?”

“Something is wrong. I don’t know if it’s the job or your new boyfriend, but I know that something is not right and it’s eating at you,” you explain, using what you call your ‘investigator’s voice’. It’s a rather convincing tone of voice, you think.

“Wait, boyfriend? Greg, I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” she argues back, but something in her eyes betrays her. You’ve got her running scared. You must be on the cusp of some big secret, just what is it?

“You know me, Sara,” you say sincerely. “You know when I’m joking and when I’m not. I am repeating today over and over again. I have been, it seems, for weeks. I can’t get it to stop.”

Sara shakes her head, still not believing you. She points at you and scoffs, “You’ve said some pretty off the wall things, but this. . .this is just too crazy, even for you, Greg.” Then she adds, “I have to say though, you deserve an Oscar for this performance. You’re making it sound very convincing.”

“Because it’s the truth, Sara!” you say with conviction. You grab her arms and make her look at you. Once your eyes lock, you reiterate, “I’m repeating today over and over again.”

She struggles against your grip for a moment, then loses herself in your hard gaze. A flash of understanding crosses her features as she begins to see how gravely serious you are. She almost whispers, “You’ve been repeating. . .?”

“The last 24 hours over and over again,” you confirm.

She laughs, mostly to herself, and exclaims, “That’s impossible, Greg!”

“You don’t think I’ve said the same thing? You don’t think that I’ve consulted all the scientific theories I know that refute such a circumstance!?” you say back, clearly exasperated and exhausted. You let her go and step back, the world around you starting to feel airy and weightless. You feel your legs crumpling, your body overcome with frustration. Your knees hit the ground, as do other emotions. This experience has made some pieces of your life clearer, if not overtly mundane.

You are lonely.

You flirt unsuccessfully with all the women you work with. They are either mildly flattered by your attentions, emotionally unavailable, or in Sara’s case, already taken.

Nick and Warrick view you as the younger brother, the guy they can mercilessly pick on and get away with it. It’s now, you think, they just let you tag along so as not to hurt your feelings.

Grissom is always irritated with you, so there’s nothing new there.

Catherine. . .Catherine can’t give you what you so desperately need.

The repetition of this day has only proved how utterly pathetic you are. You leave for work by yourself and arrive home in the same fashion. Your closest friends are your co-workers. Your mother lives too far away. The lawyer who is supposed to be helping you in your civil case is also out of reach. You are lonely. You are alone.

You feel arms envelope you and notice for the first time that you’ve begun to cry. You’re not blubbering like a child, but a tear or two has burned paths down your cheeks. Soft lips kiss those tears away and you focus your eyes on Sara. Her smile is bashful as she explains, “My mother used to do that for me. She said that tears meant you weren’t getting enough hugs and kisses. Of course, she was usually drunk when she said this.”

You sniffle and ask with great intrigue, “She was a drunk?”

“She was a hippy,” Sara half laughs, but her soul is obviously heavy and regretful. “Oddly enough, her drinking binges were some of the few times we actually got along. Despite her weaknesses, I knew that her love for me was strong in those moments. Years later. . .that piece of her faded away.”

For a moment you’re in awe, then you find your voice.

“You never talk about your mother,” you say.

“I know,” she nods, then repositions the two of you so that you can lean into her hug more comfortably. It’s too hot outside to be this close, the sweat on your skin mingling with hers. Still, you don’t want to move. You can’t move. She whispers against your hair, “I know the last month hasn’t been easy. The civil suit doesn’t help, but what you’ve said to me. . .”

“It’s the truth,” you interrupt.

She’s quiet for a moment, then speaks again. She doesn’t try to refute your claim. “In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

You don’t cry. At least, not In front of other people. You normally reserve your sadness for when you’re alone. Normal, however, is not what your life is anymore. You’re different. You’re broken.

You clear your dry throat and admit, “I, uh, didn’t have a lot of time for crying, you know. I conditioned myself not to. I was picked on as a kid but I didn’t want to worry Mom, so I didn’t cry about it. Crying worried her.”

“And now?” she asks softly.

You nod your head and say truthfully, “I let it out whenever I can.”

Sara nods, her eyes softening and the worry wrinkles etched in her forehead deepening. “For a while, you seemed to be okay, Greg. You were on the job, being yourself. I thought that you were okay. What you’re saying is strange, but I want to help if I can.”

“I do need help,” you confirm, sorrow washing over you. You shut your heavy eyelids. You’re tired. You’re very, very tired and Sara is the best pillow a man could ask for. You wonder aloud, “How do you keep doing what we do? How can you show up for work, bringing all that is you and still be objective?”

“I just do, Greg,” she says simply. “I think in the beginning, I dreamed of grandeur and heroism. I was a female competing against the odds in a man’s world, battling the tribulations that come with being the new kid. I mean, Catherine hated me when I first started. I’m not so sure Warrick liked me either.”

“I liked you,” you say wistfully.

You feel her laugh rumble through her chest. “You’ve always liked me.”

“True.”

You finally sit up and out of her embrace. Despite the high temperatures, you feel cold without her arms around you. Still, you want to be facing her when she speaks to you. You swallow hard and ask, “So what changed? What happened to wanting to be that hero?”

You see her expression turn thoughtful, before she answers, “I think. . .I grew up.”

“Grew up?” you repeat, like this phrase is completely foreign to you. It shouldn’t be. Everyone around you has been commenting on what a “nice kid” you are.

“Yeah, I grew up,” her smile is resigned and you wonder why. She elaborates, “I mean, I guess I still dream, but each day is no different than the last. I get up, I go to work, I help to solve a new case. There will always be someone out there who has no voice. If I stop being their voice, then who will speak for them?”

While you have been literally repeating the last 24 hours over and over again, you begin to see that Sara has been repeating her days over and over again too. Just figuratively. She has settled into a routine that revolves around her work. Not because she’s a workaholic with no life. Clearly she does have a life, with a boyfriend to boot. Her routine revolves around her work because she cares. . .deeply. It’s her work that gets her out of the bed in the morning, not the prospect of being the best CSI money can buy.

You had tried to do that. The fancy suit, using your knowledge of events untold to try and solve the case by yourself. That’s not what this job is about. You look at Sara, your expression one of awe and you say, “I want to be like you when I grow up.”

She smiles broadly, reaching her hand out to you. You grab hold of it and she squeezes tightly. “Will you be okay, Greg?”

“I”m great now,” you nod confidently. “Thanks, Sara. I just needed a friend.”

“Call me any time,” she says earnestly.

You both rise from the ground, hands still joined. You stare at your hands, then pull your hand back bashfully. Sara is attached to another man, you remember. No sense in getting that little heart of yours broken again. Your hands don’t seem to be listening to you though. You reach up to cup her face in your palm. You pause, expecting her to back away, but she doesn’t. So you cup her cheek in your hand, the pad of your thumb making small circles against her fair skin. You step closer and tell her gently, “You can tell me anything, Sara. I know something is wrong, but I won’t push. Tell me when you’re ready.”

