"Caved In" - Chapter One
Hey all,
I started a story back in August, I believe, of this year entitled "Caved In". It's - in short - a crossover between Supernatural and CSI, and centered around a character I used that has worked in both fandoms. If you want more information on the character, I am working on a biography for her, and when I finish it, I'll put it up here. Also, just wanted to let ya'll know that I'm posting the story here for compliments, etc, before I post it up over at ff.net. Okay, so I don't have the entire story (ten chapters, all handwritten, so far) up on my computer yet, but I'll start with one chapter per week. If someone tells me how, then I'll make one post like a table of contents, to stay at the top. *nods*
“Caved In”
Supernatural/CSI Crossover
Chapter One: Beginning
It was one hundred years ago, the nearing end of the gold mining popularity in the West. The Comstock Load was perhaps depleted, or nearing depletion as were many other popular sites in the surrounding areas. In the desert sands outside of booming and corrupt Las Vegas, there was still a mine. Not for gold, but silver ore was discovered here. Cheap labor and even cheaper lumber increased the profit over and over again. Until it became dry. Like a still well apart from a deep underground spring, the barely known Tucker Mine had stopped flowing in less than a decade. Politics and new technology came, leaving the poor miners in the dust. Literally. That was the great cave-in of August 5, 1906. And the mind was forgotten through time and space, with new sands churning and hiding its barred entrance from view.
- Supernatural -
The persistent, piercing tone of a simple cell phone sliced through the dark hotel room, waiting to be answered. Bed sheets tossed themselves aside as a pale hand stretched out, reaching for the blue and silver contraption on the nearby table.
A cranky, half-asleep voice yawned into the receptor, “Hello?”
Instantly, the woman sat upright in the rented bed, her loose locks of deep, brick red hair falling forward into her tanned, round face. Chocolate brown eyes open and alert as she listened with baited breath to the hushed tones over the phone. No more sleep for her, it seemed. Bright pink toenails slipped from the covers and into nearby white socks as the phone balanced between ear and shoulder delicately. Old jeans were snatched from a chair and leapt into quickly. She had done this before. Her suntanned arms hid inside a jean jacket as she hung up the phone without another word. Two bags and a pair for keys disappeared with her through the slamming door.
Moments later, the shriek of spinning tires echoed through the quiet still of twilight, vanishing onto the darkened road.
---
Dirt and pebbles slapped the undercarriage of the dark blue 1988 Corvette Coupe as the dusty tires glided along the unpaved road in the cold Nevada desert. There were other tire tracks to follow, the party was up ahead. As the Chevy pulled alongside a newer SUV, the woman from earlier stepped out; her red hair successfully restrained by a fuzzy hair band. She tugged her jacket closer to herself before reaching for a faded tan back with a large flap.
A metal chain around her neck held some sort of identification that allowed her to slip underneath the crisp yellow and black tape that declared the area a crime scene. Her grip tightened around the leather handle of the bag, and with a brief intake of the dry desert air, she proclaimed herself to be one Dr. Elizabeth Tucker.
An older man, with graying hair, spun on his heel at her voice. His clean-shaven face broke into a cheery smile, despite the gloomy atmosphere. “Elizabeth, thank you for coming. I think we may need your help on this one,” he stepped aside as he spoke, to reveal the victim of the scene.
There, before them, was a mummified corpse, his right arm extended forever. Just behind him was what was left of what appeared to be a mine entrance. The skilled red head nodded briskly, taking everything in, “Looks like it was a good thing I was in town, Gil.”
The elder man nodded as well and mentioned something about a frightened hiker that had called it in. No doubt the caller had been scared out of his mind, because normally this sort of thing showed up on the History Channel, not the middle of the Nevada desert.
Elizabeth took some photographs with a camera from her bag before the coroner disappeared with the body. She helped him slowly, carefully load it into the black van for transport before turning and scowling at the entrance of the mine. Something wasn’t right here. Aside from the familiar creepy feeling she had gotten the moment she walked over. No, though, Liz saw something else - or the lack thereof, and she snapped several more photographs.
