FIC: "Before the Dawn" Chapter Six
May. 18th, 2005 05:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
astralisTITLE: "Before the Dawn"
FANDOM: CSI
PAIRING: N/S
RATING: PG13, I suppose. Or whatever rating system we're supposed to use now.
The Brown Street Episcopal Church's drop-in centre had served a steady queue of the homeless. Sara, standing in the far corner, watched everyone who came in the door. Most of them were adults. Some wore ragged, dirty clothes typical of most street people Sara had had contact with; others wore cleaner, smarter, if sometimes ill-fitting clothes.
It was quiet in the centre, despite the music playing softly in the background. The volunteers serving kept up a steady flow of talk; sometimes their patrons responded, sometimes not. Some of those at the tables talked quietly; others remained in an almost defensive silence.
There was, as yet, no sign of Angel and Marissa. Every time someone new came through the door, Sara's nervousness increased a little, and then something seemed to drop sharply into the pit of her stomach as it proved not to be either of the girls. Nick had insisted she not depend too much on them showing up, and that was logical: after all, they'd only said maybe. But all Nick's lectures couldn't quell the desperate need to understand what had happened to Brenda, or the desire to discover the stories of these two, or the duty she felt to protect them.
Where were they?
Nick always had lectures for her. Do this, don't do this, why on earth do you feel like that? He was a better listener than any of her past boyfriends had been, but he had the male compulsion to fix everything taken to the extreme. Everything could be fixed, everything could be made better, except for the private nightmares that both of them carried around. You just keep trying, Nick, she often thought, listening to him expand on ways to make this, that, or the other thing better. Half the time he didn't even have any conception of what better might be.
He was Mr Idealistic. She'd have had to pity him if she hadn't known that, deep inside him, he realised the futility of his attempts to fix things. He didn't truly believe in happy endings either.
Still no sign of the girls.
It would be nice if there could be a happy ending for Angel and Marissa. Nice, but unlikely - but that didn't mean she'd leave them to their fate on the streets without a fight. Working in forensics she'd seen the aftermath of malnutrition, drugs, alcohol, rape, beatings like that which had been inflicted on Brenda Collins. There was probably a long list of things that Angel and Marissa could be marked off as victims of. Victims of drugs and alcohol and rape, most likely, and probably even of the system. Brenda had run away from her foster home, and Sara could guess instinctively at the reasons. It wasn't necessarily that Brenda had thought the streets would have been better than her current placement. It was that she'd have control over her own life. She could live where she wanted, eat and sleep when she wanted, form her own family instead of having one forced on her.
I know, Brenda. I know, and I let you go into that situation.
Two girls had come in. Sara swallowed. It was them - Angel and Marissa. She stepped forward a little, and Marissa met her eye as she and Angel received their food.
Anxiously, Sara followed them over to the seats they chose at the end of a long table and sat down opposite them. "Hi. I'm glad you guys came tonight."
Marissa shrugged. "We were hungry."
Angel, who was tearing up her bread roll and dropping the pieces into her vegetable soup, glanced sideways at her. "Yeah," she said shortly.
"So." Sara cast around for some neutral topic of conversation. She'd never been good at this. "Are you two okay?"
Marissa thought about it. "Sure." She raised her spoon to her mouth and swallowed.
"Okay. Stupid question. Look. I want to find out what happened to Brenda - Blondie. Can you help me?"
"Why?" Angel asked.
Something turned over in Sara's stomach. "Why?"
"Yeah. Why do you want to know who killed Blondie?"
The reasons all seemed blatantly obvious to Sara, but she racked her brains for something that would satisfy the girls. "Because she doesn't deserve to be dead. And I want to make sure the person who hurt her is locked up so he can't do anything to anyone else."
"Okay," said Angel, shrugging, popping the last bit of bread roll into her mouth.
"What can you tell me about Blondie?" Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "When did you meet her?"
Angel and Marissa glanced at each other. "Few months ago, I guess. She just started hanging round us, and Raf and Petey liked her so she stayed," Marissa answered.
"Did everyone like her?"
"There's not a lot of liking on the streets. There's just living," Marissa said flatly.
Sara considered this, and rephrased the question. "Okay, is there anyone who you can think of who really disliked her, who might have wanted to hurt her?"
"Yeah. Like, most of Las Vegas really dislikes street kids. We're dirty and we smell bad and we ain't what Vegas is meant to be. Most of them don't care about one less street kid," said Marissa.
"I care."
"That's what they all say," Angel retorted.
"I do care. Look. I knew Blondie a long time ago. And I was in the foster system once. I know what's it like to lose your family, to be alone, to have no say on your life."
"I ain't a foster kid."
"I was," Angel said. "It sucked. So I left. Why didn't you?"
"I did, but I was old enough to be emancipated, so I went down that route. Look. I may care, but I'm not stupid. What do you know about Blondie's death that you're not telling me?"
Marissa and Angel exchanged glances again. "There's this man," Angel said finally. "I don't know what his name is. But he likes girls. Blonde girls. Like Blondie."
