To take arms against a sea of troubles
Chapter 3
Mark Thayer followed the pair from a cautious distance. He was so sure his tip would have been the end of Gil Grissom. He had waited patiently in his car for the man who had ruined his life to finally show up at the hotel. But someone was still helping the CSIs.
No doubt their co-workers were working the evidence to clear Sara's name. It's didn't really matter to him. He had a game plan either way, and both plans ended in the complete destruction of Dr. Gil Grissom's perfect life.
--//--
Weaving around the swarm of agents, Catherine attempted to discreetly examine the night stand. She looked quickly toward Nick, who was on stand by for a well placed distraction if needed.
Swiftly raking her hand along the bottom of the draw, she felt the round vial. Palming the evidence, she stood, and headed for the door.
"You're not staying to examine the crime scene?" Culpepper taunted her as she passed.
"Are you asking for help?" Nick asked the cocky agent.
Smiling Culpepper looked at the CSIs. "No. I'm just hoping you're priorities are in the right place."
"You don't have to worry about that. Our priorities are right where they need to be," the Texan assured the man, and turned toward the exit.
Catherine waited until they were within the confines of their SUV to speak. "Did you see the blood on the bed?" she asked remembering the crime scene. She had known Sara was injured, and had to keep reminding herself that head wounds bled profusely.
"Yeah. Did Grissom say how badly Sara was hurt?" he asked pulling out of the parking spot, and headed back to the lab.
Taking the blood sample out of her pocket, Catherine shook her head. "All he said was that she had a head wound consistent with being hit with the butt of a hand gun, and was recovering from a paralytic he needed us to analyze."
"Alright. We'll start there," he said, hoping it would be enough.
--//--
"This is much better," Sara said sarcastically as Grissom settled her down on a dust covered mattress. "You come here often?"
Moving to the window, he peeked through the boards. "I investigated a homeless man's death here last month. I remember thinking it was odd that it still had running water," he explained, and turned to look at her. Her face was pale, and she looked exhausted. Covering the distance between them in two long strides, he crouched down in front of her. "How are you feeling?" he asked touching her forehead.
"I think I can feel everything again," she explained watching the emotions play across his face. "Look, I can even move my legs now," her words were punctuated with the rustle of movement as she wiggled her legs.
Fighting back a smile, he noted the blood soaking through her bandage. "Well, you're burning up. I think your wound might be infected," he told her honestly.
"Alright, well we can't really fix that," she said through a yawn.
"You're tired?" he asked studying her pupil dilation. "You should try to sleep for an hour, but I'll need to wake you up."
Her eyes were already drifting shut, and Grissom took the moment to think about their situation. They were completely isolated. Before they had even left the hotel, he had turned off both his cell phones. By now the feds had to know he was with her, and he didn't need the GPS signal giving them away. He promised Catherine he would call her in the morning, but until then there was nothing he could do but wait for Sara to remember something and take care of her until she did.
--//--
Greg watched the agents pile into the conference room from his lab station. He scanned the hallway. Even in school he was never a clever cheater; sneaking around behind federal agents was making him jumpy. His only motivation to continue with the deception was that he was processing Sara's blood. She was bleeding and needed his help.
Finally after several hours of waiting, the machine in front of him beeped happily. Studying the read out, he was even more confused.
"What is it?" Nick asked from the door way.
"An alpha-agatoxin," he said grabbing a thick binder and thumbing through it. "Apparently, it's a biochemical toxin that causes rapid, reversible paralysis. I'll need to do some research to understand more. It appears to be a venom," the CSI explained pulling out another over stuffed binder. "Give me an hour," he said looking at the read-out again, and his face fell.
Nick took a step into the room sensing the change in demeanor.
"Nick we have to get to her fast," he explained. "She has an infection that's already showing up in her blood. STSS, streptococcal toxic shock syndrome. She needs antibiotics immediately."
Processing the new information, Nick merely nodded solemnly. "I'll go tell Catherine and Warrick, and see what the FBI is up to," Nick offered and headed toward Grissom's office. "We'll try to get a hold of Grissom."
--//--
Mark Thayer slowly moved through the dark room. Sara saw the hatred in his eyes, but couldn't move. Confusion clouded her mind. The moment was like a silent movie playing out in front of her as Grissom walked into the room, startling the younger man.
She watched helplessly as Thayer spun around, and emptied his gun into the chest of the man she loved.
Sara woke with a start. Rubbing shaky hands over her face she tried to sort out the dream that was still playing through her mind. Wincing, she tried to run a hand through her bloody, tangled hair.
Sitting up slowly, she found herself alone, and in complete darkness. Moving to the edge of the mattress, she grimaced at the thought of what she was lying on. Who knew what had crawled on or slept on the dirty bed. Grabbing hold of the molding on the wall, she pulled herself up into a standing position. Stars instantly danced across her vision.
"Hey, hey, easy," Grissom's voice suddenly pierced the darkness, and his arm wrapped protectively around her.
Groaning in protest, Sara slumped against his body. "I don't want to lay on that mattress any more Grissom. It's dirty, and it disturbs me that it's in this place," she told him near tears. A myriad of emotions mixed with her residual feelings from the dream that had woken her.
Pulling her into an embrace, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Shh, it's ok. It's going to be ok," he promised.
