10 May 2003

"I can tell you wish to ask me something."

He wondered if he was truly that readable. If his emotions were so easily read when he tried so hard to hide them. Nick often said he had no trouble understanding his body language.

At one point, something Greg thought only Nick could do.

"After spending such an extensive amount of time together, I admit that I was expected you to be a little more open with me." The man paused, continuing with an afterthought. "At the least, much more so that when you first arrived." He ran his fingers through his hair, almost hesitantly. "I even hoped, dare I say, that if anything, you would be more comfortable around me."

Greg held onto his shirt nervously. Clutching the grey material within his grasp. Maybe his actions did portray more than he once thought. He'd never felt so out of control and out of place before. But did any of that really matter, now?

He swallowed his fear, holding the man's expectant gaze. "Why?"

"Am I doing this," The man motioned at the room with a quick wave of his hand. "I presume?" A smile on his face, happy that his captive was conforming to his subtle demands.

Greg gave a slight nod. So far, he'd received whatever food he wanted, was given brand new clothes – the man hadn't even removed the tags – been allowed to shower, be clean, and sleep in a comfortable bed.

The normalcy of the routine was suffocating.

"I may tell you, someday." The man looked at him, as if he was searching for something. Frowning as if he wasn't pleased with the results. "But only because you remind me of someone I once knew."

"I do?" Greg's voice rose in surprise, the information unexpected.

"Of course, you don't look the least bit similar to him." His gaze lingered on Greg's hair. "No. Not even the least bit similar."

Greg leaned against the headboard of the bed. Crossing his legs and pulling the comforter over his shoulders. Waiting for the man to continue.

"It's more of an abstract familiarity, really. He had the same sort of expression in his eyes." The man laughed briefly, as if he was amused by his own words. "I apologise if I'm not as coherent as my usual self…But sadly, there's something about you."

Greg furrowed his brow, watching as the man closed his eyes. Like he was relieving a memory.

"He was someone with whom I spent my childhood." But Greg soon found himself, once more, the centre of the man's attention. The short respite from being observed already missed.

"Of course, nothing outlandish occurred that would explain my state of mind. Which for all sakes and purposes is little different from yours." He spoke tersely while crossing his legs, putting the left over the right.

Greg was quick to nod. Even though internally, he disagreed.

"Nothing clichéd like…Oh, let's say he died before reached a proper age of maturity." He shook his head. "Nothing as theatrical as that."

"No, I'm afraid I don't have a dismal tale to tell." The man yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "We simply…Drifted apart, I suppose."

Hearing the remorse in the tone, Greg began to feel somewhat brave. Even if only for a moment, it was a semblance of something more positive than he felt in the past few days. Almost like he was actually communicating with the man. Maybe getting through to him on a more humane level.

Something Greg would cautiously try to play to his advantage.

"And you're probably wondering why I picked you, specifically." He titled his head, which Greg knew meant the man wanted a verbal response. "Am I correct?"

"Yes." Greg answered softly, his gaze concentrated on the blue and white stripes decorating the sheets on the bed.

"I'll tell you why I chose you someday, as well." He smirked as he stood from the chair. Seemingly pleased with the response.

Greg tracked his movements. His eyes following the man as he stalked around the bed. One hand fingering the bulge in his pocket as he made his way to the other side.

To the side where Greg sat huddled beneath the comforter.

"I need you to write something else for me. Call it a favour if, you will." He moved closer. Not quite on the bed, but still inclining himself into Greg's personal space.

"As per usual, I will dictate and you shall simply inscribe."

Greg had been dreading this moment. He wasn't sure how many days had passed, but this was the fourth time he'd been told to write. Not that he could discern what the letters actually meant, but Greg had been keeping track of how many he'd written. Sitting by steel desk. The man constantly peering over his shoulder.

Because even though the man didn't say it, Greg knew it was the last one. He didn't remember much of his first days here. It was an effect of having the rohypnol in his system. However, he did know that the first one was normally sent the day the victim was initially taken.

