Don't Be A Bad Boy
Chapter Twelve
12 - SURVIVAL
A noise brought the room back into focus and Greg had to blink to
keep it there. He lay still and listened. There it was again, the rustling of plastic. And
footsteps. Greg froze and contemplated playing at sleeping but decided he wanted to have
all of his senses on full alert, including his sight, so he lay and waited.
A few minutes later a shadow fell across the doorway and Greg turned
his head.
There stood Carl, a curious expression on his face. He wore the same
coat over the same clothes, but his hair looked oily and heavy, his face haggard.
Greg stared at Carl, unable to believe it was really happening.
"Well, I s-see you're aw-w-wake."
Greg continued to stare.
"H-hungry?"
Greg shook his head and that's when Carl looked down and his face
changed. A mixture of anger and disgust played on his features. He stared at the pile of
vomitus as though he'd never seen the stuff before. His mouth twisted into a grimace
and he looked back up at Greg with a different perception. His idol had proven himself not
so god-like. He turned around and left.
Greg panicked. "Carl!" he called out.
But Carl didn't return. He heard no other noise, no door slamming,
so he could only assume Carl hadn't left. But then, where had Carl gone? What was he
doing? Would he come back? Did Greg want him to come back?
Carl did come back – sans coat – but with a garbage bag into
which he put the pile of bile covered clothes in. Then he looked at Greg one last time and
disappeared again. Greg called to him but there was no answer.
When Carl returned a third time, he came in and sat down on the bed
beside Greg. And that's when Greg noticed the smell on Carl and wondered how he
hadn't smelled it before, in the café or outside CSI headquarters. A light bulb went
on inside Greg's head. Cigarette butts. Would they find them? Would they think
to look for them? None of them even knew he smoked, sometimes.
None of this registered on his face as he returned Carl's stare,
putting as much hatred into it as he could muster, while hiding his fear as back as he
could.
"M-maybe your arms are s-sore," Carl said and brought a pair
of shears. Greg's eyes widened as Carl brought them closer to him.
"Uh, Carl, there's no need for that, okay? I didn't hurt
you."
Carl's face changed, his eyebrows knitted together as he stared
down. "I-I-I wouldn't h-h-hurt you, G-Greg."
"You don't need the scissors, Carl."
"But h-how am I g-g-gonna c-cut the rope?"
Greg stared at Carl, understanding creeping in. Then Carl's hands
were on Greg's body and he was rolling him onto his side. The cold metal of the
scissors touched Greg's wrists and he tensed. There was a ripping sound and then
Greg's hands were free. Carl moved down on the bed and soon the feet were freed too.
Greg rolled over some more and sat up on the other side of the bed, rubbing his wrists.
The skin was raw and chafed, as were his ankles. His eyes darted around the room before
settling again on Carl, still sitting on the bed.
"What do you want from me?"
"I-I like you."
"Yeah, well, I don't like you in that way, okay? I want to
leave. Now."
Carl's face fell. "You don't like me?"
"Not in that way, okay? Now I'm going to leave.
Now." Greg stood up and made to walk but the piles of clothes stole his balance and
he fell against the bed. He was back up in a flash, but his progress was slow and wobbly.
Carl had stood up and was standing in Greg's way. "Carl, move."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I l-like you."
Greg sighed. "Carl," he spoke slowly. "I do no like you
in that way. I never will. Now let me go."
"No."
"What?"
"I s-said no."
Carl's hand still held the scissors loosely by his side. The tip
was pointing directly at Greg, though not in any threatening manner, but Greg could easily
see it becoming one in an instant. This wasn't a simple infatuated love-napping, Greg
thought, and it probably never was. A chilling memory came to Greg: the case the CSIs had
been working on, the three homicides. He looked up at Carl with a newfound fear in his
heart. The fear on the bed was nothing compared to the fear that enveloped his heart and
threatened to squeeze the life out of it even before Carl got a chance to. Greg had heard
rumours of how the bodies were found: dismembered and disemboweled, no eyes, strangled
with A strange sound came from Greg's throat as he fell back onto the bed in
sitting position.
"Oh god," he mumbled.
Carl joined him on the bed, sitting next to him. "D-don't be
afraid, G-Greg," he said.
"You killed them," he muttered.
"Who?"
"Those three men."
There was silence from Carl. A deadly confirming silence.
"G-Greg"
"Oh shit, you killed them. And now you're gonna kill me
too."
"I d-don't w-w-want to k-kill you, Greg."
"But you're going to."
More silence.
