All in a Day
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers: Nothing specific, set mid third season.
A/N: Each chapter is told from a different point of view. I owe enormous thanks to M and J who are two wonderful beta readers. Also, I'd like to tank everyone who has reviewed this story and provided constructive criticism.
I had no idea how long we had already been in the tiny office. As it has no window, it was impossible to know whether it was still day or already night.
To me it was as if hours had passed since the phone call, which had ended with the girl knocking Grissom over with the butt of her gun. But I wasn't sure whether I could trust my sense of time in the situation. The contact with the FBI had made them realize their serious situation, because right after the call, our captors had tied us to chairs, using what looked like cut bed sheets. My wrists were bound behind the back of the chair, making it impossible for me to see my watch. My shoulders were already aching in protest against the unnatural position. We had been left alone in the office for now. It was not like we were going to go anywhere. Grissom had been silent, not having said another word since the call. He had a visible bump on his temple, a result of having been hit with the gun, but physically he seemed fine. I wondered what he was thinking about. Thinking about anything to keep myself from thinking about what was going to happen to us.
When the girl came in again, I was afraid that our captors had decided to kill us after all. At the time being, I didn't see that it was in their best interests to keep us alive in order to keep the police from storming the building. But I thought of none of that, it hadn't even occurred to me. The situation at hand had drawn all my intention to it, my focus severely limited by fear. Before, I was often puzzled why witnesses to violent crimes were unable to remember details or why they had not thought of doing the obvious things. I had thought that in a situation where a person's life was at stake, the mind would kick into overdrive. But now that I myself was in such a situation I'm aware of the incredible power that fear can have over a person. Strange, that it took me an extreme situation to learn more about human behavior than years of normal life.
After the abrupt ending of Grissom's call the girl stood there, staring at us, gun still in hand. Was she enjoying our fear, enjoying the rush of power over our lives? Or was she entirely driven by blind faith in Daryl Marks and his teachings? I never found out for sure, I think it was a little bit of both involved. How does someone come to be a killer? I usually don't ask myself that question; it doesn't lead anywhere and frankly hadn't been of much interest for me. I think the only person on the team even remotely interested in that question is Catherine. The rest of us rather stick with the evidence. But in this unique case, knowing the motives of a person was directly relevant to my own survival. If there was any room for appeal, then we might stand a chance and get her to help us. My impression was that this wasn't the case at all. Used to scientific thinking I looked at her behavior earlier. None of it had demonstrated weakness or remorse. Her only weakness was her lack of experience with a firearm. Grissom had probably been occupied with the same mental game. But his conclusion was probably a different one. He went for it, trying to get through to her:
"How old are you?" he asked.
She didn't flinch.
"Did you know Tina Rivers?"
"A traitor, she was weak, not a true chosen one. We didn't need her."
"Why did her family have to die? They didn't do anything?"
"Impure like the rest of you. They didn't deserve to live."
"I understand. What makes you one of the chosen ones?" Grissom was trying to play along, entering into her world of values.
"I'm strong. I've proven that I'm worthy of salvation."
"How did you prove that?"
"By being willing to fulfill my role in the prophecy."
"Are we also a part of the prophecy?" He inclined his head in my direction. I could see where he was going. It was a dangerous road, too dangerous to walk down in my opinion. The girl wasn't as easy to turn around as Grissom was thinking. I just hoped he wasn't going to get us killed with this. And as far as I could see that was the only thing that could come out of this.
"No, not you." That was all she said to his last question. Her tone wasn't hostile; it was neutral bordering on the confused. Her lips were moving fast, silently, as of she was praying.
I got the impression that the situation wasn't turning out in our favor.
But before I could confirm my hypothesis, the other woman appeared in the door and waved for the girl to come with her. It was not like we were going anywhere.
"What the hell was that for?" I asked even though I had a pretty good idea what Grissom was trying to do.
"I'm trying to get through to her. Teenagers are the most open to influence. She is most likely to listen. You could see that she was confused when I showed interest in their beliefs."