I started a story back in August, I believe, of this year entitled "Caved In". It's - in short - a crossover between Supernatural and CSI, and centered around a character I used that has worked in both fandoms. If you want more information on the character, I am working on a biography for her, and when I finish it, I'll put it up here. Also, just wanted to let ya'll know that I'm posting the story here for compliments, etc, before I post it up over at ff.net. Okay, so I don't have the entire story (ten chapters, all handwritten, so far) up on my computer yet, but I'll start with one chapter per week. If someone tells me how, then I'll make one post like a table of contents, to stay at the top. *nods*
“Caved In”
Supernatural/CSI Crossover
Chapter One: Beginning
It was one hundred years ago, the nearing end of the gold mining popularity in the West. The Comstock Load was perhaps depleted, or nearing depletion as were many other popular sites in the surrounding areas. In the desert sands outside of booming and corrupt Las Vegas, there was still a mine. Not for gold, but silver ore was discovered here. Cheap labor and even cheaper lumber increased the profit over and over again. Until it became dry. Like a still well apart from a deep underground spring, the barely known Tucker Mine had stopped flowing in less than a decade. Politics and new technology came, leaving the poor miners in the dust. Literally. That was the great cave-in of August 5, 1906. And the mind was forgotten through time and space, with new sands churning and hiding its barred entrance from view.
- Supernatural -
The persistent, piercing tone of a simple cell phone sliced through the dark hotel room, waiting to be answered. Bed sheets tossed themselves aside as a pale hand stretched out, reaching for the blue and silver contraption on the nearby table.
A cranky, half-asleep voice yawned into the receptor, “Hello?”
Instantly, the woman sat upright in the rented bed, her loose locks of deep, brick red hair falling forward into her tanned, round face. Chocolate brown eyes open and alert as she listened with baited breath to the hushed tones over the phone. No more sleep for her, it seemed. Bright pink toenails slipped from the covers and into nearby white socks as the phone balanced between ear and shoulder delicately. Old jeans were snatched from a chair and leapt into quickly. She had done this before. Her suntanned arms hid inside a jean jacket as she hung up the phone without another word. Two bags and a pair for keys disappeared with her through the slamming door.
Moments later, the shriek of spinning tires echoed through the quiet still of twilight, vanishing onto the darkened road.
---
Dirt and pebbles slapped the undercarriage of the dark blue 1988 Corvette Coupe as the dusty tires glided along the unpaved road in the cold Nevada desert. There were other tire tracks to follow, the party was up ahead. As the Chevy pulled alongside a newer SUV, the woman from earlier stepped out; her red hair successfully restrained by a fuzzy hair band. She tugged her jacket closer to herself before reaching for a faded tan back with a large flap.
A metal chain around her neck held some sort of identification that allowed her to slip underneath the crisp yellow and black tape that declared the area a crime scene. Her grip tightened around the leather handle of the bag, and with a brief intake of the dry desert air, she proclaimed herself to be one Dr. Elizabeth Tucker.
An older man, with graying hair, spun on his heel at her voice. His clean-shaven face broke into a cheery smile, despite the gloomy atmosphere. “Elizabeth, thank you for coming. I think we may need your help on this one,” he stepped aside as he spoke, to reveal the victim of the scene.
There, before them, was a mummified corpse, his right arm extended forever. Just behind him was what was left of what appeared to be a mine entrance. The skilled red head nodded briskly, taking everything in, “Looks like it was a good thing I was in town, Gil.”
The elder man nodded as well and mentioned something about a frightened hiker that had called it in. No doubt the caller had been scared out of his mind, because normally this sort of thing showed up on the History Channel, not the middle of the Nevada desert.
Elizabeth took some photographs with a camera from her bag before the coroner disappeared with the body. She helped him slowly, carefully load it into the black van for transport before turning and scowling at the entrance of the mine. Something wasn’t right here. Aside from the familiar creepy feeling she had gotten the moment she walked over. No, though, Liz saw something else - or the lack thereof, and she snapped several more photographs.