Chapter 5. See Chapter 1 for all the required fine print.

I'm working overtime this weekend and don't have Monday off as usual, but I stayed up late to give you another chapter, so don't kill me for where I ended this one. I absolutely promise, things are about to start to happen. Returning to the roller coaster metaphor, we're almost to the top of the big hill.

***

"Every prisoner has one friend outside who would help him escape if he could."

Jacques Futrelle, "The Problem of Cell 13"

***

Speed was in a hurry, and of course, the traffic sensed it and turned busier than usual. With the Ducatti, he could swerve in and out of lanes more easily than the cars could, but even the stoplights had joined the conspiracy, never failing to change to red just as he approached. He plowed to a reluctant halt at yet another light and sat there impatiently drumming his fingers, willing it to change.

He was late. Nothing too unusual about that, but to be late on this day, on this case, was unforgivable. Furthermore, it was entirely his fault. Last night, when he had finally returned to CSI after spending all day processing the Pendergrass house, he had encountered Alexx on a mission. She had insisted that they all go home and get some sleep. Speed and Eric had been going for 36 hours straight then, have spent all night before at the prison, and Alexx chased them both out, providing a pill to each which she said would guarantee 8 hours rest. Their exhaustion only made them protest more vigorously that they were fine, but Alexx won that round, even though Speed and Eric together outweighed her by three times. They finally left, but Speed hadn't taken the pill when he got to his apartment, figuring he was tired enough to sleep without it and wanting to get an early start this morning. He was wrong. After hours of tossing and turning, doing things to his pillow that he would like to do to Otis, he gave up and took the pill. Then, of course, he slept straight through the alarm clock and didn't wake up until 10:00. He had slept through the phone, too, but there were two messages on the machine from Eric.

The light changed, and Speed took off. Finally, the last turn to CSI came into sight ahead. He parked the Ducatti in the garage and entered CSI, wondering who would be the first to ask.

"Late this morning, aren't you?" Tyler said.

"No, everyone else's watch is wrong. Where's Delko?"

"Audio processing room."

Speed headed that way and found Eric frowning at the equipment. He looked back at the sound of footsteps. "Where have you been?"

"Sitting at stoplights," Speed grumbled.

"For three hours?"

"I overslept, okay? Let's talk about something that matters. What did you get?"

Eric instantly switched back to the case. "Otis' cell turned up a lot of fingerprints. Tyler's running them for me, but they're probably just from Otis and Pendergrass. Two big things were hidden, though. One is this section of newspaper. It was stuck way back under the mattress." He handed it to Speed, opened to an article.

Speed read it. The article was on the recent conviction of a mass murderer. One paragraph was boxed with precise, neat lines, but the force of the pen had nearly torn the paper. "The star witness at the trial was Calleigh Caine, ballistics expert from CSI. In spite of being 7 ½ months pregnant, she is still pursuing criminals with as much vigor as ever, and this conviction is yet another addition to the long string of cases which have been closed in large part due to her efforts and those of her husband, the head of CSI, Lieutenant Horatio Caine." The words Horatio Caine had been canceled out with a vicious horizontal slash of the pen. Earlier, 7 ½ months pregnant had been circled, and in the margin was a neat impromptu calendar, marking off remaining days and weeks for January and February, with the entire last week of February circled and a question mark on each side of it. Speed looked back up at Eric, whose expression mirrored his. Absolute disgust, overlaid with fear.

"That's when he started planning it," Speed said. "I'd like to have a talk with this reporter."

"Wouldn't change anything now," Eric pointed out. "Let's focus on Otis. So he saw this article and started planning how to get out. Checked parole hearings coming up and found someone who might pass for him if nobody really looked, then had his family kidnapped." Eric turned back to the tape equipment. "Listen to this. It's almost worse than the article. I found a mini tape player in a sealed plastic bag hidden in the toilet tank. This is the tape from it. Several others, too, but they're all similar."

Otis' voice suddenly filled the room. "Aaron, say hi to your daddy now."

A small, frightened voice took over. "Hi, Daddy."

"Tell him you're okay."

"I'm okay, Daddy, but I'm scared. I don't like this man. He's got me tied up."

"Tell him I haven't hurt you, Aaron." A pause. "Tell him. Now."

"He hasn't done anything but shut me up, but the ropes hurt my hands. I don't like it here."

"That'll do nicely, Aaron. Good job." There was the rattle of keys and a door closing. "Okay, Pendergrass, you heard the kid. He's all right, but he's scared. He's counting on you. As long as you play your cards right, nothing will happen to him or your wife. The minute the word gets out, you'll have eternity to wish things were different. I'll send you another tape in two days, as usual. Goodbye, Pendergrass." The tape clicked off.

