They never answered any of her questions, but that didn't mean Sara didn't ask. Whenever someone entered her room to take her tray, she would stand up boldly and stand in front of the door.
"What day is it?" she asked.
Her captor tried to move her, but she wouldn't budge. He grumbled something and grasped her around the waist.
"Not today, Six," he said as he moved her. "Just shut-up and get out of the way."
"No," she said firmly. "What time is it? Where am I?"
She was lifted off her feet and sat on the bed. She didn't plan to quit being a thorn in their side.
~8~
The next day, they took her into the exercise room. She had been watching her surroundings for a long time and, she knew each move her captors made and how long it took them to complete their tasks.
She stepped on the treadmill, started it up, and watched as they filled out their forms. One of her captors came up to her, put a stethoscope to her chest, and listened to her heartbeat. The other man would put a thermometer under her tongue. When it beeped, he read the screen and wrote something down. She knew that was her moment.
She shut off the treadmill and stood still with her arms crossed. "I'm finished," she said.
The man holding the thermometer set it down on the small table beside the workout machine- as she knew he would.
"Six, we're not in the mood," he said.
Sara stepped off the machine and grabbed a stack of papers that were sitting on a desk beside her. She hurled them across the room, mimicking a child throwing a tantrum. One of them men reached out for her, but she dodged him and made a faux-dash for the door.
"Grab her!" one of the men shouted.
She was gripped firmly from behind and pulled backward. She knew what was next- she had had it done to her several times. Their procedure was to lay her down on her on her back and cuff her hands and feet. This time, on her way to the floor, she swiped the thermometer that was lying, unguarded, and slipped it into her bra.
"We warned you not to start today," she heard as she was cuffed.
~8~
Sara was carried back to her cell - she was used to it. They laid her on her bed, mumbled something about having her television privileges revoked, and slammed the door as they left. She was still cuffed, but they usually left her like that until mealtime. When she was sure that everyone was out of range, she curled her body, mocking a sleeping position, and brought out the thermometer.
She was careful to not make sudden movements because she wasn't too sure where the cameras were or how many were on her. She wasn't too sure about sound either, so she was careful to act as natural as possible. This wasn't her first attempt at stealing something. So far, she had smuggled a bar of soap, a pen, a plastic spoon, and now the thermometer. She wasn't too sure what she would do with any of it, but now she could attempt to form a type of plan.
~8~
Grissom walked in through the doors of the lab and everyone paused what they were doing to look at him. They didn't think they would see him back so soon- if ever. He had forced himself to clean up his appearance, but no shower or shave could wash the pain from his face. He felt beaten-down, but he needed to pull his act together.
"Is Catherine in?" he asked Judy as he passed.
"Yes, Mr. Grissom," she said as he walked by.
He walked toward his office and saw Catherine, seated behind mounds of files. She looked up when she saw him and he closed the door. He wanted to go home, open a bottle of beer, and let time pass. He knew he couldn't do that and that feeling sorry for himself wouldn't bring his family back to him.
"Tell me everything," Grissom said in a pleading voice. "anything."
Catherine sighed and looked at him regretfully. She wanted to tell him something but they had nothing. Nick's idea didn't pan out like she had hoped it would and the two found mothers couldn't say much.
"I'm hitting a brick wall," she said to him. "Whoever has done this, has bone it before."
~8~
Later in the evening, after her cuffs had been removed and she was secured back to the chain that was secured to her floor, she moved her pillow, which housed her secret stash, onto the floor and pretended to rest. She curled herself into a ball and began to talk to her belly.
"Emmy, mama loves you," she said as she carefully reached for the pen.
She continued to talk randomly to her belly. She talked about the color of the nursery and the lady-bug themed decorations. All the while as she spoke, she picked at the chain with the pen. There was nothing she could do with it, so she picked up the thermometer.
"You know, you're daddy is a little … odd. He has all of these specimens in jars, but I am so in love with that side of him," she said as she poked the thermometer into the keyhole at her ankle.
She twisted it around and bit her lip when her instrument bent from the pressure. Of course it wouldn't work, it was made of plastic. She wanted to toss it aside, but she slipped it back into the pillow case. She looked at the soap and the spoon and sighed. What could soap do?
