Chapter Seven -- Questioning and Pain

DISCLAIMER: I won nothing. :glares at lawyers: Go away:they grumble: Oh, wait, I DO own something:they stop with sharky looks on their faces: I own Bob and Armand:they grumble again and walk away:

NOTE: I'm just going to apologize for my spelling mistakes ahead of time. Microsoft Word crapped out about a month ago, and I depend on the spell checker. :-( Reviews at the end!


"Yes, that's what I'm thinking, Warrick," Grissom replied.

Catherine had also read the note and had sunk into a chair, going pale.

"Who do we know that Greg has put away? Who's been released or escaped?"

Grissom stood up.

"I don't know, but we'll get someone on it. In the meantime, Nick and I are going to go back."

"Back? What! No! You're going to get stitched up!" Catherine exclaimed, getting up and blocking the door. "You're going to the hospital!"

Grissom and Nick had been back for around a half hour already. In that time, they had shed there burn clothing, replaced them with a fresh set, washed their faces of the dirt and blackness from the explosion (discovering small cuts and bruises as they did so). They had told everyone what happened, all the while holding towels to their bleeding faces.

"Catherine, we don't have time." Grissom fought to keep his voice even and calm. "It's my fault he's out there. I ent him off -- alone -- and now it's my top priority to get him back alive."

Catherine's expression softened, but she didn't move.

Grissom took a deep breath, "Catherine, either get out of my way... or you're fired. I really don't want to do that because I'm going to need your help -- all of you -- to find our lab tech."

This time, the blonde woman looked uncertain, but she moved aside. Slowly.

"Trust me," he said to her quietly, then to everyone else: "Okay people, put your current cases on the backburner. Finding Greg and bringing him home alive is the most important thing right now."

Everyone nodded determinely, and Grissom smiled, knowing that he had the best CSI team anyone could ask for.


"Honestly, Greg, I doubt you're going to make it out of here alive," Bob held a gun to the CSI's temple, apparently bored.

Greg was definatetly sure that 'Bob' was the one in charge of this operation.

"Do you even remember me, Sanders?" he demanded, kneeling in front of the chair.

Greg, not trusting his voice, just shook his head negatively. He felt the blood draining from his face and all the feeling seemed to have left his body. There was a new, murderous glint in Bob's eyes that terrified him.

Bob yanked his ski mask off and Greg instinctively closed his eyes.

"Look at me," Bob whispered in his ears.

Greg shook his head, keeping his eyes closed tightly.

"Look! Look at my face!" Bob demanded, pressing the gun barrel harder into the young man's temple.

"No!" Greg heard a sharp, metal 'CLiCk!' that told him the gun's safety was off and it was cocked.

"Bob, give it a rest, will you?" Armando's voice said, "Isn't it obvious that that the kid doesn't remember you?"

"He will. He remembers. He's just a coward!" Bob yelled, "Now, LOOK AT ME!"

This time, when Greg opened his mouth to yell 'NO!', the gun left his temple and he felt something cold and hard in his mouth, accompanied by the bitter taste of metal.

"Sanders," Bob's voice was menacingly calm, "if you do not open your eyes right now, I will put this bullet through your head and into your spinal cord."

At the words right now, Bob shoved the barrel of the gun to the back of Greg's throat, making him gag violently.

"Now... OPEN YOUR GODDAMN EYES!"

The gun was pushed in harder and Greg felt bile rising in his throat. Then it was gone, pressed against his forehead.

Slowly, Greg slit his eyes open. He could see Bob standing in front of him, obviously in enough anger to keep him from kneeling.

"Good boy, Greggy. Now, look up."

With a knot of cold fear in his lurching stomach, Greg raised his eyes, fighting every instinct to close them.

His eyes travelled upwards, resting first on a stubble-covered jaw, then on scarred, sunken-in cheeks, thin white lips, a crooked nose that looked ilike it had been broken more than onceand a high forehead with sweaty bangs covering part of it. The skin, overall, was a deep, uneven tan, marred by by pinkish pock-marks and other scars. Greg purposely skipped over the eyes, hoping Bob wouldn't notice.

He noticed.

Bob kneeled in front of the chair again, Greg looked just looked over his shoulder.

"Look at my eyes, Greg," he said softly.

"I already s-saw them."

"Look again."

Once more, Greg's eyes were drawn to Bob. His mind was scareming at him not to look, but he did anyway.

Bob's eyes were brown, or course. They were slightly sunken in, as if he hadn't got a lot of sleep in the past few weeks. The murdurous glint was still there.

"Good boy," Bob whispered, patting Greg's cheek and putting the gun back into the waistban of his jeans. Then he put his hand on Greg's shoulders. "Now, do you remember me?"

"I honestly d-don't remember you," he said slowly.

Obviously, these were the wrong words to say...


"Archie! Get on CODIS and look up anyone that Greg's evidence convicted!" Grissom called as he passed the man's lab. "We're looking for anyone that's been released or may have escaped!"

"On it!" Archie called back, his fingers already tapping out a series of complex commands on the keyboard.

"When you get a hit, you call me right away."

"Yes, sir!"

Grissom walked purposefully towards the door, holding a blood smeared towle to his forehead. Behind him followed Nick, also pressing a towel to his face, and Sara following too.

As they neared the parking lot door, Ecklie could be seen blocking it.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, studying Gil and Nick's bruised, cut and bleeding faces.

"Crime scene."

Ecklie glared at the senior CSI, he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

"Look Ecklie, you can threaten me with unemployment later. One of my guys was kidnapped and I made it a top priority case. I have more important things to do right now than stand here and argue with you."

And Grissom shoved past him, walking out the door.

"Hey Grissom!"

Gil turned around as he unlocked his car. He saw Ecklie standing in the doorway.

"Good luck!" he yelled.

Grissom smirked, nodded his thanks and started the car.

"And Gil!"

Grissom turned again.

"If you don't bring Sanders back alive, consider yourself fired!" Ecklie grinned and went back inside.

"Whoa..." breathed Sara, "That was almost a good mood for him..."

And they sped off to Greg's crime scene.


AUTHOR'S NOTES: Don't forget to review!