"What did they go, Carl?" Maybe if Greg could keep him
talking, maybe Carl might forget about killing him, maybe he might have some time to think
his way out of this. People had always told him what an incredible mind he had, which was
why he'd gone into sciences. Maybe this would be his time in the spotlight. He only
hoped it wouldn't end in the coroner's spotlight.
Carl sat quietly on the bed, his finger running up and down the closed
blades of the scissors. Greg had a crazy thought as to how much blue light would he see on
those blades if he had any luminol with him at that moment. They'd probably fluoresce
so brightly, it'd light up the entire room, he thought ruefully. And the walls
"I d-don't w-want to t-talk about it," Carl said
finally.
"Did they hurt you?" Greg pushed.
Carl's breathing was getting heavier.
"Did they say something bad, Carl?"
A hand grabbed the handles tightly.
"Did they laugh at you?"
A sudden cry startled Greg as Carl turned and lunged at him, the blades
coming down quickly. Greg's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of Carl's arm and
held the blades mere inches from his face. Their hands shook with their effort until
Carl's other hand clamped down around Greg's throat and started squeezing. His
foul breath assaulted Greg and only added another element of attack.
They fought on the bed, rolling around, each trying to get the blades
where they wanted them. Carl cried out a few times in frustration as Greg once again saved
his face from being mutilated.
A sudden crash sent Carl flying off Greg's body as his eyes darted
back and forth in panic. Greg heard faint voices coming from the living room. When Carl
looked away, Greg seized the opportunity and lunged at Carl's hand, grabbing the
scissors by the blades and yanking them away. Carl cried out, a high-pitched whine, and
turned a pained and hurt expression toward Greg.
Then a woman's high strident voice called out from the living
room, muffled by the door. "Carl? Are you okay?"
Carl grinned, showing stained teeth behind chapped lips. "I'm
fine, Mrs. Caldwell!"
"Are you sure?"
Carl shut his eyes and squeezed his hands shut. "Yes! Mrs.
Caldwell, now go away!!" he shouted.
Greg had scooted back on the bed and was just about to get off when
Carl lunged at him one more time and grabbed onto Greg's wrist and smashing into the
night side table, sending the scissors flying. In a flash of movement, Carl flipped
Greg's body on his back and sprawled on top of him, holding both his hand above his
head. With the other, he retrieved some more rope from a back pocket and tied Greg's
hands to the headboard. Greg tried to buck him off, but the side-effects of the chloroform
were still in his system and his attempts were weak at best, only serving to both irritate
and please Carl as he smiled down, breathing his foul breath on Greg's face. Greg
coughed and turned away, still trying to pull his arms away. With a quick twist of the
body that Greg didn't think was possible for a man like Carl, he was at his feet and
had bound them as well. Then he bound off and returned, scissors in hand as he straddled
Greg's hips. He smiled down at Greg, his pale blue eyes a ghostly impression of his
former humanity.
Greg stared back up, his mind struggling to find some way out of his
mess. His breathing was coming in quick gasps and the rope was once again chaffing his
sensitive skin. He tried to keep himself still but his beating heart kept insisting on at
least a mild attempt at escape. "Why?" he asked.
"W-why what?"
"Why me?"
Carl cocked his head to one side and regarded Greg curiously, and then
he shrugged his shoulders, his face returning to its former expressionless glee.
Greg shut his eyes. To look into Carl's eyes was to look into a
bottomless pit of a mind gouged of its conscience. It was horrifying to behold.
The bed dipped and Greg's eyes shot open. Carl's face was
directly above his, Carl's dank breath once again assaulting his senses. He fought to keep
his stomach settled, breathing from his mouth and fighting the facts screaming in his mind
about admitting such foulness by circumventing the natural filters of the nose. Now was
not the time to be considering such rather mundane facts; they certainly wouldn't
save him. "You n-need to be a g-g-good boy now, G-Greg."
"Why?"
"I d-don't want to h-hurt you."
Greg struggled to catch his panicked breathing. "Why would you
want to hurt me, Carl?"
"You n-need to be a g-g-good boy now, G-Greg."
"Why?"
Carl pulled back a bit and blinked. "N-no need to yell."
"I'm not yelling," Greg said in a lower tone, trying to
keep the quiver from his voice.
"Good. C-cause I d-don't want to h-hurt you."
"I don't want you to hurt me either."
Carl smiled then, a sad smile. "I have to."
Greg's heart jumped a beat and the panic took over. His body
jerked and bucked and he screamed, his head craning back into the pillow as he tried to
pull his feet and hands free.
Carl sat up and put his entire weight on Greg's hips, pining him
to the bed, that small sad smile still plastered on his face as his hand with the scissors
came up. "Shh," he said. "D-don't want to b-bring back ol' Mrs.
