Chapter 180: The Wilson’s Double Murder Case IX
Present-day, Lab, Guy’s Hospital
Sam collapsing in her Lab after three straight days of work was something she expected. And she remained on the floor, just breathing, closing her eyes for a moment longer. She had been working her ass off like she never did before, but all for a good cause. She had found semen days before on the victim, and after performing such a long delicate task, she had successfully replicated enough DNA to perform other tests. Now the only thing missing was a possible suspect that they could investigate. The ball was now on the three musketeers as she’d like to call Levi, Marco, and Davies’ court.
"Rough day?" She heard Levi’s voice, and her eyes snapped open. There he stood, looking down at her pathetic state, how he got in without her noticing she blames on her fatigue. Compared to her, though, the psychologist was freshly washed and dressed as slick as usual. She, well, she did take a short shower in Guy’s Staff Washroom.
"You can say that." She said, not making any effort to get off the floor as she looked up at him with her tired eyes. "When did you last sleep?" He asked, noticing the bags under her eyes and her above normal breathing.
"Who cares? I’ve got these." She said, showing him her forearm with Nicotine patches attached. Levi frowned, "Where did you get that?" He asked, though he already had an idea. She shot him a look, "Your secret stash." she answered, closing her burning eyes again, longer this time. He watched her try fighting off sleep on the floor, and he scowled down at her. "Get up." He demanded, causing her to flinch at his tone. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment but followed instructions anyway. Pushing her body off the floor felt heavy; her knees gave out eventually, almost falling back down if it wasn’t for Levi’s arms holding her firmly. He ushered her to a chair and helped her sit.
Satisfied that she seemed stable on the chair, his hazel eyes narrowed at her. "’For now’ is over. Now tell me what else you know." He said, recalling their last meeting. She looked at him, he looked a bit pissed, but that’s nothing unusual.
"I’ve got the DNA evidence; just get me the bastard." Sam retorted, annoyed.
"You are attached to this case; I want to know why." the Irishman said, knowing full well, there was more to this for her. This was personal, but why?
"I hate Rapists. I think they should burn alive." Sam spat, mood turning sadistic. There’s nothing wrong with that, he thought. Most people hate rapists. Sometimes, even rapists hate rapists.
"I do recall we have talked about this--" he reminded her; it was weeks ago when they ’reached an agreement.’ And that agreement involved matters like that, about keeping secrets.