The action of the door flung Sara backward and to the floor, her mind once
again becoming addled by flashes of light and pain. Charlie stood in the
doorway, looking at her, sizing up the situation. Sara was sprawled in a
heap beside his favorite chair. His mother had given him that chair.
"Now I know you weren't gonna leave me, miss hotshot CSI."
Sara, still dazed, struggled to raise her head. Charlie threw a bag on the table and captured Sara by both arms. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag. Sara began to struggle and Charlie backhanded her face with such force that he surprised even himself.
"I don't like to hit women," he spat at a nearly unconscious Sara as he bound her feet and hands with the thick tape. Satisfied with his work, Charlie propped her against the chair. Sara blinked several times, then squinted up at him.
"Who are you?" she slurred. Her jaw was swelling and she hoped vaguely that it wasn't broken. Damn, why was she trapped in this nightmare with a sore leg and bad guys who hit her? Wake up, Sara! Open your eyes, NOW! Ok, sometimes it took a bit of time, she reassured herself. This was a classic nightmare. Weird guy, scary place, cockroaches.
"Grissom!" Sara shouted and flung her head back, cracking it against the ratty chair. The pain brought her back to semi-reality and she knew she wouldn't be waking up to her cotton sheets and down comforter anytime soon.
"How ya doin', miss CSI?" Charlie asked, leaning into her face.
"Fuck off!" Damn, she hoped that came out right. She couldn't even enunciate. His breath was thick and heavy and wreaked of God knows what, she thought. He leaned in closer and Sara thought she would gag.
"Listen, bitch, you be nice to me and Charlie's gonna be nice to you. Got it?"
As he backed away, Sara sighed and willed herself to play along. Treat it like a game. Play the fucking game. Damnit, games were not her forte. She had never understood the point. What was the fucking point? People who played games were just.Yeah, what was the point? To live. Yes, to live.
"My name is Sara."
Try to get the creep talking. Try to make him see you like a person. Like a human being. Like a sister or mother. He can't kill his sister. God, Sara thought, I hope this psycho liked his family.
"Your name is Charlie, right?" Sara asked, attempting to engage him.
"That's what I said."
"Charlie, why did you kidnap me?" Sara hadn't seen a gun yet and she cast some glances at her captor, while still trying to appear somewhat weak and dazed.
"Cause Gilbert Grissom left," Charlie almost sing-songed as he hopped to his feet and grabbed an open can of beer from the table.
*************************
Catherine stood and stretched from dusting the back gate of the Tahoe. She spotted Grissom talking to Greg a few yards away, and wondered why he'd been summoned to the scene. She remembered then. Sara was taken. Gone. We can find her, she repeated to herself again and again.
"Cath, I've got nothing," Nick said. The dejection in his voice was obvious and she swung around to face him.
"It's ok, Nick. We're trying to get evidence from the scene of a scene."
"Of a damn scene," Warrick finished for her, shaking his head.
"No, we're trying to find Sara." The words were clipped and precise and reflected none of the emptiness and fear boring a hole in Grissom.
The CSI's turned toward him. Catherine couldn't help but note that the strength behind the words couldn't mask the fright in his eyes or the paleness of his skin. Jesus, Gil, please don't fall apart now. Not now. We need you. Sara needs you.
"Any prints on the syringe, Griss?" Nick cocked his head thoughtfully.
"A couple. Greg's going to run them," Grissom answered as he ripped open a packet of Tylenol and popped them into his mouth. Catherine handed him a bottle of water.
"Migraine? That's not going to help, Gil."
"It's just a headache and I'm not taking anything stronger." Grissom made eye contact briefly with Catherine. She understood.
"Gil, is Greg able to tell us what was in the syringe?" Catherine ventured.
"Heroin. Cut with Manitol, usual stuff." Grissom replied flatly.
"Why? What the fuck is going on here?" Warrick rubbed his face and looked anywhere but at Grissom. He couldn't stand to see the fear. The fear would only remind him of how much they all needed to find Sara. She was a part of them. She was Sara. They needed her. Grissom needed her.
Nick put his hand on Warrick's shoulder. "It's ok, man. We'll find her. Sara's tough. We will get her back." He was glad to see a slight nod of Warrick's head. Everything was going to be all right. It had to be. Sara had to be ok.
Grissom turned quickly and began walking toward his Tahoe. "I'll be at the lab."
"Gil, wait. I'll drive you," Catherine called after him.
"I'll drive myself. I need some time. I can't be here right now." His words were so out of character that the three remaining CSI's stood, momentarily stunned. Grissom had just revealed more in three seconds than he had in three years.
Grissom couldn't even remember the drive. He seemed to arrive in front of the building. So familiar yet changed somehow. Sara wouldn't be inside waiting to ask him a question. He wouldn't find her napping in the breakroom after working too many hours. Sara wouldn't be pacing the halls waiting to berate him for the failures of the police or courts. He really wanted her to be there. Yelling about this or that. Incensed by the damned bureaucracy. Asking him to help her make things better. Make things right. Give justice to the voices that spoke to her. Grissom wanted Sara. He wanted Sara back. He fought the urge to pound his fist into the dashboard. They had to get her back.
