Author's Note in 2022: I was re-reading some of my old fics and came across this CSI one that I started eons ago but never finished. I felt like this needed closure and after many years of going dormant on this story, I've decided to lift the hiatus and give it a resolve. Seems I've dug a hole so deep for Greg and company that I wasn't sure how to get them out. So, 12 years later, I think I finally may have the answer! For all the new readers and those of you who are still with me on this journey…. Thank you and Happy Reading!
Chapter 9: The Puzzle Comes Together
"Where's Grissom? Anybody know where Grissom is?" Greg Sanders shouted urgently as he raced down the hallway of the Las Vegas Crime Lab after checking his supervisor's office. He was received with a few bewildered "No's" and "I-don't-knows". But finally, someone he jogged by replied he thought he saw him in the break room. Greg yelled his thanks and hurried along.
Even though his right arm was in a sling, his neck and shoulder were killing him. It was a throbbing pain that seemed to radiate throughout his body every time he exerted himself. He felt nauseous and exhausted. And what he wouldn't give to have a proper lie down, but he knew he couldn't. Not yet, and certainly not when there was a new revelation that he had to tell Grissom. Greg was excited, anxious, and reeling from this new bit of information that he was dying to share. He remembered the doctor strongly advising him to relax and stay away from stress so his body can heal. This was definitely going entirely against doctor's orders. But as a consolation, he promised himself to relax, sleep for a week, and do all that right after he had an important talk with Grissom.
Greg turned the corner and skidded to a stop in the doorway to the break room. Grissom was in the process of pouring black coffee into a mug from a coffee pot. He looked up to find Greg leaning against the door frame, trying desperately to catch his breath. Greg's complexion turned so deathly pale that it was alarming.
"Greg! What are you doing here? I thought your mom picked you up an hour ago." Grissom said in a startled tone. He quickly set the mug down on the counter and rushed over to Greg, who looked like he was swaying on his heels on the verge of collapse.
"Grissom…I wuh-was looking for you." Greg wheezed painfully and loudly. "I haf – hafta tell you s-something." He coughed and winced at some pain developing in his chest. He was unaware of just how dreadful he looked in the moment. If there was a mirror, he would see that his pallor face enhanced the growing grey lines under his eyes. The lankiness of his figure added to his overall sickly appearance. He was positive now that running had been a very, very bad idea.
"Here, come and sit down first." Grissom led Greg gently to a chair. Greg willingly went along because he wasn't feeling all too great. "Breathe deeply and slowly." Grissom instructed as he got a cup of water from the water cooler and placed it in front of Greg. Taking his own mug of coffee from the counter, he set it down on the table and took a seat opposite Greg. Grissom watched Greg take the cup with a shaky left hand. Greg brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. He felt much better after a minute. "Good?"
When he finally got his wind back, Greg nodded, and his lips turned into a smile. "Griss…" He began only to be cut off.
"You're supposed to be going home. You're in no condition to be running around the crime lab." Grissom said. "Now, what is so urgent that you can't just tell me over the phone?"
"No, I wanna tell you in person." Greg shook his head. "Mom picked me up and we were driving down Spring Mountain Road. And there at the stop light, I saw this little kid – about six or seven years old – with his mother on the sidewalk, and the boy was wearing a full-on The Flash costume. You know, The Flash, as in the comic book superhero with the power of super speed. If you've ever seen the costume, it's red and gold with a lightning bolt symbol on the front…." Greg rambled. "For some reason, I found myself starting at his costume, specifically at that lightning bolt. Then something in my brain clicked and I had mom turn the car around and bring me back here."
"Greg, what are you talking about?" Grissom interjected.
"Remember when I first woke in the hospital right after the surgery and you and Brass were there to get my statement and crack any information you could out of me while the whole thing was still fresh in my mind? And for some strange reason I said "scorpion" before I passed out. Then later on, I couldn't recall why I said it? Well, now I know why I said it!" Greg exclaimed. His heart pounded heavily against his chest in excitement, causing a slight discomfort, but he didn't care.
Grissom listened attentively, without further interruption.
"It was the lightning bolt that somehow jogged up my memory. See, my dorm mate back in college, he was a huge motorcycle fanatic. He lived and breathed motorcycles. He knew motorcycles like the back of his hand. He owned this awesome Kawasaki Ninja – slate blue with silver detailing. It was a chick-magnet. Man, I used to be so jealous. Anyway, he wore like a lot of motorcycle attire. Just about everything in his wardrobe was from the same place. His gear – helmets, clothing, gloves, whatever – they all came from a company called ScorpionExpo. It's a maker of premium motorcycle and riding gear. Their trademark logo is a silver lightning bolt and it's printed all over their merchandise. I've seen enough of that brand to know what I saw, and I saw that same distinctive logo embroidered on the center of the shooter's baseball cap. It's not just a random cap. You can only get that through the company. He's without a doubt into motorcycles. I was meaning to say ScorpionExpo, but only the word Scorpion came out." Greg concluded, quite content with himself.
"This would make sense." Grissom thought out loud. "After Nick, Catherine, and Warrick tracked the sewer line that ran beneath the house, and came out of a manhole, which lead to the alley behind a condemned building that used to be a strip club, they came across a motorcycle tread, which tire analysis traced back to a Suzuki GSXR. We're certain our suspect made his getaway on a motorcycle. The guy you ID'ed was, after all, picked up at Shimmy, a local bar hangout for motorcyclists and truckers. It can't be total coincidence. It fits into this motorcycle angle." Grissom continued. "Of course, we still need the Beretta that puts him in Nadine Sharp's bedroom and in the panic room, but this helps, Greg. Very good." He added in approval.
"I wish I came up with this sooner." Greg apologized. "Maybe seeing his picture and stuff unleashed a bunch of things I forgot, I guess."
"It was a repressed memory. You couldn't have known after all you've been through. But the pieces of the puzzle are going to fall into place. You just wait and see."
At that moment, Nick swung into the break room, also with news to tell Grissom and was surprised to find Greg sitting there. He came in with arms folded across his chest. "Well, if it isn't the human boomerang. We send you home, you come right back. Geez Greg, do you ever do as you're told?" Nick berated.