She holds your hand in place and asks, “How did you know?”

“I told you,” you smile playfully. “I’m repeating the same day. . .”

“Over and over again,” she finishes with a laugh, before pulling your hand away from her face. She places your arm back at your side and then crosses her own arms. She looks away for a moment, then turns back to you, “What’s going on with me will pass, but I appreciate you reaching out.”

“Who is it?” you ask, your tone still gentle. “Just give me a name. If he messes up again, I’ll egg his house.”

She chuckles, something about egging her boyfriend’s house highly amusing. Then she remarks jokingly, “What? You don’t know who it is?”

“No, I don’t know,” you smile. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ask about this mysterious boyfriend of yours.”

You see her visibly relax. Whoever this boyfriend is, she wants it to remain a secret. Or maybe she wants to tell you, but doesn’t know how. Her phone rings, startling you both. She reaches for it, her expression blank as she reads the caller ID. You wait on her to say something. She looks at you, a conflict in her eyes. The war within her head is over soon enough as she sighs, “It’s Grissom.”

“Oh,” you say, then pause. It’s not time for shift yet. You’re not late, so why would he be calling her now?

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

You repeat with widened eyes, “Ohhhhhhh.”

“Yeah,” she confirms for you. “Oh.”

“Wow,” you breathe, completely stunned. She actually did it. Well, more like he finally got around to claiming someone he had ignored for years. He finally said yes to her advances. Unfortunately for you, that only makes your heart ache more for her. It aches because now you know you have no chance with her. You can’t compete with Grissom. It aches because you love her.

It’s her turn to brush the back of her hand against your cheek. “I’m sorry, Greg. I know you’ve. . .”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you chuckle uneasily. You’re trying to be brave.

Her expression turns thoughtful and she muses, “Not the reaction I was expecting.”

You admit, you are taking this news very well. As much as you would like to discuss office politics and the no-no that is dating your superior, you won’t do that with Sara. You shrug, “So? You’re dating your boss. Big deal. You love him.“

A warm blush rises up her neck and she tries to hide it. That only confirms that she does love him. Suck it up, you tell yourself. Just suck it up and be brave. Maybe if you don’t look at her, it won’t hurt as much.


“I wouldn’t judge you,” you tell her. “Just don’t let him hurt you. Don’t hurt him. You know? Just be happy and all that lovey dovey stuff.”

She tilts her head attentively, eyeing you with great wonder. She backs away and tells you, “I’ll see you later? I have to run.”

“I think I’ll take today off,” you say. Going to work today just wouldn’t work right now. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She pauses, clearly in deep thought. She looks up and asks, “Will I remember this tomorrow?”

So she does believe you, albeit reluctantly. You shake your head sadly, “No, you won’t.”

To your surprise, she laughs, “Now that, Greg, is the cruelest prank you’ve pulled in a long time. Just. . .be gentle with me. You’re the only one who knows about Grissom and I.”

You assure, “No worries, Sara. I’ll just continue to admire you from afar.” You overtly bow, gesturing with your arm elaborately as you bend down to the only queen in your life. As you return to an upright position, you hear her laugh.

You really like to hear her laugh.

To be continued. . .
 
I felt really bad for Greg in this chapter. Can't wait to see what finally will bring him to an end of repeating this day over and over. Good job!
 
Author’s Notes: Thank you so much for the comments!

Chapter Five
Can’t Catch Tomorrow

The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

Lyrics play and you find you know them by heart.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

“When you love someone but it goes to waste,” you continue on, singing into your pillow. “Could it be worse?”

Sara and Grissom. Grissom and Sara. The shock you’re experiencing isn’t like the ‘normal flabbergasted, takes your breath away’ kind of shock. It’s numbing. It’s paralyzing. It’s painfully real. Grissom and Sara. You thought you could be brave, but now you’re not so sure. It’s not like you can actually move on with your life. The hurt will be there and it’ll be new and it’ll sting just as fresh as the first time you found out.

Grissom and Sara. You’re stuck in this infinite loop and you’ll never be given the luxury of time. You won’t have the time to heal. The question is, why? Why are you stuck?

You have yet to figure that one out. You don’t think of yourself as a bad person. Conceited at times, maybe. Overzealous, perhaps. However, to say you’re a person in need of punishment for a misdeed? No, no, no, there has to be another reason.

Despite your current feelings, you can’t help but wonder aloud, “What would Grissom do?”

He would say look at the evidence. What does it tell you? Okay then. You started the workday in the back alley of a restaurant, a poor young man strangled to death. Sara was acting strange, for reasons you are now privy to. Nick and Catherine started questioning the restaurant owner. You took pictures of half eaten food items and bagged a bloody tissue. So what went wrong?

You can’t think of anything. You were just doing your job.

Okay, next stop is the lab. You flirted with Wendy, unsuccessfully. Next, you flirted with Catherine. Again, unsuccessfully. You spun your wheels on the case, had drinks with Nick and Warrick and pouted when you realized you had no one at home waiting for you.

Hmm. Is this really all about you? Is it not about being wrong or evil but simply about being you? You can’t imagine this is just about you.

What has taken up most of your time during this redundant day? The case. Are you missing something in the case and can’t seem to find the missing link?

Are you missing something else entirely different? Does it even have to do with work?

You sit up in your bed, listening to the traffic report about Scotty’s Junction.

“Thanks Dan! A major accident just outside Scotty’s Junction, so if you can, avoid that mess at all costs!”

You look at your radio, squinting your eyes in thought. Maybe what’s happening to you isn’t as complex as you’re trying to make it. You repeat aloud, “Avoid that mess at all costs.”

Maybe this isn’t about you fixing a wrong. Maybe it’s about you just getting it right. All this time you’ve been trying to take advantage of your plight. You marveled at what repeating the same day could do for you, but you never sat back to ask why. How about this time around you just take Bobby’s advice: Avoid that mess at all costs. Avoid the grandeur and the heroism.

You smile to yourself. You suddenly feel inspired. Yeah. That’s right. There is something you can do about all this.

You’re going to fix today, but not with force or flashy Armani suits. You’re going to do the right thing because you would expect nothing less from yourself. You’re going to be honest, true. You’re going to be you.

That’s really all you can do.

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“Mr. Sanders! Need I remind you that you’re late paying the rent?”

You’re standing by your car, fully dressed and showered. You decided to go in early this time, catch the beginning of swing shift. Close up a case or two. You were so determined to get to work, you nearly forgot you would run into Mrs. Templeton on the way out. Oh, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t prepared to see her. As she walks up, ready to scold, you hold up an envelope. “For you, dear.”

“What?” she says, taking the envelope from your hands. She looks inside to find a check. Her look of shock is priceless and highly entertaining for you. She looks at you, astounded. “Your rent payment?”

