by Chewy Walrus
La Perdita:
Phil Smith walked aimlessly down the uncrowded backroads of the island, wanting nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts. He had been alone a long time... or at least he thought he had. Still, finding someone -- and someone like Gabi Riviera, to boot -- had made him feel complete, whole... had made him feel like he finally had a place in this world.
And in one fell swoop, it had all been taken from him.
So, kicking down the dusty roads of La Perdita toward the Fish Factory, Phil could think of nothing more than ending his own life. The concept was not altogether foreign to him. He'd made mistakes, thought of spilling his own blood before.
But this time, this time he truly meant to do so.
Slowly and with great care, Phil removed his gun from its place in his side holster and, ever so cautiously, removed every bullet from the clip, save one. Closing his eyes, he felt the cold steel of his handgun press against his temple and slowly tightened his grip on the trigger.
Then it occurred to him: Fisher. Phil's jaw clenched, his heart pounded, his pulse quickened, and his forehead began pouring sweat. Fisher, the man whose games and unrelenting had left his beloved dead. This man, Phil thought, lowering the gun and removing the clip. This man will die by my hand.
"My promise to you," he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek as he fell to his knees, once again mourning the loss of the woman he held dear.
He held the clip up, examining the one woman that remained. "This bullet," Phil said slowly, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his wrist. "This is my present to you, Fisher. For the lives you've destroyed. For the pain you've caused. And for the hope you've obliterated."
Rising to his feet, Phil ground his toes into the ground and raised the one bullet to the sky in his own clenched fist. "WITH GOD AS MY WITNESS... I WILL NOT REST UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD BY MY HAND! UNTIL YOU'VE BEEN REWARDED TOOTH FOR TOOTH AND EYE FOR EYE FOR THE HELL YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH!"
His gun clattered to the ground. His hand thrust the bullet into his pocket. And, as Phil Smith continued on his way toward the Fish Factory, his phone began to ring.
The Fish Factory:
"C'mon, Philsy..." Grissom Montag said, pacing the small office where he and Griffin sat. The levitating hat, coat, and gloves of Griffin busied themselves at Kit Piper's laptop, while Griss finally sank into one of Kit's office chairs. "Pick up, dammit!"
"You really should learn to be more patient, old bean," came the disembodied voice of Griffin. "It is a virtue that has lent itself well to me in my time."
"Easy for you to say," Montag mumbled. "You're bloody invisible..."
"Hello?"
"Phil!" Grissom said, rising again at Phil's answering. "Been wanting to get a 'old of you for some time... finally got the chance. Where are you?"
"Don't know."
Grissom noticed the odd tonality in the man's voice. "Phil, wha's wrong? Everything go all right with the agents?"
"She's dead... they killed her..."
"Who?" Montag asked, concerned. "Leslie? Charley?"
"Gabi," was Phil's despondent reply. "One of Fisher's agents shot her. I... I couldn't do anything."
"Phil..." Grissom began, generally at a loss. "I... I'm sorry, mate. Really. I... wish things could've turned out differently..."
"Well, while I appreciate the sentiment," Phil said, angrily, "it won't do a thing to help me find the son of a bitch who did this..."
"Hey, Phil..." Grissom said, wanting desperately to change the subject, "I... Look, I know it's a bad time for this, but... I was wondering if you could come in to the Fish Factory ASAP."
"What for?" Phil asked. Grissom could just see him sitting alone in an unfinished room at the headquarters, beating himself up for letting Gabi get killed.
"Kit's got... well, Kit's got a sorta mission for us," Grissom answered. "We won't be doing it alone. Seems his ex and girls 've been nicked and... well, he's gonna need help on this one."
"Any leads?" Phil asked, seeming to gain a bit of energy from Grissom's description of the situation.
"We've got... um... we've got something of a specialist working on it now," Grissom answered, giving Griffin a wary stare, uncertain as to whether or not the killer was returning his gaze. "Name's Griffin. 'e's... 'e's a bit 'ard to see..."
"You think you'll be needing me?" Phil asked.
"I won't lie," Grissom said, leaning on Kit's desk, next to Griffin. "We could use a man o' your talents on a mission like this one. So -- one merc to another -- it'd be great if you could join us..."
"Will there be killing involved?"
"Chances are..." Griss answered a bit nervously, casually looking through Griffin's head at the laptop screen.
"Good," Phil answered. "Got a lot of built-up grief and rage to sort out... and I can think of no better way to get it all out. See you shortly."
And, with that, Grissom's line went dead.
"Well, we've got another fighter fer the cause," Grissom said, leaning over Griffin's shoulder. "Whaddaya got?"
"A lead," Griffin said. Griss felt something like a hand pushing his face away gingerly. "That's all you need know. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be leaving shortly to carry out the next stage in what I'm looking for. You'll do good to get some gear together."
Grissom could almost hear the smile spreading across the invisible man's face as he spoke. "Just like old times, Grissom, my boy... just like old times..."