"I have a good reason to be here, and Grissom can attest to that." Greg said in his defense.
"Well, although I don't approve of Greg disobeying orders, what he had to contribute under the circumstances was indeed important." Grissom reasoned. He went on to filling Nick in on what Greg just told him.
"Seriously Greggo, there's this awesome invention. It's called the cell phone. It allows you to call people from wherever you are." Nick said smartly after a brief pause.
"That's what I said." Grissom added causing Greg to shrink back from further arguments.
"I just came from Archie in audio-video. We were looking at CCTV footage for any motorcycles that may have been seen leaving around the Squeeze and warehouse areas during that timeframe, since we knew the suspect left the scene via motorcycle. We found a guy on a black Suzuki pulling away from the intersection of Hoover Avenue and Main Street. Couldn't see a face cause dude was wearing a helmet, but he did have a parka on. However, Archie was able to clean the images up and get a plate number. We ran it through DMV and guess what? Vehicle is registered to the same person Greg ID'ed." Nick explained. "I've already informed Brass and he's getting a search warrant for the guy's residence as we speak."
"And you hope to find the gun that ties in the murder of Nadine Sharp, and attempted murder of CSI Sanders." Greg said half in jest, trying to keep his usual humor.
"That's morbid. I don't like you talking so casually about it like that." Nick replied. He didn't like to be reminded of the fact that Greg almost died. Technically, Greg did die, twice to be exact, but they were able to bring him back both times. That was way too close for comfort and Nick hoped to never have to bear witness to something like that ever again. There were so many other times where Greg was placed in situations where he could've died but didn't. Nick swore Greg had more lives than a cat. Greg defying death so many times were true anomalies, and he was ever so lucky to be a survivor and not a statistic. But Nick knew luck can't be pushed. The next time, Greg may not be so lucky, so he was grateful and thankful.
"Well, key word here is 'attempted.' The guy wasn't successful." Greg reminded.
"Thank God for that." Nick answered.
"Did we ever get anything off the partials pulled from the crime scene?" Grissom asked.
"Nothing definitive. Just mostly going back to Nadine and her half-brother Max Zudor, you know, the hard-ass that built the panic room." Nick replied. "Speaking of which, after doing a background check, we found a connection between Max and our suspect. They knew each other from prison. They were cellmates for a short time and had kept in touch after release."
"That could explain how our suspect knew Nadine and the panic room mechanism in the basement, through the half-brother." Grissom said. "If they were cellmates, they had a lot of time to share details about their lives, their talents, their dreams, and their plans when they got out."
"What I don't understand is motive." Greg said.
"So, let's say our suspect and Nadine were an item." Nick theorized. "Our suspect finds out she's been cheating on him; he comes back to kill her…."
"But what did he have to gain by killing Nadine and coming back to the crime scene to kill me?" Greg questioned. "And why did it take him so long to leave? He should've been able to put good distance between himself and the time of the murder to the arrival of the police."
"Maybe the guy never left the crime scene at all because there was no time. The delay may be due to the fact that he was busy searching for something in that house." Grissom input thoughtfully.
"Catherine and I collected just about every paper in that basement. It was just mostly old documents that wasn't relevant to the case. We combed through every inch of that house. We didn't find any possible hiding spaces - like things taped under drawers, secret holes under floorboards, safe vaults behind photos on the wall, shoeboxes under the mattress or Ziploc bags in the toilet tank…we even checked the flour tin in the kitchen. What could be so important that he had to get back and did he find what he was looking for?" Nick wondered.
"It's gotta be money or incriminating evidence for blackmail." Greg guessed.
"I think he found what he was looking for in that basement but was interrupted. So, he had to immediately leave whatever it was and hide first. LVPD was coming down the stairs and the one place he knew no one would find him was in that hollowed out cabinet with the tunnel. He waited until LVPD cleared out before he could make a move back into the room because whatever it was that he was supposed to take was still in that room." Grissom said.
"Us showing up when we did really put a cramp in his plan. He's been waiting behind that cabinet trying to figure out how to get back into the room, then Greg unknowingly pulled that chain on the lamp lowering the wall in the process. It was the perfect diversion." Nick said.
"Greg happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was collateral damage. But our suspect decides he needed to take Greg down so he can't be ID'd. He grabs whatever it was he meant to take, disappears behind the panels of the cabinet, and reverses the wall device from inside the tunnel - because it would buy him time to go through the tunnels and make a clean get away. He knew you would be distracted with what he hoped to be a dead or dying CSI." Grissom summed up.
"We're still waiting for the blood analysis in the trace we found on the piece of denim fabric recovered from the sewer." Nick said. "I'm betting it belongs to our suspect."
Listening to Grissom and Nick throw around theories was one of the things that made Greg love being a CSI. He marveled at Grissom's thought process. It was like the mechanism of a clock – thorough and precise. Greg believed Grissom's brilliance was unmatched. He would be quite content to just be the fly on the wall. Greg sat there listening and absorbing, all the while feeling a little unwell. All the excitement and revelations pertaining to the case suddenly coming together was rather exhilarating. It made his head a little heavier, heart beat a little faster, and breathing a little more difficult, but he dismissed it. He didn't want to be excluded when the case was so close to being solved. He wanted a taste of the glory if only for a minute.
"We'll know the whole truth soon enough. Brass has our number one suspect in interrogation right now. We're supposed to meet him there in a few minutes." Nick said to Grissom. They suddenly turned to Greg, who had become awfully quiet.
"Everything ok?" Grissom asked Greg. "You're looking a bit haggard."
"Huh? Oh, I'm okay." Greg answered gingerly, earning a few concerned looks. "I want to go with you to interrogation."
"Absolutely not!" Nick interjected.
"Why not?" Greg pressed.
"Because you're going home." Nick replied adamantly.
"Nick's right. It doesn't seem to be a good idea. You were so affected just by looking at his picture earlier. He'll be there in person now. You might not be up to that yet. It's a lot to take in." Grissom advised.
