A/N:Due to a discrepancy about Greg's grandparents and their names, I will be referring to them as Olaf and Nana Hojem. :)

Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta, and to all those who have reviewed. Let me know what you think so far.

Chapter Four: Discoveries

There were times when she enjoyed being right; then there were times she hated it…no loathed it, as she did now. They had all been eager to find Greg; all had been searching for answers. They had wanted them as much as they had wanted to disregard them, but you couldn't always have the best of both worlds. Now she was left facing a decision she wanted to make even less. But it still was her decision to make.

The haunting eerie voice from Greg, and the comment Nick had made still floated in her mind. Greg had seemed adamant about not wanting them to go; Brass had pointed the truth out about the possibility that the man may not be the same person they had once known. One look at the frail and withdrawn man supported that theory greatly, though through other means. Greg was not the same person because of what he had gone through, not because he so chose to be.

But what had he gone through? The question still lingered on her lips, but she didn't speak it, mostly due to the fact that no one around her knew the answer. That was the answer they had to figure out, the case they had to solve. The thought alone made her stomach turn. She risked a glance at her passenger, the man quiet as she was, staring out the window, but lost completely in thought.

Nick hadn't wanted to come, had fully trusted Greg's warning. Catherine would admit that she too had heeded his words, but had relied more on her instinct as a CSI than a superstitious maniac. What they were doing now could have been completed earlier. But Catherine was like all the others, had wanted to see and hear what was going on rather than being forced to stay and work a scene. So she had left, had returned with them, despite their reasonings.

There were a thousand excuses she could have used to put them at ease. But she didn't utter a single one of them, hadn't even tried, hadn't even cared. Now that the rush was over, now that her adrenaline had died down, she was ready to try again, ready to return and finish what she should already be doing, but had failed to start. By the time they reached the scene, units were already there, lighting the area with the headlights from their cars, a group scoping the grounds, guns drawn, flashlights sweeping the darkened area.

They were crazy, what were they doing? Catherine was out of the car before she could stop herself, her temper like a rabid-dog, out of control and unhindered. She knew they were only trying to help, knew they were only following orders but there was evidence out there, potential evidence that could be destroyed by their so-called helpfulness.

It was Nick that held her back, keeping her at bay despite her emotions. For her own good, or for Greg's sake she would never know. At that point she didn't care; the more she tried to pull away, the tighter he held her, and the angrier she became. But he didn't let her go, the words coming from his mouth reached her ears but never processed in her mind. Her only thoughts were on the scene, on the evidence; if they contaminated it, destroyed it, even so much as manhandled a fiber, stepped on a fragment…it couldn't be used in court. Whatever was out there could hurt Greg, she knew, but she also knew it could potentially save him.

This was what she had expressed to Nick, but the man countered her easily, reminding her of the words Greg had spoken. Almost immediately she relaxed, allowing him to hold her, trying to regain her composure. This was not the kind of person she normally was. Her outburst had attracted quite a bit of attention, their gazes drifting from where they slowly moved in the open field to where she stood, seemingly forgetting their task at hand even if was for only a moment.

She was never aware when Nick had actually let her go, could only remember wrapping her arms around her torso as she waited in the bitter cold, uncertain if it was due to the drop in temperature from the city to here, or if it was her own worries and fears causing the shiver that raced through her spine. Brass' units were thorough, and though that bothered her it was also a comfort. If anyone was out there, if anything had been done…surely they would find it. They had to…

It was nearly an hour before they made the call, an hour that could have been spent combing the scene for trace, for evidence…for bodies. David had already collected the one she and Brass had come across, the same one Greg had been trying to bury. Another young woman, another untold story, another forgotten past. It wouldn't take much effort to guess the lone girl had once been in some sort of show business. So far every victim had been, the only traceable connection between them all. But what did Greg have to do with them, and who else was behind it all?

Yet more questions, questions that were desperately seeking answers. Answers that she was determined to find, no matter the cost. The last lingering thoughts on her mind were grim as she reached for her case, following Nick under the crime scene tape, and preparing herself for the long night ahead.

