CSI:NY The Saints Aren't Coming

Bad

Chapter 23: Bad

Gus forced the cab to stop as soon as she was out of sight. Sure it was getting late, but she was a cop after all and she would rather be anywhere than home right now. Gus found herself wandering around Lower Manhattan surprising herself when she ended up at Ground Zero.

It wasn't a place she went to very often, she didn't need the visual reminder of the day another part of her heart was taken from her.

Gus leaned against the chain link fence, looking into the void below. Despite the years slipping by faster and faster, and workers down in the pit even at this late hour, Gus felt a sense of abeyance.

Grief washed over her as she felt a hollowness in her heart, thinking all of this would be easier to handle if Claire was still here.

Claire, more a big sister than an aunt. Claire who not only understood her mother's mood swings, but also was her constant protector, no matter how many miles separated them. Claire, her ultimate confidant and friend and cheerleader.

"Why did you leave me?" Gus said, tears pricking her eyes and sliding silently down her cheeks.

Gus did not even hear the man approach until he was at her elbow, surprising since you could smell the alcohol and street reek on him from a block away.

"We all lost something that day," he said, his voice gruff and slurred.

"Some more than others," Gus retorted, waiting for him to beg for change.

"They haven't really left us though. You just gotta know where to look for them," the man said.

Gus stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets and chewed on her lip, not wanting to encourage the man, not wanting to be mean either. "I don't have any change" she said, turning to face him.

"Maybe you need some," he joked back, his mouth breaking into a toothless grin. "

Tried that, it didn't work out too well," Gus joked back, though her tone was somber.

"Just gotta know where to look," the man repeated, and stabbed a dirty finger into her chest before turning and walking away.

"Wait!" Gus called following after him, thinking maybe she could buy the man some food or direct him to some social services or something.

Gus hurried across Fulton Street, happy there was no traffic, catching sight of the man entering the yard of St. Paul's Chapel.

Gus walked among the gravestones, many of them dating back over 200 years, searching for the man; Gus briefly wondered if he had passed out among them and hoped he had not hit his head.

"Um, sir?" she asked into the night, not sure what to call him, but figured 'sir' was far better than 'homeless dude'.

Gus noticed the gates of the chapel were open, perhaps he had gone inside. Gus entered the chapel, squeezing in through the small space in the heavy wooden doors.

She hadn't been in here before, she would have been, if Mac would have let her join the relief workers that set up camp here. Instead had sent her packing back down to New Orleans, which she supposed was better than him locking her up in the mental ward.

Gus had certainly seen enough pictures of the place, though they didn't do the building any justice. While there were certainly more ornate places in the world to worship, the whole building seemed to ebb and flow with spirits. The lights were dimmed, Gus presumed so people could quietly pray or meditate, and the place empty.

Giving up on finding the homeless man, Gus slid into one of the pews, taking in the deep marks left from the rescue workers boots. She had read they were planning on removing the pews to create a more open and inviting worship space, and that many who had sought refuge here after 9/11 were against it.