“I should’ve given it to you yesterday,” you confess. “It’s about time I learned to manage my finances a bit better, Mrs. Templeton.”

She smiles and it’s the most genuine smile she has ever given you. “Good for you, Greggy. Good for you.”

You can’t keep from twitching at the nettling nickname. Greggy. Maybe, after all is said and done, you’ll have a talk with her about that. You go to open your car door, then pause. Hmm. Why wait? You turn around and say sweetly, “It’s Greg, Mrs. Templeton. Not Greggy.”

The older woman stops, turns back to look at you and smiles. “Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite tenant?”

You pause again. Nervously, you shake your head. “No, you haven’t.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Sanders,” Mrs. Templeton nods at you, before heading back inside.

You stand there a moment, before you promise to yourself, “I will have a good day, Mrs. Templeton. I will have a good day.”

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You step out of the locker room and catch a sight you normally wouldn’t see, or at the very least wouldn’t have paid attention to so closely. Sara and Grissom are toe-to-toe, standing near his office door and talking discreetly about something. Well, maybe that isn’t as unusual as you would like to think. It’s only now can you catch the sexual overtones of their movements, the gentle care in their expressions. You can see something different in their eyes. To think you had been seeing this all along, your crush on Sara (and every other woman at the lab) acting as effective blinders.

What you don’t expect to see, however, is Sara pushing Grissom back and away from her. You know Sara and she is not particularly confrontational, at least not in the physical sense. She rarely lays a finger on anyone, so to see her forcefully push Grissom back is a bit of a surprise. She brushes past him and down the hall, leaving the bewildered man helpless and visibly scarred. You stare a few seconds longer, recognizing that expression on Grissom’s face. It’s the “confused about women folk and their ways” expression. You almost feel sorry for him.

You quickly scoot away, not wanting to get caught spying. It would probably be smart to avoid Sara as well, but you’re itching to see if she’s okay. She may not be in love with you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to be her friend.

Briskly walking the halls, you find her hunched over a microscope. There’s a scowl etched so deeply into that beautiful face, you just know Grissom will be in the doghouse for at least a couple of nights. You knock on the table to get her attention. “Hey.”

She glances up, her smile obviously forced. Her voice is undoubtedly surprised. “Hey. You’re in early.”

“So are you,” you observe. Having an argument with your boyfriend at the lab. . .

She checks her watch, “It’s only 2:30.”

You grin. “You do know our shift doesn’t start for another several hours, right?”

“I’m behind on some stuff,” she defends herself lightly.

“So am I,” you say softly, winking at her.

She purses her lips, that classic Sidle grin just about to explode. It’s a grin, you think, she’s reserved only for you. Or at least you’d like to think that. She returns her eyes to her work, that grin still fighting to break through.

So, you clear your throat. “Right. Well, I’ll let you work. I’ve got some cases to close.”

She smiles at you. “You’re actually in early to work? Novel concept, Greg.”

“Just trying to impress the boss,” you shrug. You see her flinch a little. You suspected mentioning Grissom would sting. You hate that it makes you a tad happy inside. You don’t want her sadness to make you hopeful.

“You know, Greg. You’re good at what you do and Grissom knows that,” she tells you, smiling softly now. “You don’t have to impress anyone.”

No? Well, you think you do. She’s standing right in front of you.

-------------------------------------------

Your flashlight leaves a trail of evidence to follow. From the overturned trash by the dumpster to the cold stiff lying in a puddle of muck, you tread over the asphalt surface carefully. Another light soon joins yours. Then another and another. The four of you stop at the body.

Before long, Catherine barks out her orders.

“Greg, take pictures of the dumpster and process. Sara, you cover the body until David gets here. Nick and I will start asking questions inside.”

“As you wish, my lady,” you smile winningly.

Catherine smiles back (as you suspected she would) before she and Nick disappear inside to talk to the owner. Over the last couple of years, Catherine has been good to you. Taking you along for rides to interrogate potential suspects. Helping process evidence. Teaching you what you need to know. It’s only now do you really appreciate what she has done for you. You don’t need to woo her in order to show your admiration or your gratitude. You just need to be her friend.

Watching her pick Nick to tag along no longer nettles you either. Nick is more experienced than you, no question there. That jealously you experienced, that dreadful green monster that reared its ugly head in your heart had nothing to do with looks or charm. Cath doesn’t choose Nick over you simply because he’s great eye candy and can distract even the most hardened of suspects. Nick is a great CSI. You are still learning. You’re happy that you’re still learning. Not only is there less responsibility, but the pressure to get everything right isn’t as grand. You don’t feel the need to be the lab hero. You can just be you.

Besides, Armani suits are damn expensive.

A bright flash snaps you out of your daydreaming. Sara’s camera. You glance over to her, seeing her hunched over the body and inspecting it closely. Just for fun, you overtly stare at her ass, before returning back to your work.

“I saw that,” she teases, her slow drawl containing an ever so playful twang. She continues to process without even looking at you, but that knowing smile is slowly crossing her face.

“What are you talking about?”

“You. My ass. Stop checking it out,” she explains pointedly, yet jokingly.

You think on that for a moment, then shrug. “Okay.”

She looks up at you and repeats,”Okay?”

“Okay,” you say again, grinning as you bag the crucial bloody tissue. You’ll need this tissue.

You look at her to find she is giving you that famed “Confused Sidle Stare”, then she shakes her head and returns her attention to the body. Done with your work at the dumpster, you saunter on over to the body and kneel down. You observe, “Ligature marks around the neck. Strangled?”

“Yeah, maybe,” she agrees. Then looks at you, her voice filled with disbelief. “That’s it, then? You don’t wanna check me out?”

You’re taken aback by her question, but that doesn’t stop your creeping smile. She begins to blush fiercely as she stammers, “That came out wrong.”

“Hi guys,” David says, walking up with his kit. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey,” you both say and watch him kneel down next to you. Fortunately for Sara, David missed your little exchange. You can see her swallowing hard, trying to focus on the case at hand. It’s taking a lot of will power on your part to stay focused too. I mean, was that just an overt invitation from Sara to check her out whenever you want? Was it???

“Ligature marks around his neck would suggest strangulation,” David states after a few moments. An observation you both have already made without him. Again, you catch annoyance flash across Sara’s features and you’re reminded of the harsh reality you find yourself in. Sara’s boyfriend is really your boss and whatever happened between them before shift has her all moody and sullen. You hope that Grissom fixes whatever he got wrong. You don’t like to see Sara unhappy.

David sticks a thermometer below the abdomen of the body and tells you, “Liver temp would suggest time of death was a few hours ago. Maybe less.”