C-C-Caldwell."
Greg stopped moving and opened his mouth wide. "MRS. CALDWELL!!
MRS. –"|
Carl's hand clamped down on Greg's mouth, the smile gone from his
face. The pale blue eyes, like ice, bore into Greg's. The blades of the scissors
glinted fiercely in the light of the lone lamp. "That wasn't very nice,
Greg."
Greg stared up at him, his eyes wide above the hand. Carl's voice
had changed. It was lower, deeper and darker. The stutter had disappeared. Greg's
pitiful knowledge of psychology wasn't very optimistic. One look into Carl's
eyes and he knew Carl was not in complete control and any pretense of patience or
friendliness was now gone for good. Now it was all business.
Carl brought the scissors to glide over Greg's face by his ear.
The hand pushed his head hard into the pillow and made any movement practically
impossible. Greg could only watch with horror as the scissors came at him with deliberate
slowness and lay still as they caressed his skin, their coldness sending fear in sharp
currents through his body. A cry formed in his throat but stayed there, muffled by the
hand.
His fear mounted as the tips of the scissors began pressing into the
skin of his cheek, pinching the skin against his teeth. He tried to scream and pull away,
but it was no use. The hand seemed to push Greg's face toward the blades. In one last
bid for survival Greg mustered all his strength and thrust his hips upward, dislodging
Carl's body from his and clamping down as hard as he could on the hand. Greg screamed
as loudly as he could, muffling Carl's own screams of pain.
Cursing madly, Carl rummaged around and came up with a rather dingy
looking shirt that must have been at least ten years old, and a sock in the other hand.
The sock was stuffed into Greg's mouth and the shirt Carl used to tie the sock in.
Greg's prone body couldn't fight Carl off and he found himself now bound and
gagged and the prisoner of Carl, his stomach protesting the addition of such a repulsive
tasting material in his mouth.
"Now, we can have some real fun," Carl said, smiling again.
The scissors danced on Greg's midriff before the shirt was slowly
pulled upward to expose the delicate flesh of his belly, the most vulnerable part of the
body. Greg whimpered and tried to press himself into the mattress. Carl laughed deep in
his throat. "Can't get away now, Greg."
Another sudden banging on the door made Carl pause. He sighed.
"What now, Mrs. Caldwell?"
"Police! Open up!"
Carl's face dropped and he stared down at Greg, his eyes wide with
fear. Greg, in turn stared up at Carl, his own eyes wide with faint hope.
"Carl Dockery! We know you're in there! Open up now!"
Carl ran around the bed and stopped at the doorway. He looked back
towards Greg, at the front door and then back at Greg. Making his decision, he returned to
Greg and ripped his shirt up, his other hand bringing the scissors up above his head and
pointing down. Greg screamed as loud as he could behind the sock and began bucking his
body this way and that, anything to make any kind of noise before it was too late.
The headboard clanged against the wall in a dull thud and then there
was a loud crack as the front door was battered down. "POLICE!"
Greg screamed again, the sound a negligible attempt.
Carl growled deep in his throat, the hand with the scissors trembled in
the air just before they began their swift descent. Greg shut his eyes, screaming one last
time before it was too late.
A sharp crack sounded and Greg felt the bed shift heavily. He opened
his eyes and Carl's prone body was half laying on the bed, the hand with the scissors
resting innocently on Greg's leg.
In a blur of activity, men dressed in black came rushing into the room,
their guns drawn and shifting this was and that at what might be moving. One of them
kicked Carl's body, sending it falling noiselessly into a pile of clothes on the
floor, the hand with the scissors dragging off Greg's body.
One of the men's hands flew into the air in a series of intricate
movements and a muffled voice could be heard behind their masks. The rest dropped their
guns and Captain Brass rushed into the room. Greg's wide eyes stared up at him.
"Jeezus!" Brass muttered before ripping the shirt from his
head and yanking out the sock. He made a face and dropped them to the ground. Greg spat to
the side, coughing and gagging until he felt his stomach might settle into something less
jumpy.
Grissom was next in the room and groaned at the sight before him before
turning around to Greg on the bed. Brass was cutting the rope around his wrists and ankles
and helping him sit up.
Greg immediately pulled his shirt down, wrapped his arms around himself
and began rocking back and forth.
"Greg, you okay?" Grissom asked, crouching in front of him
after kicking a pile of clothes away.
"Fuck no!" Greg said.
Grissom stood up. "Medic!" He turned to Greg.
"We're gonna get you out of here, Greg."
"Thank god," he said and shuddered when his eyes caught sight
of Carl's face down body, blood seeping out from his chest area.
~*~
Copyright © 2003 Anansay
