Chapter 10

"What are we gonna do?"

"I dunno Shorty, we gotta do something. They'll kill us if we don't."

"You never should have lost that last shipment. It was too big to just drop! Now we're dead because of you!" Eddie paced about the room cradling his head in a clear panic.

"It wasn't my fault!"

"No you just sentenced us both to death by dropping the shipment! That was the biggest shipment we've gotten in years!" the two orbited the room rapidly both looking terrified for a long while.

"We'll just have to earn the money some other way. How much do we owe?"

"$200,000" Eddie dropped to his knees in shock. Eddie said something but even leaning in Grissom couldn't see what.

"Do you really think she'll give us money? She's your ex after all."

"If not we can still make money off of her." Eddie stood and switched rooms, Grissom turning to the next television screen.

"The brat too. We can sell em both and make some money. Maybe, if the market is good enough, that's all we'll have to do."Eddie looked incredulously at Shorty.

"Do you really think they would be stupid enough to buy them both for $100 grand each. They are worth half that!" They turned to look at Lindsey, huddled and trembling in a corner of the room. Grissom's fist tightened snapping his pencil in half as he noted each and every bruise on her body.

"We'll get what we can and go from there…" Grissom was breathing hard, unable to tame his anger. He stood up swiftly, the chair knocking over from his force, and he stormed to the break room where Greg, and his coffee, resided. Greg stared at him as he dumped out his cold coffee and filled it with fresh and down the cup in three gulps. He did this twice more before slamming the cup onto the counter.

"Griss…" Greg started audibly fearful, "are you okay?" he inched closer slowly grabbing the coffee pot from him as he was about to pour another cup, and slowly, as if Gil were a dangerous animal about to maul him, and replaced the coffee pot with a water bottle. Gil stared at him for a moment and Greg was sure he was about to die. Then Grissom sighed.

"No, I'm not okay. I just finished watching the tapes again. I think I've got everything of their conversations I'm going to get."

"Grissom is that all you've been doing for the past," Greg checked the clock, "eight hours? Did you take a break at all?"

"No, there's no time for breaks, we've taken too much time as it is."

"What did you find out with the tapes?" Gil ran a hand through his grimy hair tiredly. No time to change the oil.

"Eddie and this 'Shorty' guy are selling Catherine and Lindsey on the market." Greg exhaled sharply, almost sounding like a growl.

"I don't get it. How can people do this to each other? It doesn't make sense."

"No Greg, it doesn't. No matter how I try, I can't understand why people value money over life." They stood, leaning against the counter, sipping their drinks for a few minutes in silence. No matter how many answers they found, they couldn't find Catherine, Lindsey, and Warrick. They were lost.

--oo0oo—

Everything was dark and stuffy. She didn't know how long she'd been in this trunk. This definitely isn't the same car we arrived in. She thought sluggishly. She tried to keep her body as still as possible amidst the movements of the car. It was so hot in here. Catherine swallowed painfully. Her throat was so dry. When was the last I had a drink? She couldn't find an answer. She didn't even know how much time had passed. Days? Hours? Weeks? She just didn't know. She tried to breathe slowly and shallowly. She was running out of air already. The air was getting thin. It was so hard to breathe now. So hot, so tired, her head throbbed unmercifully like jackhammers cracking open her head. Slowly she drifted into sleep never sensing the passage of time. The next she opened her eyes to total darkness, not enough air, and far more pain. Everything wobbled around her. Still in the trunk…she thought dismally. They were still traveling. Catherine tried to take a deep breath. Too thin too thin, the air, I need more air. She tried to move, tried to breathe, but she couldn't as she drifted into unconsciousness and did not wake again.

--oo0oo—

Warrick languished in agony. Nothing made sense. It was all a blur to him. He couldn't stop shaking. He was so hot, and yet so cold. Everything was confusion. He could feel his teeth chattering, but could only hear a dull roar in his ears. He tried to move but such pain coursed through him, such exhaustion, he couldn't move. He tried to swallow but his throat scratched like sandpaper, his muscles begin to spasm every time he tried. He blinked sluggishly trying to see but the world would not come to clarity. The oblivion took him again. When he woke again he felt so exhausted. He hurt even to breathe. He jerked suddenly away from the big blurry figure that materialized before him out of nothing. Is it a person? Who is it? He strained to hear the confused words spoken to him.

"So, it's…you and me…what should….with our time together…" Warrick blinked at the figure but nothing became clearer.

"Whaaaa?" the stranger laughed.

"You…pathetic…aren't you?" a tremor coursed through Warrick again, pain shooting through his every fiber eliciting a moan. The stranger said something but he didn't hear as drifted unconscious. The next time he opened his eyes it was to a wall of grey. Very little varied, small patches of a darker grey but nothing more was seen. Suddenly his side exploded into agony as something slammed into him.

"Stop….stupid….waste…air….no….moaning…" Warrick's sluggish mind was sure someone was playing with the mute button as something slammed him again and again. The world melted away.