October 2, 2007

3:45 pm

The service had been beautiful. As beautiful as it had been heart wrenching; this was not how anyone had wanted things to end. But they couldn't keep going on, couldn't pretend that things were going to be okay…couldn't pretend he was still alive out there somewhere despite what they truly wanted. Five weeks had passed since his disappearance, and it was becoming clearer with each day that he wasn't going to return.

His parents…bless his parents; they still believed he was alive, still held hopes. They had poured their money into obtaining a private investigator, one last hope to find their son, wherever he might be. But it was dismal hope, Sara knew. The Las Vegas Crime Lab had gone above and beyond in their attempts to find him, coming up with no leads. If they could find nothing, not even the slightest of hints, then what was there to find at all?

Part of Sara was thankful; it was a complex emotion to explain, but she felt that no news was potentially good news. Their only hope now was to find him…deceased somewhere…but until then she knew she could hope and pretend that it wasn't true. She didn't care how much of a fool she sounded like when she still referred to him as being alive. No one had tried to correct her when she did, hadn't bothered, that or they hadn't noticed. Some of the others still did as well; very few had actually referred to him as departed.

That made the memorial all harder to attend. Greg's parents hadn't come, their time invested in other matters. Sara knew it was hard for them; they more than anyone hadn't wanted this to be true. She knew how it felt, because the same emotion resided in her heart. She had gone, gone only because she knew she may not get another chance to say a proper goodbye. Denial was still a vivid trait in her system; she knew it, just had yet to admit to it.

And it was here she had first met his grandparents. Olaf and Nana Hojem, the two Greg had often spoken about from varying times throughout the years. He cared for them, and it wasn't hard to tell why. Even for Sara, who had never held family as a high priority. Her own life had been dark and dismal, secrets buried under forgotten years. She had never tasted the sweetness of it, had never felt as much warmth and care as she had from Greg's family. Part of her wished she had a place in it, the feelings confusing her as the events toyed with her emotions.

For some time she sat, talking with them, missing bits and parts due to their accents. Sara could recall Grissom mentioning something about them being from Norway, but she couldn't be sure, never having heard the language itself it was hard to place if that was where their accent actually came from. Even so, they were easy enough to understand overall. But they couldn't stay here and talk forever.

She had stayed near them throughout the ceremony, had managed to hold back tears each and every time someone went to the front to speak. There were memories, a lot of memories, from everyone all over the department. Sara had forgotten that Greg knew several of the people who worked the day shift. He used to work on their cases, having been stuck in DNA. It was only with his recent promotion to the field that he had drifted from them, but even so the prior memories were hard to be forgotten.

As were her own. When it was time for her turn to speak she had followed the same path that the others had taken, the notes and fond memories jotted down on a paper to help her get by should she find herself lost for words. But being up there, surrounded by the man's pictures, of his success, of his warmth and happiness, had done her in. Here they were sharing his life when he was out there somewhere, in what condition they would never know.

How long she had been up there she couldn't say, the only memory able to serve her was the one of her racing out the doors, her departure not coming soon enough. Tears were already spilling down her cheeks before she even made her way outside into the warm afternoon air, but she didn't stop, didn't want to be found, not like this. Yet the stronger she wished she could be, the weaker she became. And the more guilt she had felt build up inside of her.

It had been the one chance for her, a way to say goodbye, and she hadn't been strong enough. Part of her knew it was because she wasn't ready; it was the same thing her therapist had told her. It was Grissom who had suggested the help first, then required it of her, despite her protests. She had seen enough shrinks throughout the year to last a lifetime, but she had relented, relented only because he refused to let her continue to work cases unless she did. And she desperately did.

But part of her mind told her something else, reminding her of something a friend had once told her. If you weren't ready to say goodbye, then maybe it wasn't yet time. Maybe, just maybe she couldn't finish her thoughts, or utter her last spoken words about the man because it wasn't his time. The alternate, of course, left little to be desired. If someone had taken him, if someone still had him, what where they doing to him? What use could Greg be to someone who did not desire a ransom?

Theories shot through her mind, memories of gruesome cases, of dark and unwanted knowledge seeping into her mind. She didn't want to believe that was the case, didn't want to think that he had been reduced to some sort of slave, or traded overseas as so many horror stories proclaimed. If that was the case…then they would never find him.