Sara thought over the implications of this, and felt sick. "And you?"
"Sure. I got blonde hair."
"So..." Sara took a deep breath, looked down at the table, and then back up at Angel. "What did this man do?"
"He just came round sometimes, looking for blonde girls. He gave money to the ones who went with him. Twenty dollars. And sometimes he'd buy me McDonalds."
"Where did you go with him?" Sara asked, trying to conceal her revolt.
"Just somewhere in his car. And no, I don't know what sort of car, just it's blue. I know nothing 'bout cars."
"Anyway," said Marissa. "He's a creepy bastard. And he really liked Blondie. And then last time he came Blondie wouldn't go with him. Raf wouldn't let her, he said she was his girl and she wasn't going with any other men."
"And I said I'd go. Twenty dollars, you know, might as well get paid for it. Only he said if he couldn't have Blondie he wasn't having any of us, and he got real pissed off and left."
"When was this?"
"I dunno. Few days ago. Before Blondie died."
"So what happened the night Blondie died?" Sara felt sick. She'd been well aware of the realities of street life, but to hear this kid discuss it all so calmly hit her as hard as the details did. "I heard you all came in for dinner and Blondie wasn't with you."
"I dunno where she was. She just went off in the afternoon with Raf and he came back without her. Asked where she was, but he didn't say. And then when we were walking home we found her body. And Angel was nearly sick."
"Wasn't the only one," Angel said sullenly.
"I called the cops. Pissed Raf and Petey off, but - " Suddenly, Marissa's face softened noticeably. "She was our friend, I guess. And she was a nice kid."
"I need to talk to Raf."
The girls looked at each other. "He won't talk to you. He hates cops. He's got a knife."
"Was he sleeping with Blondie?"
Marissa laughed. "We all sleep with each other. No nice little bedrooms. But he was having sex with her."
The last of the patrons of the soup kitchen were beginning to leave. A woman who Sara hadn't seen before came around and collected the girls' plates. "We've gotta go," Angel said.
"Look. What are your real names?"
"These are our real names, lady. They're the only ones that count." The girls stood up.
Sara fought down a rising surge of panic. She wasn't going to lose them. Not now. "Where can I find you? Where will you be? You know, if you need anything, I can bring it."
"You cops all know where we live. Come on, Angel. Nice talking," said Marissa, with the barest hint of sincerity.
Sara watched them leave, went to the bathroom, and threw up.
***
Say what she would about Nick - about his fussing, his lecturing, his sometimes strange way of viewing the world - at least when he held her even the worst things seemed bearable for a time.
FANDOM: CSI
PAIRING: N/S
RATING: PG13, I suppose. Or whatever rating system we're supposed to use now.
The Brown Street Episcopal Church's drop-in centre had served a steady queue of the homeless. Sara, standing in the far corner, watched everyone who came in the door. Most of them were adults. Some wore ragged, dirty clothes typical of most street people Sara had had contact with; others wore cleaner, smarter, if sometimes ill-fitting clothes.
It was quiet in the centre, despite the music playing softly in the background. The volunteers serving kept up a steady flow of talk; sometimes their patrons responded, sometimes not. Some of those at the tables talked quietly; others remained in an almost defensive silence.
There was, as yet, no sign of Angel and Marissa. Every time someone new came through the door, Sara's nervousness increased a little, and then something seemed to drop sharply into the pit of her stomach as it proved not to be either of the girls. Nick had insisted she not depend too much on them showing up, and that was logical: after all, they'd only said maybe. But all Nick's lectures couldn't quell the desperate need to understand what had happened to Brenda, or the desire to discover the stories of these two, or the duty she felt to protect them.
Where were they?
Nick always had lectures for her. Do this, don't do this, why on earth do you feel like that? He was a better listener than any of her past boyfriends had been, but he had the male compulsion to fix everything taken to the extreme. Everything could be fixed, everything could be made better, except for the private nightmares that both of them carried around. You just keep trying, Nick, she often thought, listening to him expand on ways to make this, that, or the other thing better. Half the time he didn't even have any conception of what better might be.
He was Mr Idealistic. She'd have had to pity him if she hadn't known that, deep inside him, he realised the futility of his attempts to fix things. He didn't truly believe in happy endings either.
Still no sign of the girls.
It would be nice if there could be a happy ending for Angel and Marissa. Nice, but unlikely - but that didn't mean she'd leave them to their fate on the streets without a fight. Working in forensics she'd seen the aftermath of malnutrition, drugs, alcohol, rape, beatings like that which had been inflicted on Brenda Collins. There was probably a long list of things that Angel and Marissa could be marked off as victims of. Victims of drugs and alcohol and rape, most likely, and probably even of the system. Brenda had run away from her foster home, and Sara could guess instinctively at the reasons. It wasn't necessarily that Brenda had thought the streets would have been better than her current placement. It was that she'd have control over her own life. She could live where she wanted, eat and sleep when she wanted, form her own family instead of having one forced on her.