And this was his third time writing.

He wished there was a way to impart some kind of message. About what little he knew of the man. What he looked like. Where Greg thought the man was keeping him. But he was always under the man's scrutiny.

Always under his gaze.

Even when he left. Even for the brief amount of time when he wasn't in the room with Greg, it still felt like he was there.

Always watching.

"Are you ready?" He shivered when the voice whispered in his ear. It made Greg feel like he was part of some secret that he wasn't supposed to know. A secret because it was something he would never be able to reveal.

The man moved his hand to rest on Greg's shoulder, squeezing it kindly. The soft fringe of his hair covering his eyes, tickling Greg's forehead. His body radiating a warmth Greg almost found himself leaning towards.

Because despite his earlier assurance, the man still hadn't turned off the air conditioner.

And Greg was still cold.

He slowly lifted the cup to his lips. The now stale coffee lingering in his mouth, his face indifferent to the sour taste.

"Self-conceit may lead to self-destruction…The smaller the mind, the great the deceit."

"This is…This is from Aesop…"

He removed his glasses, placing them gently besides the stack of papers before him. The lenses obscuring the words. Refracting the light and distorting his vision.

The greater of myself

Lessened of my mind

Destruction of one's self

Perchance that of time

"It's the same thing." Grissom mumbled to himself, confusion lacing his voice. "Where's the first one…Where's Brandi's…"

Searching, he ran his hands through the papers, scattering them across the table. Holding one in between a finger and thumb as he read aloud.

Entitled is he

To think little of himself

Learn not what he may seek

From individual mental wealth

"And this is from Epictetus…" Grissom quickly placed the paper down, immediately reaching for another.

Simplicity doth you seek

Of wretchedness is alone

Pleasures of a last retreat

For thee I do atone

"Now you're quoting Horning..." He leaned closer into his desk, a new letter in hand. Randomly picked. "What about…What about Randy Drayton's…"

Disbelieve that of which you seek

More effective to those untaught

Distrust that of which you do not believe

Less popular by knowledge those distraught

"Uneducated more effective…This is Aristotle…" He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the third in Greg's series of letters. "You're repeating yourself…"

The life of he who breathes

With intent pure

Is made fine through time

And what he may endure

"Henri-Frédéric Amiel…Like wine." Grissom shook his head at the morbid thought, the way the man played with people's lives. "And if it's in Ashley Parker's, too…"

The perpetuated evasion

That of which calls itself prevention

Is of deceptive persuasion

By torture of things once insignificant

"They're recurring themes." Grissom's whispered to himself, taken back by the revelation.

"I can see what you're doing. But…" His grip loosened. The paper slowly falling, landing on the desk.

"What are you trying to tell us?"

"Hi." He nodded his head politely, displaying the proper identification. "I'm Warrick Brown form the Las Vegas Crime Lab. There may have been an incident involving your car." He wet his lips, chapped and parched. "I'm wondering if you wouldn't mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Do you have a warrant?" She spoke curtly, her eyes narrowing at the man before her.

"This is voluntary, ma'am." And the statement spoke true for Warrick, as well. The team was pulling in the extra hours off the clock. Whatever they could. Whenever they could.

She shook her head. "Then, no." Slamming the door in front of him, almost hitting his nose.

Warrick jerked his body, somewhat surprised by the slamming of the door. He could hear her locking it from the inside, the chain of the security latch hitting hard against the wood of the door.

"Thanks for your time." He let out a weary sigh, making his way back to the car. They only had four more days and the pressure was finally beginning to take a toll on him. But this was the time when he had to pull out all the stops.

He took his phone out of his pocket, using the speed dial and placing it against his ear. "Hey, you all right?"

"I'm, I'm fine…Just cleaning up." Warrick could hear the rustling of papers. Shuffling and stacking on the other end.

"Yeah…"

"Can't get any sleep. Even if it's a Saturday, you know?"

