Demons

Part 1

As she stood at the corner of the street, each raindrop could be heard clearly pattering on the ground. The sound bouncing off the high walls of semi detached houses that faded up into the starless night sky. Their windows were dark and mysterious holes. The only light came from a solitary street lamp, it's dull yellow light making the puddles of dirty, grey water on the concrete shine, as if it tried it's hardest to compensate for the absence of moonlight. The wind seemed to rush along the ground towards her feet. It made her think of a crowd of scurrying insects. It blew old tattered newspapers and filthy wet leaves in her direction, sticking them to her boots and wet jeans.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the icy cold air into her lungs, held it for a moment, and then let it out. She could feel her own breath warming her throat and her nose.

She walked slowly towards the door of one of the dark houses. She slowly and quietly slid the key into the lock and turned it until she heard it click. She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. The house seemed as cold as it was outside. The door creaked loudly as she closed it behind her. She stood for a moment, listening. She then crept towards the dark stairway and began making her way very quietly up each step. She could hear her heart beating in her chest. Once she had made it to the top of the stairs, she turned towards the bedroom door. She took five large, but silent steps towards it. She could feel cold sweat on her skin. Her chest seemed tight. She reached into her coat pocket and gripped the large piece of heavy steel that was a gun. She reached into the pocket on the other side of her coat and pulled out a long metal cylinder with small holes in it. A silencer. She clipped it onto the end of the  gun which she held onto tightly in her trembling right hand. With the other, she reached out for the door handle and pushed it open. Her eyes fixed onto the bed. In it, asleep, was a man she detested for more than 15 years. The room smelled of alcohol. As she moved closer to the bed, the familiar smell became stronger and stronger. She stood over him, aiming the gun down at his head. A tear rolled down her cheek. She tried not to cry too much. She didn't want to wake him, although, she knew that nothing could wake him in this state. She gripped the gun tightly in her two hands and closed her eyes. She forced her stiff fingers to pull the trigger. She expected that she would jump from the noise, but she didn't. She was used to noise, but the only noise that came from the weapon in her hands was a soft but quick "poof." Like a pea being shot from a pea shooter, or cork popping from a bottle of champaigne. She opened her eyes, her vision blurred from the tears. She looked down. He was silent. She would have thought he was still sleeping, only the white pillow he rested his head on was now beginning to soak up crimson fluid.  She pulled the silencer quickly from the end of the gun and shoved them into her pockets. The smell of burnt gunpowder seemed to fight the smell of alcohol in the air. She left the room and hurried down the steps, her heart pounding. She rushed out the door, slamming it behind her, and ran. Her footsteps echoed in the street and the rain masked the tears that flowed down her face.

"Gun powder" Sara Sidle said, pointing a gloved finger at the small, round wound on the side of the victim's head. "Means he was shot at close range"

Crime Scene Investigator Sara Sidle, a pretty, dark haired woman with a boyish like figure stood in the bedroom with fellow Crime Scene Investigator Nick Stokes. A tall, dark haired man with handsome features and dark brown eyes. They knew each other well and got along well despite their often different views on morals and different lifestyles. They often worked on crime scenes together. They both gave all they had to field work.

The room was cold and dull, grubby yellow wallpaper was peeling at the corners, the cieling was cracked and the green colour carpet was stained.

"Yeah" said Nick, standing over the dead body "You know, the way he's positioned, and the position of the bullet would would suggest that this guy was asleep before he was even shot. The killer must have come in while he was sleeping and just shot him in the head, quick and easy!"
Sara frowned "Smells like revenge"
The bedroom door opened with a creak and Ray Langston walked in. A tall, well built middle aged African American man in a suit without the tie. He was wearing glasses, but didn't always. He was a doctor before Gil Grissom, former head of the Crime Lab in Las Vegas, hired him to take over when he left.