Hi guys. Sorry I didn't get this posted sooner. Thanks for the reviews on
the previous chapters. Here's the next installment of "Psycho with a
Syringe." Hope you like it. I will warn you that it's even more of an
angst-fest (if that's possible). Also, I'm not all that certain about the
half-life of heroin, so on the off chance that there are heroin addicts
following this story, please ignore any and all dosing information. Yes,
that last sentence was tongue in cheek. Enjoy and please review.
***********************
Grissom had rolled off of Sara's shoulder after the blow from Charlie. The only thing that saved him from further abuse was the call from Brass. He'd caught bits and pieces as Charlie shouted into the phone. It had been a short conversation. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he tasted blood. Grissom took several deep breaths and willed the fuzziness to clear from his head. After hanging up, Charlie had stomped off to the kitchen area, muttering to himself like a petulant teenager.
"You ok?" Sara's mouth was so close to Grissom's ear that he jumped.
He turned his head and was eye to eye with her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," she apologized.
"I, uh, it's all right. I was just a bit out of it," he stammered.
"He hit you pretty hard." She slowly raised a hand and brushed her index finger gently along the side of his mouth. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, raising his hands and wiping the blood from his mouth. "I uh, didn't mean to fall on you. Did I hurt you?"
"Grissom, I'm guessing I've got a concussion, maybe a cracked jaw and not ten minutes ago you told me I had some crushed ribs." She paused to allow herself a ragged breath. "How in the hell could you possibly hurt me more?" she giggled.
"Not funny," he sighed audibly and briefly clasped her hand with his bound ones. He couldn't help but note the cold clamminess. Damn, damn, damn. He had to get them out of here. She was still having trouble breathing and was more than likely in the early stages of shock. Ironically, Grissom thought, the heroin might have actually forestalled the shock by alleviating some of the pain that she had to be experiencing.
Sara saw the concern creasing his brow and quickly stopped laughing. "Sorry, "I think it's the drugs."
"I think you're right," he answered, pushing himself awkwardly to his knees. "The half-life of heroin, or morphine, which is what it becomes when it's broken down in the body, is eight hours. He's given you substantially more than a person of even average body mass can easily tolerate.
"You didn't hurt me, Grissom," she said softly, interrupting his scientific diatribe. Sara peered up at him, only to find his gaze shifting to Charlie.
Grissom toyed with several ideas as he watched Dunn load a syringe with morphine, then meth. Using the momentary distraction that the ritual allowed, he crawled a few feet from Sara and sat against the wall closest to her. In Grissom's mind, it offered several advantages over his previous seat across the room. It put him between Sara, Charlie and the front door. If SWAT came in, he could, at the very least, cover her with his body. The CSI had also noted a disposable lighter not more than a few inches from his outstretched legs. It was partially covered by a newspaper. Grissom would try to kick it toward himself at the next opportunity.
Having finished shooting-up, Charlie looked over at Grissom. "Get back over there," he spat, motioning to the far wall.
"Can't. I'm dizzy. You hit me remember." Grissom rubbed his temples to emphasize the point, hoping that Charlie was buying it. "Just let me rest here for a few minutes."
Charlie's features scrunched into a twisted grin. "It's ok, man. I know you jus' wanna be close to the little woman when she sucks her last breath. Gimme some credit. I'm a romantic too, Gilbert."
Grissom allowed himself several brief revenge fantasies, not the least of which involved his fist connecting repeatedly with the bloodied face of the demented fuck while the man begged for mercy. Seeing Charlie's eyes glaze over and his head droop slightly forward into the familiar drug-induced nod, Grissom chanced to get the lighter. He stretched his left leg as far as he could, carefully resting his shoe on top of the prize. Slowly, pausing several times to glance at Dunn, he edged the lighter closer to his hands until he was finally able to grasp it. Charlie stirred in his chair and Grissom surreptitiously stuffed the lighter into the front pocket of his jeans. Next to him, Sara moaned softly and he swiveled his head toward her.
"I'm right here, Sara," Grissom said. Surprisingly, she raised an eyebrow at him and cast her eyes briefly on the pocket in which he'd put the lighter. Understanding and relief washed over him and he met her eyes. They'd always said volumes with their eyes. Inexplicably, Grissom felt warmer than he had in days.
Charlie rolled his head back in the chair and grinned at Sara. "Sounds like you're in pain, Miss CSI. I can help, ya know."
The cold came back and Grissom sought desperately to distract Dunn as he saw him reach for a small baggie. "Brass should be calling back any minute, Charlie. You'll have to talk to him this time."
"Don't hafta do nothin'" he replied distractedly as he began cooking a spoonful of heroin.
"Brass will work with you if you talk to him. You can still get out of this, Dunn. Tell him what you want," Grissom spoke rapidly, trying to keep at bay, the sudden alarm he felt
Charlie rested the spoon on the table and ripped open a new syringe. He leered at Sara as he drew the drug into the needle. "Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna make you feel all better real soon."
