1. Chapter 1

**IT ALL COMES BACK**

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: This is the first fanfic I've ever written and English isn't my native language, I'm really sorry for any mistakes.

Anyway, hope you like it and find the time to review.

1)

**December 16****th**

Lindsay turned off her phone first thing after she had entered her apartment and closed the door behind her.

How bewildering that the very first thought that crossed her mind was to inhibit every possible contact.

With anybody.

She couldn't talk right now, she couldn't listen to anyone's voice on the phone, let alone in person. For several minutes she didn't move, leaning against the front door of her apartment, telling herself that she was safe now, that she had to be sensible, pull herself together, call someone.

It would take some time until her breath and her quickened pulse would normalize.

She closed her eyes, aware of the fact that her body was still under the influence of adrenalin, that biochemical processes where the reason why she was shaking like hell and her heart pounding that fast.

She knew all that, and she had already experienced it once before.

And she hadn't forgotten a second of it.

Literally, not one single second.

Her face was motionless, her brain was completely empty. She couldn't think, couldn't even remember clearly what had just happened.

She hold her breath.

Out of a sudden she felt her knees buckle under her and she helplessly fell to the ground. Her body started shaking vividly and at the same moment she realized that her toes and fingers were numb. Slowly she tucked up her legs and started rubbing her cold, white fingers.

Suddenly it hit hear, just like a wave of water that came tumbling down on her.

Everything came back, every singly moment, piece by piece, and her mind started working, replaying the scene, again and again.

She felt the cold air in her lungs, heard the distant sound of engines and heavy rain drops on the car top.

Suddenly she was back there.

His warm breath, just next to her ear.

The calm, sort of homely voice that didn't match with the strangely motionless expression on his face.

She couldn't let go of that weird feeling that had crossed her mind the moment she had noticed him. Something had seemed to be wrong with the proportion of his eyes, or his cheeks, something really irritating had immediately caught her attention, though she couldn't name it yet.

He was still out there.

Tears started running down her cheeks, she sobbed loudly.

It was all back now.

And she seriously feared that she wouldn't cope this time.

A/N: To be continued soon. Promise.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, honestly, I'm not doing it on purpose. :) Hope you like that chapter, I tried my best.

2)

**December 15****th**

The day began quite usual, in short: Don's phone rang at exactly 3:15 am.

"Damn," he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

"Don Flack."

"Hope I didn't wake you up?," he heard a familiar dark voice, tongue-in-cheek. He instantly saw Jess in his mind's eye. Sarcastic smile, cute little dimples, playful eyes.

"Why, no! What kinda weirdos sleep at three in the morning?," he countered, restraining laughter.

"Listen, we got a dead body at 103rd, Broadway. That's all I know so far, I'm on my way there myself."

"Okay, I'll be there in a second."

That night was exceptionally cold and a frosty wind still intensified the low temperatures. It was about 3:25 when he arrived at the crime scene situated in a quarter completely strange to him.

Jessica, at the moment talking to a young police officer who made the impression of wishing eagerly to be somewhere very far away waved to him indicating she'd come over in a second.

Don remembered the first time he had seen a dead person, being confronted with the sight of cold white skin, a distorted face, a view frozen at the moment of death.

He flashed the young cop an encouraging look, he himself fighting the temptation of escaping the gloom that surrounded him, that particular nameless atmosphere merely created by death.

"Hey. You look awake," Jess greeted him.

"Thank you. You look good too."

"I also hate that time of the day. It's dark, it's cold," Jess said and turned up the collar of her coat to protect herself against the wind.

"You're so right, Jess."

"Without exception, Don."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "Now, what happened exactly?"

"As far as I know we received the call of a quite hysterical woman about half an hour ago. She found the body on her way home from her sister's birthday party. Obviously she was pretty messed up after the discovery, she's being interrogated at the police department."

Don had phoned Mac immediately after Jess' call. Until he and the rest of the team would arrive it was his job to question and then get rid of the curious onlookers who had formed a crowd behind the barrier tape.

After all these years those sensationalists still disgusted him, and Jessica's disapproving glance told him she thought just the same. To him the fascination of death was completely incomprehensible, he didn't have a clue why they were attracted by things he sickened at.

Finally he forced himself to walk over to the lifeless body of a middle-aged man lying in the middle of the street.

He glimpsed at him, by experience avoiding to look into his dead and motionless eyes.

It took Don some moments to figure out what was wrong about the position of the body, but suddenly he realised that both arms and feet were twisted in an unnatural way.

"Arms and legs broken. That's awful," Jessica said, looking down at the victim.

He nodded.

"Damn painful, not the cause of death though."

"Nope," Jessica agreed. "But thankfully it's not our job to find that out." She looked straight at Don, giving his outfit an appraising look. After staring at the flashy green tie he was wearing for a few more seconds she just turned around and then went off towards the young officer who was interrogating a woman.

"That tie's a gift from my aunt Sara," Don yelled after her, but couldn't help smirking.

"Hey, Flack! What's up?," he suddenly heard Lindsay's voice behind his back. With her case in one and the camera in the other hand she walked up to him. The moment she looked at him she burst out laughing.

"Hey, hold it for a second!"

"Cool down, I just … love your outfit." She smiled at him and then kneeled down next to the victim.

"Poor guy. Both arms and legs broken," she murmured.

"Ouch."

"You name it."

Then she pointed at the victim's throat.

"Strangulation marks?"

"Exactly. Plus three bullet wounds at the back," she added, after she had turned over the body.

"Wow. Someone wanted to play it safe, huh? We got no name, no address, no ID, nothing. We've checked last nights reports of missing people – no match. He's about 30, maybe 35, but that's just a guess."

Lindsay opened the case and took out a pair of gloves and forceps.

"Anybody seen anything?," she asked, checking the man's clothes.

"Of course, the witnesses are beating a path to my door."

She laughed. "Seriously."

"Nobody saw or heard anything. Anyway, where's Danny? Wasn't he supposed to be on duty today?"

"I guess he'll come along with Mac, I walked here, I live just round the corner. Well, there they are."

A big black Hummer had stopped just behind the police line, Mac, Danny and Stella got out of the car.

"I'm sorry guys, we got just one dead body to share between the five of us," Flack shouted, smiling roguishly.

They were all surprised at the fact that obviously the whole team had been got up at 3 in the morning.

"What's going on here?"

"I know as much as you do," Mac replied.

Danny kneeled down next do Lindsay and took the camera out of her hands.

