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Once the door of the townhouse had closed Nick noticed the eerie stillness that engulfed him. The silence was thick, almost suffocating him. He inched forward slowly and called Greg's name one more time.
He expected the silence that greeted him.
Moving forward, trying not to make too much noise, he reached the opening to the kitchen. He glanced inside.
His keen senses of observation kicked in, one reward for being a CSI, and he started to survey the kitchen.
The lights were off and the kitchen looked barren. There was no trash anywhere; ironic considering this was Greg Sander's kitchen. He went to the fridge and opened it. Needless to say, Nick was shocked and what he saw…or the lack of what he saw. There was no food in the fridge beside some old mustard and ketchup. What was Greg eating?
Closing the fridge silently, Nick walked towards the exit of the kitchen. Before he reached the opening a faint shimmer of silver caught his eye. There on the counter sat Greg's keys.
'If he doesn't have his keys…he's definitely here,' the older man concluded. His stomach fell.
Why would Greg not answer him? Dread filled his mind and different scenarios of what could have happened filled his mind: Maybe Greg was kidnapped, maybe he passed out, maybe…No!
Nick wouldn't say it.
He moved out of the kitchen and walked down the hallway. A flicker of motion caught his eye and immediately he went for his gun, nestled safely in it's holster. The Texan was ready.
Nick made his way closer and closer to what he remembered was the den, ready to shoot.
The den now fully in sight he gave out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was just the television, on mute. Fast paced cartoons met his eyes, the mouths moving but no sound coming out. The back of the couch faced him and he made steps closer to the TV, intending to turn it off. Stepping closer, his foot hit something.
The television blared to life.
Nick practically jumped five feet, the loud comedic sounds of the cartoons filling his ears. Glancing down he realized he had stepped on the remote. Finding the power button, the room went dark and silent; Nick hadn't realized that the television was the only source of light in the room. Moving his hand slowly up the white walls he searched slowly for a light switch. The glow of the ceiling light filled the room as Nick's hand fell onto the nearest switch.
He sighed, nerves still slightly shaken from the loud cartoon. No wonder that boy had to play his music loud; he was going deaf from his cartoons. Nick smiled to himself, remembering plenty of times he had walked in on Greg in his old lab, dancing to Marilyn Manson. Pulling himself from his memories he looked around the room, making sure nothing was out of place. Mocha eyes landed on the couch again. He was about to turn away and continue his search of the house when something on the couch caught his attention.
He froze.
He knew those blond spikes.
Nick rushed forward to the couch, Greg coming into his sight. He was sleeping.
The Texan let out a sigh.
"Greg, wake up!" he said, reaching for the younger man's shoulder. Nick gave a slight shake, but Greg didn't wake up.
Realization flashed through Nick's mind.
Oh no.
Reaching for a pulse, hoping to feel the slightest of beats under his fingers, he felt nothing. Panic shot through his mind and reverberated up and down his spine. The hairs on the back of the Texan's neck stood up, his adrenaline pumping. He reached for his cell phone and quickly dialed 911. A woman answered the phone.
"911, what is your emergency?" she questioned calmly.
"My friend, he's dead!" Nick's voice came out horse. This couldn't be happening.
"Did you check for a pulse?" she asked.
"Of course! I'm not an idiot, send an ambulance…do something!" he pleaded. Maybe Greg had just…he tried to come up with an excuse as to how Greg could still be alive but have no pulse. Nothing came to his panic stricken mind.
"What's the address you are currently at?" she questioned; the tapping of her keyboard could be heard faintly in the background.
Nick reeled. What was Greg's address?!
"I don't know!" he yelled.
"Alright, I'm tracing your call, just sit tight and I'll send someone right away," the phone clicked and the line went dead.
Nick was in a state of absolute shock. He reached for Greg and called him. When he got no answer he slightly shook his friend. Nothing.
Greg was completely limp. And cold. The man was chillingly cold. Nick reached for his cell phone again and dialed Grissom.
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Whoa, this is an extremely short chapter. Sorry for the long absence, there will probably be a new chapter up soon.