"Now I know you weren't gonna leave me, miss hotshot CSI."
Sara, still dazed, struggled to raise her head. Charlie threw a bag on the table and captured Sara by both arms. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag. Sara began to struggle and Charlie backhanded her face with such force that he surprised even himself.
"I don't like to hit women," he spat at a nearly unconscious Sara as he bound her feet and hands with the thick tape. Satisfied with his work, Charlie propped her against the chair. Sara blinked several times, then squinted up at him.
"Who are you?" she slurred. Her jaw was swelling and she hoped vaguely that it wasn't broken. Damn, why was she trapped in this nightmare with a sore leg and bad guys who hit her? Wake up, Sara! Open your eyes, NOW! Ok, sometimes it took a bit of time, she reassured herself. This was a classic nightmare. Weird guy, scary place, cockroaches.
"Grissom!" Sara shouted and flung her head back, cracking it against the ratty chair. The pain brought her back to semi-reality and she knew she wouldn't be waking up to her cotton sheets and down comforter anytime soon.
"How ya doin', miss CSI?" Charlie asked, leaning into her face.
"Fuck off!" Damn, she hoped that came out right. She couldn't even enunciate. His breath was thick and heavy and wreaked of God knows what, she thought. He leaned in closer and Sara thought she would gag.
"Listen, bitch, you be nice to me and Charlie's gonna be nice to you. Got it?"
As he backed away, Sara sighed and willed herself to play along. Treat it like a game. Play the fucking game. Damnit, games were not her forte. She had never understood the point. What was the fucking point? People who played games were just.Yeah, what was the point? To live. Yes, to live.
"My name is Sara."
Try to get the creep talking. Try to make him see you like a person. Like a human being. Like a sister or mother. He can't kill his sister. God, Sara thought, I hope this psycho liked his family.
"Your name is Charlie, right?" Sara asked, attempting to engage him.
"That's what I said."
"Charlie, why did you kidnap me?" Sara hadn't seen a gun yet and she cast some glances at her captor, while still trying to appear somewhat weak and dazed.
"Cause Gilbert Grissom left," Charlie almost sing-songed as he hopped to his feet and grabbed an open can of beer from the table.
*************************
Catherine stood and stretched from dusting the back gate of the Tahoe. She spotted Grissom talking to Greg a few yards away, and wondered why he'd been summoned to the scene. She remembered then. Sara was taken. Gone. We can find her, she repeated to herself again and again.
"Cath, I've got nothing," Nick said. The dejection in his voice was obvious and she swung around to face him.
"It's ok, Nick. We're trying to get evidence from the scene of a scene."
"Of a damn scene," Warrick finished for her, shaking his head.
"No, we're trying to find Sara." The words were clipped and precise and reflected none of the emptiness and fear boring a hole in Grissom.
The CSI's turned toward him. Catherine couldn't help but note that the strength behind the words couldn't mask the fright in his eyes or the paleness of his skin. Jesus, Gil, please don't fall apart now. Not now. We need you. Sara needs you.
"Any prints on the syringe, Griss?" Nick cocked his head thoughtfully.
"A couple. Greg's going to run them," Grissom answered as he ripped open a packet of Tylenol and popped them into his mouth. Catherine handed him a bottle of water.
"Migraine? That's not going to help, Gil."
"It's just a headache and I'm not taking anything stronger." Grissom made eye contact briefly with Catherine. She understood.
"Gil, is Greg able to tell us what was in the syringe?" Catherine ventured.
"Heroin. Cut with Manitol, usual stuff." Grissom replied flatly.
"Why? What the fuck is going on here?" Warrick rubbed his face and looked anywhere but at Grissom. He couldn't stand to see the fear. The fear would only remind him of how much they all needed to find Sara. She was a part of them. She was Sara. They needed her. Grissom needed her.
Nick put his hand on Warrick's shoulder. "It's ok, man. We'll find her. Sara's tough. We will get her back." He was glad to see a slight nod of Warrick's head. Everything was going to be all right. It had to be. Sara had to be ok.
Grissom turned quickly and began walking toward his Tahoe. "I'll be at the lab."
"Gil, wait. I'll drive you," Catherine called after him.
"I'll drive myself. I need some time. I can't be here right now." His words were so out of character that the three remaining CSI's stood, momentarily stunned. Grissom had just revealed more in three seconds than he had in three years.
Grissom couldn't even remember the drive. He seemed to arrive in front of the building. So familiar yet changed somehow. Sara wouldn't be inside waiting to ask him a question. He wouldn't find her napping in the breakroom after working too many hours. Sara wouldn't be pacing the halls waiting to berate him for the failures of the police or courts. He really wanted her to be there. Yelling about this or that. Incensed by the damned bureaucracy. Asking him to help her make things better. Make things right. Give justice to the voices that spoke to her. Grissom wanted Sara. He wanted Sara back. He fought the urge to pound his fist into the dashboard. They had to get her back.