"You okay?," he asked as he had immediately noticed a slight difference in her.

"Uhm, yes, it's just …"

She was staring at the victim's face, closely examining his features.

"Somehow it seems to me that I know this guy. I've seen him before. And that tattoo … "

Lindsay started biting her lips, searching her mind for those blue eyes, that Chinese sign on his wrist, but she simply couldn't recall the memory associated with him.

However, memories don't drop away.

Not that kind of memory.


	3. Chapter 3

3)

A/N: Just to make sure not to confuse you: Chapter 1 is was about the night of December 16th, Chapter 2 starts in the morning of December 15th. Anyway, I'm curious about your opinions on this chapter.

**December 15****th**

Danny was just about to analyse the victim's DNA when Don arrived at the lab.

"Hey, do you already know the vic's name?," he asked and threw a glance at the technical and chemical equipment on the desk.

"Not yet. Do _you_ already know the name of the idiot responsible for alarming the whole team this morning?," Danny asked back, not even intending to hide an incredibly sulky undertone while he was using a pipette to transfer a few drops of yellow liquid on a specimen holder.

"Yes, I do. The story's hilarious."

"I doubt that."

"You're that peeved?," Don inquired, grinning all over his face.

"After all that guy stole me some really precious hours of sleep!"

"At least he had a fine excuse."

"Now you got me excited," Danny murmured sarcastically.

"Did you notice that young cop who seemed pretty messed up this morning?"

"Sure. Reminded me a lot of myself some years ago."

Don nodded, remembering that this was exactly what he had thought as well.

"Well, Jess kinda took him under her wing, and he admitted he'd been the one on duty. When he arrived at the crime scene and looked at the body he thought the whole team would be needed."

"What for? I mean, sure, the victim was badly mutilated, but in no way would you have needed four investigators to examine him," Danny jangled before mumbling "Greenhorn," to himself.

Don couldn't help smiling, obviously amused by Danny's growing anger.

"He said the victim had reminded him of a killer he had seen on TV."

"On Columbo?"

"Nope. On the news. Convicted serial killer."

"Aren't that kinda people supposed to be in prison?," Danny asked, puzzled.

"Exactly. He couldn't even tell me his name or any details. Just that he was quite sure that that was the guy."

"Frankly," Danny stated, still focused on his work, "I love imaginative people."

"Good to know," Lindsay said as she entered the lab. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Serial killers."

"What?," Lindsay blurted out, rather talking to herself.

"Well, it's a pretty funny story…," he started but immediately fell silent when Lindsay abruptly turned around and flounced out of the room.

Instantly Danny jumped up and followed her.

"Lindsay! Linds!"

She headed along the corridor and entered the first room she could find. Inside she started pacing up and down, up and down, at the same time rubbing her fingers as she always did when she was mixed up, trying to arrange the storm of ideas that were floating her head.

Jason Parker.

She should have recognized him the very first moment.

Her breath started going faster at the remembrance of a memory she had been completely repressing during the last years and overwhelmed by fear she had to lean against the wall and close her eyes for a moment.

Similar to a certain smell or familiar melody that sometimes have the power to draw you back to a time long ago, it was his name that caused her muscles to tense and her palms to sweat.

Not only did she remember his name, she remembered every single piece and bit, she could literally see him in her mind's eye just as if he was standing right in front of her.

How strange that sometimes memory is that intense, that much stronger than reality. A mix of thoughts, sounds and images crossed her mind.

The clear and meticulous handwriting in his letters. His low, hoarsely voice on the phone, urgently pleading her to help him. His talking at her about the day of the murder, the investigation's discrepancies, the cops jumping to illogical conclusions. The small scarf behind his left ear, his penetrative blue eyes, the small tattoo of a Chinese sign on his left wrist.

Lindsay tried hard to not to panic, not to get all worked up about a completely causeless and irrational fear.

This was so ridiculous.

Jason Parker was in prison, on death row.

Her mind was playing a trick on her.

This ghost from the past was just a ghost.

The door was carefully opened.

"Hey Linds," Danny said softly and reached out for her hand, but she stepped back from him and warded him off.

"No, please don't." Her lips were trembling and her voice almost broke down, revealing that she was on the edge of tears.

However he stepped forward and hugged her. When she felt the warmth of his body and his breath caressing her skin she couldn't help anxiously clinging to him and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Last night, while I was asleep, he was there. Just round the corner," she whispered haggardly, as though she couldn't understand the meaning of the words herself. Nevertheless her mind wandered off again and she involuntarily started replaying the previousnight. Had there been anything suspicious, anything unusual she had simply overseen? Had he maybe been observing her?

Danny interrupted her thoughts by squeezing her arm.

When she looked up she noticed that his eyes were resting on her forehead.

"What are you doing?," she asked, tilting her chin.

"Trying to read your mind" he whispered, all focused in a sort of childish way. "But honestly it doesn't seem to work."

She chuckled gently and kissed him on his cheek.

"Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

5)

A/N: Sorry for not updating, I was studying for my Spanish exam (which I probably messed up … ).

Looking forward to your opinions on this chapter.

**December 15****th**

At the same time Mac and Stella entered the pathology where Sid, who had just finished examining the body was already expecting them with a proud smile on his face. Obviously he was dying to tell them what he had found out as he nervously kept messing around with his glasses.

"I examined the body," he announced. "And I got a surprise for you."

"I don't like surprises," Mac stated in a low voice, nonchalantly throwing a glance at the corpse lying on the operating table in front of them, his dead blue eyes starring right into nowhere.

Stella however couldn't avert her gaze that easily. It was evident that the guy had been working out, his muscular upper arms and legs were striking. The lips were slightly open, showing perfect white teeth. At the sight of his three days stubble Stella remembered Hawkes telling her that the beard kept growing for some time after death, as well as the fingernails, which was just one of the medical facts and figures she'd rather not known.

The other irritating thing about his face was his penetrative look. Although Stella tried to avoid looking into his eyes, they seemed to be staring at her.

After all neither experience nor serenity could protect her against the indescribable feeling of being in the wrong place, of withdrawing from the normal world the moment she was in the same room with a dead body.

The corpse, now frozen in death, arms and legs twisted in an awkward way, had been alive once. Blood had circulated in his veins, a heart had pounded in his chest. And now there was just death, the most infinite and irrevocable word a human mouth has ever pronounced.

Somehow death was their business, yet the mystery of it was still unfathomable.