“Thanks, David,” you say, before Sara can. Again, you catch her puzzled stare. You both rise to your feet and leave David to the body. You turn to Sara and ask, “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?” she says, her attention on her camera. You gently take the camera from her hands which elicits a weak protest from her. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“That’s what I would like to know,” you tell her. She reaches for her camera, but you keep it out of her reach. “Uh uh. Not until you tell me.”

“Greg,” she sighs. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

“Then talk to me,” you request softly. You dangle her camera as incentive.

“After shift?” she says meekly. Her tone sounds almost lost, helpless.

“Okay,” you nod, handing her camera back. You revert to work mode quickly, for her sake. “I think I’ll hop in the dumpster. Look for anything that might’ve left half inch wide marks on this guy’s neck. Could be a potential murder weapon.”

Sara smirks at you. “You? Want to go dumpster diving?”

“That’s where all the great CSIs get their start, right?” you say, winking.

She smiles. “Let me review these pics, then I’ll give you a hand, okay?”

Now that’s different. You nod, truly grateful, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

-------------------------------------------

Once again, your dumpster diving produces nothing fruitful. No murder weapon. Nothing remotely incriminating or helpful. You are stuck with no leads. Of course, getting down and dirty with Sara in the dumpster was a bonus. A very nice bonus.

“Hey, just the guy I wanted to see,” you hear as you whiz by DNA. You come to an abrupt halt and turn around. Wendy is smiling and waving at you to come back. Again, you observe how nice her hair is tonight, casually flipped up in a clip. You also take note of her pearly whites flashing like beacons in your direction. She’s in a very good mood.

Wait. She’s in a good mood. Why didn’t you notice this before!

“You’re looking radiant tonight,” you compliment, to which you swear she blushes. “Did you have a special night on the town recently?”

“Actually, I did,” she answers. Ah. Your suspicions were correct. No wonder Wendy rejects your every advance lately. She’s taken.

“Who is this guy?” you prod, giving her a curious eyebrow raise. Just for kicks, you ask, “Do I have to egg his house?”

“Uh, no to the latter and as for the former, that is none of your business,” Wendy tells you with a wink. “However, this is. Your DNA results.”

You pretend to have never seen the results before in your life. Your eyes go over the data like it’s all brand new and fascinating. You thank Wendy and leave, just in time to run into Catherine. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t burn a little every time you saw her, but each time it burns less. That means you’re healing.

“Greg, how’s your stuff coming?” Catherine asks.

“DNA kicked out a name. Tracy Marshall,” you report, handing her the piece of paper. You also add, “I like what you’ve done with your hair. New color?”

She glances up, her eyes filled with intrigue. “Uh, yeah, actually. Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome,” you say, taking your results back. “Now, I’ve got a hunch. What if this Tracy works at the restaurant? We can go back and ask for their employee records. If she works there, it places her at the scene and with easy access to the back alley.”

Catherine nods. “Well, even if she does work there, placing her at the scene will be a bit of a stretch. For all we know, the bloody tissue was random. Could’ve been dumped before the murder.”

“We’ll never know if we don’t ask,” you shrug.

“Okay, run with it,” she orders, motioning with her head in the direction of the trace lab. “Nick is talking to Hodges. Take him with you.”

Take Nick with you? Does Catherine know she inadvertently put you in charge? Sweet!

“Cool, I’ll grab him,” you say, watching Catherine walk away. You quickly jog down the hall to trace and save Nick from more of Hodges’ dry storytelling. “Hey, you’re with me.”

“He’s with you?”
“I’m with you?”

Nick is pointing at himself while Hodges is pointing at Nick, their questions leaving their mouths simultaneously. Their eyes are filled with disbelief.

You motion with your head insistently, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Nick is grinning, clearly amused, but he follows you out of the trace lab happy to leave Hodges behind him. He laughs. “Okay, I ask again. I’m with you?”

You smile. “Yeah. Cath says you’re with me. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Nick says, shrugging his indifference. “Where are you taking me?”

“Back to the restaurant. DNA came back on a woman named Tracy Marshall. I want to see if she works at the restaurant.”

You already know that she does, but you have to try and pretend that you don’t. You have to get this day right. You have to solve this case the right way.

Nick nods, impressed with your ingenuity. “Good call, Greg. Let’s slice and dice.”

-------------------------------------------

You both arrive at the restaurant around 1 in the morning. Just like most establishments in Vegas, this place is open all night long. Light jazz filters from the front into the back, where you and Nick wait patiently for Gilman to arrive. Sofia is out by the car, double checking a 419 call she received over the airwaves. You suspect you won’t need her for this. It’s just a simple interview.

When you start talking to Gilman about his restaurant and his employees, that’s when a woman begins to hover around. When she hears Nick mention Tracy, she drops what she is doing and bolts. The next thing you know, you’re running through the restaurant, bumping into drunk people and knocking over dinner plates. Gilman is behind you yelling, “No! Not my beautiful dishes!”

Well, breaking fine dishware is the last thing on your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Nick get caught up in an unsuspecting waiter’s arms. He’s tangled up. Only you have the best shot at catching Tracy before she’s gone forever.

So, this is what you’ve been waiting for, right? The chance to be the lab hero?

You think you might throw up.

You clumsily jump over an arrant chair, nearly fall flat on your face in the process, but manage to stumble back up into a standing position. Next, you’re racing through the front entrance and pounding the pavement. Tracy is just a few yards ahead of you. You see her heading for the alley where you found the victim. You also know that Sofia is back there by the car. As you run, you yell, “Suspect on the run! Suspect on the run!”

Tracy races past the alleyway just before Sofia comes flying out at your call. Now you’re both running neck in neck, trying to catch her and your lungs burn for air.

Tracy crosses the street unexpectedly. Sofia yells, “Greg! Go. . .!”

“I know what to do!” you tell her, making a sharp turn and crossing the street. Actually, you have no idea what you’re doing and nearly getting hit by a hot red sports car reminds you of this. You avoid death by mere inches. God, what the hell are you doing? Nick or Warrick usually end up chasing people, not you!

“Stop! LVPD!” Sofia is ten yards ahead of you, still on the other side of the street. Cars are whizzing by and people are shouting as you both push through them. Tracy isn’t that far ahead. She’s getting tired. Unfortunately, so are you. Maybe shouting will slow her down.

“Tracy! We just want to talk!” you yell after her, your voice hoarse and weak. Your voice, however, does make her pause at her name. Good. Good. She might stop. She might. . .

Then the unthinkable happens. A car pulls out of a driveway, suddenly. Tracy is hit, her body flipping up onto the hood and smacking the windshield. She rolls off and lands on the pavement.

No. Oh no.

You called her out. She slowed down because you called her out. She got hit by the car because of you. She might have missed it had you not called her name. She might have been more alert. It’s your fault.

Within seconds, you’re by her side. You hold up her head and feel tears behind your eyes. Her eyes are not open. You don’t know if she’s breathing, so you check for a pulse. It’s slight, but it’s there. You yell out, “Tracy!”