"I totally get it that you're worried it's going to break me. I feel sure that I need to be there. I know this sounds insane and I can't explain it, but I want to see the man who almost killed me. I don't want to confront him face-to-face or anything like that. Don't think I'll ever be ready for that, but I just want to see him. I want to see justice served, I guess. To see firsthand that he'll be put away and-and that I'll be safe." Greg reasoned, pale-faced but determined. "It'll give me some sort of closure to all this. Grissom, surely you understand. "
"I still say no. The dude is a dangerous criminal." Nick reprimanded.
"I'll stay out of the way. I'll be behind the two-way mirror." Greg convinced. From Grissom's facial expression, he could tell the scale was tipping in his favor.
"You just got out of the hospital yesterday." Nick reminded.
"Come on, please?" Greg begged, alternating glances between Grissom and Nick. "This whole case is important to me. I want to be there when you solve it. It's all I ask."
"On one condition," Grissom sighed, finally giving in. He of all people understood what it meant for victims of violence to have closure, to be assured that our justice system is fair, and that an opportunity for them to more forward is possible. He felt he had to honor Greg's request even if deep down, he was highly against it. "You remain in the observation room at all times. You do not leave until our suspect is gone. I don't want you accidentally running into him in the hallway. And you promise to go home afterwards."
"Done." Greg confirmed, feeling victorious.
"Just to make sure you do; Nick will personally drop you off at your apartment." Grissom added.
"What?! I can get home just fine. I don't need a babysitter." Greg rolled his eyes at the thought.
"All or nothing, Greg." Grissom said.
"Fine." Greg said annoyingly.
The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department building was a blocky brown five story modern structure with tall windows looming the edifice. It was conveniently located adjacent to the crime lab and could be accessed via the sky bridge that linked the two buildings together. A short walk took them around the complex passed the administrative offices and onto booking, interrogation, and holdings.
As the three of them walked the length of the way, thoughts reeled in Greg's mind. When Nick called him earlier in the day to come in and look at pictures, he was very apprehensive about potentially recognizing the man responsible for putting a bullet into his chest. To be honest, he was downright scared and secretly hoped none of those pictures looked familiar. But now after those feelings have more or less settled, Greg felt sure he needed to see the shooter in person. It wasn't so much as needing to know why he did it, but a need to see whether or not he would show any sign of guilt or remorse for what he did. Greg wanted so much to be impressed and merciful even though he was very far from forgiveness. Forgiveness was hard and not something he could give now or ever. Being a victim put things in a different perspective. Somehow, Greg felt he needed to try and understand the mentality of the person that came so close to taking his life. Kinda get a glimpse of what's in the guy's head. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. He had been afraid, but now, he needed to face those fears so he can move on. He wondered if the guy resembled anything like the picture.
He couldn't help but feel a tiny ache mounting in the back of his skull. His right shoulder had been bothering him since the day began, and that stubborn dull pain in his chest just refused to fade. Throwing up his entire breakfast earlier didn't make the situation any better. His stomach still felt queasy, and nausea was touch and go. A nice nap or hot bath sounded so inviting, but regardless of how sick he felt, he had to see this through. The conclusion was by far more important than his health. With that mindset, he dismissed all his ailments for nerves, and only nerves. He had no idea he was setting himself up for a catastrophe.
In the Interrogation/ Observation Rooms:
Carl Cartwright was a 48-year-old burly man with an apathetic look on his weathered-beaten face. He appeared to be a little shy of six feet two but was much closer to two hundred pounds than the one sixty that Greg initially estimated. The baseball cap was gone, revealing a clean-shaven leathery bald head. The dark parka was replaced with a simple short sleeve t-shirt that seemed to enhance the muscles in his biceps. Dusty work boots peaked out from the bottom of loose-fitting denim jeans. He seemed unfazed and unintimidated by the seriousness of the accusations and the solitude of the interrogation room. He was not new to the system and had his fair share of interrogation rooms, so this was not something he was afraid of. His thick fingers spread widely on the metal table. On the stubby pinky finger of his right hand was a big gold-plated signet ring with the initials C.C. engraved on the face.
The interrogation room was a rectangular chamber with four plastic chairs surrounding a metal table. The silt-colored room was kept devoid of distractions. Flat panel light fixtures hung from the ceiling grid giving light to the room. Along the long end of the wall was a large rectangular windowpane that held a panel of glass. From the side of the interrogation room, it looked identical to that of a mirror but discreetly concealed an observation room on the other side.
As they approached the interrogation rooms, Greg noticed two uniformed officers attentively guarding the entrance to the door labeled Interrogation B. Grissom was met by Detective Jim Brass, who was coming down the opposite end of the hallway, with a folder in tow. Brass glanced over at Nick then gave a quizzical look when he saw Greg following behind.
"It's ok, I'm allowing it under the circumstances." Grissom said and proceeded to explain to Brass about the new revelation that Greg brought to light. Brass quickly got on the cell phone and spoke urgently to whoever was on the receiving end. The conversation may have lasted about 6 minutes. Greg got the impression that he was giving orders.
"By the way, we got the search warrant, and they are in the process of searching his house right now." Brass informed when he got off the phone. "You guys ready to do this?" He looked at Grissom and Nick, who both nodded eagerly.
Greg stepped into the observation room one door down. To his surprise, Catherine was already in there. She was equally surprised to find Greg walk in. She opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, only to be cut off by Greg.
"Grissom said it was ok for me to be here." Greg said, suddenly turning his attention to the man he saw through the mirror. "That's him." His voice cracked. The comment came out sounding like a cross between a statement and a question. Greg stopped in front of the glass, eyes never leaving the bald man sitting in the chair facing the two-way mirror.
"Carl Cartwright. He's got a rap sheet that includes several misdemeanors and a felony charge. The felony was for assault on an officer with a firearm during a traffic stop that left the officer paralyzed from the waist down. Carl was convicted and put away for five years in the State Prison. Upon release, he had been falling in with the wrong crowd again and up to no good." Catherine explained.
Greg listened but remained mesmerized at the man. He saw Brass, Grissom, and Nick enter the room and close the door behind them. Brass took a seat opposite Carl. Grissom stood with his back leaning against the dark glass, and Nick stood by the door with arms folded across his chest. Nick often did this when he felt disgruntled. It was the Nick body language that told you not to mess with him.
