Any mistakes are my own, wrote this without having anyone look over it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Within the Hands
With a stifled groan, Greg managed to open his eyes. The first thoughts that came flooding into his mind were where, and how. He could remember the how some, knowing that he should be worried, but unable to grasp the reason why. It took a moment for his head to stop spinning long enough to sort the entire situation out.
He had been kidnapped. Not only that, but he had allowed it. His head was hurting worse now, and Greg closed his eyes from the dim lamp lights above, drawing in a long breath. He could barely move his hands, a thin, yet sturdy rope wrapped around his wrists several times, safely securing his limbs in front of him. A short-lived struggle with the infuriating cords told him that he wasn't going to be free of them any time soon.
With an inward sigh he reached up, thankful for even the limited motion, and pulled the makeshift gag from his mouth. At least that had been easy. Wetting his lips he opened his eyes, glancing around the room. It was, for the most part, bare, empty of essentials, and luxuries quite the same. The wooden walls suggested the age, patches of mold spreading across the pale cream color.
Wooden beams above him supported the roof somehow. They all looked as if they would come tumbling down any moment now, barely able to hold the small swinging lamps. The concrete floor was in similar shape, long cracks running from wall to wall, the ground crumbling as small metal pipes passed through into the ground.
It wasn't until then that he noticed he wasn't flat on the ground, but on top of a bare mattress. And it was then he noted the bitter smell coming from it. Urine and feces, blood…the smell of death.
Greg closed his eyes, trying to fight off the nauseating smell. He realized dimly that the smell only became worse the longer he remained awake. He reminded himself quietly that he had been to crime scenes that were far worse smelling. One of them being a decomp, a body dump in the sewers. He had worked the case with Sara, before they had started dating. He remembered it vividly, mostly due to the amount of teasing Sara had done. It had been his first decomp after all.
The thought stilled him, the silence echoing in his head. He remembered…he remembered something that he wasn't supposed to. He closed his eyes as the thought started to drift away, barely able to pull it back. He couldn't remember the victim's name, or what the cause of death had been. Nor could he remember the taunts Sara had sent his way…but Greg could care less. He remembered.
The beam of the flashlight swept slowly over the carpeted interior, pausing as it reached the seam. She ran her gloved hand along the crease, pulling the carpet back as she looked closer. It wasn't a surprise that she didn't find anything in there. After all, she hadn't the last five times now.
Sitting back on her haunches Sara let out a soft growl, a hand running through her hair. After fighting with Nick she had taken a short break, the brunette relieved to get some coffee into her system. At this point, it was the only thing keeping her awake.
Sara wasn't quite sure yet if she forgave the Texan or not. Sure, she was still angry with, and would be for quite some time. But he had apologized profusely, and it was clear that he meant it, as opposed to being forced by Ecklie. Whatever the case she had been able to tolerate him, and even managed to quietly thank him for his support during her last breakdown.
They had already searched the car inside and out, lifting a handful of prints, and few hairs from the backseat. But there wasn't much else to go on. Sara was more than determined to find something else that would help in the investigation. Plus the fact that the longer she stayed in here, the less paperwork she would have to do. That was the last thing she wanted to do.
She was tired, unsure of the last time she had actually slept, or had a decent meal. The sad part was that she had no real place to call home. At the current moment, she resided at the Sahara, in room 103. How much longer she would stay there before deciding that she had eaten up enough of her money, Sara wasn't sure.
There was no way she could move back in with Greg. There was already enough strain between the two of them, she didn't need to add anything too it. Even more so, there was no way she would go crawling back to Nick. She knew the man would more than willingly accept her presence, but at the same time it was he who she was having problems with.
Grissom would more in likely allow her to stay, and a few years ago she would have jumped to the chance, taking the opportunity. But now…now she could no longer see what she had found enlightening in him. He was a good friend, and a wonderful person, but not a lover, not for her anyways.
Warrick, if she was willing to tolerate him, would probably allow it as well. But it wouldn't be for very long, and with Catherine, it would be even less. So in the end, it was either Nick, or the cheap hotel room, with prices that skyrocketed on the weekends, and whenever a convention rolled into town.
"I got the tox results if you're interested," Nick announced cheerfully as he came in. He was waving the folder over his head, a grin plastered on his face. She only growled in response, pushing herself up.
"That had better come with a cup of coffee," she warned, fighting off a yawn.
"Either the cheap mud in the break room, or we can step out for a moment," Nick suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
"Give first," Sara nodded towards him, pulling off her gloves.
"We got nothing."
"Nothing?" Sara raised an eyebrow. "Then why in the hell are you so happy?"
"Because," Nick responded quietly. "We got prints. Nothing in the database, but if we get a set, all we need is a comparison."
"That's…" she paused for a moment. "That's nothing…they could very well be the victim's prints."
"Already checked," Nick answered, handing the sheet to her. "The bad news…we've never lifted prints off the vial before. So it could be a copy cat."