"You don't know that. I don't remember what happened, I was angry about Butler. Maybe I did—"
"Sara you have to believe me when I say you're being set up. Some one is trying to frame you for two murders. They paralyzed you for a reason—"
Sara pushed away from him, halting his comments. "Two murders?" she asked trying to stand on her own. "Gris, please tell me everything you know."
"Only if we lay down first. You need to rest," he told her pointing to the mattress. Seeing her hesitation, he decided to re-approach the situation. "Look. I have a blanket in my car. It's parked out back. If I put that under you, will you please lay down?"
"And then you'll tell me what's really going on?" she asked.
"Yes," he told her looking into her eyes. He was extremely concerned by the heat her body was radiating. The Nevada sun had set hours ago, and the cold had settled across the desert. The house was drafty, and he was starting to shiver he was so cold, but she was burning up.
"Ok deal," she relented and allowed him to sit her back down.
--//--
Hidden among the broken down cars that lined the dilapidated neighborhood, Thayer stared at the boarded house. He had watched Grissom carry Sidle into the house earlier that evening. She was still suffering the effect of his toxin, which surprised him, and forced him to alter his plans. He needed to make sure there was no evidence of his involvement before she was arrested.
Exiting his vehicle, he remained in the shadows as he approached the structure. Hearing movement, he flattened himself against the house. Peering around the corner, he saw the man he hated gathering some items from his car, and running back into the building. His brain spun with his next course of action. He needed her body to completely metabolized the venom, but the longer he waited to make a move the greater the chances the CSI lab would clear her. Waiting a minute, he worked his way through the back yard and into the house.
--//--
Grissom kept his eyes on his girlfriend while he laid the blanket down. She was leaning on the wall, visibly shaking. Taking his coat off, he balled it up, placed it at the head of the mattress, and helped her lie down again. Unfolding another blanket, he laid down next to her, and covered them both.
Sara shifted slightly, and molded herself against him. For a moment, she let her mind tell her they were safely resting in their own bed. The moment was shattered when a pain radiated from her head. Jerking away, she realized it had been Grissom.
Sympathy spread across his face. "Honey, I'm sorry," he told her. "These cuts are definitely infected. I should go back out and get the med kit and see what I can do with it."
"No, just… Grissom, I really just need to know what's going on," she begged him. The frustration of not knowing was getting to her.
"Ok. We'll talk, and then we'll take a look at the head wound," he relented and took a deep breath.
--//--
"We found her car," Agent Culpepper proclaimed to the team that had assembled in the makeshift headquarters. "They're towing it in now."
The CSIs that had gathered in the back of the room exchanged glances. They all had to believe the evidence in the end would vindicate their friend. The more evidence they got, the better their chance. They also knew they were working with a group that had proven in the strip strangler case that they were predisposed to snap decisions grounded in assumptions.
The added knowledge of Sara's condition was eating at all of them, but until Grissom turned his cell phone back on there was very little they could do but work the evidence. Nick nodded to Greg. They needed an uncompromised blood sample for the record, and it was either going to come from the hotel evidence collected or the car. No one trusted the FBI to hand over what they needed in time to help, so they were on to plan B.
The car was going to be in their territory, and homefield advantage was about to pay off.
Slipping out of the room, Greg moved quickly toward impound.
--//--
Closing the trunk of his car, Grissom gripped the medical kit and looked around him. Being on other side of the law was a new experience for him, but something told him the foreboding feeling he had was originating from something else. Nearly running back into the abandoned house, Grissom panicked when he did not see Sara on the mattress where he left her.
Sensing movement to his left he spotted her hunched over, leaning against the wall on the far corner of the room.
Positioning himself in front of her, he waited for her to acknowledge his presence. "Sara?" he quietly asked taking her hand in his and gently felt her forehead. Her hands were cold to the touch, but he was certain her fever had spiked drastically. He was quickly weighing Sara's life against her career, and was on the verge of taking her straight to the emergency room.
"I'm going to be sick," she admitted as her knees buckled.
Grissom held her gently, rubbing her back as she began to vomit. "Sara, we have to get you to a doctor. Saving your career doesn't matter if you die," he told her on the verge of tears. "Let me take you in."
"I don't think so Gil," a baritone voice echoed in the darkness.
Grissom jumped at the sound, and allowed the voice to resonate in his head. "Thayer. You did this?" he spat out with vengeance.
Sara uttered a small whimper as Grissom's grip on her tightened.
"Let her go," Thayer ordered.
Looking at the dark silhouette, the CSI instantly recognized the outline of a gun. "Not a chance," he said with determination.
The sound of a barretta's slide being pulled back and released informed Grissom there was now a round in the chamber, and the man in front of him meant business. He gently set Sara on the mattress, and stood, placing his body between the weapon and the woman he loved. "Mark, she's suffered enough. You're pissed at me—"
"—shut the hell up! Don't tell me when she's had enough or what I'm feeling," he yelled. "You always think you're so smart."
Remaining silent, Gil took a step to the right, hoping the weapon would remain on him.
"And don't move!" the psychotic man yelled.
"I'm not going to move Mark. Put the gun down and we'll talk," he offered in a calm voice. The chill in the room hit his skin, a bitter taste filled his mouth as the adrenaline surged in his system, and the putrid smell of bile wafted up from the floor. He knew Sara was in serious trouble, but he wasn't sure if the infection or the insane man with a gun was the greatest threat.
TBC