You’ve never met her and yet you feel like you know her. You do know her. You’ve known her for weeks now. You’ve known her name for weeks and she’s unconscious in your arms.

“C’mon, Tracy,” you urge. “Wake up.”

Sofia finally reaches you, her walkie already on. “Suspect is down and in need of medical attention! I repeat, send back up and a bus!”

Then Tracy coughs. You release a pent up laugh of relief. “Hey, hey, you’ll be okay.”

You look up at Sofia, breathing hard.

Sofia wants to say something, but the driver of the car is by her side and is hysterical. The detective tends to the driver, while you hold onto Tracy. You look down and whisper, “Hang on. I’ve got you. Just hang on.”

-------------------------------------------

You look at your watch. It’s 9 in the morning. You’re running out of time.

Before you know it, it’ll be 1 pm. You’ll be back in your bed and today will start over. Your eyelids are starting to feel heavy too. You already know you won’t be able to fight off the sleep. You’ve tried it before. No matter what happens, you always pass out and wake up in your bed at 1 p.m. on the dot. You don’t have a lot of time.

“Greg.”

“Sara,” you say, turning to face her. She immediately embraces you and you hug her back. You shut your eyes and whisper into her hair. “She’s still unconscious. It’s all my fault.”

Sara shushes you gently, rubbing your back. “Sofia told me everything. She saw it all, had a very good view. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“I still feel like crap,” you admit. You pull out of the embrace, unable to keep from sniffling.

She gives you a half smile. “You were there for her. That’s what counts, Greg.”

You nod. It’s about all you can do. You hadn’t really thought about that.

Sara gently tugs on your arm, “C’mon, let’s get some coffee.”

You don’t move. You look through the glass again, view Tracy in her bed. You say, “Tracy’s doctor says she may be out for a while. She’s got a nice bump on her head and a few lacerations from the windshield. I screwed this up again. I did everything the way I should’ve from the beginning and I still screwed up.”

“Greg? What are talking about?” Sara asks, her voice clearly confused.

You look at her. What do you say? That you’re repeating this day over and over again? Do you really think you’ll be able to pull off that story a second time? Well, there’s only one way to find out. You take her arm and lead her to the cafeteria. “Yeah, let’s get some coffee.”

Once you two have fresh, hot steaming cups of crap’ola, you just say it. “I’m repeating the last 24 hours over and over again. Like on a loop.”

“What?” she laughs. She thinks you’re joking. Again.

You don’t have time to convince her, you realize. Tracy is out cold and you need her to wake up. You need to solve this case. You have to. You can’t do this again. You can’t repeat this day again. You rub your eyes and say, “I’m repeating today over and over and I’ll prove it.”

Sara is still smiling, not taking note of your grave expression. “Okay. Prove it.”

You say bluntly, “You’re dating Grissom.”

Her smile fades. Her eye twitches, but every other piece of her body has literally frozen in place. She’s frozen. You give her hand a jostle only trying to snap her out of the haze, but she rips her hand from your grasp. You’re suddenly poison. Finally, she shakes her head, “Greg. . I think you got the wrong idea, here.”

“No, I don’t and you know I don’t,” you say, nearly raising your voice. “You’re dating Grissom. Nick has an old flame named Cindy. Warrick likes to tell bad jokes when he’s drunk and Catherine has never been to New York. Oh, and Wendy has a boyfriend.”

Sara’s mouth falls open. She’s speechless.

You lean forward, using her silence as a chance to make your case. “I think the only way to get this to stop, is to solve this case. I’ve done all that I can. I’ve taken care of my rent payment, took responsibility for my work and caseload, accepted my position in our workplace hierarchy and have found the only clue in our case that has any significance. If I don’t solve this case, today will begin again. . .later today. At 1 o’clock.”

Sara has listened to your every word, her brow furrowed in deep thought and concentration. She has kept eye contact with you and you hope she can see that you’re telling her the truth. To your misfortune, she shakes her head, then says, “Okay. Predict something. Prove to me that this is happening.”

“What?” you say. This isn’t good. This part of the cycle, being at the hospital, it’s all new to you.

“Predict something,” she pushes. “You claim to have lived this all before. If you’re telling me the truth, then all you have to do is predict something.”

You cringe. Usually, you would be with Warrick and Nick at this hour, just finishing up your bar crawl. You’ve never been here before. You can’t predict any of the events here.

You sigh. “Okay, look. This hospital bit, it’s all new to me. I’ve never made it here before, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is what I know and I know about you and Grissom. The only way I could’ve known is if you told me. Which you did.”

Sara shakes her head in disbelief. “When?”

“Uh, a few days ago,” you answer.

“No I didn’t,” she argues back.

“Yeah, you did, you just don’t remember,” you say, exasperated. “Sara, please. Please listen to me. A few days ago, we talked. You told me about Grissom, then the next day, it was like it never happened. Do you understand, Sara?”

Sara just stares at you before weakly saying, “I never told . . .We haven’t told anyone.”

“For obvious reasons,” you interrupt urgently. “Look, I understand the secrecy, okay? I understand, but that’s not what’s important right now. Sara. . I need you. I need you to believe me and help me.”

“I told you?” Sara asks, leaning back in her chair. She’s stuck. She’s stuck in some daze and you don’t need her to be stuck right now. You need her to be unstuck!

“Sara, please. I don’t have a lot of time,” you plead. “Help me. Help me solve this case before 1 p.m.”

Suddenly, you feel lightheaded. You rise form your chair only to fall into another chair. Sara is by your side in an instant. “Greg? Are you okay, Greg?”

You look at her. She is all hazy. No. It’s happening. Sleep. The inevitable quietus. This damn universe is trying to knock you out again! It’s trying to start the day over! You stand up, pushing her back, “No! Not now!”

“Greg! What’s wrong?” Sara calls out to you. She grabs your arm to steady you. You are wobbly. You’re very wobbly. “What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I need to save Tracy,” you tell her. “I’m getting tired. I can’t fall asleep, Sara. Don’t let me. . .fall asleep. . .”

You probably look and sound like a crazy man. There are other patrons in the cafeteria giving you those looks. Sara is giving you that look. She doesn’t believe you. Unlike the last time, she doesn’t believe a damn word that you’re saying. She’s still too shocked you know about Grissom to even care. She thinks you’re crazy.

You look at her helplessly, “Sara. You don’t believe me?”

“Greg, I’m worried about you,” she confesses. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I have to go,” you say persistently. You pull away from her hold and stumble out of the cafeteria. Where are you going? You don’t know yet. You have to think for minute. You have to. . .

You hit a wall and slide down. Your eyes are so damn heavy. What time is it? Where are you?

“Greg!”

That’s Sara.

She’s hazy. You can barely keep your eyes open.
No.
You can’t.

Fall.

Asleep.

