It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out. A door slammed. The maid screamed. Suddenly a pirate ship appeared on the horizon. While millions of people were starving, the king lived in luxury. Meanwhile, on a small farm in Kansas, a boy was growing up.

A light snow was falling and the little girl with the tattered shawl had not sold a violet all day. At that very moment, a young intern at City Hospital was making an important discovery. The mysterious patient in Room 213 had finally awakened.

"What exactly do you mean when you say the client died?"

"Everything dies, baby. That's a fact." Case looked down quickly. "Anyway, it wasn't my fault, you know? I wasn't hired as a bodyguard. And it wasn't like he was killed. His appendix burst. I wasn't even there." He shrugged and began to slide subtly towards his office.

Amanda wasn't willing to settle for that. "So where have you been for the last 10 days? I've been holding this office together by myself, you know."

Case glanced at her desk. He was pretty sure that pencil hadn't moved. The telephone, on the other hand, had probably been well-used. "I was trying to track down the painting. You know, the Dali?"

His secretary looked at him sternly. "Receipts?" she demanded.

Good lord, she sounds like a Nazi demanding my indentification. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, though, Justin knew he'd lost the argument. He fished some papers from his jacket pocket. "Here, it's mostly coffee and travel. There's a few more in my luggage, I'll dig them out later."

Amanda's face softened slightly. "Who am I suppsed to expense these to?" she asked vaguely, opening a filing cabinet. "I'm the one that has to explain this to corporate, you know."

I was so much happier when I was broke, Case thought as he made good his escape into his office. "Put it on God's account," he suggested. "I'm pretty sure this is all his fault." Case slammed the door behind him. If he'd realized now that God would in fact be picking up the tab for those receipts, he would still not have been impressed.

"It sounds to me like this guy has some pretty serious semantic triggers," the professor oppined.

Grissom heard him quite clearly, but that didn't always mean anything. "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?"

"Isn't that why you're here?" Wilson clearly looked puzzled.

"Not exactly." Now it was Grissom's turn to look puzzled. "I'd hoped you might know something about the symbol?"

"The victim's tattoo? Well I recognize it of course." The professor visibly relaxed, adopting a classroom tone. "The K is a Greek kau."

The CSI frowned. His hearing was starting to fuzz, a sure sign that something important was about to be said. Soon he'd hear the music. "And the apple?' he asked.

"Something to do with Greek mythology, some sort of beauty contest I think." Professor Wilson stared at the photo for a moment and shook his head. "I fear I haven't been as good to my memory as it has to me." A smile crept across his face. "Still, that's why they invented the internet."

Grissom continued frowning. He caught most of the explanation, and still no music. Maybe this was a dead end. "I need to..."

"Of course, of course," Wilson interrupted. "Still, would you mind leaving a card? You've piqued my curiousity now, and if my research turns up anything I might persuade you to listen to my crackpot theories on semantic triggers."

There! Finally a few notes. The veteran CSI frowned again and fished a card from his pocket. "I actually enjoy crackpot theories, off the clock. Maybe I'll tell you some of mine about bugs."