Greg could hear what was being said inside the interrogation room from the speakers, but he wasn't interested in that yet. His heart rate quickened as he stared curiously at the man sitting in front of Brass. He knew there was nothing to fear being in the safety of the observation room, but somehow the notion of this man being within arm's reach suddenly terrified him. He never realized how scared he could be of a single person until that moment. This was definitely not how he imagined feeling. He expected some sort of closure, acceptance, and resolve, but the feelings were far from it. He watched Carl and decided he was indeed impressed, but in the negative sense of the word. He had imagined the guy to be quite opposite of what he saw. Maybe there was a tiny part of him that hoped the guy to be plain, dumb, cowardly, and even sorry for the crimes he committed. But here he was, sitting there intimidating, self-righteous, callous, and unabashed.
Just as the interrogation was about to commence, the door swung open partially and Warrick can be seen motioning for Grissom and Brass. Warrick had a serious but somewhat excited look on his face. He took a disgusted glance at Carl before closing the door behind Grissom and Brass. They were in the hall for what seemed to be a few minutes exchanging information before Grissom and Brass returned to the interrogation room. Meanwhile, Nick still had his arms folded against his chest. But Greg could see Nick's eyes shooting daggers at Carl from where he stood. The muscles of Nick's jaw were tightly clenched and pulled like as if he was gritting his teeth, trying to restrain himself from tearing the guy to pieces. Brass took his seat again opposite Carl, but this time, the look on Brass' face was one of triumph and knowledge. Even Grissom had a rather interesting smile forming across his lips.
Suddenly, the door to the observation room opened and Warrick sauntered in.
"Oh hey. Are you even supposed to be here?" Warrick said to Greg in surprise.
"Apparently, Grissom ok-ed it." Catherine cut in.
"You alright there, Greg?" Warrick asked after noticing Greg's otherwise ashy complexion. The kid just looked perplexed and awkward, like as if he wanted to be there, yet didn't. His usual spirited face was now blank and expressionless.
"Huh? Yea, I'm good." Greg stammered. "What'd you say to Grissom and Brass just now?"
"Oh good news. They turned his place upside down and we have recovered the Beretta, the cash, and the baseball cap. The gun was hidden in the shed under a loose board and the money was in a bag in his basement, and the cap you described with the logo was on the nightstand. I'm surprised he didn't hide it all better or at least got rid of it. This was almost too easy and predictable. Also, results came back on the blood analysis from the fabric swatch we found in the sewer. Blood matched to that of our suspect." Warrick replied, grinning. "Things ain't looking so dandy for him right about now."
Greg tried to digest the news and turned his attention back to the interrogation room. The people in there spoke, but he heard no words. He just watched Carl. The round leathery bald head shifting from person to person. The thin rubber band lips opening and closing as he answered nonchalantly like he had all the time in the world. His behavior was immovable, menacing, and fearless. This was a guy who apparently had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Clearly, he was neither afraid of authority nor consequence. Greg took in the whole picture – the thick neck, round broad shoulders, the occasional flexing of a bicep under the t-shirt, the relaxed, casual way he sat in the chair like he owned the place. Greg's gaze travelled to the army green tattoo of a viper on his forearm, then to Carl's wrist, then his big hands and chunky fingers that were softly drumming the table. The gold ring on Carl's pinky finger glimmered slightly in the light as he moved his hand. A thought surfaced in Greg's mind, and he let out a short gasp.
"What is it, Greg? What's wrong?" Catherine said with concern.
"I-I remember something!" Greg exclaimed, unaware how high pitched his voice was. "The ring. The ring on his finger." He paused because his heart was now thumping painfully against his chest. His breath quickened but was trying very hard to stay calm and not let panic take over.
"What about it?" Warrick pressed. "Greg, it's ok. Tell us." He coaxed when he saw how shook up he was.
"I told Grissom back when I was in the hospital that right before I got shot, I saw something shiny on the shooter, but I couldn't figure out what it was. All that I knew was that it was gold color and that it could've been a button that reflected off the light." Greg swallowed. "It wasn't a button. What I saw, was that ring."
Catherine and Warrick glanced over at the gold signet ring that Carl was wearing so fashionably on the pinky finger of his right hand.
"Son of a bitch." Warrick swore. With that bit of info, Warrick hurried out of the observation room, pushed open the interrogation door, and retrieved Grissom once again into the hallway.
Greg could see Grissom returning into the room and whispering some words to Brass. Brass nodded and turned back to Carl. By then Warrick had already reemerged into the observation room. "They need all the ammo they can get to nail this guy." Warrick said.
Something that started off as an interrogation gradually turned into a confrontation. The evidence was there and all of which incriminated the suspect. Greg listened and watched the scene unfold in the interrogation room. All the proof of facts, statements from witnesses, and forensic evidence were laid out in front of Carl Cartwright. As usual, Brass did an excellent and thorough job of communicating the details and information that were brought to light. Like Nick, Brass wanted nothing more than to just beat the guy to a pulp, but he maintained his professionalism. Grissom occasionally provided certain specific explanations when needed.
"Do you have anything to say so far?" Brass inquired after a moment of silence. Usually, this was the moment where the suspect would lawyer up. He was so used to the routine. But he was in for a surprise.
Carl stared at Brass with a placid face, like as if he was letting all the revelations sink in. He locked cold, hard eyes with Brass' gaze. Then out of the blue, Carl's facial expression softened and became animated. The corners of his thin lips curved upward. He brought both hands together in a slow clapping motion.
"Bravo. Well done, Detective." Carl applauded without a hint of nerves. "Well look at you. You've done your homework. Caught me red-handed. It took you long enough to figure it all out, but you did." He congratulated, not sounding impressed but rather glad. There was a deep guttural tone to his voice. He didn't sound impressed but pleased like as if the puzzle was solved and credit was due.
"You're not going to deny anything? Request for a lawyer? Maintain your innocence?" Brass asked.
"Oh no, looks like you've covered all your bases. Pandora's box has been opened." Carl said sarcastically and placed his clasped hands back on the table.
"So, is this a confession?" Brass pressed.
"If that's what you want to call it. I've got nowhere to run. You've got me cornered." Carl said smugly in a joking kind of way. There was not even a tiny bit of apprehension in his voice. He was way too cool, like he wanted to be caught.
"You're going away for a long time. You don't seem worried." Brass pointed out.