After realising she had been caught up in her thoughts again Stella turned towards Sid and folded her arms.

"If it explains to us who's this guy it's a good surprise," she said.

Sid smiled at her.

"Well, let's see. As I've already said, I've examined the body. Naturally I paid special attention to the fractures of both his arms and feet, you don't see such a thing everyday, right? I know what you think now …".

"How someone could break these bones," Mac answered.

"Exactly. The offender must have been exceptionally strong to be able to inflict such injuries to a man 7 ft tall with arms like other people's legs," Sid explained, gesturing vividly.

"Honestly, if you look at it just from the mechanical point of view it's really fascinating how someone could actually break these strong and healthy bones. It's just incredible. You can't imagine how hard and robust the material that human bones are made of actually is. I found it really hard to …"

"Sid," Mac interrupted him impatiently. "Your conclusion?"

Sid nodded and tried to cut it short.

"The fractures, the strangulation marks as well as the gunshot wounds on his back are posthumous. The victim has been dead for several days."

"Hold it for a second!," Stella said and gave Sid a questioning look.

"Someone strangled, shot and tortured that guy when he was already dead?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Then what is the cause of death?"

Sid smiled whimsically, obviously enjoying the moment.

"Someway, he was poisoned."

"What does 'someway' mean?"

"The toxins I found in his blood are sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride."

"So?," Stella asked.

"The cause of death was lethal injection."

Lindsay was standing at the window, her hands folded, starring outside without realising what was going on around her. She tried to focus on what had happened all these years ago, in a time she found to be strange and unreal, almost as if it was a dream rather than a cloudy memory, something she had made up or someone else had planted in her mind.

Which one of the thoughts crossing her mind were authentic, which had been added by fear, by time? Suddenly she remembered pieces and bits, little details and fractures she couldn't classify.

Somewhere back in her brain there seemed to be a place filled up with all the emotions, thoughts and ideas she had been suppressing, where all the memories had been hiding, now out of a sudden flooding her mind.

"Linds?"

Danny was standing at some distance, observing her.

"I shouldn't be keeping you from your work, you have to finish processing the DNA, you have to find out if this guy is really …." Her voice broke.

"Just tell me whatever you know," he said softly, giving her an encouraging look.

Lindsay took a deep breath, obviously fighting back her tears.

She didn't quite know where to start.

---

From 1989 to 1993 there had been a row of murderers all over the world.

A young mother shot on her way home from work in Rome, Italy.

The cruel homicide of two teenagers in Granada, Spain.

A young couple strangled in a park in Montpellier, France.

A police officer shot in Montana.

A young female officer shot in Ohio.

Seven victims. Five different countries. Three different methods. One DNA.

During the following years nothing happened and the case was just about to be closed down, when out of a sudden investigators discovered exactly the same DNA tracks on a shotgun with which a young girl had been shot in a wood in Texas in 1999. After five months, a suspect could finally be tracked down.

Jason Parker, 35-year-old truck driver, resident in Texas, not previously convicted.

At that point of her report Lindsay stopped for a moment. She was pale and Danny noticed that her hands were shaking. It was obvious how much she was affected by last night's events.

They both sensed it, the atmosphere was incredibly tense.

Danny hung on her lips.

"Well, you can imagine how glad we were that finally the killer would be arrested. One of the victims was Detective Thomas Horne, one of our co-workers. His death was … it was a big loss.

After all it was just luck, Parker drove to fast, the police stopped him and for some reason he got nervous and attacked one of them. That's how his fingerprints and DNA were taken and that was it.

I had just started working as a CSI and that was one of my first cases. I don't know why but somehow my boss decided I should do the testifying, and I thought, why not? I was just eager to help get that guy condemned, so I gave evidence at the trial. I wasn't the only one, actually there were investigators from all over the world testifying against him, and of course the guys from Texas did the main work."

---

Lindsay leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

She felt dead beat.

She didn't want to look at Danny, see his face, whatever expression she might find in it.

She wasn't sure if it had been the right decision.

To tell him about Jason Parker, about the murderers.

About Thomas.

She didn't know if it had been right to tell him so much, to unfold this part of her past.

She didn't know if it had been right to tell him so much.

And to leave out so much more.


	5. Chapter 5

6)

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: Finally :)

Flack entered the lab, waving a sheet in his hands.

"Hey, you won't believe it!," he yelled and presented his typical boyish smile of triumph. Amused by his expression Stella gave him a smile, though she couldn't help destroying the moment.

"Sorry, Flack, you're too late. Sid already told us," she said teasingly and an instant later had to smile at Flack who was pulling a face.

"That this dead guy on the table right there was convicted of murderer years ago?"

"Well he must have," Stella replied.

"So what do you mean?," Flack asked, now complete confusion in his face. "Danny's just processed the DNA, it matches with the one of Jason Parker, convicted of manslaughter years ago. And he mentioned Lindsay knew a little something about that old case. He already told you?"

"No, all we know is what Sid's just explained to us, which is that the reason of death was lethal injection," Stella answered, trying to ignore the body in front of her.

Flack nodded impatiently, still holding the piece of paper in his hands.

"After Danny had finished with the DNA, I immediately tried to find out how that guy could end up here, in New York. Dead. They sent me this down from Texas," he said, handing over the piece of paper to Mac, who quickly skimmed it.

"His execution took place five days ago?"

"Yes."

Stella gave both of them a look of complete puzzlement.

"Hold it a second, guys! You know what that means, right?"

There was no answer, Mac, Sid and Flack waited for her to speak out the thought that had crossed their mind at the same time.

"It means that someone actually dug out the body, took it to NY, broke his bones, inflicted on him all these other injuries and then put him in the middle of some random street."

Still there was silence, caused both by surprise and by perplexity.

"Why would anybody do that?," Stella wondered, who first rather talked to herself, then out of a sudden searched for Mac's eye contact, hoping he could explain to her what was going on.

He looked down at the formerly nameless body, now Jason Parker.

"I don't have the faintest idea," he murmured. "Not the faintest."

---

Just a few minutes later the whole team met in Mac's office in order to get a general idea of the whole case and find the context between Jason Parker's crimes and the confusing situation they had to deal with now.

First of all Lindsay gave her co-workers a short overview of the old case 'Jason Parker', including the most important details about the murders, the victims and the following conviction. In a completely calm and professional way she told them about what she remembered and informed them about the fact that a detective from Montana, Thomas Horne, was killed as well.

