Fatal Impressions
By: MSCSIFANGSR (Chauncey) and JellybeanChiChi (Jean)
Special thanks to CSIGeekFan (Margaret) for the beta.
Disclaimers: We own nothing.
A/N: Stormy travel is ahead. This story will contain graphic violence. M for a reason. A bit of AU, but follows canon up to middle of season 5.
Chapter One
Gil Grissom pulled into a parking space in the garage of Buffalo Bill's Resort and Casino. He had driven 40 or so miles from Las Vegas to Primm, Nevada on that beautiful bright Thursday morning in spring 2005. The weatherman had predicted an unseasonably hot day in the desert, but then that wasn't anything new. The man had used the term "scorcher" and Grissom had no reason to disagree with him as the temperature when he left the lab at 8 a.m. had been bordering 90 degrees.
The closing strains of 'Why don't you love me like you used to do?' by Hank Williams Sr. automatically halted when he turned off the ignition of his Mercedes.
His proclivity for country music would have surprised many of his co-workers. While he preferred classical and classic rock, country held a special place in his heart. He remembered with fondness his parents dancing to the latest records coming out Nashville and Memphis when he'd been a boy. It had been a happy time in his life, before deafness and death gripped the Grissom household. Grissom preferred the old-time country music of the 1950s and early 1960s when he decompressed from work. The new country music held no fascination or his interest.
Thoughts of his brunette co-worker flitted through his brain as the song had played, but he didn't want thoughts of her to ruin his good time. Grissom wished he could have a good time with her, allowing her to share with him some of their away from work time. But he wasn't sure if she would welcome his advances anymore. He knew as much as he wanted her, the risks of a romantic relationship were too great for the two of them professionally.
He was running late and hoped he wasn't too late. His buddy, Woody, had invited him to share the experience of a roller coaster marathon on "The Desperado," which was one of the world's tallest roller coasters. Grissom hurriedly looked at his watch and saw he had about 15 minutes to sign in and begin the marathon.
When he opened the car door to get out, he noticed his briefcase was on the floorboard of the passenger side. He thought it best to put it into the trunk, so noone would be tempted to break into his car while he was in the middle of the marathon. He leaned down to get the black case filled with work notes, with his left leg sticking out the still opened door.
As he came back into a full sitting position, something hard was sticking in his chest, right above his heart. He looked down and was amazed to see the barrel of a gun, which he presumed to be a .38. It was seemingly attached to his chest, although slightly confused, the barrel dug harder into Grissom's chest.
Grissom's ordinarily blue eyes enlarged and darkened to a shade almost black as they followed the barrel up to the large hand of a Caucasian male. He then continued up the length of an arm, covered in a light blue denim long sleeved shirt, which then disappeared into the darkness of the parking garage. He could tell the person standing was of a slighter build than he, but the gun kind of evened out the playing field.
Then there was a voice, muffled, "Get out of the car."
For a moment, Grissom wondered why the mugger didn't demand his wallet, but his thoughts went out the window. The assailant brought the gun away from Grissom's chest and brought pistol butt down along the left side of his face. Grissom couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that his face was bleeding, because of the unbelievable pain.
"Get out of the car, ya fucking bastard!"
His left arm was being jerked by his assailant, and in his daze Grissom followed without thought. As his head cleared the door, the butt of the gun came forcibly in contact with the top of his head. The sound of the gun coming into contact with his skull was a sickening crunch. Grissom groaned out loud in pain.
Grissom immediately reached up with his hands to protect himself. While he protected his head, an excruciating pain ran through all his digits and wrist. A resounding crack punctuated Grissom's awareness of a broken wrist. Instinctively, Grissom tried to pull away and hunched down. The attacker shifted with his victim and forced the butt of the pistol down hard upon Grissom's shoulder.
The sounds of their battle filled the enclosed parking garage. The sounds of rubber soles upon the cement floor mixed with the pounding sound of fists against flesh and metal against bone. The pistol whipping abated for a moment as Grissom attempted to stop the attack. With his head no longer a target, he pulled his left hand down and began punching the stomach and chest of his attacker. But the man seemed unfazed. The attacker took his own leg to swipe the back of Grissom's legs. Unsteady and dazed, the strong kick forced Grissom to fall forward to his knees.
After Grissom hit the hard concrete, he curled into a fetal position. The attacker started kicking him in the lower back. Grissom attempted to look for an escape, but blood seeped from on top of his head and clouded his vision. He rolled to his left in a blind effort, but his attacker slammed his leg down to stop Grissom's movements. Grissom kicked upward with his foot with all his might and knew he'd made contact with the man's genitals. The man staggered for a moment and fell to the ground.
Grissom took a long deep breath, but felt the man's agonized movements somewhere close to him. He tried at access his own injuries: somewhere on top of his head was a bleeding laceration, a shattered wrist, at least three broken fingers, he had counted the number of times the gun made contact with his body and the number 17 seemed reasonable to him. Blood flowed freely down his face and he looked down at his formerly light blue polo shirt which easily had 2 pints of blood splattered across it. His back was hurting, but his head ached in a way it never had before.
Suddenly, his attacker scrambled to his knees and Grissom saw the gun poised above his head. Then the pistol slammed into the back of his head. A vision of Sara flitted through his brain and he called her name, breathlessly as he lost consciousness.
Grissom's attacker left the unconscious body on the concrete beside the blue Mercedes. His gait belayed a bit pain, but the man reached the unremarkable white van, climbed in, and drove to the spot next to Grissom.
The attacker dragged the body of the larger man to the back of the van. Then the man opened the back doors to the van and pushed the button for the dolley lift. When the lift hit the ground, he rolled the body of the famed entomologist onto it and watched as it disappeared into the bowels of the van.
He then walked to the driver's side of the van, got in and drove off; all of this without witnesses. And Jacob McIntyre felt blessed no one had seen his kidnapping of Gil Grissom, because all of his hard work would go for nothing if someone had seen them at this stage of his plan. He had waited 18 years to exact his revenge upon Gil Grissom and he smiled into his rearview mirror as his hostage rolled across the metal floor of the van.
He reached the interstate without attracting any attention, turned north on I-15 back to Vegas and took Grissom home.
TBC
A/N: This story was conceived backwards. I thought of an ending and Chauncey and I composed this story starting from that ending. Health issues sidelined Chauncey, but she wanted the story to be complete and insisted it be posted. So, this is for you, Chauncey.
Many thanks to our beta, CSIGeekFan, and also to ELM22 for her support.