Don't Be A Bad Boy

Chapter Eleven

11 – AWARENESS

Awareness came slowly, seeping in like a fog. Only this fog was gradually clearing away the cobwebs that had taken up residence. There was a dull thudding behind his temples. Perhaps it was the different smell that did it. Or maybe it was the sounds, traffic and people yelling and cursing nearby. Whatever it was, wakefulness came suddenly after the fog, like a street lamp suddenly lit in his mind.
Greg's eyes flew open. The surroundings were different. Beige walls with cracks branching out and going straight up to the ceiling. Dark smudges hid some of the paths. And then there was the feeling against his face, of sheets in dire need of being laundered. He was sure their stiffness was not an indication of newness. But it was the smell, or the stench actually, that truly awoke him. Foul and malodorous, it reeked of human wastes and excrement that had possibly become home to some lucky hoard of insects. His head began to pound in earnest.
Greg groaned and tried to roll over, but his hands wouldn't move. Rough itchy fibers dug into his wrists whenever he tried to move, and his ankles gave the same feedback. The chill on his feet told of shoes long gone. He lay on the bed, body tense and wide awake, his eyes roaming his surroundings, trying to identify anything of familiarity. There was nothing. He'd never seen this place before. It was a bedroom, he was sure. The dresser piled high with clothes, some hanging down to cover half of the dresser and the smallish lamp were definite signs. Craning his head around, he could just make out a doorway to his back but that was it. He was stuck staring out a grimy window to the opposing building, which he could barely make out, except for the lights in the windows.
The silence was deafening, his breathing seeming way too loud. He tried to control it, to soften it, but then it was his pounding heart that interfered. It too got stern commands to ease off. Slowly, his body complied.
Either he was indeed alone, or whoever had taken him was asleep somewhere else.
Carl. His body tensed again. He could remember the man's eyes and that one instant where the man's walls seemed to fall, only he hadn't recognized it then. But now, in this place, he knew what it was.
"Tell me Carl, are you nervous, or do you always talk with a stutter?"
Fear gripped him tightly. Oh god, though Greg, I insulted him and now he's getting me back. He began tugging on the rope that bound him but only succeeded in chafing his skin leaving a burning sensation, and he wondered if he'd actually cut the skin. Gathering all of his strength, he heaved himself and rolled over to face the doorway. The view was no better. The clutter seemed to be making a beeline for the outside door; the floor was nowhere to be seen beneath the extending pile of clothes. From the corner of his eye he saw movement. When he turned his head toward the night-table it was gone. And Greg had a sinking feeling humans weren't the only inhabitants in this place. He closed his eyes against the pain in his head and tried to clear his thoughts and calm himself once again.
When he opened them nothing had changed. The room was still there, as was the odour. And then something else was added to the mixture: his stomach decided it didn't like its contents and began the age-old dance of spasming. With a groan, Greg yanked his body over to the edge and hung his head just in time for his stomach to empty its contents. All over the pile of clothes. Which only served to more terrify Greg in terms of possible consequences for up-chucking all over someone else's laundry. He lay back down and caught his breath. The insanity of the situation was not lost on his fuzzy mind. He'd been kidnapped. Taken by force, against his will. And now he lay on a crusty bed, in a reeking room, perhaps all alone, and for who knew how long. And who knew what might happen when the kidnapper returned. The room began closing in on him.

Nick came charging into Grissom's office, startling a seated Sara.
"Uh, sorry. AFIS spit out a name!"
Sara jumped to her feet. "Who?"
Nick held up a piece of paper. "Carl Dockery."
"And an address?" Grissom asked.
"3175 West Sangria Lane. Brass is getting a search warrant as we speak."
Just then Grissom's cell phone rang. "Grissom great, we'll meet you there." He turned to his CSIs. "Brass has it, he'll meet us there. Whose coming?"
"I'm not staying!" they both said.
Grissom was at the doorway and gone, followed closely behind by Sara and Nick.

~*~

Copyright © 2003 Anansay