While she was all focussed on her report Danny was nervously playing with a pencil and couldn't really concentrate on what she was actually saying.

His eyes were fixed on her the whole time she was speaking, moreover he was absolutely prepared to notice the slightest change in her voice, her expression, her body language.

But there was nothing.

Not a hint of excitement about her behaviour, no flurry.

Nothing.

At least nothing he could sense.

At the end of their discussion which ended at about 10 pm Mac had worked out a plan how to proceed from then on and told each one of his team what to do. Mainly they had wondered what could be the motive for this crime, a crime they couldn't even name. Desecration of a dead body, yes. But what else? If it was really just that, that case was way out of their field of responsibility.

However they all sensed there was more behind it, what they saw now was just a wall of fog, probably hiding something.

Still, there was the question after possible motives.

Hate?

Anger?

Revenge?

Out of a sudden Lindsay had actually come up with a completely different thought.

The desire for justice, a theory that brought up a new group of possible offenders: Parker's family, people, who had probably believed in him up to the end, who had maybe wanted to serve up justice, who were furious about their son's death.

They had arranged that Flack and Jess should interview Parker's parents the following day, while the others would go over everything again, process his clothes, get more information about the old cases.

---

After they had all left Mac stayed in his office for a while.

This was a case so extraordinary even he had no idea how to approach it.

It would be another sleepless night in Mac Taylor's life.

Not the only one for the following days.

---

Lindsay was about to enter the elevator when she suddenly heard Danny shout after her.

"Linds! Hey! Wait!"

She took a deep breath before she turned around and faced him with a big smile.

"What's up?," she asked, obviously intending to sound like bright sunshine.

He folded his arms and craned his neck as he would sometimes do when hypnotizing the pancakes he used to prepare on Sundays to get them just perfect for her.

"Why don't you just tell me?," he asked, pinning her with his gaze, but she refused to answer though managed to return his look.

"Linds," he started off again and stepped forward, leaving only a few inches between them, his voice all soft, though he couldn't hide that certain worried tone he couldn't remember having before meeting her.

"Please tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours."

At first moment she couldn't bear his gaze anymore and her eyes wandered off, searching for someone to come along the corridor. But no one was there to spare her this.

When she looked up again she was at the edge of tears, although in contrast to her shaking, vulnerable voice her eyes expressed strength.

"I can't ever talk about it. To nobody. Not even to you," she said and then entered the elevator, leaving him in a state of pure helplessness.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: Finally some secrets are unveiled in this chapter … curiously awaiting your feedback.

December 15th

His voice in her ear.

Oh, his soft voice whispering in her ear.

There's no sound like that one voice that gives you a feeling of excitement and pins and needles all over your skin, that calms you down, draws you back from wherever your mind has wandered off, just right there, to that certain moment where you feel all safe and cosy.

It was a surreal moment, standing in front of his gravestone in the middle of simple cold and loneliness under the black sky.

And down there he was, down there, oceans away and close like a breeze in her neck at the same time.

As she had discovered she had already started forgetting, a thought that had got her scared and ashamed.

One day she had found an old photo under her bed. In panic she had tried hard to remember that rainy day at the beach it was showing. Unsuccessfully.

After some minutes she had finally given up, had stopped staring at that happy young couple, wrapped up in padded jackets, protecting each other from the frosty wind.

Two strangers, smiling at the camera at some beach in nowhere.

Thus, while many visual details had simply vanished, the sound of his voice had grown louder over the years, and still today it accompanied her just like some inner voice she couldn't imagine living without.

Sometimes she would wake up at night, believing to have heard his voice, whether in dream or in reality she wasn't able to say.

So many pictures had disappeared, tearing huge black holes in her memory.

But his voice she would never let escape.

Not his wonderful, warm voice.

For weeks after his death, after the funeral, she had searched their collection of video tapes, had watched them a million times, hypnotized by their own laughter and chatting. A million miles, a million hours away that all was, yet there were all these proves that she had once really lived that life.

One day she had switched off the monitor, closed her eyes, just listening to his voice.

Again and again and again.

_Look here, Linds, look here! I wanna take a photo of you in that dress!_

_Come on, honey, you look beautiful. _

_You know you always do._

She quickly wiped away a single tear she hadn't been able to hold back, running down her face, mocking her as she was really trying to be strong.

How far he was, and how close he felt.

And again her mind went off to that certain moment, in the middle of that night in November.

When out of fate's ironic joke they had happened to be both awake at night.

A nightmare had woken her up, but the first thing she had seen after she had anxiously opened her eyes, petrified, fleeing from some diffuse figure that had been hunting her in her dream, was his face, his soothing eyes.

And before she could even wonder if he had been lying awake for a while, carefully observing her while she was sleeping, he had asked her.

No corny declaration of love, that wasn't him.

Rain drops thumping on the window, the world hidden in shadow, two people lying in a bed next to each other, facing each other, listening to each other's breath, returning each other's looks, he had asked her.

And life had cheated her out of the chance to answer.

Yes, I do, Thomas Horne.

Yes, I do.

Yes, I do.

Yes, I do.

------

When Stella entered the lab around 12 pm she was surprised to find an office illuminated.

Lindsay was sitting behind her desk which was buried under a bunch of sheets, open maps and coffee cups.

Carefully Stella opened the door a crack and poked her head in.

"Night shift?"

Lindsay yawned in reply.

"What are you doing?"

"Working on the Jason Parker case."

"Really? Don and Jess are gonna talk to Parker's family tomorrow, and I guess we'll have to look through everything again, his clothes and the photos we took at the crime scene. There must be something we've overseen."

Lindsay just nodded, completely preoccupied with sheet.

"That's a pretty high stack of files," Stella commented.

"I don't care how many there are, I'd just wish they were in English," Lindsay replied in a frustrated tone and handed her over a piece of paper.

Stella shortly glanced at it and then burst out into laughter.

"_Dos jóvenes, una chica a la edad de 15, un chico a la edad de 16 años quienes, violentados y seguitamente fusilados en la calle Del Sol._"

"You know a little Spanish, Linds?"

"Not really, but at least it's better than my French. I thought that wouldn't be any problem cause we have these wicked new translation programme. How wrong can one be!"

"What do you mean?"

"Look at that: _Pierre Monasse, 25 years and his wife Marie Monasse, 26 years, themselves walked in the park Bellesoleil in center of Montpellier when they have were overpowered by an offender unknown and then strangled. _Believe me, I'm so looking forward to the files from Texas, they'll send them tomorrow."