"It's not like I've never been in the slammer before. Ain't my first rodeo. Been through the system long enough to know what's expected." Carl replied as-a-matter-of-factly. "I did have high hopes of actually getting away with this. Getting away with murder sounds so romantic. But after giving it some thought, I suppose it all catches up to a person at some point in time. 'Sides, prison ain't so bad. Made a lot of errors. I should've gotten rid of the damn gun though. But that thing had sentimental value. I couldn't just chuck it."
"What I don't understand is why'd you do it?" Brass finally asked.
"What makes anyone do irrational things, Detective?" Carl chuckled. "Money and Love. The fucking bitch was shacking up with every guy at Shimmy's. She made me a laughingstock of the place. I thought we were exclusive, and you know I'm not the sharing type. I find out her receptionist job at the spa was all a front. It's where she hooks up with her Johns. You'd wonder why she still turns tricks when she has inheritance. Go figure, she ain't ever been too bright. Naturally, she had to go. But before that happened, I needed her to compensate."
"You knew about the money." Brass said.
"Yep. She kept a stash of it in a manila envelope in that panic room somewhere. I just didn't know where. Took forever to find it and when I did, you pigs showed up." Carl said. "I would've gotten away with it too, if you hadn't interrupted me." There was a wicked laugh that followed. "Killing Nadine was easy. She didn't even know it was coming. She let me right into the house and led me to the bedroom. The crazy bitch thought I came to have sex with her. Ha! Fooled her, didn't I? What I didn't bank on was your CSI being alive to ID me. I was aiming to kill. I guess he just didn't have the good sense to die. You know, the thought did cross my mind to finish him off at the hospital. Don't think I didn't make an attempt though. I was there. It would've been easy too – pillow over the face. But you people were coming in and out of his room like it was Grand Central Station. There was no opportunity, so I let it be." Carl shrugged. "But you should've seen the deer-in-headlights look on that toe rag's face. He was begging me not to shoot him. Begging for his life." Carl reminisced with a laugh. "No, please don't!" He mocked disdainfully after a pause.
The words burned in Nick's ears. He felt anger rising and he was about to explode. It was more than enough to know the perpetrator shot Greg, but to learn the guy had intentions to kill Greg at the hospital really made Nick's blood boil. Anguish and despair filled Nick in the realization that if it hadn't been for their constant vigil at Greg's bedside, Carl could've been successful. And the worst part was that they were oblivious to the threat that held over Greg. If they were aware, they would've posted security detail outside his room and checked IDs on everyone that entered and exited. Right then, Nick couldn't hold back any further. Without any warning, he pounced forward across the table, picked Carl up by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. Plastic chairs overturned and crashed loudly. Nick threw an upper cut hitting the guy square in the jaw. Then he settled a fist into Carl's stomach. Nick came back with a jab at Carl's face. Brass and Grissom intervened before he could throw another punch.
"Alright, that's enough." Brass said while holding Nick back. Nick was still panting and seething as he watched Carl slide to the floor holding his nose.
"Hey, you can't do that. This is assault." Carl spewed blood from his broken nose and split lip. This was the first time he actually showed any form of emotion.
"What? I didn't see anything. As far as I'm concerned, you tripped, fell, and hit your face against the table." Brass said indifferently. He didn't feel sorry for Carl one bit. In fact, he was delighted that Nick did what he did. He was only disappointed that he didn't get a crack at the guy and knock the smirk off his face first.
Greg witnessed all this behind the two-way mirror in shock and horror. The guy was in custody. He confessed to the crimes. They all heard it. The guy was going to prison. There should be a sense of renewed relief, comfort, safety, assurance, and even happiness, but he felt none of these. Instead, he felt disgusted, terrified, unsettled, paranoid, and most of all, sick. Knowing that Carl made an attempt to kill Greg at the hospital caused the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't understand how someone can hate him so much to want him dead. Greg stood there, eyes forward, and trembling in shock. Perspiration dotted his pasty forehead while his heart struck against his chest so loud it was deafening.
He couldn't ignore the hot searing pain in his chest anymore. It was starting to be unbearable. His head hurt and he felt the air in the room had suddenly gotten thinner. His breathing became more labored as he tried to draw in oxygen. The room was starting to tilt, and a fog was starting to tint the edges of his vision. Something was very wrong. He desperately wanted to sit down, but he couldn't command his legs to move. Partly because if he did, he would lose his balance completely. Grissom and Nick were right. He really wasn't ready to face his demon now or ever. He should've listened to Grissom and Nick. They always had his best interest in mind. Why hadn't he listened in the first place? He owed it to his damned stubbornness. This proved he wasn't as strong as he thought he would be.
"Greg?" Catherine called worriedly when she noticed Greg's passive state. "Greg honey, you ok?" She inquired again when he didn't answer. She threw a troubled look towards Warrick.
"Greg." Warrick called and touched Greg's left arm. Greg jumped and recoiled in defensive mode. The action caught Warrick a bit off guard. Even though he certainly had no intention of hurting Greg, he understood it was due to the fact that Greg felt an irrational fear of being attacked again. Warrick didn't take offense. Quite on the contrary, he knew Greg needed time to trust that his friends will protect and keep him safe at all costs. Warrick vowed to be patient and supportive to get Greg passed this trauma. No one deserved to be afraid all the time. Greg turned to face Warrick and, in that instance, revealed just how frazzled and deathly ill he had turned. "You don't look so good."
Unsteady, Greg wanted to say 'help me' but the only thing that escaped his colorless lips was a soft moan before his limbs went numb and darkness claimed him whole. "Hey Kid!" Warrick exclaimed urgently as his quick reflexes tucked an arm smartly around the front of Greg's waist hoping to cushion the fall. Warrick couldn't help but notice felt how gauntly thin Greg had become. He could actually feel the bone on his hips, which was uncharacteristic for a young kid of Greg's age. He should be meatier. This was just abnormal. The sudden gravity of Greg's weight also pulled Warrick down in the process, but he was still nonetheless able to lower Greg softly to the floor without further damage. Warrick ended up in an awkward seated position with an unconscious Greg leaning his back against him like a ragged doll. He was extra mindful to Greg's right arm that was in a sling.
