Disclaimers: Um, whatever I said before.

Question: Are you all losing interest in the story? Reviews have dropped way off. Or are you just shell-shocked? Lemme know.

xxxxxxx

Chapter 7.

Grissom gradually came back to consciousness lying face down on a cold concrete floor. His hands were bound behind his back. No, they were handcuffed. And tightly. He measured his surroundings. Bare room. Small. One overhead bulb, very bright. No windows. No escape.

He guessed this is where Eugene McCaskey meant for him to die.

And Sara.

His breath caught. Would he ever see her again?

He tried to roll onto his back but pain seared his left shoulder and his neck. Had he been shot? He didn't see any blood on his clothes, but …

The ambush began to come back to him. A big SUV hit their car, right where Shea was sitting. He heard Pat scream in pain. The second SUV hit Brass. He didn't hear Brass utter a sound. Grissom had been whipsawed by the dual collisions. His injuries likely occurred when he was hurled into the passenger door. He wondered how badly Brass and Shea had been hurt. If he hadn't insisted on going to the morgue …

Stop it! There's nothing you can do about it now, one way or the other.

He lowered his face to the coolness of the concrete to think.

xxxxxxx

Sara heard the bolt on her cell door slide back. McCaskey was returning. How long had it been? She glanced over at the blue mat. The first plate of food was still there, untouched. So was the bottle of water, also untouched. Sara was past hunger. But she wanted water. Well, too bad. Her body would have to adjust.

McCaskey appeared with a new plastic plate of food. He picked up the old one.

He glanced at Sara and shook his head. "If you're not eating or drinking because you don't want to use the bucket, don't worry about it. There are no cameras in here. And I'm not particularly voyeuristic, anyway. You might as well satisfy yourself. You'll be dead by my hand long before you starve or die of thirst. Your boyfriend joined us today. The fun begins tonight."

xxxxxxx

Grissom had moved to a sitting position against a wall when McCaskey showed up. The first thing Grissom noticed was the handle of an enormous Bowie-style knife protruding from a sheath on McCaskey's belt.

"I guess you never thought you'd see me again," McCaskey said.

"I always held out that hope," Grissom said.

McCaskey took three fast steps and kicked Grissom in the ribs, as if he were drop kicking a football. He not only felt bones break, he heard them. Grissom squeezed his eyes shut in pain and willed himself to stay conscious. He had heard the ribs break, too.

"Now I see what you and your girlfriend have in common," McCaskey said. "You're both smartasses, which really isn't so smart given your predicaments." He crouched down at Grissom's feet.

"Let me explain what's going to happen tonight," he said. "I'm going to take you to see your girlfriend, and you're going to watch while I do things to her that will turn your stomach. If she lives through it, we'll try it again tomorrow night and for as many nights after that as she survives. When she's dead, I'll start in on you. And when you're dead, I'll leave both your bodies to the rats. Nobody will find you here. There aren't many people who even know this place exists."

"Listen to me, Eugene." Grissom found it hard to talk. Every breath, no matter how shallow, felt as if someone were twisting a knife in his chest. "Let Sara leave, please. She had nothing to do with your situation in California. I'm the one you want to kill, and I'll cooperate if you let her live."

McCaskey delivered a roundhouse right to Grissom's temple, opening a deep cut and snapping Grissom's head around. Blood flowed freely.

"You'll cooperate? That's rich." McCaskey said. "You don't have a choice. As for Sara, she deserves to die for choosing a man like you."

McCaskey stood up and kicked Grissom again, twice, over the left kidney this time, just as he had with Sara. Grissom yelped in pain. This was torture borne of pure hatred.

"You and your girlfriend are twins," McCaskey said as he left the room.

Grissom had no idea what McCaskey meant. He put his head back against the wall and lost consciousness.

xxxxxxx

When Sara heard the deadbolt slide on her cell door, she knew she was out of time. She wouldn't allow herself to show her fear. That would give McCaskey too much satisfaction. Maybe she could provoke McCaskey into killing her quickly, impulsively. She would be dead, but it would spare Grissom the agony of having to watch her tortured.

The door groaned open and Sara gasped when she saw Grissom. Blood flowed freely down the left side of his face. His shirt was open, and she saw an enormous fresh bruise on the left side of his chest. He appeared in terrible pain. When he saw her, the agony on his face deepened.

"My God, Sara, what has he done to you?" His voice wasn't much more than a hoarse whisper.

McCaskey came up behind Grissom. "Nothing like what's yet to come," he said. He punched Grissom over the left kidney, heaping more abuse on his battered back. Grissom went to his knees and doubled over in pain.

Sara pleaded. "No, Eugene. Just stop it!"

Grissom fell over on his side. Sneering at Sara, McCaskey walked over to him and kicked him in the ribs again. And again. Grissom made no sound at all and lay still.

Sara saw something then that terrified her, a pink froth leaking from Grissom's mouth. He had broken ribs. One of them had punctured a lung. He was bleeding internally, and if something weren't done right away, he would drown in his own blood.

"Eugene, you've got to get him into a sitting position," she said. "He's dying."

McCaskey looked skeptical.

"I'm not lying to you," Sara said. She forced herself to her hands and knees and crawled to Grissom. "He's got broken ribs."

"Yeah, I know," McCaskey said. He sounded pleased with himself.

"Take the cuffs off."

"Go to hell."

"You want him to die before he watches you kill me?"

"No."

"Then take the cuffs off and help me get him sitting up against the wall."

"I don't trust you, lady."

Sara cradled Grissom's head in her lap. His breathing had become labored.

"Look at that," she said pointing at the froth. "One of the broken ribs punctured a lung. When he exhales, he's exhaling blood and air. That's what makes the bubbles. Now help me get him up, dammit. Thanks to you, I can't do it alone."

They got Grissom against the wall, though Sara had to let McCaskey do most of the work, and he was none too gentle about it. But he did take the handcuffs off.

Grissom had come semi-conscious. Sara asked for the bottle of water. McCaskey brought it and then left, slamming the door behind him. Sara put the bottle to Grissom's lips and poured very slowly.

"Swallow, Gil," she told him softly. "Try not to move."

His eyes opened and she could see in them the pain he was in, both physical and emotional. She ran her hand through his bloody hair and kissed him on the forehead. And then he was out again.

She lay down beside him and held his hand.