Despite trying to maintain his composure, Grissom could feel the blood draining from his features and felt his heartbeat accelerate. "No, she's had enough, Charlie. Remember what I said about dead hostages? You remember? You're giving up a chance to get out of here."
Grissom noticed that Sara hadn't uttered a word. He glanced at her nervously, and found her staring at the syringe with a mix of resignation, pain and fear. A thin film of perspiration glistened on her face. For some reason, her stare almost frightened him more than if he'd turned to find her unconscious. No, Sara, you can't give up, his mind pleaded with her. Don't give up. I swear to God I'll get you out of this. I swear I won't let him hurt you anymore. Grissom renewed his efforts to loosen the tape binding his wrists.
"This is just a little pain management, for your girlfriend. You don't wanna see her suffer now do ya?"
"Listen to me, Dunn. You'll overdose her. Stop and think for a minute, Charlie!"
Removing the .38 from his waistband, Charlie stood and pointed it at Grissom's head. "I told you I was an EMT!" he yelled while cocking the gun's hammer. "I know about this stuff,' his voice lowered and took on an insanely pleading quality. "I know about medicine."
"Then you know you can't do this," Grissom replied, fighting to keep his voice calm.
"I know I can blow your fuckin' head off your shoulders, Grissom."
"Charlie," Sara spoke hoarsely, "put the gun away. I'll take the injection. Just put the gun away."
"Sara, no!" Anger welled up suddenly in Grissom and his mind seemed to spin out of control. "Don't you do this, goddamnit! Don't you dare do this because some lunatic is pointing a gun at me!"
Seeing the shock and hurt on Sara's face, he realized that he'd spoken aloud. Grissom's heart pounded and he closed his eyes. She didn't understand. The thoughts continued, albeit in his head. Don't you dare do this to save me. I don't want to live if you die.
Charlie's face had broken into a twisted grin as he lowered the gun. "See, Grissom, she likes it," he sing-songed. She wants it. She doesn't want you. She wants IT!"
Unable to meet Sara's eyes, Grissom focused again on Charlie. "You sick, son-of-a-bitch," he managed evenly. "You're a freak and a loser. You can't deal with me man to man, can you, Dunn? Washed out of everything you've ever tried, haven't you?"
"Grissom, don't," Sara's voice almost broke.
"Stay outta this, Sidle." This is between Charlie and me," Grissom replied tersely.
"Nice try, but I'd listen to the bitch if I was you, Grissom. Your bullshit ain't workin' with me. I'm crazy, remember."
"No, Dunn, you're not crazy. You're pathetic and ignorant. Don't confuse your personal shortcomings with insanity. It does an injustice to the truly insane."
"Shut-up! You think you're so fuckin' smart an' shit, huh?! Rage flowed through Charlie and brandishing the .38, he approached Sara.
TBC
***********************
Grissom had rolled off of Sara's shoulder after the blow from Charlie. The only thing that saved him from further abuse was the call from Brass. He'd caught bits and pieces as Charlie shouted into the phone. It had been a short conversation. Running his tongue over his lower lip, he tasted blood. Grissom took several deep breaths and willed the fuzziness to clear from his head. After hanging up, Charlie had stomped off to the kitchen area, muttering to himself like a petulant teenager.
"You ok?" Sara's mouth was so close to Grissom's ear that he jumped.
He turned his head and was eye to eye with her.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," she apologized.
"I, uh, it's all right. I was just a bit out of it," he stammered.
"He hit you pretty hard." She slowly raised a hand and brushed her index finger gently along the side of his mouth. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah," he replied hoarsely, raising his hands and wiping the blood from his mouth. "I uh, didn't mean to fall on you. Did I hurt you?"
"Grissom, I'm guessing I've got a concussion, maybe a cracked jaw and not ten minutes ago you told me I had some crushed ribs." She paused to allow herself a ragged breath. "How in the hell could you possibly hurt me more?" she giggled.
"Not funny," he sighed audibly and briefly clasped her hand with his bound ones. He couldn't help but note the cold clamminess. Damn, damn, damn. He had to get them out of here. She was still having trouble breathing and was more than likely in the early stages of shock. Ironically, Grissom thought, the heroin might have actually forestalled the shock by alleviating some of the pain that she had to be experiencing.
Sara saw the concern creasing his brow and quickly stopped laughing. "Sorry, "I think it's the drugs."
"I think you're right," he answered, pushing himself awkwardly to his knees. "The half-life of heroin, or morphine, which is what it becomes when it's broken down in the body, is eight hours. He's given you substantially more than a person of even average body mass can easily tolerate.
"You didn't hurt me, Grissom," she said softly, interrupting his scientific diatribe. Sara peered up at him, only to find his gaze shifting to Charlie.
Grissom toyed with several ideas as he watched Dunn load a syringe with morphine, then meth. Using the momentary distraction that the ritual allowed, he crawled a few feet from Sara and sat against the wall closest to her. In Grissom's mind, it offered several advantages over his previous seat across the room. It put him between Sara, Charlie and the front door. If SWAT came in, he could, at the very least, cover her with his body. The CSI had also noted a disposable lighter not more than a few inches from his outstretched legs. It was partially covered by a newspaper. Grissom would try to kick it toward himself at the next opportunity.