To be continued. . .
 
Oh, I'm so glad you updated, but I already want more! I need to know if Greg ever gets out of this(and who he ends up with). You have me so hooked on this story.
 
Author’s Notes: The support for this story has been awesome and I thank you all! The comments keep me writing, so I appreciate it. Enjoy the next part.

Chapter Six
Not Gonna Take It This Time


The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

Lyrics play and the words make your ears bleed.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

Your eyes snap open.

-------------------------------------------

Tracy crosses the street. Sofia yells, “Greg! Go. . .!”

“I know what to do!” you tell her, making a sharp turn and crossing the street. And this time, you know exactly what to do. Majestically, you time your jump and leap over the red hot sports car that is barreling toward you. You land on feather light feet and make it to the other side. Now, you put on the afterburners.

This is your fourth attempt at trying to catch Tracy. Your fourth attempt at trying to save her life. Let’s just say your leg muscles have improved greatly over these last four days.

“Stop! LVPD!” Sofia is ten yards ahead of you, still on the other side of the street. Cars are whizzing by and people are shouting as you both push through them. Tracy isn’t that far ahead. She’s getting tired. Fortunately, you are not.

You grind your teeth, pushing and willing your legs to run faster. It’s not going to happen this time, you think. You can’t watch her get hit by that car again. You won’t.

Calling her out, didn’t work. Trying to catch her at the restaurant, before she deduced who you were? That didn’t work either. She’s a fast little bugger. The third time, well, you tripped on your way out the door and lost her forever. Fourth time’s the charm, right?

“Aughhhh!” you shout out, as you tackle Tracy to the ground just a few feet away from the driveway. Seconds later, the very same car that hit Tracy the last time, speeds on out none the wiser. You’re breathing hard, the young woman trapped beneath you is struggling to break free. You watch the car drive away and begin to laugh. You laugh as you get a better grip on Tracy’s wrists and hold her still.

Sofia approaches. “Greg? You okay?”

You manage to get your laughter under control and proclaim, “Never better!”

It’s the truth. This is the best shape your body has been in, in like, four years!

-------------------------------------------

“Greg!” Nick calls you from down the hall. You’re at the station now, waiting on Sofia to question Tracy. Nick is smiling from ear to ear as he approaches you. He pats you hard on the shoulder and says astounded, “You were like lightning, man! One second, I’m tangled up in some waiter’s arms and the next thing I know, you’re gone!”

“I’ve been working out,” you joke.

“No, seriously man. Great job,” Nick says sincerely, still grinning at you. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Sofia told me all about it, you know. Said you were like some crazed superhero junkie flying through the air and tackling our perp.”

“She said that?” you say, finding it difficult to keep from chuckling. You a superhero? Yeah, right!

“You bet I did,” Sofia answers for Nick, approaching with a wry smile of her own. “I never got to say ‘good job’, Sanders. So, good job.”

You nod just as Sofia tells you it’s time to talk to Tracy. You look at Nick, but he waves you on. “You got this, Greg. I need to head back to the morgue anyway. We finally got an I.D on our victim. His name is Eric Quinn.”

“You got an I.D.?” You ask, surprised. You never got the I.D. before.

“Yeah, while I was still holed up at the restaurant, Mr. Gilman showed me where her locker was. She had our dead guy’s wallet.”

You smile. Tracy had the dead guy’s wallet.

-------------------------------------------

Tracy Marshall, you discover, is not a day over twenty three. She’s naive, a high school drop out and completely oblivious to her rights. She refuses a lawyer. Her job in the kitchen requires washing dishes, mopping the floors and taking out the trash. She doesn’t want to say much to you or Sofia, which definitely doesn’t bode well for you. Your shift is nearly over. Before you know it, you’ll be asleep again and waking up to that stupid song. Today will start over and you can’t let that happen. Your sanity might not hold out much longer if it does.

“Let’s try this again, Tracy,” Sofia says, bringing you back to the interrogation. “Eric Quinn was found dead outside where you work. Your bloody tissue places you at the scene. His wallet was in your locker. You don’t talk now, I can’t make any promises.”

“You have priors, Tracy,” you remind her. “Under suspicion of murder two years back, remember? A second accusation of murder doesn’t look good for you.”

“Not to mention, you ran away from us. You made yourself look guilty,” Sofia added. Tracy visibly winces. “You got something to say?”

“No,” she says, her head low and voice even lower. That’s when you see it.

“Tracy, look at me,” you instruct.

She rises her head and you study her neck intently. Bruising. “What happened to your neck, Tracy?”

Her hand immediately goes up and rubs the tender lines. They look exactly like the ligature marks on Eric Quinn’s body. You think you see her starting to tear up. She’s going to cry.

You look at Sofia, wondering what the next best course of action is. She’s giving you the same look as if to say, ‘you’re the CSI’. You nod and turn back to Tracy, “If you’ll let me, I’d like to take pictures. Can I do that?”

You don’t really have to ask. Tracy is your suspect, but you find taking the gentle approach is appropriate. She nods her permission and you grab your camera. You instruct her to move her hair back and begin snapping away. You don’t know if the photos are necessary, but this will buy you a bit of time to think. If Tracy and Eric both have the same injuries, wouldn’t that mean Tracy wasn’t the attacker?

Once done with taking photos, you say, “Thank you.”

“Can you tell us how that happened?” Sofia asks, now trying your tactic. Show sympathy, then maybe she’ll talk.

“No,” she says again, trying to hide the bruises.

Now you feel like dropping down on your knees and begging.

Today is winding down. Before too long, it’ll be 9 a.m. You’ll start to feel woozy, sleepy, tired. You can’t let that happen. Not when you feel so close to solving this crime. Not when you feel deep down that Tracy was more a victim than a murderer. Both she and Eric were attacked. . .together. That bloody tissue? Probably to clean up a wound from the attack. It’s just, this is all speculation until Tracy says something of significance!

You can’t very well beg for that information. Well, maybe. . .

“Eric’s wallet was in your locker, but not because you stole it,” you begin. You hear Sofia move in her chair. You know she’s wondering what you’re doing. So what the hell are you doing?

“No, Eric wasn’t just some ol’ dead corpse,” you say, trying to provoke her. “Or was he?”

“No,” she grinds out between her teeth. “Eric was my friend.”

Okay! Score points for you! You keep going. “You saw Eric’s killer, just as he was finished his dirty job. You tried to help Eric. You ran over, but the killer hit you instead. That’s when you started to bleed, am I right?”

Again Tracy nods. You look at Sofia. She’s not pleased with what you’re doing. You don’t care. You were right. Tracy wasn’t the killer. You turn back, ignoring Sofia’s disappointed stare. “Tracy, it’s very important that you tell me what happened, in your own words, okay? You have to tell me what happened. Do it for Eric.”

“Can I see him?” she begs, now tears slowly trickling down her face.