Catherine immediately reached for her cell phone to get help. She requested emergency medical at their location. She tried to remain calm, but her voice faltered and exposed her anxiety. She gave whatever details she could on the situation, all the while looking at a lifeless Greg on the floor. When she got off the phone, she looked up at the two-way mirror to notice the guards and Brass had already removed Carl Cartwright from the interrogation room and Grissom and Nick were just leaving. She pulled open the door of the observation room and stepped out into the hallway to meet her colleagues. Grissom noticed Catherine's uneasy disposition and suspected something happened.
"What's going on?" Grissom quickened his pace.
"It's Greg. He's collapsed. I've just called for medical." Catherine said hastily. Nick had a cheerful face coming out of the interrogation room plenty satisfied, but his expression changed in an instant when he heard the news. It hit him over like a ton of bricks. Somehow, he knew something like this would happen. Greg was far from the picture of health even earlier that day, and this whole ordeal that followed has just been too overwhelming. The poor kid had just gotten out of the hospital, he didn't need this. Nick felt terribly guilty for making Greg come in and look at pictures. But without Greg's input, they wouldn't have collared the guy so quickly. Greg was the key to this case. Nick didn't have to be responsible for Greg, but through the years, he felt it was his duty. Something about Greg reminded Nick of a very younger self back in the awkward junior high school years. Always wanting to, but never really fitting in anywhere. Nick would never forgive himself if something happened to Greg. He ran past Grissom and towards the observation room, hoping Greg was ok.
"What happened?" Grissom rushed towards Catherine.
"I don't know. I mean, right after the interrogation, he stood there with this weird faraway look in his eyes. He was shaking uncontrollably and completely paralyzed with fear. When we asked if he was alright, he just keeled over like as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. Thanks to Warrick's quick response, he didn't hit the floor." Catherine relayed as they hurried after Nick.
Nick spotted Greg and Warrick near the mirror panel upon entering the observation room. Greg lay sprawled on the floor with legs and arm spread out, oblivious to his surroundings. His thin frame was devoid of all strength. Warrick sat behind Greg propping up his torso so that the back of Greg's head rested against the middle of Warrick's chest. Greg's face was ghastly white, like death warmed him over. His eyes were closed, and head lulled to one side. Warrick had an arm protectively fastened around Greg's shoulders.
"Warrick," Nick began, not sure of how serious the situation was. Greg looked terribly wrong, and he feared for the worse.
"He has a pulse. He's only just passed out." Warrick reassured.
"How long has he been unconscious?" Nick pressed as he knelt down to inspect Greg.
"About a minute or so." Warrick replied. Greg stirred and appeared to be slowly coming around to his senses.
"Greg! Hey, bro. Can you hear me?" Nick said softly while brushing back a strand of brown hair off Greg's forehead. Nick cupped a hand against Greg's cheek and noted the cool clamminess of his skin.
Greg's unfocused eyes slowly blinked opened sluggishly. He was lightheaded, incredibly weak, and disoriented. His breathing was shallow and difficult, like he needed more oxygen. Inhaling deeply, he found his mouth was dry and throat parched. He swallowed several times to get saliva to moisten his mouth. He groaned in discomfort feeling pain somewhere in his body. All he saw for a moment were the bothersome bright lights from the fixtures on the ceiling. The intensity of the light stung his eyes, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. He closed his eyes.
"Greg, open your eyes. Come on." Nick said, gently giving him a shake by the shoulders. "That's it. You're gonna be ok." He added after Greg's eyes fluttered open again. "Look at me. Don't look at the light. There you go."
The first thing he saw was Nick's worried face studying him. Nick's lips were moving but it was odd because the sounds sort of weaved in and out for a second. His breathing quickened a bit, and he regained feeling back in his extremities. Eventually, he realized he was half lying on the floor and half leaning against Warrick. He had no idea how he got to this embarrassing position and needed to get up and save his dignity. He tried to move but didn't get very far. The pain forced him to recline back against Warrick's chest.
"Whoa there. Slow down, you're not going anywhere." Nick said prohibiting Greg from moving further. "I knew this was a bad idea." He said to Grissom, who had already made his way into the room. He knelt down beside Greg, concerned and worried for the kid's health.
"What-?" Greg mumbled incoherently.
"You passed out." Warrick answered. "Medical is on the way."
"Don't need medics. 'M ok." Greg breathed lethargically.
"No, you're not ok." Catherine said. She was glad to find Greg regaining consciousness. "You were out cold. That was pretty scary."
"I don't wanna go back to the hospital." Greg pleaded and proceeded to peel himself off of Warrick a second time. This time he had the strength to do so. He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
"At this rate, you might have to. But let the medics look you over first." Grissom advised. "Do you feel pain?"
It was a simple question, but for some reason Greg had to really think about that one before he answered as his senses returned. Greg only stared at Grissom. "Where does it hurt?" Grissom revised his question.
"Chest." Greg swallowed and winced a little. His voice was barely audible. He absentmindedly kneaded the sensitive spot on his chest where he'd been shot with the heel of his left hand. The pain was residual but definitely not as extreme as it was earlier. He tried to put up a brave front and tolerant the pain but was failing miserably. He just looked damn awful. The color in his lips hadn't even returned yet. "I-I really don't know what came over me." His voice was a bit hoarse.
"This was all too much for you to handle." Nick said watching Greg pitifully.
"You know, I thought I could handle it. But-but after that, I dunno anymore. How can come back from that? I didn't think it would freak me out like this. All I really wanted was-was a resolve to this mess. I'm so tired of it looming over my head. Looking over my shoulder all the time. I figured if I witnessed it firsthand and actually saw an end to it, I could move on. But I'm not so sure now. I'm not so sure of anything. Nothing's ever gonna be alright." Greg stammered. "You guys were trying to protect me from that. I should've listened, but I didn't. Why did I have to be such an idiot? Why did I feel like I had something to prove? I'm so stupid." He choked. They could see the emotional strain in his eyes, and it gave them reason to worry.
"No, no Greg. You've got it wrong. You're not stupid for wanting closure at all." Grissom began. "Nothing could've prepared us for what Carl was going to say. Surely, you are being too hard on yourself. It was an unpredictable circumstance. But it's over now. It really is. He'll be put away for a long time. He won't hurt you anymore. Especially not when you have us. We won't let anything happen to you." He reassured.