Having finished shooting-up, Charlie looked over at Grissom. "Get back over there," he spat, motioning to the far wall.
"Can't. I'm dizzy. You hit me remember." Grissom rubbed his temples to emphasize the point, hoping that Charlie was buying it. "Just let me rest here for a few minutes."
Charlie's features scrunched into a twisted grin. "It's ok, man. I know you jus' wanna be close to the little woman when she sucks her last breath. Gimme some credit. I'm a romantic too, Gilbert."
Grissom allowed himself several brief revenge fantasies, not the least of which involved his fist connecting repeatedly with the bloodied face of the demented fuck while the man begged for mercy. Seeing Charlie's eyes glaze over and his head droop slightly forward into the familiar drug-induced nod, Grissom chanced to get the lighter. He stretched his left leg as far as he could, carefully resting his shoe on top of the prize. Slowly, pausing several times to glance at Dunn, he edged the lighter closer to his hands until he was finally able to grasp it. Charlie stirred in his chair and Grissom surreptitiously stuffed the lighter into the front pocket of his jeans. Next to him, Sara moaned softly and he swiveled his head toward her.
"I'm right here, Sara," Grissom said. Surprisingly, she raised an eyebrow at him and cast her eyes briefly on the pocket in which he'd put the lighter. Understanding and relief washed over him and he met her eyes. They'd always said volumes with their eyes. Inexplicably, Grissom felt warmer than he had in days.
Charlie rolled his head back in the chair and grinned at Sara. "Sounds like you're in pain, Miss CSI. I can help, ya know."
The cold came back and Grissom sought desperately to distract Dunn as he saw him reach for a small baggie. "Brass should be calling back any minute, Charlie. You'll have to talk to him this time."
"Don't hafta do nothin'" he replied distractedly as he began cooking a spoonful of heroin.
"Brass will work with you if you talk to him. You can still get out of this, Dunn. Tell him what you want," Grissom spoke rapidly, trying to keep at bay, the sudden alarm he felt
Charlie rested the spoon on the table and ripped open a new syringe. He leered at Sara as he drew the drug into the needle. "Don't worry, baby. I'm gonna make you feel all better real soon."
Despite trying to maintain his composure, Grissom could feel the blood draining from his features and felt his heartbeat accelerate. "No, she's had enough, Charlie. Remember what I said about dead hostages? You remember? You're giving up a chance to get out of here."
Grissom noticed that Sara hadn't uttered a word. He glanced at her nervously, and found her staring at the syringe with a mix of resignation, pain and fear. A thin film of perspiration glistened on her face. For some reason, her stare almost frightened him more than if he'd turned to find her unconscious. No, Sara, you can't give up, his mind pleaded with her. Don't give up. I swear to God I'll get you out of this. I swear I won't let him hurt you anymore. Grissom renewed his efforts to loosen the tape binding his wrists.
"This is just a little pain management, for your girlfriend. You don't wanna see her suffer now do ya?"
"Listen to me, Dunn. You'll overdose her. Stop and think for a minute, Charlie!"
Removing the .38 from his waistband, Charlie stood and pointed it at Grissom's head. "I told you I was an EMT!" he yelled while cocking the gun's hammer. "I know about this stuff,' his voice lowered and took on an insanely pleading quality. "I know about medicine."
"Then you know you can't do this," Grissom replied, fighting to keep his voice calm.
"I know I can blow your fuckin' head off your shoulders, Grissom."
"Charlie," Sara spoke hoarsely, "put the gun away. I'll take the injection. Just put the gun away."
"Sara, no!" Anger welled up suddenly in Grissom and his mind seemed to spin out of control. "Don't you do this, goddamnit! Don't you dare do this because some lunatic is pointing a gun at me!"
Seeing the shock and hurt on Sara's face, he realized that he'd spoken aloud. Grissom's heart pounded and he closed his eyes. She didn't understand. The thoughts continued, albeit in his head. Don't you dare do this to save me. I don't want to live if you die.
Charlie's face had broken into a twisted grin as he lowered the gun. "See, Grissom, she likes it," he sing-songed. She wants it. She doesn't want you. She wants IT!"
Unable to meet Sara's eyes, Grissom focused again on Charlie. "You sick, son-of-a-bitch," he managed evenly. "You're a freak and a loser. You can't deal with me man to man, can you, Dunn? Washed out of everything you've ever tried, haven't you?"
"Grissom, don't," Sara's voice almost broke.
"Stay outta this, Sidle." This is between Charlie and me," Grissom replied tersely.
"Nice try, but I'd listen to the bitch if I was you, Grissom. Your bullshit ain't workin' with me. I'm crazy, remember."
"No, Dunn, you're not crazy. You're pathetic and ignorant. Don't confuse your personal shortcomings with insanity. It does an injustice to the truly insane."
"Shut-up! You think you're so fuckin' smart an' shit, huh?! Rage flowed through Charlie and brandishing the .38, he approached Sara.
TBC