"I see. Uhm … Lindsay?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe it's best if you go home for some hours, take a nap and come back then. You look quite done."

"I'm fine, really."

"Linds." Stella gave her a worried look.

"I'm just going to look through that Spanish one again and then I'll go home. Promise."

She looked up to Stella, her tired eyes expressing eagerness, though Stella had already understood anyway.

"Okay, Linds. Do that. _Mucha suerte_."

Lindsay smiled thankfully.

"_Gracias_."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: Sorry, I was quite busy this week … But finally, there you go, chapter 7. Hope you enjoy it. (Eventually it's December the 16th … )

December 16th

It was a dark and foggy day with a sky full of black clouds and constant drenches of rain. It was around 7 am and the whole city was embedded in a cold and hostile atmosphere, a mass of people hiding behind their collars and umbrellas rushing through the streets, heading towards their offices where a ton of useless boring work was awaiting them.

Concealed by a dirty piece of carton that served as a curtain a gaunt figure was observing the crowd, contemptuously looking down on them from his apartment in the 7th floor.

Way up there he felt secure, untouchable, and completely free from the feeling of insecurity and vulnerability that would befall him each time one of life's rare occasions would force him to leave his apartment, and join the life down there.

He loathed their questioning looks, the taunting expressions in their faces.

But up there, standing at his window he was all safe, impregnable, curled up like a rabbit in his hole he was immune against their questioning looks, safe from unintentional body contact as it naturally happened when walking along New York's crowded streets.

This was his world, his little perfect gem, where he was capable of anything while being invisible to the rest of the world. In here his power was infinite, all rules, laws and conventions he would have to obey in the outer world were invalidated.

----

After a while he gave in to the desire of taking the photo out of his pocket, his fingers clumsy and trembling. He carefully passed his hand over it. There was a little rip in the left corner. Naturally he wouldn't allow himself to look at it each time the wish to do so came up as that would take away all of the satisfaction.

He wouldn't glance at it more than once in a while, this rule he had imposed on himself just to prevent himself from loosing objectivity.

For the moment he still had to renounce her pretty features, her disarming smile, her dark brown eyes.

Not for long.

This time his plan would work out just the way he wanted, this time he would be the one in control. During all these years he had managed to overcome his biggest failure, the childish impatience that had crossed his plans the last time.

Now he would be able to proceed more carefully and focus on his task as he was perfectly sure he could rely on the idea he had been fastidiously working out in his mind for such a long time.

The first part of it had been done successfully in such an exact, perfect and silent way he couldn't suppress a certain feeling of pride. Each of his actions had been based on nothing but careful planning and expertness, luckily he wasn't the one to be overwhelmed by irrational exuberance too early, to commit mistakes out of nearsighted naivety. What a pity though that he couldn't flaunt his success, boast about his genius no one had ever taken the trouble to discover.

Out of a sudden the dim memory of that certain day in November emerged in his mind. That day when he had suddenly faced Thomas Horne and not her. Still it caused him pain, simply because his plan hadn't worked out, because she hadn't been there, at least not alone.

Anyway, the past and its disappointments had lost all their importance, as the moment of his victory was that close now he could already smell it.

Finally he would win, leave behind the familiar steady tension that kept him awake at night and wouldn't vanish until the realization of his fantasy would finally arrive.

The moment would be unprecedented, extraordinary, memorable, meaningful, thus he would finally be paid the attention he deserved.

It would happen.

And he would enjoy each second of it.

-----

She sensed his presence even before hearing his voice call her name, though she didn't turn around, didn't face him, pretending to focus on the two fingerprints on the table in front of her.

"Lindsay? You got a second?"

She was alert, ready to prevent any careless move that would draw his attention to what she was still hiding. These minutes were pure agony for her, having to compose herself and stay quiet while each muscle of her body told her to blurt it all out, to avidly cling to him and give in to the tempting warmth of his body and the reassuring impact it had on her.

"Sure. What's up?" she asked as casually as her trembling voice allowed her.

"Are you serious? Come on, stop deluding yourself!" he roared.

She found herself surprised by the anger flaring up in his eyes, his shrill furious voice and his tense expression.

This was tough. She felt as if trying to hide a huge gash on her forehead, pretending to be perfectly all right while she was aware of the fact that her eyes reflected each of her thoughts.

Before she had even started to search for an answer he had swiftly approached her, diminishing the distance between them to about one inch so they almost bumped into each other.

"What keeps you from confiding it to me?" he asked despondently. Now his tone had changed, evolving into a desperate cry for any sort of reaction from her. Most of all he would have wanted to touch her, shake her, shout at her, but while he was trying to somehow get hold of her, force her to at least return his look and show any kind of respondense she was starting to release herself from this tense moment that threatened to break the walls she had been building up. Vehemently she shook her head, her gaze focussed on some vague point behind his shoulder.

After all he seemed weary and tired.

He gave her another minute, however she managed to stand still and keep her mouth shut for these incredibly long sixty seconds.

"You know, there's a lot I could say now, but obviously you don't hear it anyway."

"I do," she replied tonelessly.

"I …" he muttered, but stopped.

"I know."

It was the first time she slightly lifted her head and deliberately looked him in the eye.

----

Back in his flat he took a deep breath, trying to gain control of his perspiration again.

Only the bulge in the pocket of his coat could calm him down, and for a second he contemplated touching the gun, just to feel the cold, smooth metal, but he didn't. The next time he would hold it in his hands he would be with her, or even better, she would be with him, under his control, at his mercy.

He had decided to go through his plan, again and again. Think about what he would say, how he would say it, how he would face the most decisive moment of his life without breaking into tears like some little schoolboy.

"Tonight" he demurely whispered to himself, his mind as well as his body devoted to that few minutes in his close future that were certain to be that one inevitable point his whole life was leading to.

Sure enough he knew that this time it would be different from everything else, indeed he didn't have the faintest conception of how it would be like to pull the trigger.

Tonight he would find out.

Tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: Hope you enjoy.

**December the 16****th**

Danny had left, just turned around and left the lab, without looking back.

Long after the printer had stopped Lindsay finally noticed the silence. Danny's voice echoing in her mind made her hesitate, giving her an ominous feeling of dread. After another minute she managed to pull herself together, went over to the printer, quickly grabbed the piece of paper and stared at the two words printed in bold, red, clear-cut letters. Her quivering hands convulsively held the sheet, and she chuckled, surprised at the gurgling, queer sound that left her throat.