Greg knew Grissom's words were true. He wanted to believe it, but he couldn't figure out why he was so scared. He wanted a sound mind - so he could sleep easy at night, so he didn't have to wake up in a cold sweat from the nightmares, so he didn't have to jump at every loud noise, so he could stop the shakes from happening. But all he could do right then was sit there appearing small, pathetic, weak, frightened, and completely humiliated. Fainting was definitely not part of the plan. He was allowed to feel all sorts of things, but he wasn't supposed to faint. It made him look vulnerable, unreliable, helpless, and fragile.
"We'll do everything in our power to make sure he rots in jail." Warrick said.
"I'm just so sorry for everything!" Greg blubbered as his eyes brimmed with tears.
"Oh hey, it's alright. No apologies needed." Nick soothed.
"I dunno why I-" Greg's voice trailed off. He breathed a troubled sigh.
"You were sick from the start. And all this sort of made things worse. I should've seen it coming. If anyone's sorry, it should be me. I should have looked out for you better." Grissom cut in.
Greg tried with all his might not to cry because, even at that state, he still had some pride left in him. His team was always so brave and dauntless that he needed to be on par with them. He tried to swallow the thick salty lump growing in his throat. Two unforgiving tears escaped the corner of his eyes and then another two more tracked down his cheeks. He quickly brushed them away, hoping no one would notice him bawling. He was so embarrassed, ashamed, and tortured.
"Greg, it's ok." Catherine spoke softly and stroked his shoulder. "It's the shock surfacing. You witnessed something so horrific that it triggered a crisis in your mind. Whatever you're feeling, it is normal." Her voice was comforting, gentle and safe.
"We don't judge, Greggo. Don't think for a minute that we wouldn't be here for you, no matter what you're going through cause we're family." Nick said as the others agreed.
"Yea, let us help you." Grissom chimed in.
Greg took his attention off his sneakers and looked up to meet the anxious faces of his friends. They were all genuinely concerned for him and filled with empathy. They all looked like they wanted to hug the living daylights out of him, even Grissom. It wouldn't be altogether unwelcomed because he really needed a hug right then.
"Greg, your nose is bleeding!" Catherine gasped as she noticed a thin line of blood trickle out of Greg's left nostril.
Unaware, Greg brushed the side of his nose with the top of his left hand. A smear of crimson magically appeared across his knuckles rendering a thoroughly surprised look on his face. He unceremoniously tried to suck up any remaining blood back up his nose until Catherine finally handed him a tissue. As if fainting and crying didn't make him appear vulnerable, the nosebleed was the cherry on top. It truly made him look quite the invalid.
"It's from the stress." Nick said. "The same thing happened to me once."
"Please Nick, you're as cool as a cucumber, you don't get stressed. Don't know what you're talking about. What stress?" Warrick retorted comically, half referring to what happened in the interrogation room. At this, Greg laughed. Leave it to Warrick to break the ice. He always knew what to say at the most appropriate times. Greg's voice was slightly muffled through the tissue that he was holding to his nose to stanch the bleeding.
"Don't listen to him, Greg. I get stressed all the time." Nick turned to Greg.
"Feeling a little better now?" Warrick asked, seeing a bit of color returning to Greg's cheek.
"Yea, a bit." Greg nodded. "Thanks for catching me." He added sheepishly.
"Don't mention it." Warrick answered with a smile. "You really put my reflexes to the test though."
When the pair of paramedics arrived at the building, they were led by Catherine to the observation room, where Greg had been moved from the floor to a chair. Grissom, Catherine, Warrick, and Nick made sure the medics were clear on Greg's condition and medical history. To Greg's amazement, they were quite descriptive and pretty much had it down accurately. They watched on as the medics check Greg's vitals and ask the endless string of questions that Greg had to answer truthfully under the watchful eyes of his second family. After some deep scrutiny and observation, the medics decided Greg was stable enough not to have to go back to the hospital. The medics explained the body shutting down temporarily was like a reset button. Greg was putting an extremely excessive amount of emotional stress on a body that was still healing and recovering from injury. He was running on pure adrenaline for a while, and once it wore off, the body responded to the mounting pressure. Passing out sends a message that the stress needed to be relieved.
Greg was advised to go home, eat proper meals, get proper rest, take his medication on time, and stay away from anything stressful, namely – the job. On the one hand, Greg was just relieved that he was cleared to not have to go to the hospital. But on the other hand, he wasn't so hot on being instructed to stay home and do nothing all day, which never sat well with him. He needed the job to keep him active and busy. He already knew after this episode, Grissom was going to keep him under lock and key. No amount of buttering up would sway Grissom into letting him come back to work any time soon. He was sidelined and down for the count. The team thanked the medics for their prompt and professional services before Catherine volunteered to kindly walk them out of the building.
In the Break Room:
"Does it hurt?" Greg asked, referring to Nick's hand that was swelling a shade of pink and red under an ice pack. They sat in the break room at the same table that Grissom and Greg sat at earlier that day. Nick was nursing a bruised and swollen knuckle of his right hand.
"That guy had a hard skull." Nick complained. His hand was throbbing now. The ice helped but it wasn't a pleasant feeling.
Grissom did not lecture or punish him for that stunt he pulled in the interrogation room. In fact, Grissom seemed rather dismissive of the whole thing, like as if it never happened. Of course, Nick didn't expect anyone to give him a pat on the back, as he did it more for himself than for anyone else. There was a sort of silent praise going around that didn't need explaining or commending. Grissom often had a funny way of surprising Nick sometimes. On any given day, Nick would've been chastised for throwing fists at suspects, no matter how guilty they were. But there was something irregular about this case that made things different. The game changer was Greg being a victim and learning of Carl's intention to kill Greg at the hospital. It was the tipping point. Even Brass was on his side.
