"Hi CSI guy…. You're wondering why you're here? Because you followed the evidence. Because that's what CSIs do…. So breathe quick, breathe slow. Put your gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're gonna die here"
The plexi-glass box surrounding Nick seemed to shrink smaller and smaller until it squeezed the life out of him. Squeezed out all of his remaining hope. You're gonna die here… you're gonna die here… you're gonna die here. The phrase unceasingly taunted him. Nick looked around the box, searching for a way out; a way to save his life. He pounded on the glass; kicked violently, as much as the compressed box would allow him to, and flailed his arms in all directions, beating them against the glass with all of his quickly demising strength as the pace of his breathing soared.
Nick's heart rate jumped and was pumping dangerously high. The adrenaline in his body not allowing him to give up on himself. He needed to find a way out of this box, and he was determined to succeed. His life depended on it.
The pain began and it was excruciating. He panickly looked from his arms to his legs to his chest, swatting at the millions of ants that had rapidly appeared. They were crawling all over him; his legs, arms, chest, back, face; they were everywhere in a matter of seconds. Every time he swatted the ants would multiply. He would manage to brush a few off and ten times the amount would scurry back on top of him. They were biting and biting, creating painful red welts all over his body. They crawled up his nose, into his ears, and even into his mouth, but he soon forgot about them.
He gasped for air and couldn't breathe. Time had run out. His team. His family. Despite their intense efforts, had failed. He was going to die. He gasped again and again but no air filled his lungs, only a burning sensation that ripped through his entire body at rapid speed. His lungs were on fire. It was the most horrifying, most painful sensation he had ever felt. Nick tried screaming but couldn't. Instead his lungs crumbled within him, exploding for air with a painful burst.
Nick started crying and flailing his arms around in one last desperate attempt to acquire some much needed oxygen; one last attempt to save his life. One last escape. That's when his hand touched the gun. Nick picked it up quickly and held it up to his eyes. This was his escape. Given it was not a very good one, but it was all he had that he knew would guarantee the end of the unbearable burning of his lungs. He held the gun to his throat and began to flash back. Back to his childhood, all the moments he had shared with his brothers and sisters, the day his first niece was born, to the day his first nephew was, to college, meeting Grissom, and all the times he had shared with the team that had become a second family to him.
Then he was back to reality. A gun pointed to his throat by his own hand. His forefinger wrapped around the trigger, shaking uncontrollably. Back to the agonizing pain piercing through his body. His finger curled involuntarily around the trigger at a quickening pace. He tried to stop it, but he couldn't. He was out of control. You're gonna die here . . . You're gonna die here . . . You're gonna die here . . .
"I'm sorry" Nick mouthed as much to himself as to the family and friends he would never again see. Then a shot went off.
"Aughhgh!" Nick screamed as he bolted straight up in bed, a cold sweat drenching him and his sheets, tears running down his cheek. He breathed heavily and quickly as he rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, trying to massage away the terrifying nightmare he had had every night for the past two weeks. "It's just a dream . . . " Nick tried to convince himself. "It was just a dream . . ."