I know, Brenda. I know, and I let you go into that situation.
Two girls had come in. Sara swallowed. It was them - Angel and Marissa. She stepped forward a little, and Marissa met her eye as she and Angel received their food.
Anxiously, Sara followed them over to the seats they chose at the end of a long table and sat down opposite them. "Hi. I'm glad you guys came tonight."
Marissa shrugged. "We were hungry."
Angel, who was tearing up her bread roll and dropping the pieces into her vegetable soup, glanced sideways at her. "Yeah," she said shortly.
"So." Sara cast around for some neutral topic of conversation. She'd never been good at this. "Are you two okay?"
Marissa thought about it. "Sure." She raised her spoon to her mouth and swallowed.
"Okay. Stupid question. Look. I want to find out what happened to Brenda - Blondie. Can you help me?"
"Why?" Angel asked.
Something turned over in Sara's stomach. "Why?"
"Yeah. Why do you want to know who killed Blondie?"
The reasons all seemed blatantly obvious to Sara, but she racked her brains for something that would satisfy the girls. "Because she doesn't deserve to be dead. And I want to make sure the person who hurt her is locked up so he can't do anything to anyone else."
"Okay," said Angel, shrugging, popping the last bit of bread roll into her mouth.
"What can you tell me about Blondie?" Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "When did you meet her?"
Angel and Marissa glanced at each other. "Few months ago, I guess. She just started hanging round us, and Raf and Petey liked her so she stayed," Marissa answered.
"Did everyone like her?"
"There's not a lot of liking on the streets. There's just living," Marissa said flatly.
Sara considered this, and rephrased the question. "Okay, is there anyone who you can think of who really disliked her, who might have wanted to hurt her?"
"Yeah. Like, most of Las Vegas really dislikes street kids. We're dirty and we smell bad and we ain't what Vegas is meant to be. Most of them don't care about one less street kid," said Marissa.
"I care."
"That's what they all say," Angel retorted.
"I do care. Look. I knew Blondie a long time ago. And I was in the foster system once. I know what's it like to lose your family, to be alone, to have no say on your life."
"I ain't a foster kid."
"I was," Angel said. "It sucked. So I left. Why didn't you?"
"I did, but I was old enough to be emancipated, so I went down that route. Look. I may care, but I'm not stupid. What do you know about Blondie's death that you're not telling me?"
Marissa and Angel exchanged glances again. "There's this man," Angel said finally. "I don't know what his name is. But he likes girls. Blonde girls. Like Blondie."
Sara thought over the implications of this, and felt sick. "And you?"
"Sure. I got blonde hair."
"So..." Sara took a deep breath, looked down at the table, and then back up at Angel. "What did this man do?"
"He just came round sometimes, looking for blonde girls. He gave money to the ones who went with him. Twenty dollars. And sometimes he'd buy me McDonalds."
"Where did you go with him?" Sara asked, trying to conceal her revolt.
"Just somewhere in his car. And no, I don't know what sort of car, just it's blue. I know nothing 'bout cars."
"Anyway," said Marissa. "He's a creepy bastard. And he really liked Blondie. And then last time he came Blondie wouldn't go with him. Raf wouldn't let her, he said she was his girl and she wasn't going with any other men."
"And I said I'd go. Twenty dollars, you know, might as well get paid for it. Only he said if he couldn't have Blondie he wasn't having any of us, and he got real pissed off and left."
"When was this?"
"I dunno. Few days ago. Before Blondie died."
"So what happened the night Blondie died?" Sara felt sick. She'd been well aware of the realities of street life, but to hear this kid discuss it all so calmly hit her as hard as the details did. "I heard you all came in for dinner and Blondie wasn't with you."
"I dunno where she was. She just went off in the afternoon with Raf and he came back without her. Asked where she was, but he didn't say. And then when we were walking home we found her body. And Angel was nearly sick."
"Wasn't the only one," Angel said sullenly.
"I called the cops. Pissed Raf and Petey off, but - " Suddenly, Marissa's face softened noticeably. "She was our friend, I guess. And she was a nice kid."
"I need to talk to Raf."
The girls looked at each other. "He won't talk to you. He hates cops. He's got a knife."
"Was he sleeping with Blondie?"
Marissa laughed. "We all sleep with each other. No nice little bedrooms. But he was having sex with her."
The last of the patrons of the soup kitchen were beginning to leave. A woman who Sara hadn't seen before came around and collected the girls' plates. "We've gotta go," Angel said.
"Look. What are your real names?"
"These are our real names, lady. They're the only ones that count." The girls stood up.
Sara fought down a rising surge of panic. She wasn't going to lose them. Not now. "Where can I find you? Where will you be? You know, if you need anything, I can bring it."
"You cops all know where we live. Come on, Angel. Nice talking," said Marissa, with the barest hint of sincerity.
Sara watched them leave, went to the bathroom, and threw up.
***
Say what she would about Nick - about his fussing, his lecturing, his sometimes strange way of viewing the world - at least when he held her even the worst things seemed bearable for a time.
