A/N: I know I said I'd wait until the whole fic was finished before I posted anything, but I wanted to share this first chapter for Halloween. There is much more to this story, but the rest must wait. Enjoy!

What was that old saying? If you're going through hell, keep on going. You might get out before the devil even knows you're there.

Fat fucking chance. He escaped from hell once, and he continues to be brutally punished for it.

"You belong here."

Disembodied voices taunt him as he runs blindly through the endless tangle of corridors. Sara's terrified screams echo down every hall, and around every corner. Thick fog obscures his vision. The heavy odor of mold and old blood make him dizzy. It's hard to breathe for the stench of death in the air. The vicious pain in his head clouds his mind, encouraging fear to strip away all rationality.

Dead end after dead end and Sara can still be heard from afar, begging for help he cannot give. It's so unfair; she shouldn't be here at all. He was brought here against his will, lured by a bug-riddled corpse. He was brought here to die in some fanatical ritual. The madman responsible, however, neglected to factor in the wrath of Sara Sidle. She chose to search for him. She interrupted the ritual at great personal risk. She saved his life. He can't let her be punished for that. He won't.

"There is no escape from Silent Hill."

Maybe not for him, but he would make damn sure Sara got out, even if it kills him.

But first he must find her.

Doubling back from yet another dead end, something...different catches his attention. This corridor doesn't branch off like the others. It continues on as far as he can see, dissolving into pitch black at the end. Another scream reaches his ears, much closer this time, and he does his damnedest to coax just a little more speed from his aching legs. His lungs scream at him to stop and rest; how he would love to collapse into a corner and catch his breath, but the air is becoming far too dense. If he stops now he'll never find the strength to get going again. A mistake Sara would surely pay for with her life.

He abhors even contemplating the depths of Silent Hill's cruelty, but the choice is not his to make. The rapidly darkening corridor is spawning equally dark mental images. The depressing train of thought is derailed by a savage kick to his shin mid-stride, sending him crashing to the ground in a panting, bleeding heap.

Where the fuck did that come from?

The fall kicked up a suffocating cloud of mold-laden dust, and the pain behind his eyes ratchets up another notch in response. He's so dizzy...

He's almost thankful for the total darkness; seeing the world swim in front of him would surely make him sick right now.

A harsh whisper tears into his mind, and he cringes in pain. Covering his ears is an instinctive response, but completely ineffective.

"Nothing is to be gained from floundering about at random. You must follow the path."

Follow the path? Oh Jesus he does not want to think about this. The path he was led down last time ended on a sacrificial slab. Only Sara's intervention had saved him. Now she's lost in the hell that was meant for him.

"Grissom?"

Sara's voice again, tangibly close, but where is she? Tears of frustration prick at his eyes.

"Gris, please..."

Enough! He would find Sara, or die trying. Tapping into the absolute last of his reserves, he hauls himself back to his feet. The rusted metal wall bites into his fresh abrasions, but it's the only available support as he waits for a wave of vertigo to pass. He doesn't remember hitting his head when he was tripped, but he must have, as he can feel blood dripping into his eyes. Maybe that's why the faint glow further down the hall is tinted red.

Wait...was that there before? Still leaning heavily against the wall, he takes a few shaky steps toward it.

No, no no no no no this is wrong. Everything about it feels wrong. The overpowering stench of old blood is getting stronger with every painful step, and he still limps onward. He's being drawn to the red glow and is powerless to stop himself. Nothing he wants any part of is waiting for him there, and he can't stop himself.

"Grissom!"

The red glow envelops him. He is being summoned...

The raspy voice is not spoken; it's implanted directly into his mind, and the pain flares unbearably.

"You will take me to her."

"NO!"

A breathless and terrified Gil Grissom scrambled to sit upright in bed, beads of cold sweat trickling down his face.