Eric clenched his fists in frustration. "That inhuman monster."

Speed nodded. "He'll get the death penalty this time. Two murders, three abductions. No way he'll get off."

"I just wish I could pull the switch on him myself," Eric said fiercely.

"What do you think on releasing the story? Putting out an APB on all media for Otis?"

Eric had been debating that one, and he didn't like his reluctant conclusion. "I honestly think we'd be signing the death warrant for all of them. It's not like Otis is going to be careless, anyway. One thing from this tape, I've been trying to isolate any background noise at all. There's absolutely nothing. No traffic, no other voices. No sound of the city. Wherever his hideout is, I don't think the public walks right by it. I think we'd do as much with just law enforcement, and Horatio and Calleigh and Aaron would have a better chance at being alive when we find them."

"You're probably right."

Eric looked back at him. "What about Pendergrass' house?"

"Fingerprints galore, and half the chairs in the kitchen were turned over. That's where he got them. I've got a whole stack of fingerprints and hairs and such to process. Let's hope the accomplice wasn't wearing gloves."

Eric looked away from his friend, back at the tape equipment. "How did we ever miss the fact that he had an accomplice? He couldn't have driven both cars to the accident scene. We should've known the first day, even if Otis was the only one who left footprints. I guess the other guy just was lookout on the road."

That was partly what Speed had been discussing with his pillow the first half of the night. "We just missed it. We weren't thinking straight, I guess."

"That's no excuse," Eric pointed out.

"I know. I've been kicking myself for it, too." Speed changed the subject back to something useful. "I'll check the hairs from that scene, but it only looked like two donors, and from the pictures, it was the wife and kid. Maybe the accomplice has hair the same color, though. The woman really fought for such a little thing. From the pictures of the family together, she wasn't any bigger than Calleigh."

Eric's head snapped up a fraction of a second before Speed's did. "That woman. Alexx said she wasn't homeless."

"And she wasn't on the tape, just the kid."

Both of them bolted for Trace.

***

Pendergrass stared at them in shock. "Erica's dead?"

"That's right," Eric said. "She and Aaron were captured in your kitchen, and we've matched DNA samples from her to the body we found. Otis killed her. Her voice hasn't been on any tape you've received, has it?"

The eyes were still unfocused, staring into the past, trying to remember her face. "Otis swore he wouldn't harm them if I'd cooperate."

Speed snorted. "And you believed him? A convicted murderer and child molester?"

Eric leaned across the interview table, trying to jar this man out of shock with the urgency of the situation. "Listen, we're sorry about your wife, but your son is still alive. And our friends. Otis has them. We aren't putting word out on the media, so he doesn't realize we know it's him. But you have to help us. You can still make a difference for Aaron."

The eyes finally focused. "I killed her," he said. "I should have reported it instantly."

Speed forced himself not to voice his agreement. "Come on, talk to us now. It's not too late for your son."

Pendergrass swallowed with difficulty and finally began. "Otis came to me about a week before the parole hearing. He already had the first tape. Not Erica's voice, just Aaron, but he said he had both of them."

"How? Did he ever mention a name? Who he knew on the outside who took them?"

"No. Just called him a friend. He said that if I didn't cooperate, his friend would kill Erica." He broke off. "I can't even describe what he said would happen to Aaron. He said that in a few weeks, he'd let them go and let the word get out that he'd escaped, so I wouldn't have to stay in prison."

"It never occurred to you that aiding a prison escape is a crime itself? You wouldn't have just been set free."

Pendergrass met Eric's eyes desperately. "They are . . . were . . . my family. They're the one thing I've done right in my life, and Erica was waiting for me, she said. She was going to give me a second chance, once I got out. We were going to be a family again. I wasn't thinking of myself, just them."

Eric again saw a mirror of his own feelings for Horatio and Calleigh. He pitied this man even while he was angry at him. "I know what you mean. How do you get the tapes?"

"I'm not sure. They always arrive in my cell when I'm not in it. They will just be there, under the pillow when there's a new one. I guess he's got a guard working for him, too, or another prisoner, or somebody."

Speed perked up. "Maybe there's a fingerprint on the tape, Eric."

Eric shook his head. "Nothing. Not even Otis'. Everybody wears gloves."

Speed shook his head in frustration. "Damn."

Eric suddenly snapped to attention himself. "Wait a minute. We never checked the third floor garage videos. If the accomplice came to pick up Otis' car later, after Otis called him to say he had Horatio and Calleigh, maybe he wasn't wearing gloves all that time, like Otis, and touched something. We never finished running all of those prints. We stopped at Otis."