~8~
The only thing Grissom could do was return home. but it was so dark and unwelcoming there. The house was filthy, and if Sara was to return and see it in such a state, she wouldn't be impressed. He began to tidy the living room and was shocked at the amount of bottles that he had collected. He needed to stop this - Emily didn't need to have a drunk as a father. But what if he didn't get a chance to be her father. What if-
"Stop!" he whispered to himself, shaking his head.
He pulled the trashcan into the room and began to dump empty food containers into it. He gathered all of the clothes, started the washer, and dumped an armful in. He needed to keep the faith, as Sara had always told him. His wife was spunky and high-spirited. She was strong and she needed him to be ready for her to return.
He moved to the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. It was still empty from the last time Sara had unloaded it, so he filled it and started it up. Next, he moved to the nursery. When his hand was on the door he paused. Having Sara back was something that he could hope for, but what about Emily? Would he see her?
He pushed open the door before he could think any more and was greeted by the happily painted walls, the dark-brown baseboards, and the lady-bug stickers that had been carefully applied. He felt a lump rise in his throat as he remembered how much he had been looking forward to bringing the baby home and laying it down in a bassinet. Everything had been carefully chosen for the little girl.
There was a Little Golden Book collection on a bookcase that was standing against a far wall. There was a whicker rocking chair, that had a matching ottoman, in front of a window. There was even an empty toy chest that had a stuffed giraffe sitting on it. It was indeed a dream-nursery, but would it be used?
~8~
"Can you chain me up by my hands for a little while?" Sara asked. "My ankle hurts. It's getting raw."
The masked man, Sara had come to call 'Tall', ignored her. Instead he gathered up her garbage and proceeded to walk away.
"I get it," she pleaded with him. "You broke me down, you win. My leg just hurts. I could get an open wound and I could be at risk for blood poisoning."
This made him stop and he looked at her. "Show me your ankle!" he demanded.
Sara lifted her pants leg and, sure enough, there were marks from where the bracelet was chaffing her. The man sighed annoyingly and Sara prayed he wasn't smart enough to simply move the cuff to the other ankle. She had broken the spoon the previous night and had used it to make her skin raw.
"Whatever," he said as he bent to unchain her ankle and snapping it onto her wrist. "I'll be back to look at the ankle."
He shut the door and that was when Sara acted. She rose, as naturally as she could, over to the toilet and sat down on it. She had hidden the soap in her pants and her belly was big enough that when slipped it out, she was able to hide it well enough.
Maneuvering her body was difficult, but she was able to twist herself so that she could dip her chained hand between her legs. This was the most far-fetched thing she had ever done. She didn't know if it would work — she had seen it on a movie once.
She brought her wet hand up and soaped it. She wanted a thick lather, so she dipped her hand back into the bowl and brought it up again for another soaping. She held her breath because she knew that any moment now they would walk in. At any moment that would see her and everything would change. All of her hope would be lost.
Finally, after a long time, she stopped lathering and looked at the bracelet around her wrist. Now was the moment of truth- do or die. She licked her lips, which had been chapped for a few days, and put her fingers on the cuff. She slid it up her wrist, hoping it wouldn't give much resistance.
It did, but she braced herself and pulled harder. She didn't care if chunks of skin came off with it - she wanted it off. She felt it slip upwards a fraction and she braced herself for the pain. She needed to be listening for the sound of her captors approaching, but all she could hear was the sound of her blood pounding.
It slipped upwards again and she hissed when she felt pain in the pad under her thumb. She pulled harder, determined to get the cuff off. But what would she do after that, they would still be back. She had very few weapons to use in defense and one of these was a broken plastic spoon. She could make a shank out of it, but she hadn't enough strength to shiv a man with a plastic spoon.
"Come on, fucker," she grunted and pulled at the cuff with all of her might.
The bracelet was sliding, but too slowly for her. She wanted it to go faster, but at least it was moving. She gave one last burst of energy, and suddenly the entire bracelet slid off. She gasped and looked down at her hand, trying to act as natural as she could. It was bloody and there was no way she could hide it.
Any moment now they would be back for her.