But it couldn't be the case…she simply refused to believe it.

It hadn't taken long for him to find work. There was more than plenty to keep him busy throughout the next several nights. Even so, he stuck with the priority, following Grissom's lead. Nick had collected trace from Greg already, and it was being processed at this very moment. It took some time, took some thought, but Warrick had managed well enough after moving through several of the old cases.

It had been a hunch, nothing more, that he had taken the samples taken under Greg's fingernails and compared them with another. The match was almost immediate. Part of him was surprised, another part enlightened. It told them nothing, and yet potentially everything. Waiting no longer he printed the results off, collecting them and moving to find Grissom.

Greg had already been moved from interrogation into one of the holding cells. It was protocol, he knew, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. Whatever Greg had gone through had been similar to Hell, and now once back into the hands of his friends he was directed straight into a cell. Whatever self-esteem the man had left was surely destroyed by now. Warrick knew everyone was doing everything they could, and it hadn't taken him long to find Grissom combing over the photos in the layout room.

Even they were hard to witness…it was only then that Warrick realized the extent of what Nick must have gone through while processing the man. Some of the scars were distinct, others varied, each and everyone telling a gruesome story that was surely more horrifying than the last. So entranced by his thoughts, he had missed Grissom talking to him at first, but by the second time he had caught the question, swallowing as he nodded.

"I compared the samples under Greg's fingernails with the unknown male suspect taken off of Darrison…perfect match."

"An unknown sample doesn't tell us anything."

He knew that, had expected it as an answer, and therefore had already compiled a response. "Unknown male's DNA found on our first vic, and then nothing until Greg shows up. I think this is the guy that killed Amy, and took Greg hostage."

"For all we know Greg could have left under his own will after killing Amy accidentally. This 'suspect' could have witnessed the crime and Greg could have taken him hostage to prevent him from going to the police. Greg could have kept him alive and recently entered a brawl with him, explaining the DNA under his fingernails."

"You don't believe that."

Grissom shook his head, his voice quiet. "No…but it's what a judge is going to come up with. We need to be foolproof, not hopeful."

Warrick was growing angry now, partially because he knew the truth of what the other man spoke, but it didn't make it fair. This was not the same Greg they were talking about, and surely any judge would be able to see that. "If Greg had left under his own will, why is he in the shape he is now? No one intentionally lets themselves starve to death or routinely beats themselves."

"A severe conscience of guilt, for a wrong doing, such as killing someone, even if it was an accident," Grissom offered. "And if he felt the need to punish himself, then yes, it is possible."

"Look, I've been in my fair share of trouble over the years, but never have considered such a thing. And we all know Greg's made a mistake here and there, but he's never indicated any self-harm or injury. Why would he start, and why so extreme over something that was accidental? Considering of course he did kill Darrison, which we have no proof of."

The man seemed to follow his line of reasoning, nodding to his questions, but seemed to have an answer in mind. "I had a tox screen ran when we first brought him in. Henry brought in the results a little while ago. Greg's levels are off the chart; diacetylmorphine."

"Heroin?"

"You only see these kinds of levels in chronic users."

"Greg's not an addict," Warrick shook his head. He had had his own brushes with drugs, knew how addictive they could be, but that was one issue the younger CSI would have never become involved in; not willingly at least.

"If Greg was suffering from depression induced by guilt it is possible he turned to drugs. Heroin is cheap and easy to obtain."

"I thought you were trying to help him."

"I am," Grissom said with a nod, "I'm trying to think of every possible solution a judge would come up with, and find a way to disregard it."

Irritating as it was, it was true. That was how a judge was going to see things when the case was presented. So how could they disprove it? The question played on his mind, badgered his thoughts, then suddenly it came to him.

"Heroin can also be used as a depressant."

A nod. Warrick drew in a breath, sorting things out in his mind. "He could have been forced on the heroin in order to keep him subdued to the captor's content. The captor would have to gradually up the dosage in order for it to have an effect, just like those who use the drug recreationally. They have to consume more in order to get a high."

"That would explain the high levels in his system, and Greg's ability to tolerate it with such ease."