At the same time she noticed a vapid taste in her mouth and for a moment she was sure either the revulsion would make her vomit or she would have to scream. There was a constant pulsing somewhere in her ear and only after a while did she realize it was her heart she heard pounding.

_No match, _she read silently.

The fingerprints from the file from Texas they had sent this morning and the fingerprints Sid had taken from Parker's dead body simply didn't match.

She repeated the two words to herself, well aware of the unspeakable menace they implied, and suddenly it was all clear to her, as though someone had unveiled the simple answer, the demure obvious answer that she saw now openly displayed in her minds eye. There was no decision she had to take, no option, no alternative. Now there she was again. But life had taught her a lesson and this time she wasn't going to ignore it.

The air in the lab was stuffy and only a few bright sunrays served as witnesses when Lindsay Monroe broke a rule for the first time in her life. Furtively she took a look around, making sure she was all alone and that there was no one about to enter. She deliberately took another glance at the sheet, then rashly tore it apart and threw the crumpled pieces into the trash can.

-------

There was another meeting in Mac's office, another occasion that forced the team to face the fact that they had literally nothing they could call a theory or even an idea about the motive of the crime.

'So you talked to his parents?,' Mac finally started off in a more than weary tone.

'Yeah, just an hour ago. Two very polite and friendly folks, willingly answered all our questions,' Flack replied, then gave Jessica a sign to go on.

'Well, just not to keep you in suspense, we got nothing,' she uttered briskly. 'As Flack has already mentioned, they seemed both real nice, they told us a lot about their son, the charge, his death,' at that point she stopped for a moment, and then continued adding a distinctly fierce tone to her voice. 'They were absolutely convinced he was innocent, and obviously Jason himself claimed his innocence up to his death.'

Though Jess tried to stay as impassive as possible her indignation couldn't be overheard. Yet ignoring her anger Mac straightened up in his seat and asked the one decisive question left on their to-do-list.

'You guys got the impression they'd be able to commit such a crime? Disgrace their own son's body in the way it happened to Jason Parker?'

'Well, at least they'd have a motive, right? I mean..,' Flack said but was interrupted by Jess who had turned towards him, her arms folded, a flash of rage flaring in her eyes.

'You can't be serious, can you? Do you honestly think they'd be capable of doing it? Seriously?,' she snapped at him while gesturing furiously.

'I didn't say that! I just … I just assume that as they emphasized that they were convinced of his innocence that might be a motive, that's all I say. Maybe they wanted to draw people's attention to the unfair verdict, maybe all this is just an act of helplessness, maybe ...'

All eyes were focussed on Jess, who was panting for air. 'Come on! You saw them, you talked to them! I don't believe it.'

'I just think they might have a motive.'

'Do you have any knowledge of human nature at all?'

'I'm sorry, Jess, but looking at the facts it's obvious that …'

Mac deliberately cleared his throat. 'Alibi?,' he roared. Stella smirked sheepishly.

After another defiant look in Flack's direction Jessica sighed heavily and then informed the others about the Parker's habit of spending every other night at their local Country Club since their son's death.

'So, why not check that?'

'Sure, Mac, first thing,' Flack affirmed.

At that moment Lindsay entered the office, atypically late. 'Sorry guys. What have I missed?'

'Absolutely nothing. What about that file from Texas?,' Mac asked hopefully.

'Either it got lost on the way or it's still on the desk of some incapable secretary down there,' Lindsay replied impassively, stealing a glance of Danny who yet refused returning her look, unremittingly staring at the bare glass desk in front of him.

'Now that's what I call progress,' Mac hissed flashing a frown at his co-workers. 'We're doing all we can and still we got nothing. No motive, no suspects, no evidence, no nothing.'

Stella gave him a pat on the back. They all hated it, that tense feeling, the growing pressure, those question marks swinging above their heads, intoxicating the air. There was someone out their derisively playing tricks on them, always one step ahead, arbitrarily moving counters in a board-game they didn't know.

The following silence gave Lindsay the opportunity to observe the indifferent, aimless expression in Danny's face, his empty view. Then she let her gaze wander on to Flack, Jess, Mac. How well she knew this phase that every investigation headed up to under compulsion, after you had worked through one or two nights, all your thoughts circling around that one unknown face your were chasing, and all your work had led up to nothing. However, she was aware of her co-workers' strong will and determination, and apart from that she knew Stella's ability to motivate anyone to do anything, to awaken a sense of energy and spirit where there was nothing but weariness.

Eventually, Stella got up. 'No, come on guys, as long as there's no other murder we're all gonna fix our eyes on exactly this case. It's not even murder, it's worse, cause it's a sign we haven't managed to decode yet. Someone wants to tell us something, and the truth is that we don't have the faintest idea what it is. But there's something behind all this, there's something …' She stopped, sighed, unable to put into words that muffled uneasiness each of them sensed.

And so did Lindsay, yet did she know so much more about the fountain of that certain uneasiness, although she couldn't quite grasp it yet. She knew that Jason Parker had been innocent, she knew that the sign Stella had mentioned was meant for her, she knew that she had to work this out on her own if she wanted to prevent any harm. Any further harm to someone she loved.

She couldn't help looking at him again, the blond hair, the prominent tendon on the back of his right hand, a clenched fist.

----

Hidden in the twilight he sat, huddled in his armchair like a little kid, his gaze focussed on her photo. Maybe he should finally hit the road, or did he have the force to fight the savage impatience for another minute?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: SORRY! It took me quite a while to go on, hope you still feel like reading the finale of my story.

**December the 16****th**

During the last two days there had been a real temperature drop and that night especially it was tremendously cold. There was no hint of wind though, the pure, cold air was stagnant, the whole world around her appeared like frozen in time. Lindsay was looking out of the cab's window, and kept thinking about what the weather might be like right now in Montana.

She remembered walking to school as a kid every morning in winter. Runny nose, glowing, rosy cheeks, wrapped up in ten layers of clothes by her mum. Her little feet would carry her along the country roads covered in snow. Trudging through the snow would produce a peculiar crinkly noise and she would breath heavily, trying to catch up with her two older brothers. Out of a spontaneous mood Lindsay decided to walk the last bit of the way.

'Could you maybe drop me at the next corner?,' she asked and already pulled up her collar.

'Well, it's a damn cold and frosty night!,' the driver replied.