“Once you answer our questions,” Sofia promises. Tracy nods once more. “Okay. Why did you run?”

“Victor said you would come after me. He said you would arrest me for Eric’s death,” Tracy finally admits. “He said if you came back, that I was to run.”

“Victor? As in Mr. Gilman? Your boss?” you ask to clarify.

“Yes,” she says, choking back a sob. “It was him. It was all him.”

You wonder why the young girl just didn’t admit this before, but fear will turn even the strongest of human beings into mush. She had watched her boss kill her friend. Gilman must’ve tried the same on her, but didn’t have time to finish the job. She feared for her life.

You feel anger at the thought. He must’ve threatened her afterward. Maybe the choking wasn’t meant to kill her at all. Maybe he choked her as a warning of what could happen. Then he told her the lies about being arrested for a crime she didn’t commit. You’re angry and you want Gilman’s head on a chopping block. What you don’t have, however, is hard evidence on Gilman.

Both you and Sofia finish up the questioning, then step outside.

“What do we have on Gilman?” she says, after she shuts the door.

“Uh, location, opportunity but no motive,” you say resignedly. “And still no murder weapon.”

“Tracy didn’t have much motive under her belt either,” Sofia remarks. “We still don’t know if she’s telling us the truth.”

“I dunno, I feel like she is,” you say confidently.

“You saved her life, Greg. If not for you, that car would’ve mowed her down,” Sofia reminds you gently. “I shouldn’t have to say this to you, but you need to distance yourself from her and you need to do it now. You’re going to want her to be innocent so badly, that it’ll cloud your judgement. It could cost us this case. Hell, you practically spoon fed her that confession.”

“It got her to talk,” you argue.

“C’mon, Greg, don’t give me that,” she scoffs. “Either way, we need more on Gilman. Until then, Tracy remains here.”

The detective stalks away and you groan. Boy, Sofia doesn’t know the half of it. You’ve attempted to save Tracy’s life four times now. This time, you got it right. You are connected to Tracy and there’s no going back. You look through the door at the little girl lost and vow to make this right. You know that Gilman attacked Eric, then Tracy. Now you just have to prove it.

You check your watch and sigh.

You have to prove it in the next couple of hours before sleep claims you and dooms you to another repetition of this day.

-------------------------------------------

You blink your eyes. It’s nearly 10 o’clock in the morning. Your eyes are drooping, but you’re fighting off the sleep with more tenacity than you expected.

You’ve got all the evidence laid out before you. You’re hoping you find something that you missed. You hope to find the answer before you can’t fight off the sleep any longer.

Nick and Warrick had stopped by, asked if you still wanted to join them on the bar crawl. You told them no, again. This will be about the tenth or twentieth time you’ve refused them. Sara stopped in too. You gave her a defeated expression, you apologized a million times over and said you just couldn’t have breakfast with her today. You had to stay here. You had to solve this case.

“She’s under your skin, Greg,” Sara warned.

“I know,” you said back. Then Sara was gone. You fear she went back home to Grissom to sort out whatever happened between them. No matter what you do, Sara belongs to Grissom. No matter what you do, that murder weapon remains hidden and Eric’s true murderer a mystery.

You need to go back to the beginning. You need to get your facts straight.

So what do you have? The victim’s clothes. You tried to remain objective. You scanned his clothes for any blood, any transference of Tracy’s blood to his clothes. There was nothing but the dirt from the alleyway on the back side of his shirt.

You have Eric’s wallet. You found a picture of he and Tracy together, smiling. That confirms that they know each other.

You have Tracy’s bloody tissue. A nose bleed? You don’t know. You forgot to ask.

You have the pictures of her bruises and of Eric’s ligature marks. They match, but you still have no murder weapon to compare them to. Rope, maybe. You don’t know.

“Greg, why are you still here?”

It’s Grissom. Odd. You would’ve thought he and Sara would’ve left at the same time. You shake your head. You have to rid your mind of thoughts of them! Focus on the case.

“I’m missing something, Gris. I know I am.”

“What does the evidence tell you?” Grissom asks gently, walking in to take a look.

You look down at it again. Such a loaded question, you think. You talk it out. “That Eric was strangled. The bloody tissue places his friend or girlfriend, Tracy, at the crime scene. They both have the same marks on their necks. Grissom, I think they were both attacked by the same person. I don’t think Tracy committed the crime.”

“Any other suspects?” Grissom says, his eyes squinting inquisitively.

“Just one. Mr. Gilman. Unfortunately, all we have is the word of our other suspect and she hasn’t been too forthcoming with the information. Like Sofia said, I practically spoon fed her the story,” you sigh. “I messed this up again.”

“Again?” Grissom catches your slip up quickly.

“I mean ‘again’ as in general,” you try to cover up. “Ever since. . .ever since I hit that kid, I can’t keep my head on straight. I feel like a rookie all over again.”

There. You got it out. The civil suit. Hitting the kid with your car. Maybe that’s what really has you all tied up in knots, lately. Maybe that’s why you’ve been so distracted. Maybe that’s why you’ve been hitting on nearly every female specimen in the lab. Are you trying to prove something to yourself? That you’re still a man? That’s you’re still Greg Sanders? Is this why you’re repeating today? To find yourself again?

“Greg, no one is perfect,” Grissom says. He might have even quirked a smile at you then. “We all make mistakes. We’re only human. As for the civil suit, all you can do is tell the truth. You know what happened.”

You nod. “Yeah, thanks Gris.”

“Go home, Greg. Get some rest. You have found out all that you will for today,” Grissom advised and then he was gone.

You sigh, start packing up the evidence, then stop. In true form, Gil Grissom has provided you with the answer. You repeat softly, “You have found out all that you will for today. . .”

“You saw Eric’s killer, just as he was finished his dirty job. You tried to help Eric. You ran over, but the killer hit you. That’s when you started to bleed, am I right?”

“Yep. Your girl’s name is Tracy Marshall. She has priors, her DNA taken for a murder case that dayshift handled two years ago. She was exonerated.”

“If I could repeat today all over again, I’d bet on a game. You know why? Because I will know who’s gonna win!”

“Ligature marks around his neck would suggest strangulation. Liver temp would suggest time of death was a few hours ago. Maybe less.”

What an idiot you have been! The answer to all your problems, to solving this case, had been in front of you the entire time. The answer was presented to you on that very first day. You know the time of death.

You’ll be passing out soon. You can feel it. So, what will be the plan for when you wake up again?

Liver temp suggested time of death was a few hours before you arrived at the crime scene. If you wake up at 1 o’clock in the afternoon, that gives you plenty of time. It’s just like Nick said. You’ve repeated this day enough to know who’s gonna win a basketball game. Well, how about stopping a murderer from taking an innocent life?

One o’clock wake up time. You’ll have plenty of time.