In unison, Eric and Speed jumped up and left the interview room. Behind them, Pendergrass still sat at the table, seeing faces projected on the wall by his memory. His wife and his son. His family. Pendergrass buried his head in his hands on the table and broke down crying.

***

Calleigh woke up again, reluctantly, feeling pinned down to the bed by her heavy body. As much time as she had spent in bed since their capture, she shouldn't keep getting more tired, but she was. It was almost like sleeping in reverse, waking up further behind on rest than you started. The ever-present low hum in her ears was there, but at least it wasn't too annoying at the moment. It was softer than it had been.

She turned to check on Horatio. He was asleep again, too, or as near as he got to it anymore, uneasily hovering just beneath consciousness, pain and illness both gnawing at his rest. She knew he was feeling more tired all the time, too, but he had an excuse for it. She reached out to touch him softly. The fever was still there, creeping higher like a forest fire threatening to flare out of control.

With a surge of anger at Otis, Calleigh found strength to push her unwieldy bulk up to a sitting position. Horatio shifted, muttered something, and settled down restlessly again. Calleigh reached down to where she had left a bottle of water on the floor next to the bed. Finding it, she removed the cap and took a long drink. She looked at her watch. 6:30 PM on whatever day this was. It was time for them to eat again. She was reluctant to disturb Horatio, though, not wanting to shatter what little escape he had found. She decided to wait until 7:00.

Just as she was recapping the bottle of water, she heard the soft footsteps approach and stop outside the door again. There was no further sound, but the intensity of his listening reached into the room. Seized with defiant fury, Calleigh suddenly fired the three-quarters full bottle of water at the door, hoping against hope that it would pierce the door like a bullet and kill her enemy. It didn't, but a loud thud echoed through the room as the bottle hit the metal door. Horatio came bolt upright, his startled eyes sweeping the room frantically. "Calleigh!"

Calleigh grabbed him instantly, pulling him against her chest, holding his head between her cuffed hands. "Shhh. It's okay, Horatio," she said softly. Then Otis' laughter began. A low chuckle, it reached through the barrier of the door effortlessly and wrapped around them, chaining them like the cuffs. Calleigh wished she had something else to throw, but her hands were busy just then, anyway. Horatio was still agitated, and she wouldn't have let go of him even if she had had another missile to hand. She held him, trying to cover his ears so that he, at least, would be spared that madman's amusement. Finally, the laughter stopped, and shortly after that, the footsteps retreated with a calm patience, the stride unhurried and confident.

Calleigh held Horatio tightly, murmuring small reassuring sounds, almost like she was talking to Rosalind. Gradually, his breathing settled down as he rested against her solid presence. Finally, he pulled away from her a bit so he could scan her face. "Are you okay, Cal?"

"Fine. Everything's fine." It wasn't, of course, but it was her turn to steady them. He had been really rattled for a few minutes there.

He leaned against her again, relaxing. "I thought he had shot you."

Guilt slammed into her like a bullet itself. "I'm sorry, Horatio. I didn't mean to scare you. I just threw a bottle of water at Otis. That was the noise. Not a gun."

A faint smile twisted his lips. "Did you hit him?"

"I would have, if the door hadn't gotten in the way." She pulled him more tightly against her. "I'm sorry, Horatio. I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again."

His words were muffled against her. "Throw anything at him you like, but wake me up first next time, so I can watch."

She chuckled herself. "I'll do that." Odd how laughter could be such a weapon from one source and so refreshing from another. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," he admitted. He straightened up suddenly, pulling away from her again and half lying back down, propped on one elbow where he could see her face. "There's a thought. Maybe I actually am, Calleigh. Maybe I've picked up a bug from somewhere else days ago, and this isn't the leg at all."

She would have liked to think so, but she didn't really believe it any more than he did. "I ought to look at that leg again, to check on it and rewrap it."

His elbow prop fell out from under him, and he sank into the bed. "Do we have to?"

Calleigh abruptly realized that he had probably jolted his leg severely jumping up like that. It must be giving him hell already, and she knew that rebandaging it hurt worse than anything else. His remark hadn't been a protest, though, just a question, deferring to her. The implication that he would accept further pain without complaint on her say so did her in. "No, I guess not. It's not like I can actually do anything for it."

"We're running short on towels, anyway. Otis didn't plan for us to be using them as bandages."

Calleigh smiled slightly. "I believe you notice everything, Horatio. I hadn't seen that."

He smiled back at her, then shivered slightly. "There's not a thermostat in here, is there?"