Grissom had always been an observant person. Nothing went unnoticed by Grissom. He may seem unawares or even apathetic, but he saw everything. He paid attention to detail. It's what made him an excellent CSI. He was the first to notice Nick's hand. Even though Nick dismissed it as unimportant, Grissom instructed him to apply ice immediately to get the swelling down. Following this instruction, Grissom told Greg to get some juice and eat a snack before Nick drove him home. The medics had mentioned that Greg's blood pressure and sugar levels were lower than normal. Getting some glucose in his system should help. Grissom couldn't risk Greg passing out again.
"But man, it was so worth it." Nick marveled with a huge grin. "It felt amazing and satisfying. I broke his nose." He chuckled giddily, feeling quite proud of himself.
"Yes, I saw. You packed a nice punch there." Greg said and took a sip of orange juice from a straw.
"Thanks. I've had my fair share of bar fights back in Texas. Was pretty good too." Nick bragged. "He was pushing all my buttons. When he said that stuff about you, I dunno, something snapped, and I just saw red. I just wanted to hurt him. I didn't even think about the consequences of my actions." He continued after a minute.
"You could've been disciplined for what you did. Administrative work. Desk duty." Greg whispered the words humorously like as if it was a forbidden curse.
"Grissom never said a word and I wasn't about to open a can of worms." Nick shrugged. "But I was ready to take whatever punishment he was going to give. He warned me several times about letting my emotions come before the case. I was in control, up until that bit about knocking you off at the hospital. That did it for me."
"You think Ecklie's gonna find out what you did?" Greg took a nibble of a chocolate chip cookie and set the rest down on a napkin.
"Well, if he does, I think Grissom has my back on this one. I could've sworn I saw Grissom smile when Brass pulled me off the guy." Nick's grin returned. He shifted the ice pack on his hand. "Come on, I only did what everyone else was itching to do. There was not one person here that didn't want to pound the asshole to the ground. I'm sure they're all inwardly glad I did it."
"I hope I didn't freak you guys out with my psychosis back there." Greg said jokingly.
"I wouldn't categorize it as psychosis. It wasn't easy looking through photos and identifying the person that shot you. I give you props for coming in and being so brave. I know it was a lot of mental strain. Then as if that wasn't enough, you started remembering details of what you saw. And to top that off, seeing all that unfold with Carl Cartwright in interrogation – well, that was the final blow. It was too much all at once." Nick said.
Greg stared at the plastic orange juice bottle and traced the word Tropicana with his eyes. His hand began to shake again. He tried to hide them, but not quickly enough. It was the mention of that name that made Greg a nervous wreck. Nick underestimated the power Carl had over Greg even when he wasn't physically present to terrorize him. Seeing Greg so emotionally fragile made Nick's heart sink with grief. He hoped that by beating up Carl, it provided a little release and vengeance, but Greg had a long road ahead of him. This was just the beginning. Nick swore to always be there for Greg and never let anyone harm a hair on his mousy brown head.
"I know you're scared, and it's ok. You're safe now." Nick offered after a moment.
"I know." Greg's voice was a squeak. "To be honest, I never want to see that guy ever again. He gives me the creeps."
"And you won't have to. I'll make sure of that." Nick said. "Hey, anyone messes with you, they mess with me. I'll give them a knuckle sandwich. I don't care."
"I just can't stop shaking sometimes." Greg figured he needed to explain himself. "It just happens without warning."
"Give it time. The shakes will stop." Nick sympathized.
"That's what they keep telling me." Greg gave a nervous laugh. "Meanwhile, I get drugs to help with the anxiety. Great for the anxiety, bad for grogginess. Makes me feel gross."
"Drugs'll do that to a person." Nick came from experience. "But you'll turn out ok. I'm gonna make sure of that."
Nick watched Greg shuffle around the rest of the cookie on the napkin not really showing a desire to finish it. It wasn't a bad tasting cookie. In fact, it was an excellent chocolate chip cookie that came from the cafeteria, which meant it was decent and freshly baked, not of the processed variety from the vending machines. Greg just didn't have much of an appetite after what happened. His stomach was still in knots and even though he missed lunch, he hasn't felt hungry. On a normal day, he could easily down five of these fist-sized cookies at one sitting. But right then, it was a challenge to finish just the one.
"I don't mean to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but Grissom asked me to make sure you finished that juice and cookie. Get your sugar levels up. I know you don't feel like eating, but you have to. Getting something in your stomach will help." Nick said. "So, you better get moving on that. We ain't leaving until you do."
Greg made an effort to take another bite out of the cookie with Nick watching. And when he was somewhat satisfied, he inspected his injured hand, opening and closing his fist to test his flexibility.
It touched Greg to realize so many people considered him family even though they were not related by blood. They took him under their wing without obligation. They looked out for him and supported him in every way possible. It was astonishing for him to have that effect on them. He started off on the journey alone and never expected his path in life would be anything different because no one gave a shit about him. Whether it was in school or at jobs, he always felt he had to take the extra mile to get people to like him and let him into their group. And even when he was included, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like he actually belonged there. He often compared to himself to a bottle drifting out to sea – wandering through life aimlessly and surrounded by chaos. No one understood his true self. He found it amusing that the one point in his life where he made absolutely no effort to fit in, he actually succeeded. There was no true sense of purpose and belongingness until the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He wouldn't give this up for anything in the world.
Nick's hand was injured and swollen, partly because he was stubborn but mostly because he acted on feelings. He just couldn't bear the notion of Greg being attacked when he was unable to fight back. Nick was his protector. Grissom turned a blind eye to Nick's disorderly conduct because he felt there had to be some extra retribution for what Greg's been through. Brass made an excuse for Nick because he, too, felt someone needed to put the criminal in his place. Catherine's mother hen mode often kicked in whenever Greg was ill, even though Greg honestly felt that Catherine was too young to be a mother hen to him. And then there was Warrick. Warrick was often times the silent one, but he saw things clearer than any of the others. Reliable and resilient, he could always count on Warrick. Warrick was his safety net. If anyone could catch him when he fell (in more ways than one), it would be Warrick. Greg finally understood that although this lot had their vices and flaws, they stuck together through thick and thin. They were more than just a team; they were his extended family. Greg was grateful that this was where he belonged.
End of Chapter 9
Author's Note: Thank you for sticking around till the end. If you liked this, please sign a review! This fic could actually end here, but maybe I have one more chapter to sum things up – because I'm a stickler for happy-fluff endings.