-------------------------------------------

The bright, red LED lights on your alarm clock switch from 12:59 p.m. to 1:00 p.m..

Lyrics play and the words sound melodious.

“And the tears come streaming down your face.
When you lose something you can't replace.”

Your eyes snap open.

You scramble out of bed.

You scribble out your rent check.

You skip your shower, throw on something fairly decent, then bolt out the door. You’re early. Way early. You won’t run into Mrs. Templeton this time, so you tape your rent check to her door on the way out.

Your next stop: the lab.

You slide in and head straight for Grissom’s office. They are there, just outside his door and the argument is just beginning. Good. You need to speak with Sara. You storm up and take hold of Sara’s arm and state boldly, “I need to talk to you, Sara. Now.”

They’re both startled, shocked to see you in so early. Most importantly, they’re surprised you would even have the gall to interrupt their conversation. Sara is frozen in place for a moment, but she does manage to scold a little, “Greg, I was talking. . .”

“Now we need to talk,” you insist. “Please. I’m sorry, really. It’s important.”

Sara glances at Grissom, who is still somewhat speechless. He waves you two away and disappears into his office. You almost feel like telling Gris that he should thank you for saving him from a Sara Sidle tongue-lashing, but that’s really the least of your worries. You tug Sara along until you’re in the locker room and that’s when she hisses, “What the hell, Greg? What’s so important that you couldn’t wait. . .?”

You shut her up the only way you know how. Your hands cup her face, pull her forward and smash her lips into yours. The kiss is too quick for her to react rationally and that’s exactly what you need. To shock her system.

When you pull back, you begin to talk very quickly. “I just wanted to say that I have something very important to do today. It’s really important and I wanted you to know that. I just wanted to tell you that, okay?”

She swallows hard, her eyes wide with surprise. She croaks out, “Greg. . .”

“It’s important, okay? Okay?” you repeat urgently.

“Okay,” she nods quickly, still utterly confused. You finally let her go, kiss her quickly on the cheek again and walk past her. She grabs your arm to stop you and says breathlessly, “What the hell is going on with you today?”

You grin widely. “I don’t know, Sara. And that’s the beauty of it. I really don’t know.”

-------------------------------------------
You park your car about a block away from the alleyway. If you have timed this correctly, Eric’s murder will not have happened for another ten minutes. A loud crash tells you otherwise. You’re late! You begin to race down the sidewalk, round the corner of the restaurant building and slide into the alley to see a murder in progress. Something only you could have predicted.

Mr. Gilman has a rope around Eric’s neck. The poor young man is gasping for air, smacking Gilman’s hands and losing bits of his life seconds at a time. This is it, Greg. This is it. This is why you’re here. Don’t turn into a chicken now! Move!

The back door to the restaurant swings open violently before you act. It’s Tracy. She screams out, “No! Eric!”

Gilman takes a quick second to smack the charging Tracy across the face and she hits the ground, wounded and bleeding from her nose. He quickly resumes his task, Eric barely moving at all and you can’t watch this debauchery anymore.

“Stop! LVPD!”

You mostly shouted that to scare him. You would like to think that it does, if only a little. Gilman sees you, but doesn’t let up his hold on Eric. He only pulls tighter. Eric’s eyes only seem to bulge more.

Gilman feels none too threatened by your presence as he belittles you. “What? A hero has come to save the day? Go home, boy. There are no heroes in Vegas.”

You frown. He won’t get away with calling you ‘boy’.

Gilman looks up again to see you running at him. His face falls as he realizes you’re not a random passerby who would gladly pretend he saw nothing. You’re a witness to his crimes. You feel cold wash over you as his murderous eyes take a snapshot of your face. He’s out for blood. If you lose, if Gilman gets away, he’ll come after you.

You have to make sure that you don’t lose.

Gilman drops a nearly unconscious Eric to the ground, readying himself for your assault. That fancy suit and neatly trimmed goatee mask the true nature of Gilman’s strength. You go to tackle him and he literally catches you.

“You made a mistake,” Gilman says in-between grunts.

You nearly gulp at the death threat. You really hope you didn’t. Come to think of it, back up probably would’ve been a good idea. Well, there’s always tomorrow.

You both struggle for the upper hand, feet tripping over feet and bodies trying desperately to remain upright. One of his hands manages to grip your throat and he squeezes. Strangulation is really this guy’s thing! You think you feel your eyes bulge, but a quick punch to his gut and he lets you go. You shove him away. You need a new tactic. This wrestling with each other is not going to work. However, you soon discover that close, hand-to-hand combat was probably your best option.

Gilman charges you quickly, sending a kick to your stomach. A few inches lower and you would’ve been down for the count. You roll away from him on the ground, try to get up, but Gilman grabs your shoulders and helps you to your feet instead. His strength is unbelievable, or maybe you really are that much weaker than him.

He hits you square in the face triggering some bad memories. Some really bad memories. Flashbacks of your attack assail your subconscious. No. Not now. You can’t have any flashbacks now. He sends another mind-blowing punch to your temple and you hit the ground again. Hundreds of fists are pummeling into you again. You’re being attacked all over again.

No. No! This isn’t the same and Eric needs you. You have to save him!

Get up, Greg. Get up!

You miss another kick to your side by mere inches, rolling away and pushing yourself to your feet. Okay, you’re up. What next?

Your hands go up to block Gilman’s attacks and for the most part, you do. Unfortunately, now you’re on the defensive. He’s backing you up toward the dumpster. He’s trying to trap you.

“Victor! Stop!”

The assault stops as Gilman attends to a hysterical Tracy. She’s regained consciousness and has now thrown her arms around your attacker. Gilman easily handles her though, grabbing her wrists and dragging her back to Eric.

You lean against the wall, still recovering. You watch him take a swing at Tracy and she’s down again.

“Hey!” you shout, pushing yourself off the wall. Gilman stops and turns to look at you. You spit blood out of your mouth and say, “You were wrong, Gilman. There are heroes in Vegas.”

You’ve never been a fighter. You were on the chess team in high school, for Pete’s sake! You’ve never been a fighter.

Well, maybe it’s time to change that.

Again, you run up to Gilman in hopes of tackling him. When he dodges that attack, you start swinging blindly. You shout out in pain, as you finally connect your fist to his jaw. The bone hitting bone really shocks you. You never knew hitting another human being would hurt so much, but it does. It shocks you and it shocks Gilman, as he stumbles back and hits the ground. He doesn’t move. He’s down, finally.

You shake your hand, trying to regain feeling in those lanky fingers of yours. Then, rough material is around your neck and it pulls. It pulls hard. You grab at the rope and feel the hot breath of your killer on your neck. Okay. Maybe you didn’t hit Gilman as hard as you thought. He yanks on the rope harder and you feel all life slipping away.

If I die. . .will I get a second chance? Will today repeat again as if this never happened?

You’re about to find out.

To be continued. . .
 
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