"No." There was central heating, obviously, but the controls were elsewhere. One thing Otis hadn't provided them with was a stack of blankets, although the room had been kept at a comfortable temperature. "Why don't you try just putting on another shirt, Horatio? That'll give you two layers." She fetched one and help him button it on. "Any better?"

He nodded. "Some. Thank you, Calleigh." He lay back down again.

"We ought to eat again, too. It's almost 7:00." He didn't respond, either in agreement or in protest, and she got up and heated another can of soup in their two bowls. As she came back to the bed, he reluctantly pulled himself back up to sit against the wall. Eating a bowl of soup while wearing handcuffs involved holding it right under your chin, and it was much harder lying down. She handed him his. "I'll make us some tea in a little bit, but let's eat this first."

He nodded. "Can't hold too many things at once. Never realized how much handcuffs limit you. I have new sympathy for criminals." His eyes flickered to the door. "For some criminals."

"Right. Eat that while it's hot, Horatio, as much as you can." They both fell silent, the only sound in the room the regular, soft clank of the chains on their cuffs. Calleigh decided that she would hate the sound of chains for the rest of her life. She hoped she had a long time to hate it. He managed to finish at least two-thirds of the soup, pretty good for him these days. She didn't push him for more, though. The effort was too obvious. She knew he was eating as much as he could. She set the bowls aside and fixed them each a cup of tea.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

"Worn out. I sleep, but nothing touches the tired spot."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said. "What about Rosalind?"

"I think she's getting tired, too. She's still moving around the last day or so, but just gently, like she's half asleep herself."

"How about that ringing?"

"Still there, no worse. It's a little better actually."

"Good." He finished his tea, and she took the cups and the bowls and went into the bathroom, washing them in the sink. She surveyed their towel selection. Horatio was right; they were running low. They could start reusing some of them, maybe, the ones that hadn't been made into bandages. She picked up a washrag and soaked it in cold water, then wrung it out and took it with her back into the main room.

Horatio was lying down flat again, his eyes closed, but she knew he wasn't asleep. He was too still. He was never still when he was asleep anymore. She climbed into bed next to him, pulled him over against her, and draped the folded washrag across his forehead. He shifted slightly, reacting to the coolness, but didn't open his eyes. "Does that feel any better?" she asked.

"Mmm hmm. Thanks, Calleigh." She lay there holding him, watching him, assessing him. The washrag quickly lost its coolness against his skin, and Calleigh shot an arrow prayer toward the team. Please, wherever you are, hurry.

***

Adele was firmly, efficiently in command, refusing to rush past the precautions. "Okay, we'll have the building surrounded with officers. Our watches are synchronized. 9:00 sharp, and we move in." The various officers nodded and branched out, fading into the darkness silently to surround the residence of Lorenzo Rodriguez, drug dealer and murderer paroled six months ago. His fingerprints were on the railing on the stairs in the garage, and he himself, with a good shot of the face this time, was on camera retrieving Otis' car from the third floor at 8:00 PM on the night of the abduction.

Adele glanced behind her at Eric and Speed, who hovered close. "Let's not get careless here."

"No worries," Speed said and again heard himself unconsciously imitating Horatio. Eric didn't say anything, just looked at the house like his vision could burn through the walls.

9:00 arrived. The trio erupted from their bush and hit the door with Adele in the lead, gun ready. "Miami-Dade police!"

Similar shouts echoed through the house as the other members of the team burst in, and suddenly, there was gunfire from a back room. Adele charged that way, Eric and Speed right on her heels, but the battle died as suddenly as it had started. An officer was standing over a man on the floor, still cautiously holding his gun ready. He didn't look at Adele, didn't take his eyes off Rodriguez, but he started speaking as soon as he heard her. "He shot Carpenter. Just grazed him, but he was still shooting. I had to take him down."

Adele nodded. "We've got to protect each other." She knelt by Rodriguez, assessing the widening red splotch on his chest. She gripped his arm, and the eyes opened. "Rodriguez, where's Stewart Otis?" He just looked back at her. She repeated the question in Spanish, but she knew he had understood. The eyes were mocking her, mocking the pain, mocking his own death even as he saw it coming, refusing to surrender. Adele gripped him harder. "Where is Otis?"

He moistened his lips with his tongue and practically spat the one word at her with his last energy. "Guess." The eyes suddenly shifted past her to something else and then froze in a startled expression. He had never actually thought it could happen to him. He had been wrong.

Adele stood up and actually kicked the body in frustration. She swore under her breath in Spanish as she looked down at the frozen eyes. Rodriguez had known where Otis was, but his knowledge had died with him.