Sara tried to free her arm from the car. It was no good. She tried to assess the damage as analytically as possible. Concussion, bruised ribs. No… not bruised. Cracked. Two of them, maybe three. Her ankle didn't feel amazing, and she knew she was in danger of drowning as the rain was coming down heavily now.
She had to get free. She felt her fingertips grab at the wet dirt. She pulled and pulled, but her arm was really fucking stuck in there. It was no use! She'd die out here. She knew it. Sara tried to sleep as water slowly rose atop the desert sand. It'd be easier that way.
Catherine was typing, furiously, on one of the lab computers. Originally, she'd planned to search the desert, but knowing what she did she knew she'd be searching to the end of days before she found anything. She'd taken a sample of the sand from the desert miniature- knowing that the killer was nothing if not accurate- and was trying to at least triangulate a search area of the desert, but it was seemingly fruitless. The whole of Nevada was desert, for Christ's sake!
Her pager beeped. Then her phone. She checked her pager first, knowing that any contact about Sara would be sent through that. A 911 from Grissom. As she stood up to leave, she pulled her phone out.
The text she received was a little more in-depth. "MK in Custody. G interrogating. Observe." As soon as she'd read it, she broke into a run. She wanted to speak to this bitch, immediately.
As she approached interrogation, Nick stepped into her path.
"Whoa there, Catherine! I take it you got my text?"
Catherine fruitlessly attempted to push past Nick.
"Yeah, I got it. Now let me through. I need to talk to her!" Catherine shouted.
Nick frowned at his senior CSI. "Cath, you know I can't let you in there in this state. Come and observe. Speak later."
Sara frowned as an image of the team photo on her dresser flashed into her mind. Nick had been standing next to her, laughing slightly at something she'd said, and Catherine had slung an arm round her shoulder to pull her close so she could make a joke about Grissom not being in the photo. She couldn't remember what it was, just that it was funny- and the fizzy feeling in her stomach. Greg had been sprawled in front of her, one leg outstretched and the other bent, leaning back against her legs. Warrick had been to Nick's left, smiling at the camera.
She had to get out.
Catherine growled. The bitch was singing! Grissom had complimented her fucking handiwork! She'd had enough. She stormed into the interview room, completely unfazed by the people in her way.
"Where is she? Tell me, you fucking psycho! What have you done with Sara? You've made a mistake, she's not Grissom's, she's mine!"
Natalie broke off. "Not… Grissom's?" She looked from Catherine to the man in front of her. He was not unaffected, but the look her gave her clearly showed no actual love for the woman he'd essentially put to death. "Yours?"
Catherine nodded. Her face was streaked with tears. She felt like she was missing a limb. "Please, Natalie. Tell me where she is. I need her."
The girl in front of her broke a little. "She's… Special?"
Catherine nodded again. Natalie's face hardened. She turned away and stared at the desk in front of her.
"I'm special." She muttered, before she was silent.
"More than one person can be special, Natalie." Grissom interjected, earning a dirty look from Catherine and getting nothing from Natalie.
Natalie did not speak again.
Sara grit her teeth. She took a deep inbreath, before plunging underwater. She took one look at her arm and knew there was nothing for it.
She twisted her arm, far enough to feel it break, and wrenched it free from the car. The pain blinded her for a mere seconds, an underwater scream tearing from her lungs, before she used her remaining arm to drag herself free. As soon as she'd escaped the undercarriage, she took a rest against the side of the car. She'd have to start walking soon. The desert sun would come out at some point, and she'd die out here without help. It was a tiny chance, but it was a chance.
A chance was all she needed.