She smiled. 'Right, I don't wanna miss it.'

The moment Lindsay got out of the car she took a long and deep breath. It seemed like she hadn't breathed such clean and fresh air for ages. She felt the freezing air flowing down her windpipe and then reaching her lungs.

It was that special time of the day, when the sun's bright light was exchanged with New York's typically artificial lights, street lamps, shop windows, illuminated advertising ...

_Surrounded by light at night. _

She laughed at the thought and the fact that she was in high spirits just because of it amused her even more. This was the right moment to get her thoughts straight, to work out a way how to proceed. She would play by his rules, she wouldn't make the mistake of dragging somebody else into this.

---------

When he saw her get off the cab, observing her from a safe distance, he knew it was the perfect day, the perfect moment. He couldn't even have imagined it better.

It was similar to that night years ago, a cold winter evening. One by one the streetlamps were illuminated. Now, although many parts of the sleepless city were probably lighter and busier than at daytime, here and there dark shadows started creeping out from wherever they used to hide during the day.

She looked overwhelming. Maybe she was even thinking about him in that very moment? About the still unknown stranger who had bothered to dig out a dead body and lay it right to her feet?

It was possible that he had become part of her life as much she had become part of his. The idea that she might be thinking about him just that moment excited him. Their lives, their minds were connected.

'Soon you'll know who I am,' he murmured to himself, and pronouncing this thought he felt melancholy as the invisible bond between the two of them would finally be broken.

However, he had to remind himself of keeping cool and not losing control again.

It was the perfect time, and he was ready.

---------

Guilt? The ominous feeling that had been chasing her for years, now displayed out in front of her. The DNA analysis had made it clear: They had made a mistake, a simple mistake that had cost the life of an innocent person. At that time years ago the procedure of analysing DNA had just been invented, and hardly any lab disposed of either the proper devices or the required methods to do it. The simple fact that Jason Parker's fingerprint resembled the one of the killer, that a mistake had been made, had cost an innocent man's life.

And she had testified against him, she as well as the whole team had relied on the results from the lab in Texas, everything had seemed obvious and on top of that there had finally been a culprit to be presented to the public.

_Look, we got him, the killer of seven people. _

She had had a careful look into the case, but looking back now she had to confess to herself that she, too, had been afflicted by the sudden enthusiasm that had escalated the second they had learned that a suspect had been convicted. After years of having forced to watch the killer, passively, helplessly and without the slightest hint they felt so relieved to have found the killer, to be able to arrest him and prevent any further harm.

Still, one thing had unsettled her. Jason Parker had wrote to her and called her several times during the court case.

The clear and meticulous handwriting in his letters. His low, hoarsely voice on the phone, urgently pleading her to help him. His talking at her about the day of the murder, the investigation's discrepancies, the cops jumping to illogical conclusions. The small scarf behind his left ear, his penetrative blue eyes, the small tattoo of a Chinese sign on his left wrist.

He had tried so hard to get in contact with her, to convince her of his innocence. And indeed she had investigated the evidence over and over again, his clothes, the protocols from the interrogations, the record that proved that as a truck driver he had been in all these places, in the depicted time periods. She had processed everything, except the fingerprints.

'They did that down in Texas, and besides, it all matches perfectly. Don't rack your brain, Linds, that guys just trying to arouse your compassion cause you're the only female among the summoned witnesses. Don't allow all this to affect you in any way.' Her boss had been trying to calm her, and she had willingly given in. The last thing she had wanted was to get emotionally involved with the case. Sure she was one of very few women in her field of work, but that goaded her even more to stay tough and rely on the evidence rather than on her intuition.

And apart from that it was about Thomas. Somehow everything she had done since his death had always been about him. Unlikely to her other colleagues, she had forced herself not to become obsessed with chasing his killer. She was well aware that if she let tracking down her fiancé's killer become the main goal in her life, she would be devastated if she didn't find him. She wanted to focus on life, rather than on what happened in that night, when Thomas had offered to accompany her in her shift. It was a coincidence, she knew that had she been standing there, in close to the entrance of the building they were investigating, she would have been killed and not him. She hadn't seen it, just heard the shot and then found Thomas, lying on the ground, a bullet wound in his head.

She had to leave it all back behind in order to survive.

Soon later Jason's calls had stopped. He was convicted of manslaughter and put on death row. She knew that by no means would she have been able to prevent the verdict or to prove his innocence. Still, she hadn't really tried either.

The true killer was still out there, maybe even closer to her than she thought. Why had he dug out Parker's body and inflicted on him exactly the injuries also found on all the other victims?

Lindsay knew the fact that Jason Parker had been found not far from her apartment wasn't a coincidence. The killer intended to get her attention and show her that they had got the wrong guy, that he was still out there. But why her?

-----------

On that day when he shot Detective Thomas Horne he had changed his plans. And he hated to change plans. Lindsay Monroe had been on his list, he had been observing her for several weeks, studying her daily routine, taking pictures of her. Like the one he had been caring around in his pocket up to know.

But that day, Thomas Horne was there, he was in the place where Lindsay Monroe had been supposed to be. It would have been easy for him to just leave and put it off for some time, but something made him change his plans and kill Thomas Horne instead of her.

In this moment he had shown weakness, for the first time in his life, and this blemish he had been suffering from ever since. Now it had to be erased. He had the chance to carry it out according to his original intentions, and hell no would he fail again.

By now she had got pretty close to the place where he was hiding, a few more seconds and she would walk by him, just a few metres away.

_Focus_, he ordered himself.

Focus and act. Don't think.

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

Not that she hadn't thought about confiding it all to Danny, and to the rest of the team.

But, as irrational as it seemed, she couldn't. Was it the unspeakable fear that the killer would again hurt someone she loved? Obviously that guy, whoever he was, had a score to settle with her. So it was her who would face him, anytime. Maybe soon.

It was pretty dark already and Lindsay had to walk through a narrow side street. She wasn't one of those who were scared of the dark though, and she never had been. In case of … whatever, she could defend herself. In a few minutes she would be at home, turn the radiator on and then enjoy the evening, maybe listen to some jazz music and drink a cup of coffee, curled up under the cosy blanket.

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

His calm, cold hand was clenched to the gun that was still in the pocket of his coat.

_Now, now, now, now, now, _he kept murmuring, and only after some time did his own words reach his mind. She was two, maybe three metres away now, and to see her again for the first time after years gave him a kind of comforting feeling. The brown curls, the tiny figure, the collar of her jacket pulled up, her hands folded. She seemed to somehow cling on to herself. Her image evoked memories of forgotten times, in which he had felt powerful and invincible.