"Grissom…levels that high would indicate a dependency…"

The man was nodding. "He's already exhibiting symptoms of withdrawals. They'll only get worse as time goes on."

"What can we do?"

"He can't go anywhere until after the prelim, I've pulled a few strings. He's going in first thing in the morning."

"With a public defender?" Warrick shook his head, already knowing how it would turn out. "Grissom…Greg's going to be crushed out there."

"He has a lawyer," the other man interjected. It was a surprise, mostly because Warrick hadn't heard of any changes. Greg had never asked for a lawyer, had never requested one. But all his questions were answered as the man continued.

"Sara was able to get a hold of Greg's parents, explain the situation. They've already made arrangements."

"Who?"

"Denise Feldman."

That was even more surprising, but in an encouraging sense. "She's good."

"One of the best," Grissom nodded with a sigh. "Let's hope she's working in our favor."

It was an encouraging thought, at least for that moment in time. Feldman had an outstanding record, with very few cases lost. She was pricy though, and it only spoke volumes of exactly who Greg's parents were. All they wanted was to see their boy safe. It as a kind of love Warrick had only received from his grandmother.

"What do you see?"

He had to force himself to look. As strong as he was working this job, there were still cases he couldn't handle. Cases with kids, cases with battered women…cases that were personal, like this. It made him ill inside, and a fury burned that he could not quench as he glanced down at the photo, the bruises intermingling with scars in an odd shaped pattern. But there was something about it, something he couldn't pinpoint, although knowing it was there.

"I know what that is," Warrick said after a moment, his finger tracing the imprinted line he was staring at. Near him Grissom nodded.

"I wasn't sure what I was seeing at first; the bruising there is dark, but you can see the pattern here."

"Zip ties," Warrick nodded. "He was restrained."

Images of Nick entered his mind. That was where he had seen it before. With Nick, the man only bore faded bruises of the abrasive plastic that had dug in his skin when he had tried to break free of his confinement. Yet for Greg it was different; not just bruises or faint outlines from indentations, but actual scars. He had been restrained more than once, and in a forceful manner. How many times had the thin plastic cut into his wrists? How many times had the man struggled vainly in attempts to reach his freedom before he eventually submitted?

It was amazing that all he had been left with were scars. They were cruel devices when used in such a manner, rendering the victim helpless, and inflicting pain if drawn too tightly, an easy feat if a struggle ensued during application. His own hands hurt, wrists aching slightly at the thought and Warrick drew back, trying to shake the image from his mind.

"What else?"

More photos, revealing even more gruesome tales. Warrick watched absentmindedly as the man pointed to several patterns along the skin, his voice low and quiet.

"These are old," Grissom explained, tracing the first mark. "Remember the explosion in DNA?"

Warrick nodded. How could he forget? Greg had landed in the hospital, several more were hurt. Catherine had been placed at fault even though no one had really blamed her. He could remember interviewing Greg in the process, could remember the pain the man had been in. But he had never known that the explosion had caused that much damage. There wasn't enough time to ponder over that, his eyes instead following Grissom's motions as the man began pointing to several other marks, smaller than the first, but still distinctively the same.

"He was burned…"

Grissom nodded, "The marks suggest a cigarette or something similar. These ones here could have been caused by a lighter or a match."

Moment by passing moment he felt himself growing sicker, his stomach twisting into knots, threatening to heave any contents that were shrouded inside. But he held them at bay, his eyes closed as he tried to bring himself back to reality, trying to escape the dark thoughts ringing in his mind.

"This just wasn't abuse," he finally commented, finding his voice. "This was torture."

"I think we'll find out just how much the further we go along," Grissom agreed. "We can only see what's on the outside; I'm certain Greg's supporting a broken bone or two, and probably has healed from others. Not to mention his mental and emotional state."

It was true…even if Greg did survive the upcoming trials, even if he was allowed to walk free, was it possible for him to survive long enough to heal? Between his malnutrition, the dependency on drugs, and the physical injuries he had sustained there was no telling what way it would go. Greg could very well die in the process, and Warrick had trouble believing that in itself would be an unfortunate matter. Where he was now, with everything that had happened, that still had to happen, maybe death wasn't such a bad outlook after all.

TBC