Everything was thick and muddled, like too thick pea soup. He couldn't quite form a thought in his mind. It was all just a vague awareness.

Hot.

Cold.

Pain.

Tired.

Scared.

It was a blur of confusion. Physical sensation was his only connection to reality. The hurt was his constant companion. Someone grabbed his hair, jerking his head up. Warrick didn't register the weak groan as his own.

"Not…too hot…die…hope so….soon….good…..body part…" the broken words had no meaning to Warrick, no context nor understanding. He just wanted to go home. Go to Catherine. Where was Catherine? Something solid was pressed against his lips and a agonizing cold liquid poured into his mouth forcing him to swallow. The liquid burned like fire down his throat and stabbed like icy daggers in his stomach. He coughed violently anguish ripping through him, shredding his chest to pieces with every cough. Darkness took him….

Something was wrong. There was a new sensation. A bad sensation. Every time he breathed in it felt like his chest rattled, and every time he exhaled he could feel the gurgle. It made him feel sick, like he couldn't breathe. A small seed of panic began to blossom and overwhelm him. Can't breathe….can't breathe….he tried to squirm but he was so tired, he couldn't move.

"What….something…wrong…Mr. Warrick…don't….last….good…body….parts…" Warrick's brow furrowed in confusion. Why wouldn't anything make sense? He exhaled shortly, hating the feeling in his chest it caused.

"Unnnnngh…wwww…"

"Huh…say something…gotta….I'm….parts….make…rich…" Warrick rested his head more heavily against his arm and let the darkness take him. He was so tired, why bother resisting?

--oo0oo—

They sat around the table glumly, each armed with a cup of coffee, which number of cup they were on they didn't know, all they did know was they'd run down all the leads, everything, and they couldn't find their friends. They had nothing left they could do now. The room was utterly silent.

"What do we do now?" Nick asked dejectedly.

"I don't know Nick!" Gil snapped. Nick looked down at his cup morosely looking as if he'd been smacked for stupidity, blushing brightly with shame. He didn't speak up again and kept his eyes down from then on. They would all glance at the clock, quite often in unison, but occasionally on their own. Greg noticed discretely that Nick was slowly getting redder and more ashamed looking, like a kicked puppy. Sara was the next brave and foolish person to speak up.

"Gil…we…we need to do something…we need to find them…" Grissom snapped.

"Don't you think I know that?! What do you suggest we do?! What leads are left un-followed?! How could you all be so stupid?!" The three stared in shock for a second as he slammed the mug on the table hard enough to crack the thick glass and stormed from the room. Greg jumped up following full tilt.

"Grissom! Grissom! Gil STOP!" to his surprise the man stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around still in a rage.

"What do you want Sanders?!" he bellowed.

"How dare you! What right do you have to be a total jerk! We are all scared and lost and confused! We all want to find them, and just because you are the boss doesn't give you the right to treat everyone like ignoramuses and incompetents!"

"You're on thin ice Sanders!" Gil snarled

"I don't care! Nick and Sara had perfectly legitimate questions! We aren't going to find them if we don't do anything! I don't know about you but after half an hour of staring at it, I certainly didn't find them in my coffee cup! What about yours? Or was it about as empty as your head is right now! If you can't keep your emotions in check then step aside and let someone who can do the job and find Cath and Warrick, and Lindsey!" Greg and Gil glared vehemently, neither backing down. People stood gawking in the halls, Nick and Sara especially speechless a few feet away from the two. The minutes passed in a tense silence until Brass arrived briskly.

"We've got a lead. Someone called in Lionel's truck parked outside a cheap hotel. They might still be there." He announced to the room. Gil never had a chance to respond.

"Nick you take it. Gil can't be trusted with anything of importance right now." Nick followed Brass silently, ignoring the constant confused looks being shot at him. Greg continued to block Grissom's path until the two turned a corner. He and Gil exchanged one last venomous glare before stalking away.

--oo0oo—

Shorty languished in the beginnings of withdraw from his drugs. They'd worn off about an hour ago. The headache was just starting to get bad. This guy, this Warrick, all his moaning and groaning wasn't helping either, despite how faint his voice sounded. He'd been going on like that for over an hour now and it was really beginning to grate the nerves. He'd kicked him once already, right on the kidneys too, that shut him up for a time, but only a short time. This guy would never know how much money they were going to make off of him. They'd already auctioned off the most valuable organs, there were several promising bids for skin grafts, his hair was cheap but it would get them another dose of drugs, his blood would probably give them a month's worth. They'd be able to pay off the debt and have enough to get them by for about a year. He'd never seen that much money in his life. Shorty smiled dopily as the phone rang.

"What? No he's not so good. Burning up…high fever…I don't know how high…." Warrick coughed violently again. This was something that was becoming a constant of the last hour, rivulets of blood seeping from his mouth, "Nah, I don't think he'll last more than a day…Yes sir, I'll harvest everything….Yes sir, I'll start…right now…."

A/N: Well There ya go...know it's been awhile...got stuck...hope you enjoy!