"You're wrong, Grissom. I agree that we have to try and do something. There isn't going to be any peaceful solution. But this is pointless. This girl has probably been raised by the cult, it's all she knows. She'll never help us. Maybe she is confused, but the only real chance we have is to try to get to that woman we heard in the waiting room. Hell, Grissom the girl knocked you over at the slightest provocation. How can you be sure next time she isn't going to kill you or both of us for that matter? Do you want us ending up like Greg?"
Ouch, if I had thought for one second before talking, I wouldn't have said that, but my nerves were frayed. Tact just wasn't in it anymore. I just wanted to get out of this hospital alive. Grissom was probably right, he could have gotten through to her eventually, but I was too afraid to see that. Normally I'm not a passive person at all, but so much is different in an extreme situation.
Grissom said nothing in response to what I had just said. He just looked in the direction of Greg's body as if for the first time understanding that he was really dead. This wasn't like Grissom at all, at least not like the Grissom I thought I knew. I saw a lot of a person I hadn't encountered at work during the hours we spent as hostages. It would change how I see him at work.
I was considering whether I should apologize to Grissom, given that it might be my last chance to do so, then, noise from the corridor attracted my attention. There was someone screaming, crying, people running. The guy who had tied us up came in again.
"We're leaving," he said. I hoped he meant that literally, and not in the sense of leaving this world. He apparently had the first meaning in mind, as he untied me from the chair, but left my wrists bound together. He did the same with Grissom.
"Where are we going?" the girl posed the question which I had not dared to ask.
"Where we must go, as it was foretold," he replied cryptically.
"We can't. Not now that he's dead. We are going to die." She was on the verge of tears. He was clearly a reference to Daryl Marks, who had just died as a result of the injuries he'd sustained during the shooting. As much as he deserved what he got, it was quite ill-timed for Grissom and me. The cultists depended on Daryl Marks' leadership to carry out their plan. At least that was the conclusion I arrived at based on what I'd seen. But there was still one factor of the equation that I didn't know at the time. None of us did.
"How can you say that?" the man snarled at her. I wasn't sure what he should think about the mounting tension between the cultists. It could be good for us because their attention was diverted. On other hand, if their aggressiveness was fueled they were going to take it out on us. The guy then showed us just how little it took to set him off.
The girl had now started crying, her body shaking slightly.
"You are not worthy of him," the man said, and then to my complete shock, he just shot the girl at point blank range. I had not seen that coming. I just stared at her. The scene seemed to happen in slow motion. A dark red stain was spreading over her light-blue dress. She opened her mouth, but didn't make any sound. Her knees gave way and she slowly collapsed onto the floor. Her blood started to pool in front of her. I stared, as if hypnotized at the slow and steadily spreading pool of blood on the gray floor.
From the viewpoint of probability, this day was absolutely out of the norm. Seeing three people being shot to death in the space of less than twelve hours has absolutely no place on the normal distribution curve. My state of shock wasn't as profound as before and I saw the guy who had just shot the girl pull out a cell phone. He dialed then waited for someone to answer.
This sudden change in our situation provided us with an unforeseen opportunity. The guy was alone with the two of us. Currently his attention was diverted. He was busy waiting for someone to pick up. The body was the girl lying on the floor. She was either dead already or quickly bleeding to death. The gun she'd had was lying next to her. Her killer had apparently not noticed or been too occupied. My mind registered the chance to get a weapon. But it also presented me with a risk assessment. My hands were tied behind my back, seriously impeding my use of them. Firing a gun in an aimed manner would be near impossible. If the guy noticed me going for the gun, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot me as well. My foremost goal was getting out of there alive. I glanced over to Grissom. I couldn't tell whether he saw the opportunity too. His face was impenetrable. He looked tired and for the first time since I had known him, he looked old.
While my risk assessment included quite a number of factors, I overlooked the outside factors. The sound of the shot having been fired, which they picked up by the hypersensitive microphones, had set the HRT agents into motion.
tbc