_Go now_, he commanded to himself again.

Had he already missed the moment, had he messed up again, had he ….

-----------

As a matter of fact, she knew it the moment she heard the sound of a step behind her. Just like you sometimes sense things, before they can even reach you consciousness. For some reason it was that usual sound of a footstep that reminded her of something. It was this wicked, hair-raising sound that first caught her attention and gave her the creeps.

When she turned around and looked into his face, she wasn't hysterical. Her face just showed a weird expression of not being surprised, as though she would think something like: 'I saw it coming anyway.'

It was him, who didn't move, who stood scared stiff, holding the gun in his vividly shaking hands, pointing at her.

All of a sudden she cleared her throat. 'You', she murmured.

It scared him to death to hear her voice pronounce the name she must given him, when talking to him in her mind, when imagining to ask him why he had killed the person she had loved. And it was also her voice, that reminded him, that time hadn't stopped. He felt a wild desire to tell her his name, who he was, just so that she'd know, but he could pull himself together soon enough.

'Yes', he replied. His breath went faster. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it usually worked. Normally he would keep getting calmer the closer the moment of pulling the trigger got. It was different now. He was scared.

Suddenly it started to rain. Millions of heavy rain drops produced a drumming noise on the top of a car parked close by and after seconds they were both drenched with rain. Lindsay realised that there was something really irritating about his face, was it the proportion of his eyes? She couldn't tell.

'So you are back,' she asked, and he nodded, not taking his gaze off her.

'And what now?,' she continued.

He managed to calm himself down a bit, to remember the words he had prepared.

'It was you I intended to kill,' he said and impatiently expected any sort of reaction. But there was no change in her facial expression.

'I wanted to kill you, I had planned to … all over these years I have waited to ….' His voice got loud and shrill.

He had envisioned how she would react, how she would break into tears, shout at him, sob loudly. But she didn't. She just stared back at him, motionless, expressionless but still her body language showed a confidence she wasn't supposed to have in this peculiar situation. This wasn't how a potential victim was supposed to look like in his eyes. So close to death, she should be shaken by fear.

'And what now?,' she repeated.

'Now …,' he said, and his brain was empty. What now? What now?

It was dark and the rain got heavier and there were drops running down her cheek and he running down his cheek and all he knew for sure was that _she _was not crying.

And all he could think was:

'This isn't how a victim looks like. This isn't how she is supposed to look like. This isn't how any of the other victims looked. This isn't how that Thomes Horne guy looked …'

He felt that he was getting nervous. And that made him angry.

He craved for doing it, and so he started to count.

10 … 9 … 8 …

He watched her closely, but although she must have heard him, she didn't show any reaction.

… 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 …

He closed his eyes.

… 3 … 2 … 1 …

And pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:NY nor any of its characters.

A/N: Finale.

Last charter, still December 16th

_Lindsay turned off her phone first thing after she had entered her apartment and closed the door behind her. _

_How bewildering that the very first thought that crossed her mind was to inhibit every possible contact. _

_With anybody._

_She couldn't talk right now, she couldn't listen to anyone's voice on the phone, let alone in person. For several minutes she didn't move, leaning against the front door of her apartment, telling herself that she was safe now, that she had to be sensible, pull herself together, call someone._

_It would take some time until her breath and her quickened pulse would normalize._

_She closed her eyes, aware of the fact that her body was still under the influence of adrenalin, that biochemical processes where the reason why she was shaking like hell and her heart pounding that fast. _

_She knew all that, and she had already experienced it once before. _

_And she hadn't forgotten a second of it. _

_Literally, not one single second. _

_Her face was motionless, her brain was completely empty. She couldn't think, couldn't even remember clearly what had just happened. _

_She hold her breath._

_Out of a sudden she felt her knees buckle under her and she helplessly fell to the ground. Her body started shaking vividly and at the same moment she realized that her toes and fingers were numb. Slowly she tucked up her legs and started rubbing her cold, white fingers._

_Suddenly it hit hear, just like a wave of water that came tumbling down on her. _

_Everything came back, every singly moment, piece by piece, and her mind started working, replaying the scene, again and again. _

_She felt the cold air in her lungs, heard the distant sound of engines and heavy rain drops on the car top. _

_Suddenly she was back there. _

_His warm breath, just next to her ear. _

_The calm, sort of homely voice that didn't match with the strangely motionless expression on his face. _

_She couldn't let go of that weird feeling that had crossed her mind the moment she had noticed him. Something had seemed to be wrong with the proportion of his eyes, or his cheeks, something really irritating had immediately caught her attention, though she couldn't name it yet._

_He was still out there._

_Tears started running down her cheeks, she sobbed loudly. _

_It was all back now. _

_And she seriously feared that she wouldn't cope this time._

He had pulled the trigger. He had counted down to 1, then pointed the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.

-------

Mac was still in his office, working on the Jason Parker case. Somehow he felt that this case was of a special importance, though he couldn't explain this feeling in any way. He was making some notes on what they now had to do.

_Check Jason Parker's gave and look for traces of the real killer. _

_Get in contact with the prison where Parker had been arrested up to his death. _

_Once more go through the old data on the serial killings Parker had been blamed for, try to find inconsistencies. _

Mac took a look at his watch and wasn't surprised that it was already after midnight. Time to leave the lab.

He yawned, rubbed his eyes, then closed the folders and stacked them up on his desktop. Suddenly his phone rang.

'Mac Taylor'.

'Hey, Mac. Could you maybe come by my flat?'

'What happened Lindsay?'

'I …' She paused. He heard her breath through the phone.

'Lindsay, are you alright?'

'Yes, it's … the serial killer is not far from my apartment, he's dead …'

Mac jumped up and grabbed his jacket.

'Are you okay, Lindsay? Are there any injureds, do you need an ambulance?'

'No, Mac, no injureds, and I'm fine too. I just … he killed himself Mac.'

Her voice broke.

'I'll be there in a second, Linds, don't move. I'll be there.'

He entered the elevator and pushed the button reading 'first floor'.

'I am sorry … I am so sorry … I …,' Lindsay said.

'What do you mean?'

'I just knew it …'

'What?'

'That it would all catch up with me. That it would all come back.'

A/N: Hope you like this ending and that it wasn't too predictable either …


End file.