"The last victim came in last month," Sara told him, reading over the sheet. "Why were the prints found just now….and could they eve last that long?"
"Vial was in an airtight bag, I had toxicology rerun it just in case, because a proper filing was never done. When I took it out of the bag, I happened to catch a partial. Finished dusting it, came up with that." He pointed over the picture but it was unnecessary as she had already seen it.
"So what…are we just not following protocol anymore? Not filing proper reports…no longer dusting for fingerprints?"
"Don't look at me like it's my fault," Nick warned her, "Most of Dayshift handled this stuff, not me."
"Right," Sara nodded with a small sigh, rubbing her forehead. She was beginning to feel more tired now than she had before.
A soft knock on the door caused her to look up, greeting the blonde who was peering in on them.
"Nice to see you two aren't trying to kill one another," Sofia mentioned quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
"You've heard of that," Nick commented quietly.
"Everyone has," she answered with a small smirk. "Either of you two happen to see Greg around? He was supposed to catch up with me half an hour ago."
Sara shrugged her shoulders, bending over to organize the tools she had left behind. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere. If not he may have gone home, he was upset earlier."
"I was thinking along the same lines, he's already worked over," Sofia nodded, "But his car's still out in the parking lot."
"Maybe he went for a walk," Nick suggested. "I don't think he's taken his break yet, check with Grissom. The Deli's in walking distance."
"I'll do that," she smiled, "If not I'll just have to head out the scene myself. It's no biggie."
"It's unusual for him to just walk out like that," Nick turned to Sara as she closed the case that was on the floor.
"Well, considering how you treated him," she started out, coming to a stop as the Texan held his hands up.
"Let's not start again," he pleaded. "We'll get some coffee; finish up what we have, and then head home."
Greg wasn't sure if had passed out, or fallen asleep. The next thing he did know was that he was awake, and it was an unfortunate matter. The bright light went off in his face, and he blinked rapidly, as though the motion would cause the blinding spots to go away. The man in front of him only smiled, retrieving the photo the popped out of the old camera.
He was tall, and scrawny, thinning hair that wisped about his head. Most of which was grey. His face was almost square, the only thing chubby about his whole body. Even still he had to be close to six feet, and that thought was confirmed as he stood up.
"Did he give you much trouble?"
The question was directed back at Mitch, who shook his head effortlessly, taking the wad of money from the man's hand. "One of the easiest so far Mr. Smith."
The man, presumably Mr. Smith himself, chuckled slightly, pulling from his shirt pocket a slip of paper. "This is your next assignment. I won't need her for at least a few more weeks. Follow her; make sure you learn what you can. She's trained in weaponless defense, so she may not be that easy."
"I sort of dig chicks that can kick my ass," Mitch replied with a broad smile, tucking the paper back into his own pocket along with the money. "When do you need me back here?"
"We'll take it slow with this one, I'm out of sedatives, so I'll have to make some more. Until then, he can just enjoy our hospitality."
"I know who you are," Greg took a risk in talking, unsure of how they would react. But the conversation was unnerving, and he had to at least try something. "You won't get away with this."
Mr. Smith had crouched down next to him, and even with the sparse freedom he had been given, Greg was in a perfect position to clobber the man. At the same time the warning bells went off in the back of his skull, alerting him that it more in likely would not be the best of ideas.
"I already have," he chuckled, now only inches away from his face. Greg could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath, not enough to determine that he was drunk, but enough to know that he had been drinking. "Many times over…"
To Greg's relief he pulled away, causing the CSI to sigh inwardly. The attention that had been on him previously was no longer there, giving him time to think. How long had been gone? And more importantly, did anyone notice that he was gone?
His cell phone was still in his pocket, and if he only had a brief moment alone he could use it. It certainly would be easy enough to maneuver with his hands tied as they were. At the moment, it was his only lifeline.
His head still hurt, and with an inward groan he realized that it more in likely was a concussion. With all the head wounds he had acquired in the past few years he was sure to break a record. With his eyes closed he tried to recall what he could, but it was useless.
Before, when he had first remembered, Greg had spent a better part of an hour struggling to remember what else he could. But in the end it was useless. Whatever he did remember was so small, so insignificant, he couldn't tell if it was something that had actually happened, or if had only imagined it, wanting so badly to remember.
The scenario hadn't changed much. He could pick out definite pieces in his past, but it still didn't fill in the missing story. Halfheartedly he wondered if they ever would. Then another thought had come along. If he had made it this far, then surely he could make it the rest of the way.
His attention was drawn away from his thoughts however, as Mitch knelt by him now, a white cloth in one hand. With his other hand he grabbed Greg's chin, effectively pinning down the CSI's arms with his elbow.
"What are you doing?" Greg breathed heavily, trying to pull away as the cloth was pressed against his mouth and nose, nearly cutting off his air supply. The weak smell followed shortly after as he drew in a deep breath, trying to turn his head away. It only took a few seconds before he felt himself slipping away once again, much to his own dismay.
TBC