"I couldn't, either." Warrick climbed into his car, turning on the ignition. His phone still in hand.

"Sara said you'd call, soon."

"Yeah, about that. How was she with the bodies?"

"No other bodies had signs of strangulation besides Ashley's….Crap."

"Nick?" He asked quickly and not without a little unease.

"Sorry. I just dropped the papers on floor…But she didn't get a chance to look at three of the bodies."

"What?" Warrick put on his signal light, moving to the left lane. "Why?"

"Liquefied, man."

"Not what I wanted to hear."

"Me, either….How's it going on your end?"

"Man, I've been knocking on doors all day. Lucky for me, I only got the door slammed four times."

"Nothing, huh?" Warrick smiled at the laughter from Nick. A sound he hadn't heard in a while.

"It's like we have a bad rep or something."

"Or something…Well, at least we know the cop's lead was legit."

"Right…Your glasses."

"The car is the strongest lead we have."

"Did Catherine tell you about the red head with the Acura?"

"Not, yet. I didn't get a chance to call her, today."

"The guy's name is Michael Knott. Twenty-eight, works at the post office downtown."

"Off of Stewart? Is-"

"Brass already set it up. Twenty-four hour surveillance at his place. Him and anyone who he works with."

"That's right around the corner from us." Warrick noted the concern in his voice.

"I know. But Catherine already checked his work load, too. Doesn't even drop anything off at the lab."

"What about switching shifts?"

"Catherine told me Sara's picking it up. Said she's started with his co-workers and the manager. See if he gets somebody to take things for him. Checking out his social circle."

"Yeah, I spoke with Sara earlier. She didn't get back to me, yet."

"I haven't even heard from her today. I'm guess that means nothing, so far."

"What about his car? What's the model and year?"

"2002 RSX."

Nick snorted "How long has he been working at the post office?"

"Two years."

"What about the family?"

"They live in Utah. No big money." Warrick put his foot on the brakes, gradually increasing the pressure. "He came here by himself about three years ago." Stopping at a red light. "Flunked out of undergrad in Utah. Did some work here and there..."

He knew it wasn't much to go on. And the fact that they had relatively so little was discouraging.

"So…" Warrick could hear Nick breathing deeply into the receiver, waiting for the inevitable change in topic.

"How did the talk with the parents go?"

"They're staying at hotel a few miles from the strip."

"You hooked them up?"

"No…They didn't really accept my help. Too upset, I guess. But they told me they already made reservations on their way here."

"Do they…"

"…No." He could tell by the tone in the voice that Nick was berating himself. Already on the path to regret. Warrick was only sorry he couldn't really do much to help.

"He wanted to tell them…Greg wanted to tell them about us."

He followed the street lamps of the neighbourhood, erected between each house. Illuminating the streets. He didn't have the radio on. No music on and the widows up. The consequent silence was the only thing he could offer Nick.

"I was scared. So scared that it wasn't going to last. And now it won't even get a chance to start."

"I don't really know what I was waiting for, man. Why it took so long for me to..." Nick paused, taking a deep breath.

"But I want to tell them. I want to tell them about us." He spoke with his voice firm. "When we find him, Warrick."

"I want to do it together."

Finally, a more confident Nick. Even though I didn't like this chapter much...Except for the first scene.

Concerning Greg's parents, since they already exist (not original characters) and we don't know much, I really didn't want to impose my ideas on them. Plus, I thought it would slow or change the pace in the story. But at least I did include them?

Yes, the team is that desperate that they're actually going from door to door with people registered with an Acura….Not like I wouldn't go the extra mile for Greg. And it's not illegal, either. I don't think so.

Concerning Michael, there's a car lead from a lousy cop, he has red hair, works at post office near the lab, is willing to cooperate. That's all I have to say.

Of course, thank you for reading. And thank you to HappensToBeMe, theifThornsofNirvanatheif, silverrayne666, lil'spencefan, Silver917, just.me.nelly, Shadow Cat17, and Askari Knightfor reviewing.